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Life of Johnson

by [James] Boswell

December, 1998  [Etext #1564]


Project Gutenberg's Etext of Life of Johnson by [James] Boswell
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Boswell's Life of Johnson




Abridged and edited, with an introduction by Charles Grosvenor Osgood
Professor of English at Princeton University




Preface


In making this abridgement of Boswell's Life of Johnson I have
omitted most of Boswell's criticisms, comments, and notes, all of
Johnson's opinions in legal cases, most of the letters, and parts
of the conversation dealing with matters which were of greater
importance in Boswell's day than now.  I have kept in mind an old
habit, common enough, I dare say, among its devotees, of opening
the book of random, and reading wherever the eye falls upon a
passage of especial interest.  All such passages, I hope, have been
retained, and enough of the whole book to illustrate all the phases
of Johnson's mind and of his time which Boswell observed.

Loyal Johnsonians may look upon such a book with a measure of
scorn.  I could not have made it, had I not believed that it would
be the means of drawing new readers to Boswell, and eventually of
finding for them in the complete work what many have already found--
days and years of growing enlightenment and happy companionship,
and an innocent refuge from the cares and perturbations of life.

Princeton, June 28, 1917.



INTRODUCTION


Phillips Brooks once told the boys at Exeter that in reading
biography three men meet one another in close intimacy--the subject
of the biography, the author, and the reader.  Of the three the
most interesting is, of course, the man about whom the book is
written.  The most privileged is the reader, who is thus allowed to
live familiarly with an eminent man.  Least regarded of the three
is the author.  It is his part to introduce the others, and to
develop between them an acquaintance, perhaps a friendship, while
he, though ever busy and solicitous, withdraws into the background.

Some think that Boswell, in his Life of Johnson, did not
sufficiently realize his duty of self-effacement.  He is too much
in evidence, too bustling, too anxious that his own opinion, though
comparatively unimportant, should get a hearing.  In general,
Boswell's faults are easily noticed, and have been too much talked
about.  He was morbid, restless, self-conscious, vain, insinuating;
and, poor fellow, he died a drunkard.  But the essential Boswell,
the skilful and devoted artist, is almost unrecognized.  As the
creator of the Life of Johnson he is almost as much effaced as is
Homer in the Odyssey.  He is indeed so closely concealed that the
reader suspects no art at all.  Boswell's performance looks easy
enough--merely the more or less coherent stringing together of a
mass of memoranda.  Nevertheless it was rare and difficult, as is
the highest achievement in art.  Boswell is primarily the artist,
and he has created one of the great masterpieces of the world.*  He
created nothing else, though his head was continually filling
itself with literary schemes that came to nought.  But into his
Life of Johnson he poured all his artistic energies, as Milton
poured his into Paradise Lost, and Vergil his into the Aneid.


* Here I include his Journal of a Tour of the Hebrides as
essentially a part of the Life.  The Journal of a Tour in Corsica
is but a propaedeutic study.


First, Boswell had the industry and the devotion to his task of an
artist.  Twenty years and more he labored in collecting his
material.  He speaks frankly of his methods.  He recorded the talk
of Johnson and his associates partly by a rough shorthand of his
own, partly by an exceptional memory, which he carefully trained
for this very purpose.  'O for shorthand to take this down!' said
he to Mrs. Thrale as they listened to Johnson; and she replied:
'You'll carry it all in your head; a long head is as good as
shorthand.'  Miss Hannah More recalls a gay meeting at the
Garricks', in Johnson's absence, when Boswell was bold enough to
match his skill with no other than Garrick himself in an imitation
of Johnson.  Though Garrick was more successful in his Johnsonian
recitation of poetry, Boswell won in reproducing his familiar
conversation.  He lost no time in perfecting his notes both mental
and stenographic, and sat up many a night followed by a day of
headache, to write them in final form, that none of the freshness
and glow might fade.  The sheer labor of this process, not to
mention the difficulty, can be measured only by one who attempts a
similar feat.  Let him try to report the best conversation of a
lively evening, following its course, preserving its point,
differentiating sharply the traits of the participants, keeping the
style, idiom, and exact words of each.  Let him reject all parts of
it, however diverting, of which the charm and force will evaporate
with the occasion, and retain only that which will be as amusing,
significant, and lively as ever at the end of one hundred, or, for
all that we can see, one thousand years.  He will then, in some
measure, realize the difficulty of Boswell's performance.  When his
work appeared Boswell himself said: 'The stretch of mind and prompt
assiduity by which so many conversations are preserved, I myself,
at some distance of time, contemplate with wonder.'

He was indefatigable in hunting up and consulting all who had known
parts or aspects of Johnson's life which to him were inaccessible.
He mentions all told more than fifty names of men and women whom he
consulted for information, to which number many others should be
added of those who gave him nothing that he could use.  'I have
sometimes been obliged to run half over London, in order to fix a
date correctly.'  He agonized over his work with the true devotion
of an artist: 'You cannot imagine,' he says, 'what labor, what
perplexity, what vexation I have endured in arranging a prodigious
multiplicity of materials, in supplying omissions, in searching for
papers buried in different masses, and all this besides the
exertion of composing and polishing.'  He despairs of making his
picture vivid or full enough, and of ever realizing his
preconception of his masterpiece.

Boswell's devotion to his work appears in even more extraordinary
ways.  Throughout he repeatedly offers himself as a victim to
illustrate his great friend's wit, ill-humor, wisdom, affection, or
goodness.  He never spares himself, except now and then to assume a
somewhat diaphanous anonymity.  Without regard for his own dignity,
he exhibits himself as humiliated, or drunken, or hypochondriac, or
inquisitive, or resorting to petty subterfuge--anything for the
accomplishment of his one main purpose.  'Nay, Sir,' said Johnson,
'it was not the wine that made your head ache, but the sense that I
put into it.'  'What, Sir,' asks the hapless Boswell, 'will sense
make the head ache?'  'Yes, Sir, when it is not used to it.'

Boswell is also the artist in his regard for truth.  In him it was
a passion.  Again and again he insists upon his authenticity.  He
developed an infallible gust and unerring relish of what was
genuinely Johnsonian in speech, writing, or action; and his own
account leads to the inference that he discarded, as worthless,
masses of diverting material which would have tempted a less
scrupulous writer beyond resistance.  'I observed to him,' said
Boswell, 'that there were very few of his friends so accurate as
that I could venture to put down in writing what they told me as
his sayings.'  The faithfulness of his portrait, even to the
minutest details, is his unremitting care, and he subjects all
contributed material to the sternest criticism.

Industry and love of truth alone will not make the artist.  With
only these Boswell might have been merely a tireless transcriber.
But he had besides a keen sense of artistic values.  This appears
partly in the unity of his vast work.  Though it was years in the
making, though the details that demanded his attention were
countless, yet they all centre consistently in one figure, and are
so focused upon it, that one can hardly open the book at random to
a line which has not its direct bearing upon the one subject of the
work.  Nor is the unity of the book that of an undeviating
narrative in chronological order of one man's life; it grows rather
out of a single dominating personality exhibited in all the
vicissitudes of a manifold career.  Boswell often speaks of his
work as a painting, a portrait, and of single incidents as pictures
or scenes in a drama.  His eye is keen for contrasts, for
picturesque moments, for dramatic action.  While it is always the
same Johnson whom he makes the central figure, he studies to shift
the background, the interlocutors, the light and shade, in search
of new revelations and effects.  He presents a succession of many
scenes, exquisitely wrought, of Johnson amid widely various
settings of Eighteenth-Century England.  And subject and setting
are so closely allied that each borrows charm and emphasis from the
other.  Let the devoted reader of Boswell ask himself what glamor
would fade from the church of St. Clement Danes, from the Mitre,
from Fleet Street, the Oxford coach, and Lichfield, if the burly
figure were withdrawn from them; or what charm and illumination, of
the man himself would have been lost apart from these settings.  It
is the unseen hand of the artist Boswell that has wrought them
inseparably into this reciprocal effect.

The single scenes and pictures which Boswell has given us will all
of them bear close scrutiny for their precision, their economy of
means, their lifelikeness, their artistic effect.  None was wrought
more beautifully, nor more ardently, than that of Johnson's
interview with the King.  First we see the plain massive figure of
the scholar amid the elegant comfort of Buckingham House.  He is
intent on his book before the fire.  Then the approach of the King,
lighted on his way by Mr. Barnard with candles caught from a table;
their entrance by a private door, with Johnson's unconscious
absorption, his sudden surprise, his starting up, his dignity, the
King's ease with him, their conversation, in which the King
courteously draws from Johnson knowledge of that in which Johnson
is expert, Johnson's manly bearing and voice throughout--all is set
forth with the unadorned vividness and permanent effect which seem
artless enough, but which are characteristic of only the greatest
art.

Boswell's Life of Johnson is further a masterpiece of art in that
it exerts the vigorous energy of a masterpiece, an abundance of
what, for want of a better word, we call personality.  It is
Boswell's confessed endeavor to add this quality to the others,
because he perceived that it was an essential quality of Johnson
himself, and he more than once laments his inability to transmit
the full force and vitality of his original.  Besides artistic
perception and skill it required in him admiration and enthusiasm
to seize this characteristic and impart it to his work.  His
admiration he confesses unashamed: 'I said I worshipped him . . . I
cannot help worshipping him, he is so much superior to other men.'
He studied his subject intensely.  'During all the course of my
long intimacy with him, my respectful attention never abated.'
Upon such intensity and such ardor and enthusiasm depend the energy
and animation of his portrait.

But it exhibits other personal qualities than these, which, if less
often remarked, are at any rate unconsciously enjoyed.  Boswell had
great social charm.  His friends are agreed upon his liveliness and
good nature.  Johnson called him 'clubbable,' 'the best traveling
companion in the world,' 'one Scotchman who is cheerful,' 'a man
whom everybody likes,' 'a man who I believe never left a house
without leaving a wish for his return.'  His vivacity, his love of
fun, his passion for good company and friendship, his sympathy, his
amiability, which made him acceptable everywhere, have mingled
throughout with his own handiwork, and cause it to radiate a kind
of genial warmth.  This geniality it may be which has attracted so
many readers to the book.  They find themselves in good company, in
a comfortable, pleasant place, agreeably stimulated with wit and
fun, and cheered with friendliness.  They are loth to leave it, and
would ever enter it again.  This rare charm the book owes in large
measure to its creator.


The alliance of author with subject in Boswell's Johnson is one of
the happiest and most sympathetic the world has known.  So close is
it that one cannot easily discern what great qualities the work
owes to each.  While it surely derives more of its excellence than
is commonly remarked from the art of Boswell, its greatness after
all is ultimately that of its subject.  The noble qualities of
Johnson have been well discerned by Carlyle, and his obvious
peculiarities and prejudices somewhat magnified and distorted in
Macaulay's brilliant refractions.  One quality only shall I dwell
upon, though that may be the sum of all the rest.  Johnson had a
supreme capacity for human relationship.  In him this capacity
amounted to genius.

In all respects he was of great stature.  His contemporaries called
him a colossus, the literary Goliath, the Giant, the great Cham of
literature, a tremendous companion.  His frame was majestic; he
strode when he walked, and his physical strength and courage were
heroic.  His mode of speaking was 'very impressive,' his utterance
'deliberate and strong.'  His conversation was compared to 'an
antique statue, where every vein and muscle is distinct and bold.'
From boyhood throughout his life his companions naturally deferred
to him, and he dominated them without effort.  But what overcame
the harshness of this autocracy, and made it reasonable, was the
largeness of a nature that loved men and was ever hungry for
knowledge of them.  'Sir,' said he, 'I look upon every day lost in
which I do not make a new acquaintance.'  And again: 'Why, Sir, I
am a man of the world.  I live in the world, and I take, in some
degree, the color of the world as it moves along.'  Thus he was a
part of all that he met, a central figure in his time, with whose
opinion one must reckon in considering any important matter of his
day.

His love of London is but a part of his hunger for men.  'The
happiness of London is not to be conceived but by those who have
been in it.'  'Why, Sir, you find no man at all intellectual who is
willing to leave London: No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he
is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.'
As he loved London, so he loved a tavern for its sociability.
'Sir, there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by
which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern.'  'A
tavern chair is the throne of human felicity.'

Personal words are often upon his lips, such as 'love' and 'hate,'
and vast is the number, range, and variety of people who at one
time or another had been in some degree personally related with
him, from Bet Flint and his black servant Francis, to the adored
Duchess of Devonshire and the King himself.  To no one who passed a
word with him was he personally indifferent.  Even fools received
his personal attention.  Said one: 'But I don't understand you,
Sir.'  'Sir, I have found you an argument.  I am not obliged to
find you an understanding.'  'Sir, you are irascible,' said
Boswell; 'you have no patience with folly or absurdity.'

But it is in Johnson's capacity for friendship that his greatness
is specially revealed.  'Keep your friendships in good repair.'  As
the old friends disappeared, new ones came to him.  For Johnson
seems never to have sought out friends.  He was not a common
'mixer.'  He stooped to no devices for the sake of popularity.  He
pours only scorn upon the lack of mind and conviction which is
necessary to him who is everybody's friend.

His friendships included all classes and all ages.  He was a great
favorite with children, and knew how to meet them, from little
four-months-old Veronica Boswell to his godchild Jane Langton.
'Sir,' said he, 'I love the acquaintance of young people, . . .
young men have more virtue than old men; they have more generous
sentiments in every respect.'  At sixty-eight he said: 'I value
myself upon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my
conversation.'  Upon women of all classes and ages he exerts
without trying a charm the consciousness of which would have turned
any head less constant than his own, and with their fulsome
adoration he was pleased none the less for perceiving its real
value.

But the most important of his friendships developed between him and
such men of genius as Boswell, David Garrick, Oliver Goldsmith, Sir
Joshua Reynolds, and Edmund Burke.  Johnson's genius left no fit
testimony of itself from his own hand.  With all the greatness of
his mind he had no talent in sufficient measure by which fully to
express himself.  He had no ear for music and no eye for painting,
and the finest qualities in the creations of Goldsmith were lost
upon him.  But his genius found its talents in others, and through
the talents of his personal friends expressed itself as it were by
proxy.  They rubbed their minds upon his, and he set in motion for
them ideas which they might use.  But the intelligence of genius is
profounder and more personal than mere ideas.  It has within it
something energic, expansive, propulsive from mind to mind,
perennial, yet steady and controlled; and it was with such force
that Johnson's almost superhuman personality inspired the art of
his friends.  Of this they were in some degree aware.  Reynolds
confessed that Johnson formed his mind, and 'brushed from it a
great deal of rubbish.'  Gibbon called Johnson 'Reynolds' oracle.'
In one of his Discourses Sir Joshua, mindful no doubt of his own
experience, recommends that young artists seek the companionship of
such a man merely as a tonic to their art.  Boswell often testifies
to the stimulating effect of Johnson's presence.  Once he speaks of
'an animating blaze of eloquence, which roused every intellectual
power in me to the highest pitch'; and again of the 'full glow' of
Johnson's conversation, in which he felt himself 'elevated as if
brought into another state of being.'  He says that all members of
Johnson's 'school' 'are distinguished for a love of truth and
accuracy which they would not have possessed in the same degree if
they had not been acquainted with Johnson.'  He quotes Johnson at
length and repeatedly as the author of his own large conception of
biography.  He was Goldsmith's 'great master,' Garrick feared his
criticism, and one cannot but recognize the power of Johnson's
personality in the increasing intelligence and consistency of
Garrick's interpretations, in the growing vigor and firmness of
Goldsmith's stroke, in the charm, finality, and exuberant life of
Sir Joshua's portraits; and above all in the skill, truth,
brilliance, and lifelike spontaneity of Boswell's art.  It is in
such works as these that we shall find the real Johnson, and
through them that he will exert the force of his personality upon
us.


Biography is the literature of realized personality, of life as it
has been lived, of actual achievements or shortcomings, of success
or failure; it is not imaginary and embellished, not what might be
or might have been, not reduced to prescribed or artificial forms,
but it is the unvarnished story of that which was delightful,
disappointing, possible, or impossible, in a life spent in this
world.

In this sense it is peculiarly the literature of truth and
authenticity.  Elements of imagination and speculation must enter
into all other forms of literature, and as purely creative forms
they may rank superior to biography; but in each case it will be
found that their authenticity, their right to our attention and
credence, ultimately rests upon the biographical element which is
basic in them, that is, upon what they have derived by observation
and experience from a human life seriously lived.  Biography
contains this element in its purity.  For this reason it is more
authentic than other kinds of literature, and more relevant.  The
thing that most concerns me, the individual, whether I will or no,
is the management of myself in this world.  The fundamental and
essential conditions of life are the same in any age, however the
adventitious circumstances may change.  The beginning and the end
are the same, the average length the same, the problems and the
prize the same.  How, then, have others managed, both those who
failed and those who succeeded, or those, in far greatest number,
who did both?  Let me know their ambitions, their odds, their
handicaps, obstacles, weaknesses, and struggles, how they finally
fared, and what they had to say about it.  Let me know a great
variety of such instances that I may mark their disagreements, but
more especially their agreement about it.  How did they play the
game?  How did they fight the fight that I am to fight, and how in
any case did they lose or win?  To these questions biography gives
the direct answer.  Such is its importance over other literature.
For such reasons, doubtless, Johnson 'loved' it most.  For such
reasons the book which has been most cherished and revered for
well-nigh two thousand years is a biography.

Biography, then, is the chief text-book in the art of living, and
preeminent in its kind is the Life of Johnson.  Here is the
instance of a man who was born into a life stripped of all ornament
and artificiality.  His equipment in mind and stature was Olympian,
but the odds against him were proportionate to his powers.  Without
fear or complaint, without boast or noise, he fairly joined issue
with the world and overcame it.  He scorned circumstance, and laid
bare the unvarying realities of the contest.  He was ever the sworn
enemy of speciousness, of nonsense, of idle and insincere
speculation, of the mind that does not take seriously the duty of
making itself up, of neglect in the gravest consideration of life.
He insisted upon the rights and dignity of the individual man, and
at the same time upon the vital necessity to him of reverence and
submission, and no man ever more beautifully illustrated their
interdependence, and their exquisite combination in a noble nature.

Boswell's Johnson is consistently and primarily the life of one
man.  Incidentally it is more, for through it one is carried from
his own present limitations into a spacious and genial world.  The
reader there meets a vast number of people, men, women, children,
nay even animals, from George the Third down to the cat Hodge.  By
the author's magic each is alive, and the reader mingles with them
as with his acquaintances.  It is a varied world, and includes the
smoky and swarming courts and highways of London, its stately
drawing-rooms, its cheerful inns, its shops and markets, and beyond
is the highroad which we travel in lumbering coach or speeding
postchaise to venerable Oxford with its polite and leisurely dons,
or to the staunch little cathedral city of Lichfield, welcoming
back its famous son to dinner and tea, or to the seat of a country
squire, or ducal castle, or village tavern, or the grim but
hospitable feudal life of the Hebrides.  And wherever we go with
Johnson there is the lively traffic in ideas, lending vitality and
significance to everything about him.

A part of education and culture is the extension of one's narrow
range of living to include wider possibilities or actualities, such
as may be gathered from other fields of thought, other times, other
men; in short, to use a Johnsonian phrase, it is 'multiplicity of
consciousness.'  There is no book more effective through long
familiarity to such extension and such multiplication than
Boswell's Life of Johnson.  It adds a new world to one's own, it
increases one's acquaintance among people who think, it gives
intimate companionship with a great and friendly man.

The Life of Johnson is not a book on first acquaintance to be read
through from the first page to the end.  'No, Sir, do YOU read
books through?' asked Johnson.  His way is probably the best one of
undertaking this book.  Open at random, read here and there,
forward and back, wholly according to inclination; follow the
practice of Johnson and all good readers, of 'tearing the heart'
out of it.  In this way you most readily come within the reach of
its charm and power.  Then, not content with a part, seek the
unabridged whole, and grow into the infinite possibilities of it.

But the supreme end of education, we are told, is expert
discernment in all things--the power to tell the good from the bad,
the genuine from the counterfeit, and to prefer the good and the
genuine to the bad and the counterfeit.  This is the supreme end of
the talk of Socrates, and it is the supreme end of the talk of
Johnson.  'My dear friend,' said he, 'clear your mind of cant; . . .
don't THINK foolishly.'  The effect of long companionship with
Boswell's Johnson is just this.  As Sir Joshua said, 'it brushes
away the rubbish'; it clears the mind of cant; it instills the
habit of singling out the essential thing; it imparts discernment.
Thus, through his friendship with Boswell, Johnson will realize his
wish, still to be teaching as the years increase.



THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.


Had Dr. Johnson written his own life, in conformity with the
opinion which he has given, that every man's life may be best
written by himself; had he employed in the preservation of his own
history, that clearness of narration and elegance of language in
which he has embalmed so many eminent persons, the world would
probably have had the most perfect example of biography that was
ever exhibited.  But although he at different times, in a desultory
manner, committed to writing many particulars of the progress of
his mind and fortunes, he never had persevering diligence enough to
form them into a regular composition.  Of these memorials a few
have been preserved; but the greater part was consigned by him to
the flames, a few days before his death.

As I had the honour and happiness of enjoying his friendship for
upwards of twenty years; as I had the scheme of writing his life
constantly in view; as he was well apprised of this circumstance,
and from time to time obligingly satisfied my inquiries, by
communicating to me the incidents of his early years; as I acquired
a facility in recollecting, and was very assiduous in recording,
his conversation, of which the extraordinary vigour and vivacity
constituted one of the first features of his character; and as I
have spared no pains in obtaining materials concerning him, from
every quarter where I could discover that they were to be found,
and have been favoured with the most liberal communications by his
friends; I flatter myself that few biographers have entered upon
such a work as this, with more advantages; independent of literary
abilities, in which I am not vain enough to compare myself with
some great names who have gone before me in this kind of writing.

Instead of melting down my materials into one mass, and constantly
speaking in my own person, by which I might have appeared to have
more merit in the execution of the work, I have resolved to adopt
and enlarge upon the excellent plan of Mr. Mason, in his Memoirs of
Gray.  Wherever narrative is necessary to explain, connect, and
supply, I furnish it to the best of my abilities; but in the
chronological series of Johnson's life, which I trace as distinctly
as I can, year by year, I produce, wherever it is in my power, his
own minutes, letters or conversation, being convinced that this
mode is more lively, and will make my readers better acquainted
with him, than even most of those were who actually knew him, but
could know him only partially; whereas there is here an
accumulation of intelligence from various points, by which his
character is more fully understood and illustrated.

Indeed I cannot conceive a more perfect mode of writing any man's
life, than not only relating all the most important events of it in
their order, but interweaving what he privately wrote, and said,
and thought; by which mankind are enabled as it were to see him
live, and to 'live o'er each scene' with him, as he actually
advanced through the several stages of his life.  Had his other
friends been as diligent and ardent as I was, he might have been
almost entirely preserved.  As it is, I will venture to say that he
will be seen in this work more completely than any man who has ever
yet lived.

And he will be seen as he really was; for I profess to write, not
his panegyrick, which must be all praise, but his Life; which,
great and good as he was, must not be supposed to be entirely
perfect.  To be as he was, is indeed subject of panegyrick enough
to any man in this state of being; but in every picture there
should be shade as well as light, and when I delineate him without
reserve, I do what he himself recommended, both by his precept and
his example.

I am fully aware of the objections which may be made to the
minuteness on some occasions of my detail of Johnson's
conversation, and how happily it is adapted for the petty exercise
of ridicule, by men of superficial understanding and ludicrous
fancy; but I remain firm and confident in my opinion, that minute
particulars are frequently characteristick, and always amusing,
when they relate to a distinguished man.  I am therefore
exceedingly unwilling that any thing, however slight, which my
illustrious friend thought it worth his while to express, with any
degree of point, should perish.

Of one thing I am certain, that considering how highly the small
portion which we have of the table-talk and other anecdotes of our
celebrated writers is valued, and how earnestly it is regretted
that we have not more, I am justified in preserving rather too many
of Johnson's sayings, than too few; especially as from the
diversity of dispositions it cannot be known with certainty
beforehand, whether what may seem trifling to some, and perhaps to
the collector himself, may not be most agreeable to many; and the
greater number that an authour can please in any degree, the more
pleasure does there arise to a benevolent mind.


Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield, in Staffordshire, on the 18th
of September, N. S., 1709; and his initiation into the Christian
Church was not delayed; for his baptism is recorded, in the
register of St. Mary's parish in that city, to have been performed
on the day of his birth.  His father is there stiled Gentleman, a
circumstance of which an ignorant panegyrist has praised him for
not being proud; when the truth is, that the appellation of
Gentleman, though now lost in the indiscriminate assumption of
Esquire, was commonly taken by those who could not boast of
gentility.  His father was Michael Johnson, a native of Derbyshire,
of obscure extraction, who settled in Lichfield as a bookseller and
stationer.  His mother was Sarah Ford, descended of an ancient race
of substantial yeomanry in Warwickshire.  They were well advanced
in years when they married, and never had more than two children,
both sons; Samuel, their first born, who lived to be the
illustrious character whose various excellence I am to endeavour to
record, and Nathanael, who died in his twenty-fifth year.

Mr. Michael Johnson was a man of a large and robust body, and of a
strong and active mind; yet, as in the most solid rocks veins of
unsound substance are often discovered, there was in him a mixture
of that disease, the nature of which eludes the most minute
enquiry, though the effects are well known to be a weariness of
life, an unconcern about those things which agitate the greater
part of mankind, and a general sensation of gloomy wretchedness.
From him then his son inherited, with some other qualities, 'a vile
melancholy,' which in his too strong expression of any disturbance
of the mind, 'made him mad all his life, at least not sober.'
Michael was, however, forced by the narrowness of his circumstances
to be very diligent in business, not only in his shop, but by
occasionally resorting to several towns in the neighbourhood, some
of which were at a considerable distance from Lichfield.  At that
time booksellers' shops in the provincial towns of England were
very rare, so that there was not one even in Birmingham, in which
town old Mr. Johnson used to open a shop every market-day.  He was
a pretty good Latin scholar, and a citizen so creditable as to be
made one of the magistrates of Lichfield; and, being a man of good
sense, and skill in his trade, he acquired a reasonable share of
wealth, of which however he afterwards lost the greatest part, by
engaging unsuccessfully in a manufacture of parchment.  He was a
zealous high-church man and royalist, and retained his attachment
to the unfortunate house of Stuart, though he reconciled himself,
by casuistical arguments of expediency and necessity, to take the
oaths imposed by the prevailing power.

Johnson's mother was a woman of distinguished understanding.  I
asked his old school-fellow, Mr. Hector, surgeon of Birmingham, if
she was not vain of her son.  He said, 'she had too much good sense
to be vain, but she knew her son's value.'  Her piety was not
inferiour to her understanding; and to her must be ascribed those
early impressions of religion upon the mind of her son, from which
the world afterwards derived so much benefit.  He told me, that he
remembered distinctly having had the first notice of Heaven, 'a
place to which good people went,' and hell, 'a place to which bad
people went,' communicated to him by her, when a little child in
bed with her; and that it might be the better fixed in his memory,
she sent him to repeat it to Thomas Jackson, their man-servant; he
not being in the way, this was not done; but there was no occasion
for any artificial aid for its preservation.

There is a traditional story of the infant Hercules of toryism, so
curiously characteristick, that I shall not withhold it.  It was
communicated to me in a letter from Miss Mary Adye, of Lichfield:

'When Dr. Sacheverel was at Lichfield, Johnson was not quite three
years old.  My grandfather Hammond observed him at the cathedral
perched upon his father's shoulders, listening and gaping at the
much celebrated preacher.  Mr. Hammond asked Mr. Johnson how he
could possibly think of bringing such an infant to church, and in
the midst of so great a crowd.  He answered, because it was
impossible to keep him at home; for, young as he was, he believed
he had caught the publick spirit and zeal for Sacheverel, and would
have staid for ever in the church, satisfied with beholding him.'

Nor can I omit a little instance of that jealous independence of
spirit, and impetuosity of temper, which never forsook him.  The
fact was acknowledged to me by himself, upon the authority of his
mother.  One day, when the servant who used to be sent to school to
conduct him home, had not come in time, he set out by himself,
though he was then so near-sighted, that he was obliged to stoop
down on his hands and knees to take a view of the kennel before he
ventured to step over it.  His school-mistress, afraid that he
might miss his way, or fall into the kennel, or be run over by a
cart, followed him at some distance.  He happened to turn about and
perceive her.  Feeling her careful attention as an insult to his
manliness, he ran back to her in a rage, and beat her, as well as
his strength would permit.

Of the power of his memory, for which he was all his life eminent
to a degree almost incredible, the following early instance was
told me in his presence at Lichfield, in 1776, by his step-
daughter, Mrs. Lucy Porter, as related to her by his mother.  When
he was a child in petticoats, and had learnt to read, Mrs. Johnson
one morning put the common prayer-book into his hands, pointed to
the collect for the day, and said, 'Sam, you must get this by
heart.'  She went up stairs, leaving him to study it: But by the
time she had reached the second floor, she heard him following her.
'What's the matter?' said she.  'I can say it,' he replied; and
repeated it distinctly, though he could not have read it more than
twice.

But there has been another story of his infant precocity generally
circulated, and generally believed, the truth of which I am to
refute upon his own authority.  It is told, that, when a child of
three years old, he chanced to tread upon a duckling, the eleventh
of a brood, and killed it; upon which, it is said, he dictated to
his mother the following epitaph:


   'Here lies good master duck,
      Whom Samuel Johnson trod on;
    If it had liv'd, it had been GOOD LUCK,
      For then we'd had an ODD ONE.'


There is surely internal evidence that this little composition
combines in it, what no child of three years old could produce,
without an extension of its faculties by immediate inspiration; yet
Mrs. Lucy Porter, Dr. Johnson's stepdaughter, positively maintained
to me, in his presence, that there could be no doubt of the truth
of this anecdote, for she had heard it from his mother.  So
difficult is it to obtain an authentick relation of facts, and such
authority may there be for errour; for he assured me, that his
father made the verses, and wished to pass them for his child's.
He added, 'my father was a foolish old man; that is to say, foolish
in talking of his children.'

Young Johnson had the misfortune to be much afflicted with the
scrophula, or king's evil, which disfigured a countenance naturally
well formed, and hurt his visual nerves so much, that he did not
see at all with one of his eyes, though its appearance was little
different from that of the other.  There is amongst his prayers,
one inscribed 'When, my EYE was restored to its use,' which
ascertains a defect that many of his friends knew he had, though I
never perceived it.  I supposed him to be only near-sighted; and
indeed I must observe, that in no other respect could I discern any
defect in his vision; on the contrary, the force of his attention
and perceptive quickness made him see and distinguish all manner of
objects, whether of nature or of art, with a nicety that is rarely
to be found.  When he and I were travelling in the Highlands of
Scotland, and I pointed out to him a mountain which I observed
resembled a cone, he corrected my inaccuracy, by shewing me, that
it was indeed pointed at the top, but that one side of it was
larger than the other.  And the ladies with whom he was acquainted
agree, that no man was more nicely and minutely critical in the
elegance of female dress.  When I found that he saw the romantick
beauties of Islam, in Derbyshire, much better than I did, I told
him that he resembled an able performer upon a bad instrument.  It
has been said, that he contracted this grievous malady from his
nurse.  His mother yielding to the superstitious notion, which, it
is wonderful to think, prevailed so long in this country, as to the
virtue of the regal touch; a notion, which our kings encouraged,
and to which a man of such inquiry and such judgement as Carte
could give credit; carried him to London, where he was actually
touched by Queen Anne.  Mrs. Johnson indeed, as Mr. Hector informed
me, acted by the advice of the celebrated Sir John Floyer, then a
physician in Lichfield.  Johnson used to talk of this very frankly;
and Mrs. Piozzi has preserved his very picturesque description of
the scene, as it remained upon his fancy.  Being asked if he could
remember Queen Anne, 'He had (he said) a confused, but somehow a
sort of solemn recollection of a lady in diamonds, and a long black
hood.'  This touch, however, was without any effect.  I ventured to
say to him, in allusion to the political principles in which he was
educated, and of which he ever retained some odour, that 'his
mother had not carried him far enough; she should have taken him to
ROME.'

He was first taught to read English by Dame Oliver, a widow, who
kept a school for young children in Lichfield.  He told me she
could read the black letter, and asked him to borrow for her, from
his father, a bible in that character.  When he was going to
Oxford, she came to take leave of him, brought him, in the
simplicity of her kindness, a present of gingerbread, and said, he
was the best scholar she ever had.  He delighted in mentioning this
early compliment: adding, with a smile, that 'this was as high a
proof of his merit as he could conceive.'  His next instructor in
English was a master, whom, when he spoke of him to me, he
familiarly called Tom Brown, who, said he, 'published a spelling-
book, and dedicated it to the UNIVERSE; but, I fear, no copy of it
can now be had.'

He began to learn Latin with Mr. Hawkins, usher, or under-master of
Lichfield school, 'a man (said he) very skilful in his little way.'
With him he continued two years, and then rose to be under the care
of Mr. Hunter, the headmaster, who, according to his account, 'was
very severe, and wrong-headedly severe.  He used (said he) to beat
us unmercifully; and he did not distinguish between ignorance and
negligence; for he would beat a boy equally for not knowing a
thing, as for neglecting to know it.  He would ask a boy a
question; and if he did not answer it, he would beat him, without
considering whether he had an opportunity of knowing how to answer
it.  For instance, he would call up a boy and ask him Latin for a
candlestick, which the boy could not expect to be asked.  Now, Sir,
if a boy could answer every question, there would be no need of a
master to teach him.'

It is, however, but justice to the memory of Mr. Hunter to mention,
that though he might err in being too severe, the school of
Lichfield was very respectable in his time.  The late Dr. Taylor,
Prebendary of Westminster, who was educated under him, told me,
that 'he was an excellent master, and that his ushers were most of
them men of eminence; that Holbrook, one of the most ingenious men,
best scholars, and best preachers of his age, was usher during the
greatest part of the time that Johnson was at school.  Then came
Hague, of whom as much might be said, with the addition that he was
an elegant poet.  Hague was succeeded by Green, afterwards Bishop
of Lincoln, whose character in the learned world is well known.'

Indeed Johnson was very sensible how much he owed to Mr. Hunter.
Mr. Langton one day asked him how he had acquired so accurate a
knowledge of Latin, in which, I believe, he was exceeded by no man
of his time; he said, 'My master whipt me very well.  Without that,
Sir, I should have done nothing.'  He told Mr. Langton, that while
Hunter was flogging his boys unmercifully, he used to say, 'And
this I do to save you from the gallows.'  Johnson, upon all
occasions, expressed his approbation of enforcing instruction by
means of the rod.  'I would rather (said he) have the rod to be the
general terrour to all, to make them learn, than tell a child, if
you do thus, or thus, you will be more esteemed than your brothers
or sisters.  The rod produces an effect which terminates in itself.
A child is afraid of being whipped, and gets his task, and there's
an end on't; whereas, by exciting emulation and comparisons of
superiority, you lay the foundation of lasting mischief; you make
brothers and sisters hate each other.'

That superiority over his fellows, which he maintained with so much
dignity in his march through life, was not assumed from vanity and
ostentation, but was the natural and constant effect of those
extraordinary powers of mind, of which he could not but be
conscious by comparison; the intellectual difference, which in
other cases of comparison of characters, is often a matter of
undecided contest, being as clear in his case as the superiority of
stature in some men above others.  Johnson did not strut or stand
on tiptoe; He only did not stoop.  From his earliest years his
superiority was perceived and acknowledged.  He was from the
beginning [Greek text omitted], a king of men.  His school-fellow,
Mr. Hector, has obligingly furnished me with many particulars of his
boyish days: and assured me that he never knew him corrected at
school, but for talking and diverting other boys from their
business.  He seemed to learn by intuition; for though indolence
and procrastination were inherent in his constitution, whenever he
made an exertion he did more than any one else.  His favourites
used to receive very liberal assistance from him; and such was the
submission and deference with which he was treated, such the desire
to obtain his regard, that three of the boys, of whom Mr. Hector
was sometimes one, used to come in the morning as his humble
attendants, and carry him to school.  One in the middle stooped,
while he sat upon his back, and one on each side supported him; and
thus he was borne triumphant.  Such a proof of the early
predominance of intellectual vigour is very remarkable, and does
honour to human nature.  Talking to me once himself of his being
much distinguished at school, he told me, 'they never thought to
raise me by comparing me to any one; they never said, Johnson is as
good a scholar as such a one; but such a one is as good a scholar
as Johnson; and this was said but of one, but of Lowe; and I do not
think he was as good a scholar.'

He discovered a great ambition to excel, which roused him to
counteract his indolence.  He was uncommonly inquisitive; and his
memory was so tenacious, that he never forgot any thing that he
either heard or read.  Mr. Hector remembers having recited to him
eighteen verses, which, after a little pause, he repeated verbatim,
varying only one epithet, by which he improved the line.

He never joined with the other boys in their ordinary diversions:
his only amusement was in winter, when he took a pleasure in being
drawn upon the ice by a boy barefooted, who pulled him along by a
garter fixed round him; no very easy operation, as his size was
remarkably large.  His defective sight, indeed, prevented him from
enjoying the common sports; and he once pleasantly remarked to me,
'how wonderfully well he had contrived to be idle without them.'
Mr. Hector relates, that 'he could not oblige him more than by
sauntering away the hours of vacation in the fields, during which
he was more engaged in talking to himself than to his companion.'

Dr. Percy, the Bishop of Dromore, who was long intimately
acquainted with him, and has preserved a few anecdotes concerning
him, regretting that he was not a more diligent collector, informs
me, that 'when a boy he was immoderately fond of reading romances
of chivalry, and he retained his fondness for them through life; so
that (adds his Lordship) spending part of a summer at my parsonage
house in the country, he chose for his regular reading the old
Spanish romance of Felixmarte of Hircania, in folio, which he read
quite through.  Yet I have heard him attribute to these extravagant
fictions that unsettled turn of mind which prevented his ever
fixing in any profession.'


1725: AETAT. 16.--After having resided for some time at the house
of his uncle, Cornelius Ford, Johnson was, at the age of fifteen,
removed to the school of Stourbridge, in Worcestershire, of which
Mr. Wentworth was then master.  This step was taken by the advice
of his cousin, the Reverend Mr. Ford, a man in whom both talents
and good dispositions were disgraced by licentiousness, but who was
a very able judge of what was right.  At this school he did not
receive so much benefit as was expected.  It has been said, that he
acted in the capacity of an assistant to Mr. Wentworth, in teaching
the younger boys.  'Mr. Wentworth (he told me) was a very able man,
but an idle man, and to me very severe; but I cannot blame him
much.  I was then a big boy; he saw I did not reverence him; and
that he should get no honour by me.  I had brought enough with me,
to carry me through; and all I should get at his school would be
ascribed to my own labour, or to my former master.  Yet he taught
me a great deal.'

He thus discriminated, to Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, his
progress at his two grammar-schools.  'At one, I learnt much in the
school, but little from the master; in the other, I learnt much
from the master, but little in the school.'

He remained at Stourbridge little more than a year, and then
returned home, where he may be said to have loitered, for two
years, in a state very unworthy his uncommon abilities.  He had
already given several proofs of his poetical genius, both in his
school-exercises and in other occasional compositions.

He had no settled plan of life, nor looked forward at all, but
merely lived from day to day.  Yet he read a great deal in a
desultory manner, without any scheme of study, as chance threw
books in his way, and inclination directed him through them.  He
used to mention one curious instance of his casual reading, when
but a boy.  Having imagined that his brother had hid some apples
behind a large folio upon an upper shelf in his father's shop, he
climbed up to search for them.  There were no apples; but the large
folio proved to be Petrarch, whom he had seen mentioned in some
preface, as one of the restorers of learning.  His curiosity having
been thus excited, he sat down with avidity, and read a great part
of the book.  What he read during these two years he told me, was
not works of mere amusement, 'not voyages and travels, but all
literature, Sir, all ancient writers, all manly: though but little
Greek, only some of Anacreon and Hesiod; but in this irregular
manner (added he) I had looked into a great many books, which were
not commonly known at the Universities, where they seldom read any
books but what are put into their hands by their tutors; so that
when I came to Oxford, Dr. Adams, now master of Pembroke College,
told me I was the best qualified for the University that he had
ever known come there.'

That a man in Mr. Michael Johnson's circumstances should think of
sending his son to the expensive University of Oxford, at his own
charge, seems very improbable.  The subject was too delicate to
question Johnson upon.  But I have been assured by Dr. Taylor that
the scheme never would have taken place had not a gentleman of
Shropshire, one of his schoolfellows, spontaneously undertaken to
support him at Oxford, in the character of his companion; though,
in fact, he never received any assistance whatever from that
gentleman.

He, however, went to Oxford, and was entered a Commoner of Pembroke
College on the 31st of October, 1728, being then in his nineteenth
year.

The Reverend Dr. Adams, who afterwards presided over Pembroke
College with universal esteem, told me he was present, and gave me
some account of what passed on the night of Johnson's arrival at
Oxford.  On that evening, his father, who had anxiously accompanied
him, found means to have him introduced to Mr. Jorden, who was to
be his tutor.

His father seemed very full of the merits of his son, and told the
company he was a good scholar, and a poet, and wrote Latin verses.
His figure and manner appeared strange to them; but he behaved
modestly, and sat silent, till upon something which occurred in the
course of conversation, he suddenly struck in and quoted Macrobius;
and thus he gave the first impression of that more extensive
reading in which he had indulged himself.

His tutor, Mr. Jorden, fellow of Pembroke, was not, it seems, a man
of such abilities as we should conceive requisite for the
instructor of Samuel Johnson, who gave me the following account of
him.  'He was a very worthy man, but a heavy man, and I did not
profit much by his instructions.  Indeed, I did not attend him
much.  The first day after I came to college I waited upon him, and
then staid away four.  On the sixth, Mr. Jorden asked me why I had
not attended.  I answered I had been sliding in Christ-Church
meadow.  And this I said with as much nonchalance as I am now
talking to you.  I had no notion that I was wrong or irreverent to
my tutor.  BOSWELL: 'That, Sir, was great fortitude of mind.'
JOHNSON: 'No, Sir; stark insensibility.'

He had a love and respect for Jorden, not for his literature, but
for his worth.  'Whenever (said he) a young man becomes Jorden's
pupil, he becomes his son.'

Having given a specimen of his poetical powers, he was asked by Mr.
Jorden, to translate Pope's Messiah into Latin verse, as a
Christmas exercise.  He performed it with uncommon rapidity, and in
so masterly a manner, that he obtained great applause from it,
which ever after kept him high in the estimation of his College,
and, indeed, of all the University.

It is said, that Mr. Pope expressed himself concerning it in terms
of strong approbation.  Dr. Taylor told me, that it was first
printed for old Mr. Johnson, without the knowledge of his son, who
was very angry when he heard of it.

The 'morbid melancholy,' which was lurking in his constitution, and
to which we may ascribe those particularities, and that aversion to
regular life, which, at a very early period, marked his character,
gathered such strength in his twentieth year, as to afflict him in
a dreadful manner.  While he was at Lichfield, in the college
vacation of the year 1729, he felt himself overwhelmed with an
horrible hypochondria, with perpetual irritation, fretfulness, and
impatience; and with a dejection, gloom, and despair, which made
existence misery.  From this dismal malady he never afterwards was
perfectly relieved; and all his labours, and all his enjoyments,
were but temporary interruptions of its baleful influence.  He told
Mr. Paradise that he was sometimes so languid and inefficient, that
he could not distinguish the hour upon the town-clock.

Johnson, upon the first violent attack of this disorder, strove to
overcome it by forcible exertions.  He frequently walked to
Birmingham and back again, and tried many other expedients, but all
in vain.  His expression concerning it to me was 'I did not then
know how to manage it.'  His distress became so intolerable, that
he applied to Dr. Swinfen, physician in Lichfield, his god-father,
and put into his hands a state of his case, written in Latin.  Dr.
Swinfen was so much struck with the extraordinary acuteness,
research, and eloquence of this paper, that in his zeal for his
godson he shewed it to several people.  His daughter, Mrs.
Desmoulins, who was many years humanely supported in Dr. Johnson's
house in London, told me, that upon his discovering that Dr.
Swinfen had communicated his case, he was so much offended, that he
was never afterwards fully reconciled to him.  He indeed had good
reason to be offended; for though Dr. Swinfen's motive was good, he
inconsiderately betrayed a matter deeply interesting and of great
delicacy, which had been entrusted to him in confidence; and
exposed a complaint of his young friend and patient, which, in the
superficial opinion of the generality of mankind, is attended with
contempt and disgrace.

To Johnson, whose supreme enjoyment was the exercise of his reason,
the disturbance or obscuration of that faculty was the evil most to
be dreaded.  Insanity, therefore, was the object of his most dismal
apprehension; and he fancied himself seized by it, or approaching
to it, at the very time when he was giving proofs of a more than
ordinary soundness and vigour of judgement.  That his own diseased
imagination should have so far deceived him, is strange; but it is
stranger still that some of his friends should have given credit to
his groundless opinion, when they had such undoubted proofs that it
was totally fallacious; though it is by no means surprising that
those who wish to depreciate him, should, since his death, have
laid hold of this circumstance, and insisted upon it with very
unfair aggravation.

The history of his mind as to religion is an important article.  I
have mentioned the early impressions made upon his tender
imagination by his mother, who continued her pious care with
assiduity, but, in his opinion, not with judgement.  'Sunday (said
he) was a heavy day to me when I was a boy.  My mother confined me
on that day, and made me read "The Whole Duty of Man," from a great
part of which I could derive no instruction.  When, for instance, I
had read the chapter on theft, which from my infancy I had been
taught was wrong, I was no more convinced that theft was wrong than
before; so there was no accession of knowledge.  A boy should be
introduced to such books, by having his attention directed to the
arrangement, to the style, and other excellencies of composition;
that the mind being thus engaged by an amusing variety of objects,
may not grow weary.'

He communicated to me the following particulars upon the subject of
his religious progress.  'I fell into an inattention to religion,
or an indifference about it, in my ninth year.  The church at
Lichfield, in which we had a seat, wanted reparation, so I was to
go and find a seat in other churches; and having bad eyes, and
being awkward about this, I used to go and read in the fields on
Sunday.  This habit continued till my fourteenth year; and still I
find a great reluctance to go to church.  I then became a sort of
lax TALKER against religion, for I did not much THINK against it;
and this lasted till I went to Oxford, where it would not be
SUFFERED.  When at Oxford, I took up Law's Serious Call to a Holy
Life, expecting to find it a dull book (as such books generally
are), and perhaps to laugh at it.  But I found Law quite an
overmatch for me; and this was the first occasion of my thinking in
earnest of religion, after I became capable of rational inquiry.'
From this time forward religion was the predominant object of his
thoughts; though, with the just sentiments of a conscientious
Christian, he lamented that his practice of its duties fell far
short of what it ought to be.

The particular course of his reading while at Oxford, and during
the time of vacation which he passed at home, cannot be traced.
Enough has been said of his irregular mode of study.  He told me
that from his earliest years he loved to read poetry, but hardly
ever read any poem to an end; that he read Shakspeare at a period
so early, that the speech of the ghost in Hamlet terrified him when
he was alone; that Horace's Odes were the compositions in which he
took most delight, and it was long before he liked his Epistles and
Satires.  He told me what he read SOLIDLY at Oxford was Greek; not
the Grecian historians, but Homer and Euripides, and now and then a
little Epigram; that the study of which he was the most fond was
Metaphysicks, but he had not read much, even in that way.  I always
thought that he did himself injustice in his account of what he had
read, and that he must have been speaking with reference to the
vast portion of study which is possible, and to which a few
scholars in the whole history of literature have attained; for when
I once asked him whether a person, whose name I have now forgotten,
studied hard, he answered 'No, Sir; I do not believe he studied
hard.  I never knew a man who studied hard.  I conclude, indeed,
from the effects, that some men have studied hard, as Bentley and
Clarke.'  Trying him by that criterion upon which he formed his
judgement of others, we may be absolutely certain, both from his
writings and his conversation, that his reading was very extensive.
Dr. Adam Smith, than whom few were better judges on this subject,
once observed to me that 'Johnson knew more books than any man
alive.'  He had a peculiar facility in seizing at once what was
valuable in any book, without submitting to the labour of perusing
it from beginning to end.  He had, from the irritability of his
constitution, at all times, an impatience and hurry when he either
read or wrote.  A certain apprehension, arising from novelty, made
him write his first exercise at College twice over; but he never
took that trouble with any other composition; and we shall see that
his most excellent works were struck off at a heat, with rapid
exertion.

No man had a more ardent love of literature, or a higher respect
for it than Johnson.  His apartment in Pembroke College was that
upon the second floor, over the gateway.  The enthusiasts of
learning will ever contemplate it with veneration.  One day, while
he was sitting in it quite alone, Dr. Panting, then master of the
College, whom he called 'a fine Jacobite fellow,' overheard him
uttering this soliloquy in his strong, emphatick voice: 'Well, I
have a mind to see what is done in other places of learning.  I'll
go and visit the Universities abroad.  I'll go to France and Italy.
I'll go to Padua.--And I'll mind my business.  For an Athenian
blockhead is the worst of all blockheads.'

Dr. Adams told me that Johnson, while he was at Pembroke College,
'was caressed and loved by all about him, was a gay and frolicksome
fellow, and passed there the happiest part of his life.'  But this
is a striking proof of the fallacy of appearances, and how little
any of us know of the real internal state even of those whom we see
most frequently; for the truth is, that he was then depressed by
poverty, and irritated by disease.  When I mentioned to him this
account as given me by Dr. Adams, he said; 'Ah, Sir, I was mad and
violent.  It was bitterness which they mistook for frolick.  I was
miserably poor, and I thought to fight my way by my literature and
my wit; so I disregarded all power and all authority.'

The Bishop of Dromore observes in a letter to me,

'The pleasure he took in vexing the tutors and fellows has been
often mentioned.  But I have heard him say, what ought to be
recorded to the honour of the present venerable master of that
College, the Reverend William Adams, D.D., who was then very young,
and one of the junior fellows; that the mild but judicious
expostulations of this worthy man, whose virtue awed him, and whose
learning he revered, made him really ashamed of himself, "though I
fear (said he) I was too proud to own it."

'I have heard from some of his cotemporaries that he was generally
seen lounging at the College gate, with a circle of young students
round him, whom he was entertaining with wit, and keeping from
their studies, if not spiriting them up to rebellion against the
College discipline, which in his maturer years he so much
extolled.'

I do not find that he formed any close intimacies with his fellow-
collegians.  But Dr. Adams told me that he contracted a love and
regard for Pembroke College, which he retained to the last.  A
short time before his death he sent to that College a present of
all his works, to be deposited in their library; and he had
thoughts of leaving to it his house at Lichfield; but his friends
who were about him very properly dissuaded him from it, and he
bequeathed it to some poor relations.  He took a pleasure in
boasting of the many eminent men who had been educated at Pembroke.
In this list are found the names of Mr. Hawkins the Poetry
Professor, Mr. Shenstone, Sir William Blackstone, and others; not
forgetting the celebrated popular preacher, Mr. George Whitefield,
of whom, though Dr. Johnson did not think very highly, it must be
acknowledged that his eloquence was powerful, his views pious and
charitable, his assiduity almost incredible; and, that since his
death, the integrity of his character has been fully vindicated.
Being himself a poet, Johnson was peculiarly happy in mentioning
how many of the sons of Pembroke were poets; adding, with a smile
of sportive triumph, 'Sir, we are a nest of singing birds.'

He was not, however, blind to what he thought the defects of his
own College; and I have, from the information of Dr. Taylor, a very
strong instance of that rigid honesty which he ever inflexibly
preserved.  Taylor had obtained his father's consent to be entered
of Pembroke, that he might be with his schoolfellow Johnson, with
whom, though some years older than himself, he was very intimate.
This would have been a great comfort to Johnson.  But he fairly
told Taylor that he could not, in conscience, suffer him to enter
where he knew he could not have an able tutor.  He then made
inquiry all round the University, and having found that Mr.
Bateman, of Christ Church, was the tutor of highest reputation,
Taylor was entered of that College.  Mr. Bateman's lectures were so
excellent, that Johnson used to come and get them at second-hand
from Taylor, till his poverty being so extreme that his shoes were
worn out, and his feet appeared through them, he saw that this
humiliating circumstance was perceived by the Christ Church men,
and he came no more.  He was too proud to accept of money, and
somebody having set a pair of new shoes at his door, he threw them
away with indignation.  How must we feel when we read such an
anecdote of Samuel Johnson!

The res angusta domi prevented him from having the advantage of a
complete academical education.  The friend to whom he had trusted
for support had deceived him.  His debts in College, though not
great, were increasing; and his scanty remittances from Lichfield,
which had all along been made with great difficulty, could be
supplied no longer, his father having fallen into a state of
insolvency.  Compelled, therefore, by irresistible necessity, he
left the College in autumn, 1731, without a degree, having been a
member of it little more than three years.

And now (I had almost said POOR) Samuel Johnson returned to his
native city, destitute, and not knowing how he should gain even a
decent livelihood.  His father's misfortunes in trade rendered him
unable to support his son; and for some time there appeared no
means by which he could maintain himself.  In the December of this
year his father died.

Johnson was so far fortunate, that the respectable character of his
parents, and his own merit, had, from his earliest years, secured
him a kind reception in the best families at Lichfield.  Among
these I can mention Mr. Howard, Dr. Swinfen, Mr. Simpson, Mr.
Levett, Captain Garrick, father of the great ornament of the
British stage; but above all, Mr. Gilbert Walmsley, Register of the
Prerogative Court of Lichfield, whose character, long after his
decease, Dr. Johnson has, in his Life of Edmund Smith, thus drawn
in the glowing colours of gratitude:

'Of Gilbert Walmsley, thus presented to my mind, let me indulge
myself in the remembrance.  I knew him very early; he was one of
the first friends that literature procured me, and I hope that, at
least, my gratitude made me worthy of his notice.

'He was of an advanced age, and I was only not a boy, yet he never
received my notions with contempt.  He was a whig, with all the
virulence and malevolence of his party; yet difference of opinion
did not keep us apart.  I honoured him and he endured me.

'At this man's table I enjoyed many cheerful and instructive hours,
with companions, such as are not often found--with one who has
lengthened, and one who has gladdened life; with Dr. James, whose
skill in physick will be long remembered; and with David Garrick,
whom I hoped to have gratified with this character of our common
friend.  But what are the hopes of man!  I am disappointed by that
stroke of death, which has eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and
impoverished the publick stock of harmless pleasure.'

In these families he passed much time in his early years.  In most
of them, he was in the company of ladies, particularly at Mr.
Walmsley's, whose wife and sisters-in-law, of the name of Aston,
and daughters of a Baronet, were remarkable for good breeding; so
that the notion which has been industriously circulated and
believed, that he never was in good company till late in life, and,
consequently had been confirmed in coarse and ferocious manners by
long habits, is wholly without foundation.  Some of the ladies have
assured me, they recollected him well when a young man, as
distinguished for his complaisance.

In the forlorn state of his circumstances, he accepted of an offer
to be employed as usher in the school of Market-Bosworth, in
Leicestershire, to which it appears, from one of his little
fragments of a diary, that he went on foot, on the 16th of July.

This employment was very irksome to him in every respect, and he
complained grievously of it in his letters to his friend Mr.
Hector, who was now settled as a surgeon at Birmingham.  The
letters are lost; but Mr. Hector recollects his writing 'that the
poet had described the dull sameness of his existence in these
words, "Vitam continet una dies" (one day contains the whole of my
life); that it was unvaried as the note of the cuckow; and that he
did not know whether it was more disagreeable for him to teach, or
the boys to learn, the grammar rules.'  His general aversion to
this painful drudgery was greatly enhanced by a disagreement
between him and Sir Wolstan Dixey, the patron of the school, in
whose house, I have been told, he officiated as a kind of domestick
chaplain, so far, at least, as to say grace at table, but was
treated with what he represented as intolerable harshness; and,
after suffering for a few months such complicated misery, he
relinquished a situation which all his life afterwards he
recollected with the strongest aversion, and even a degree of
horrour.  But it is probable that at this period, whatever
uneasiness he may have endured, he laid the foundation of much
future eminence by application to his studies.

Being now again totally unoccupied, he was invited by Mr. Hector to
pass some time with him at Birmingham, as his guest, at the house
of Mr. Warren, with whom Mr. Hector lodged and boarded.  Mr. Warren
was the first established bookseller in Birmingham, and was very
attentive to Johnson, who he soon found could be of much service to
him in his trade, by his knowledge of literature; and he even
obtained the assistance of his pen in furnishing some numbers of a
periodical Essay printed in the newspaper, of which Warren was
proprietor.  After very diligent inquiry, I have not been able to
recover those early specimens of that particular mode of writing by
which Johnson afterwards so greatly distinguished himself.

He continued to live as Mr. Hector's guest for about six months,
and then hired lodgings in another part of the town, finding
himself as well situated at Birmingham as he supposed he could be
any where, while he had no settled plan of life, and very scanty
means of subsistence.  He made some valuable acquaintances there,
amongst whom were Mr. Porter, a mercer, whose widow he afterwards
married, and Mr. Taylor, who by his ingenuity in mechanical
inventions, and his success in trade, acquired an immense fortune.
But the comfort of being near Mr. Hector, his old school-fellow and
intimate friend, was Johnson's chief inducement to continue here.

His juvenile attachments to the fair sex were very transient; and
it is certain that he formed no criminal connection whatsoever.
Mr. Hector, who lived with him in his younger days in the utmost
intimacy and social freedom, has assured me, that even at that
ardent season his conduct was strictly virtuous in that respect;
and that though he loved to exhilarate himself with wine, he never
knew him intoxicated but once.

In a man whom religious education has secured from licentious
indulgences, the passion of love, when once it has seized him, is
exceedingly strong; being unimpaired by dissipation, and totally
concentrated in one object.  This was experienced by Johnson, when
he became the fervent admirer of Mrs. Porter, after her first
husband's death.  Miss Porter told me, that when he was first
introduced to her mother, his appearance was very forbidding: he
was then lean and lank, so that his immense structure of bones was
hideously striking to the eye, and the scars of the scrophula were
deeply visible.  He also wore his hair, which was straight and
stiff, and separated behind: and he often had, seemingly,
convulsive starts and odd gesticulations, which tended to excite at
once surprize and ridicule.  Mrs. Porter was so much engaged by his
conversation that she overlooked all these external disadvantages,
and said to her daughter, 'this is the most sensible man that I
ever saw in my life.'

Though Mrs. Porter was double the age of Johnson, and her person
and manner, as described to me by the late Mr. Garrick, were by no
means pleasing to others, she must have had a superiority of
understanding and talents, as she certainly inspired him with a
more than ordinary passion; and she having signified her
willingness to accept of his hand, he went to Lichfield to ask his
mother's consent to the marriage, which he could not but be
conscious was a very imprudent scheme, both on account of their
disparity of years, and her want of fortune.  But Mrs. Johnson knew
too well the ardour of her son's temper, and was too tender a
parent to oppose his inclinations.

I know not for what reason the marriage ceremony was not performed
at Birmingham; but a resolution was taken that it should be at
Derby, for which place the bride and bridegroom set out on
horseback, I suppose in very good humour.  But though Mr. Topham
Beauclerk used archly to mention Johnson's having told him, with
much gravity, 'Sir, it was a love marriage on both sides,' I have
had from my illustrious friend the following curious account of
their journey to church upon the nuptial morn:

9th JULY:--'Sir, she had read the old romances, and had got into
her head the fantastical notion that a woman of spirit should use
her lover like a dog.  So, Sir, at first she told me that I rode
too fast, and she could not keep up with me; and, when I rode a
little slower, she passed me, and complained that I lagged behind.
I was not to be made the slave of caprice; and I resolved to begin
as I meant to end.  I therefore pushed on briskly, till I was
fairly out of her sight.  The road lay between two hedges, so I was
sure she could not miss it; and I contrived that she should soon
come up with me.  When she did, I observed her to be in tears.'

This, it must be allowed, was a singular beginning of connubial
felicity; but there is no doubt that Johnson, though he thus shewed
a manly firmness, proved a most affectionate and indulgent husband
to the last moment of Mrs. Johnson's life: and in his Prayers and
Meditations, we find very remarkable evidence that his regard and
fondness for her never ceased, even after her death.

He now set up a private academy, for which purpose he hired a large
house, well situated near his native city.  In the Gentleman's
Magazine for 1736, there is the following advertisement:

'At Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordshire, young gentlemen are
boarded and taught the Latin and Greek languages, by SAMUEL
JOHNSON.'

But the only pupils that were put under his care were the
celebrated David Garrick and his brother George, and a Mr. Offely,
a young gentleman of good fortune who died early.  The truth is,
that he was not so well qualified for being a teacher of elements,
and a conductor in learning by regular gradations, as men of
inferiour powers of mind.  His own acquisitions had been made by
fits and starts, by violent irruptions into the regions of
knowledge; and it could not be expected that his impatience would
be subdued, and his impetuosity restrained, so as to fit him for a
quiet guide to novices.

Johnson was not more satisfied with his situation as the master of
an academy, than with that of the usher of a school; we need not
wonder, therefore, that he did not keep his academy above a year
and a half.  From Mr. Garrick's account he did not appear to have
been profoundly reverenced by his pupils.  His oddities of manner,
and uncouth gesticulations, could not but be the subject of
merriment to them; and, in particular, the young rogues used to
listen at the door of his bed-chamber, and peep through the key-
hole, that they might turn into ridicule his tumultuous and awkward
fondness for Mrs. Johnson, whom he used to name by the familiar
appellation of Tetty or Tetsey, which, like Betty or Betsey, is
provincially used as a contraction for Elisabeth, her christian
name, but which to us seems ludicrous, when applied to a woman of
her age and appearance.  Mr. Garrick described her to me as very
fat, with a bosom of more than ordinary protuberance, with swelled
cheeks of a florid red, produced by thick painting, and increased
by the liberal use of cordials; flaring and fantastick in her
dress, and affected both in her speech and her general behaviour.
I have seen Garrick exhibit her, by his exquisite talent of
mimickry, so as to excite the heartiest bursts of laughter; but he,
probably, as is the case in all such representations, considerably
aggravated the picture.

Johnson now thought of trying his fortune in London, the great
field of genius and exertion, where talents of every kind have the
fullest scope, and the highest encouragement.  It is a memorable
circumstance that his pupil David Garrick went thither at the same
time,* with intention to complete his education, and follow the
profession of the law, from which he was soon diverted by his
decided preference for the stage.


* Both of them used to talk pleasantly of this their first journey
to London.  Garrick, evidently meaning to embellish a little, said
one day in my hearing, 'we rode and tied.'  And the Bishop of
Killaloe informed me, that at another time, when Johnson and
Garrick were dining together in a pretty large company, Johnson
humorously ascertaining the chronology of something, expressed
himself thus: 'that was the year when I came to London with two-
pence half-penny in my pocket.'  Garrick overhearing him,
exclaimed, 'eh? what do you say? with two-pence half-penny in your
pocket?'--JOHNSON, 'Why yes; when I came with two-pence half-penny
in MY pocket, and thou, Davy, with three half-pence in thine.'--
BOSWELL.


They were recommended to Mr. Colson, an eminent mathematician and
master of an academy, by the following letter from Mr. Walmsley:


'TO THE REVEREND MR. COLSON.

'Lichfield, March 2,1737.

'Dear Sir, I had the favour of yours, and am extremely obliged to
you; but I cannot say I had a greater affection for you upon it
than I had before, being long since so much endeared to you, as
well by an early friendship, as by your many excellent and valuable
qualifications; and, had I a son of my own, it would be my
ambition, instead of sending him to the University, to dispose of
him as this young gentleman is.

'He, and another neighbour of mine, one Mr. Samuel Johnson, set out
this morning for London together.  Davy Garrick is to be with you
early the next week, and Mr. Johnson to try his fate with a
tragedy, and to see to get himself employed in some translation,
either from the Latin or the French.  Johnson is a very good
scholar and poet, and I have great hopes will turn out a fine
tragedy-writer.  If it should any way lie in your way, doubt not
but you would be ready to recommend and assist your countryman.

'G. WALMSLEY.'


How he employed himself upon his first coming to London is not
particularly known.'


* One curious anecdote was communicated by himself to Mr. John
Nichols.  Mr. Wilcox, the bookseller, on being informed by him that
his intention was to get his livelihood as an authour, eyed his
robust frame attentively, and with a significant look, said, 'You
had better buy a porter's knot.'  He however added, 'Wilcox was one
of my best friends.'--BOSWELL.


He had a little money when he came to town, and he knew how he
could live in the cheapest manner.  His first lodgings were at the
house of Mr. Norris, a staymaker, in Exeter-street, adjoining
Catharine-street, in the Strand.  'I dined (said he) very well for
eight-pence, with very good company, at the Pine Apple in New-
street, just by.  Several of them had travelled.  They expected to
meet every day; but did not know one another's names.  It used to
cost the rest a shilling, for they drank wine; but I had a cut of
meat for six-pence, and bread for a penny, and gave the waiter a
penny; so that I was quite well served, nay, better than the rest,
for they gave the waiter nothing.'  He at this time, I believe,
abstained entirely from fermented liquors: a practice to which he
rigidly conformed for many years together, at different periods of
his life.

His Ofellus in the Art of Living in London, I have heard him
relate, was an Irish painter, whom he knew at Birmingham, and who
had practised his own precepts of oeconomy for several years in the
British capital.  He assured Johnson, who, I suppose, was then
meditating to try his fortune in London, but was apprehensive of
the expence, 'that thirty pounds a year was enough to enable a man
to live there without being contemptible.  He allowed ten pounds
for clothes and linen.  He said a man might live in a garret at
eighteen-pence a week; few people would inquire where he lodged;
and if they did, it was easy to say, "Sir, I am to be found at such
a place."  By spending three-pence in a coffeehouse, he might be
for some hours every day in very good company; he might dine for
six-pence, breakfast on bread and milk for a penny, and do without
supper.  On clean-shirt-day he went abroad, and paid visits.'  I
have heard him more than once talk of this frugal friend, whom he
recollected with esteem and kindness, and did not like to have one
smile at the recital.  'This man (said he, gravely) was a very
sensible man, who perfectly understood common affairs: a man of a
great deal of knowledge of the world, fresh from life, not strained
through books.  He amused himself, I remember, by computing how
much more expence was absolutely necessary to live upon the same
scale with that which his friend described, when the value of money
was diminished by the progress of commerce.  It may be estimated
that double the money might now with difficulty be sufficient.'

Amidst this cold obscurity, there was one brilliant circumstance to
cheer him; he was well acquainted with Mr. Henry Hervey, one of the
branches of the noble family of that name, who had been quartered
at Lichfield as an officer of the army, and had at this time a
house in London, where Johnson was frequently entertained, and had
an opportunity of meeting genteel company.  Not very long before
his death, he mentioned this, among other particulars of his life,
which he was kindly communicating to me; and he described this
early friend, 'Harry Hervey,' thus: 'He was a vicious man, but very
kind to me.  If you call a dog HERVEY, I shall love him.'

He told me he had now written only three acts of his Irene, and
that he retired for some time to lodgings at Greenwich, where he
proceeded in it somewhat further, and used to compose, walking in
the Park; but did not stay long enough at that place to finish it.

In the course of the summer he returned to Lichfield, where he had
left Mrs. Johnson, and there he at last finished his tragedy, which
was not executed with his rapidity of composition upon other
occasions, but was slowly and painfully elaborated.  A few days
before his death, while burning a great mass of papers, he picked
out from among them the original unformed sketch of this tragedy,
in his own hand-writing, and gave it to Mr. Langton, by whose
favour a copy of it is now in my possession.

Johnson's residence at Lichfield, on his return to it at this time,
was only for three months; and as he had as yet seen but a small
part of the wonders of the Metropolis, he had little to tell his
townsmen.  He related to me the following minute anecdote of this
period: 'In the last age, when my mother lived in London, there
were two sets of people, those who gave the wall, and those who
took it; the peaceable and the quarrelsome.  When I returned to
Lichfield, after having been in London, my mother asked me, whether
I was one of those who gave the wall, or those who took it.  NOW it
is fixed that every man keeps to the right; or, if one is taking
the wall, another yields it; and it is never a dispute.'

He now removed to London with Mrs. Johnson; but her daughter, who
had lived with them at Edial, was left with her relations in the
country.  His lodgings were for some time in Woodstock-street, near
Hanover-square, and afterwards in Castle-street, near Cavendish-
square.

His tragedy being by this time, as he thought, completely finished
and fit for the stage, he was very desirous that it should be
brought forward.  Mr. Peter Garrick told me, that Johnson and he
went together to the Fountain tavern, and read it over, and that he
afterwards solicited Mr. Fleetwood, the patentee of Drury-lane
theatre, to have it acted at his house; but Mr. Fleetwood would not
accept it, probably because it was not patronized by some man of
high rank; and it was not acted till 1749, when his friend David
Garrick was manager of that theatre.

The Gentleman's Magazine, begun and carried on by Mr. Edward Cave,
under the name of SYLVANUS URBAN, had attracted the notice and
esteem of Johnson, in an eminent degree, before he came to London
as an adventurer in literature.  He told me, that when he first saw
St. John's Gate, the place where that deservedly popular miscellany
was originally printed, he 'beheld it with reverence.'

It appears that he was now enlisted by Mr. Cave as a regular
coadjutor in his magazine, by which he probably obtained a
tolerable livelihood.  At what time, or by what means, he had
acquired a competent knowledge both of French and Italian, I do not
know; but he was so well skilled in them, as to be sufficiently
qualified for a translator.  That part of his labour which
consisted in emendation and improvement of the productions of other
contributors, like that employed in levelling ground, can be
perceived only by those who had an opportunity of comparing the
original with the altered copy.  What we certainly know to have
been done by him in this way, was the Debates in both houses of
Parliament, under the name of 'The Senate of Lilliput,' sometimes
with feigned denominations of the several speakers, sometimes with
denominations formed of the letters of their real names, in the
manner of what is called anagram, so that they might easily be
decyphered.  Parliament then kept the press in a kind of mysterious
awe, which made it necessary to have recourse to such devices.  In
our time it has acquired an unrestrained freedom, so that the
people in all parts of the kingdom have a fair, open, and exact
report of the actual proceedings of their representatives and
legislators, which in our constitution is highly to be valued;
though, unquestionably, there has of late been too much reason to
complain of the petulance with which obscure scribblers have
presumed to treat men of the most respectable character and
situation.

This important article of the Gentlemen's Magazine was, for several
years, executed by Mr. William Guthrie, a man who deserves to be
respectably recorded in the literary annals of this country.  The
debates in Parliament, which were brought home and digested by
Guthrie, whose memory, though surpassed by others who have since
followed him in the same department, was yet very quick and
tenacious, were sent by Cave to Johnson for his revision; and,
after some time, when Guthrie had attained to greater variety of
employment, and the speeches were more and more enriched by the
accession of Johnson's genius, it was resolved that he should do
the whole himself, from the scanty notes furnished by persons
employed to attend in both houses of Parliament.  Sometimes,
however, as he himself told me, he had nothing more communicated to
him than the names of the several speakers, and the part which they
had taken in the debate.*


* Johnson later told Boswell that 'as soon as he found that the
speeches were thought genuine he determined that he would write no
more of them: for "he would not be accessary to the propagation of
falsehood."  And such was the tenderness of his conscience, that a
short time before his death he expressed his regret for his having
been the authour of fictions which had passed for realities.'--Ed.


But what first displayed his transcendent powers, and 'gave the
world assurance of the MAN,' was his London, a Poem, in Imitation
of the Third Satire of Juvenal: which came out in May this year,
and burst forth with a splendour, the rays of which will for ever
encircle his name.  Boileau had imitated the same satire with great
success, applying it to Paris; but an attentive comparison will
satisfy every reader, that he is much excelled by the English
Juvenal.  Oldham had also imitated it, and applied it to London;
all which performances concur to prove, that great cities, in every
age, and in every country, will furnish similar topicks of satire.
Whether Johnson had previously read Oldham's imitation, I do not
know; but it is not a little remarkable, that there is scarcely any
coincidence found between the two performances, though upon the
very same subject.

Johnson's London was published in May, 1738; and it is remarkable,
that it came out on the same morning with Pope's satire, entitled
'1738;' so that England had at once its Juvenal and Horace as
poetical monitors.  The Reverend Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of
Salisbury, to whom I am indebted for some obliging communications,
was then a student at Oxford, and remembers well the effect which
London produced.  Every body was delighted with it; and there being
no name to it, the first buz of the literary circles was 'here is
an unknown poet, greater even than Pope.'  And it is recorded in
the Gentleman's Magazine of that year, that it 'got to the second
edition in the course of a week.'

One of the warmest patrons of this poem on its first appearance was
General Oglethorpe, whose 'strong benevolence of soul,' was
unabated during the course of a very long life; though it is
painful to think, that he had but too much reason to become cold
and callous, and discontented with the world, from the neglect
which he experienced of his publick and private worth, by those in
whose power it was to gratify so gallant a veteran with marks of
distinction.  This extraordinary person was as remarkable for his
learning and taste, as for his other eminent qualities; and no man
was more prompt, active, and generous, in encouraging merit.  I
have heard Johnson gratefully acknowledge, in his presence, the
kind and effectual support which he gave to his London, though
unacquainted with its authour.

Pope, who then filled the poetical throne without a rival, it may
reasonably be presumed, must have been particularly struck by the
sudden appearance of such a poet; and, to his credit, let it be
remembered, that his feelings and conduct on the occasion were
candid and liberal.  He requested Mr. Richardson, son of the
painter, to endeavour to find out who this new authour was.  Mr.
Richardson, after some inquiry, having informed him that he had
discovered only that his name was Johnson, and that he was some
obscure man, Pope said; 'he will soon be deterre.'  We shall
presently see, from a note written by Pope, that he was himself
afterwards more successful in his inquiries than his friend.

While we admire the poetical excellence of this poem, candour
obliges us to allow, that the flame of patriotism and zeal for
popular resistance with which it is fraught, had no just cause.
There was, in truth, no 'oppression;' the 'nation' was NOT
'cheated.'  Sir Robert Walpole was a wise and a benevolent
minister, who thought that the happiness and prosperity of a
commercial country like ours, would be best promoted by peace,
which he accordingly maintained, with credit, during a very long
period.  Johnson himself afterwards honestly acknowledged the merit
of Walpole, whom he called 'a fixed star;' while he characterised
his opponent, Pitt, as 'a meteor.'  But Johnson's juvenile poem was
naturally impregnated with the fire of opposition, and upon every
account was universally admired.

Though thus elevated into fame, and conscious of uncommon powers,
he had not that bustling confidence, or, I may rather say, that
animated ambition, which one might have supposed would have urged
him to endeavour at rising in life.  But such was his inflexible
dignity of character, that he could not stoop to court the great;
without which, hardly any man has made his way to a high station.
He could not expect to produce many such works as his London, and
he felt the hardships of writing for bread; he was, therefore,
willing to resume the office of a schoolmaster, so as to have a
sure, though moderate income for his life; and an offer being made
to him of the mastership of a school, provided he could obtain the
degree of Master of Arts, Dr. Adams was applied to, by a common
friend, to know whether that could be granted him as a favour from
the University of Oxford.  But though he had made such a figure in
the literary world, it was then thought too great a favour to be
asked.

Pope, without any knowledge of him but from his London, recommended
him to Earl Gower, who endeavoured to procure for him a degree from
Dublin.

It was, perhaps, no small disappointment to Johnson that this
respectable application had not the desired effect; yet how much
reason has there been, both for himself and his country, to rejoice
that it did not succeed, as he might probably have wasted in
obscurity those hours in which he afterwards produced his
incomparable works.

About this time he made one other effort to emancipate himself from
the drudgery of authourship.  He applied to Dr. Adams, to consult
Dr. Smalbroke of the Commons, whether a person might be permitted
to practice as an advocate there, without a doctor's degree in
Civil Law.  'I am (said he) a total stranger to these studies; but
whatever is a profession, and maintains numbers, must be within the
reach of common abilities, and some degree of industry.'  Dr. Adams
was much pleased with Johnson's design to employ his talents in
that manner, being confident he would have attained to great
eminence.

As Mr. Pope's note concerning Johnson, alluded to in a former page,
refers both to his London, and his Marmor Norfolciense, I have
deferred inserting it till now.  I am indebted for it to Dr. Percy,
the Bishop of Dromore, who permitted me to copy it from the
original in his possession.  It was presented to his Lordship by
Sir Joshua Reynolds, to whom it was given by the son of Mr.
Richardson the painter, the person to whom it is addressed.  I have
transcribed it with minute exactness, that the peculiar mode of
writing, and imperfect spelling of that celebrated poet, may be
exhibited to the curious in literature.  It justifies Swift's
epithet of 'Paper-sparing Pope,' for it is written on a slip no
larger than a common message-card, and was sent to Mr. Richardson,
along with the Imitation of Juvenal.


'This is imitated by one Johnson who put in for a Publick-school in
Shropshire, but was disappointed.  He has an infirmity of the
convulsive kind, that attacks him sometimes, so as to make him a
sad Spectacle.  Mr. P. from the Merit of this Work which was all
the knowledge he had of him endeavour'd to serve him without his
own application; & wrote to my Ld gore, but he did not succeed.
Mr. Johnson published afterwds another Poem in Latin with Notes the
whole very Humerous call'd the Norfolk Prophecy.  P.'


Johnson had been told of this note; and Sir Joshua Reynolds
informed him of the compliment which it contained, but, from
delicacy, avoided shewing him the paper itself.  When Sir Joshua
observed to Johnson that he seemed very desirous to see Pope's
note, he answered, 'Who would not be proud to have such a man as
Pope so solicitous in inquiring about him?'

The infirmity to which Mr. Pope alludes, appeared to me also, as I
have elsewhere observed, to be of the convulsive kind, and of the
nature of that distemper called St. Vitus's dance; and in this
opinion I am confirmed by the description which Sydenham gives of
that disease.  'This disorder is a kind of convulsion.  It
manifests itself by halting or unsteadiness of one of the legs,
which the patient draws after him like an ideot.  If the hand of
the same side be applied to the breast, or any other part of the
body, he cannot keep it a moment in the same posture, but it will
be drawn into a different one by a convulsion, notwithstanding all
his efforts to the contrary.'  Sir Joshua Reynolds, however, was of
a different opinion, and favoured me with the following paper.

'Those motions or tricks of Dr. Johnson are improperly called
convulsions.  He could sit motionless, when he was told so to do,
as well as any other man; my opinion is that it proceeded from a
habit which he had indulged himself in, of accompanying his
thoughts with certain untoward actions, and those actions always
appeared to me as if they were meant to reprobate some part of his
past conduct.  Whenever he was not engaged in conversation, such
thoughts were sure to rush into his mind; and, for this reason, any
company, any employment whatever, he preferred to being alone.  The
great business of his life (he said) was to escape from himself;
this disposition he considered as the disease of his mind, which
nothing cured but company.

'One instance of his absence and particularity, as it is
characteristick of the man, may be worth relating.  When he and I
took a journey together into the West, we visited the late Mr.
Banks, of Dorsetshire; the conversation turning upon pictures,
which Johnson could not well see, he retired to a corner of the
room, stretching out his right leg as far as he could reach before
him, then bringing up his left leg, and stretching his right still
further on.  The old gentleman observing him, went up to him, and
in a very courteous manner assured him, that though it was not a
new house, the flooring was perfectly safe.  The Doctor started
from his reverie, like a person waked out of his sleep, but spoke
not a word.'

While we are on this subject, my readers may not be displeased with
another anecdote, communicated to me by the same friend, from the
relation of Mr. Hogarth.

Johnson used to be a pretty frequent visitor at the house of Mr.
Richardson, authour of Clarissa, and other novels of extensive
reputation.  Mr. Hogarth came one day to see Richardson, soon after
the execution of Dr. Cameron, for having taken arms for the house
of Stuart in 1745-6; and being a warm partisan of George the
Second, he observed to Richardson, that certainly there must have
been some very unfavourable circumstances lately discovered in this
particular case, which had induced the King to approve of an
execution for rebellion so long after the time when it was
committed, as this had the appearance of putting a man to death in
cold blood, and was very unlike his Majesty's usual clemency.
While he was talking, he perceived a person standing at a window in
the room, shaking his head, and rolling himself about in a strange
ridiculous manner.  He concluded that he was an ideot, whom his
relations had put under the care of Mr. Richardson, as a very good
man.  To his great surprise, however, this figure stalked forwards
to where he and Mr. Richardson were sitting, and all at once took
up the argument, and burst out into an invective against George the
Second, as one, who, upon all occasions was unrelenting and
barbarous; mentioning many instances, particularly, that when an
officer of high rank had been acquitted by a Court Martial, George
the Second had with his own hand, struck his name off the list.  In
short, he displayed such a power of eloquence, that Hogarth looked
at him with astonishment, and actually imagined that this ideot had
been at the moment inspired.  Neither Hogarth nor Johnson were made
known to each other at this interview.

1740: AETAT. 3l.]--In 1740 he wrote for the Gentleman's Magazine
the 'Preface,' 'Life of Sir Francis Drake,' and the first parts of
those of 'Admiral Blake,' and of 'Philip Baretier,' both which he
finished the following year.  He also wrote an 'Essay on Epitaphs,'
and an 'Epitaph on Philips, a Musician,' which was afterwards
published with some other pieces of his, in Mrs. Williams's
Miscellanies.  This Epitaph is so exquisitely beautiful, that I
remember even Lord Kames, strangely prejudiced as he was against
Dr. Johnson, was compelled to allow it very high praise.  It has
been ascribed to Mr. Garrick, from its appearing at first with the
signature G; but I have heard Mr. Garrick declare, that it was
written by Dr. Johnson, and give the following account of the
manner in which it was composed.  Johnson and he were sitting
together; when, amongst other things, Garrick repeated an Epitaph
upon this Philips by a Dr. Wilkes, in these words:


    'Exalted soul! whose harmony could please
     The love-sick virgin, and the gouty ease;
     Could jarring discord, like Amphion, move
     To beauteous order and harmonious love;
     Rest here in peace, till angels bid thee rise,
     And meet thy blessed Saviour in the skies.'


Johnson shook his head at these common-place funereal lines, and
said to Garrick, 'I think, Davy, I can make a better.'  Then,
stirring about his tea for a little while, in a state of
meditation, he almost extempore produced the following verses:


    'Philips, whose touch harmonious could remove
     The pangs of guilty power or hapless love;
     Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more,
     Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before;
     Sleep, undisturb'd, within this peaceful shrine,
     Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!'


1742: AETAT. 33.]--In 1742 he wrote . . . 'Proposals for Printing
Bibliotheca Harleiana, or a Catalogue of the Library of the Earl of
Oxford.'  He was employed in this business by Mr. Thomas Osborne
the bookseller, who purchased the library for 13,000l., a sum which
Mr. Oldys says, in one of his manuscripts, was not more than the
binding of the books had cost; yet, as Dr. Johnson assured me, the
slowness of the sale was such, that there was not much gained by
it.  It has been confidently related, with many embellishments,
that Johnson one day knocked Osborne down in his shop, with a
folio, and put his foot upon his neck.  The simple truth I had from
Johnson himself.  'Sir, he was impertinent to me, and I beat him.
But it was not in his shop: it was in my own chamber.'

1744: AETAT. 35.]--He produced one work this year, fully sufficient
to maintain the high reputation which he had acquired.  This was
The Life of Richard Savage; a man, of whom it is difficult to speak
impartially, without wondering that he was for some time the
intimate companion of Johnson; for his character was marked by
profligacy, insolence, and ingratitude: yet, as he undoubtedly had
a warm and vigorous, though unregulated mind, had seen life in all
its varieties, and been much in the company of the statesmen and
wits of his time, he could communicate to Johnson an abundant
supply of such materials as his philosophical curiosity most
eagerly desired; and as Savage's misfortunes and misconduct had
reduced him to the lowest state of wretchedness as a writer for
bread, his visits to St. John's Gate naturally brought Johnson and
him together.

It is melancholy to reflect, that Johnson and Savage were sometimes
in such extreme indigence,* that they could not pay for a lodging;
so that they have wandered together whole nights in the streets.
Yet in these almost incredible scenes of distress, we may suppose
that Savage mentioned many of the anecdotes with which Johnson
afterwards enriched the life of his unhappy companion, and those of
other Poets.


* Soon after Savage's Life was published, Mr. Harte dined with
Edward Cave, and occasionally praised it.  Soon after, meeting him,
Cave said, 'You made a man very happy t'other day.'--'How could
that be.' says Harte; 'nobody was there but ourselves.'  Cave
answered, by reminding him that a plate of victuals was sent behind
a screen, which was to Johnson, dressed so shabbily, that he did
not choose to appear; but on hearing the conversation, was highly
delighted with the encomiums on his book--MALONE.


He told Sir Joshua Reynolds, that one night in particular, when
Savage and he walked round St. James's-square for want of a
lodging, they were not at all depressed by their situation; but in
high spirits and brimful of patriotism, traversed the square for
several hours, inveighed against the minister, and 'resolved they
would stand by their country.'

In Johnson's Life of Savage, although it must be allowed that its
moral is the reverse of--'Respicere exemplar vitae morumque
jubebo,' a very useful lesson is inculcated, to guard men of warm
passions from a too free indulgence of them; and the various
incidents are related in so clear and animated a manner, and
illuminated throughout with so much philosophy, that it is one of
the most interesting narratives in the English language.  Sir
Joshua Reynolds told me, that upon his return from Italy he met
with it in Devonshire, knowing nothing of its authour, and began to
read it while he was standing with his arm leaning against a
chimney-piece.  It seized his attention so strongly, that, not
being able to lay down the book till he had finished it, when he
attempted to move, he found his arm totally benumbed.  The rapidity
with which this work was composed, is a wonderful circumstance.
Johnson has been heard to say, 'I wrote forty-eight of the printed
octavo pages of the Life of Savage at a sitting; but then I sat up
all night.'

It is remarkable, that in this biographical disquisition there
appears a very strong symptom of Johnson's prejudice against
players; a prejudice which may be attributed to the following
causes: first, the imperfection of his organs, which were so
defective that he was not susceptible of the fine impressions which
theatrical excellence produces upon the generality of mankind;
secondly, the cold rejection of his tragedy; and, lastly, the
brilliant success of Garrick, who had been his pupil, who had come
to London at the same time with him, not in a much more prosperous
state than himself, and whose talents he undoubtedly rated low,
compared with his own.  His being outstripped by his pupil in the
race of immediate fame, as well as of fortune, probably made him
feel some indignation, as thinking that whatever might be Garrick's
merits in his art, the reward was too great when compared with what
the most successful efforts of literary labour could attain.  At
all periods of his life Johnson used to talk contemptuously of
players; but in this work he speaks of them with peculiar acrimony;
for which, perhaps, there was formerly too much reason from the
licentious and dissolute manners of those engaged in that
profession.  It is but justice to add, that in our own time such a
change has taken place, that there is no longer room for such an
unfavourable distinction.

His schoolfellow and friend, Dr. Taylor, told me a pleasant
anecdote of Johnson's triumphing over his pupil David Garrick.
When that great actor had played some little time at Goodman's
fields, Johnson and Taylor went to see him perform, and afterwards
passed the evening at a tavern with him and old Giffard.  Johnson,
who was ever depreciating stage-players, after censuring some
mistakes in emphasis which Garrick had committed in the course of
that night's acting, said, 'The players, Sir, have got a kind of
rant, with which they run on, without any regard either to accent
or emphasis.'  Both Garrick and Giffard were offended at this
sarcasm, and endeavoured to refute it; upon which Johnson rejoined,
'Well now, I'll give you something to speak, with which you are
little acquainted, and then we shall see how just my observation
is.  That shall be the criterion.  Let me hear you repeat the ninth
Commandment, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy
neighbour."'  Both tried at it, said Dr. Taylor, and both mistook
the emphasis, which should be upon not and false witness.  Johnson
put them right, and enjoyed his victory with great glee.

Johnson's partiality for Savage made him entertain no doubt of his
story, however extraordinary and improbable.  It never occurred to
him to question his being the son of the Countess of Macclesfield,
of whose unrelenting barbarity he so loudly complained, and the
particulars of which are related in so strong and affecting a
manner in Johnson's life of him.  Johnson was certainly well
warranted in publishing his narrative, however offensive it might
be to the lady and her relations, because her alledged unnatural
and cruel conduct to her son, and shameful avowal of guilt, were
stated in a Life of Savage now lying before me, which came out so
early as 1727, and no attempt had been made to confute it, or to
punish the authour or printer as a libeller: but for the honour of
human nature, we should be glad to find the shocking tale not true;
and, from a respectable gentleman connected with the lady's family,
I have received such information and remarks, as joined to my own
inquiries, will, I think, render it at least somewhat doubtful,
especially when we consider that it must have originated from the
person himself who went by the name of Richard Savage.

1746: AETAT. 37.]--It is somewhat curious, that his literary career
appears to have been almost totally suspended in the years 1745 and
1746, those years which were marked by a civil war in Great-
Britain, when a rash attempt was made to restore the House of
Stuart to the throne.  That he had a tenderness for that
unfortunate House, is well known; and some may fancifully imagine,
that a sympathetick anxiety impeded the exertion of his
intellectual powers: but I am inclined to think, that he was,
during this time, sketching the outlines of his great philological
work.

1747: AETAT. 38.]--This year his old pupil and friend, David
Garrick, having become joint patentee and manager of Drury-lane
theatre, Johnson honoured his opening of it with a Prologue, which
for just and manly dramatick criticism, on the whole range of the
English stage, as well as for poetical excellence, is unrivalled.
Like the celebrated Epilogue to the Distressed Mother, it was,
during the season, often called for by the audience.

But the year 1747 is distinguished as the epoch, when Johnson's
arduous and important work, his DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE,
was announced to the world, by the publication of its Plan or
Prospectus.

How long this immense undertaking had been the object of his
contemplation, I do not know.  I once asked him by what means he
had attained to that astonishing knowledge of our language, by
which he was enabled to realise a design of such extent, and
accumulated difficulty.  He told me, that 'it was not the effect of
particular study; but that it had grown up in his mind insensibly.'
I have been informed by Mr. James Dodsley, that several years
before this period, when Johnson was one day sitting in his brother
Robert's shop, he heard his brother suggest to him, that a
Dictionary of the English Language would be a work that would be
well received by the publick; that Johnson seemed at first to catch
at the proposition, but, after a pause, said, in his abrupt
decisive manner, 'I believe I shall not undertake it.'  That he,
however, had bestowed much thought upon the subject, before he
published his Plan, is evident from the enlarged, clear, and
accurate views which it exhibits; and we find him mentioning in
that tract, that many of the writers whose testimonies were to be
produced as authorities, were selected by Pope; which proves that
he had been furnished, probably by Mr. Robert Dodsley, with
whatever hints that eminent poet had contributed towards a great
literary project, that had been the subject of important
consideration in a former reign.

The booksellers who contracted with Johnson, single and unaided,
for the execution of a work, which in other countries has not been
effected but by the co-operating exertions of many, were Mr. Robert
Dodsley, Mr. Charles Hitch, Mr. Andrew Millar, the two Messieurs
Longman, and the two Messieurs Knapton.  The price stipulated was
fifteen hundred and seventy-five pounds.

The Plan, was addressed to Philip Dormer, Earl of Chesterfield,
then one of his Majesty's Principal Secretaries of State; a
nobleman who was very ambitious of literary distinction, and who,
upon being informed of the design, had expressed himself in terms
very favourable to its success.  There is, perhaps in every thing
of any consequence, a secret history which it would be amusing to
know, could we have it authentically communicated.  Johnson told
me, 'Sir, the way in which the Plan of my Dictionary came to be
inscribed to Lord Chesterfield, was this: I had neglected to write
it by the time appointed.  Dodsley suggested a desire to have it
addressed to Lord Chesterfield.  I laid hold of this as a pretext
for delay, that it might be better done, and let Dodsley have his
desire.  I said to my friend, Dr. Bathurst, "Now if any good comes
of my addressing to Lord Chesterfield, it will be ascribed to deep
policy, when, in fact, it was only a casual excuse for laziness."'

Dr. Adams found him one day busy at his Dictionary, when the
following dialogue ensued.  'ADAMS.  This is a great work, Sir.
How are you to get all the etymologies?  JOHNSON.  Why, Sir, here
is a shelf with Junius, and Skinner, and others; and there is a
Welch gentleman who has published a collection of Welch proverbs,
who will help me with the Welch.  ADAMS.  But, Sir, how can you do
this in three years?  JOHNSON.  Sir, I have no doubt that I can do
it in three years.  ADAMS.  But the French Academy, which consists
of forty members, took forty years to compile their Dictionary.
JOHNSON.  Sir, thus it is.  This is the proportion.  Let me see;
forty times forty is sixteen hundred.  As three to sixteen hundred,
so is the proportion of an Englishman to a Frenchman.'  With so
much ease and pleasantry could he talk of that prodigious labour
which he had undertaken to execute.

For the mechanical part he employed, as he told me, six amanuenses;
and let it be remembered by the natives of North-Britain, to whom
he is supposed to have been so hostile, that five of them were of
that country.  There were two Messieurs Macbean; Mr. Shiels, who we
shall hereafter see partly wrote the Lives of the Poets to which
the name of Cibber is affixed; Mr. Stewart, son of Mr. George
Stewart, bookseller at Edinburgh; and a Mr. Maitland.  The sixth of
these humble assistants was Mr. Peyton, who, I believe, taught
French, and published some elementary tracts.

To all these painful labourers, Johnson shewed a never-ceasing
kindness, so far as they stood in need of it.  The elder Mr.
Macbean had afterwards the honour of being Librarian to Archibald,
Duke of Argyle, for many years, but was left without a shilling.
Johnson wrote for him a Preface to A System of Ancient Geography;
and, by the favour of Lord Thurlow, got him admitted a poor brother
of the Charterhouse.  For Shiels, who died of a consumption, he had
much tenderness; and it has been thought that some choice sentences
in the Lives of the Poets were supplied by him.  Peyton, when
reduced to penury, had frequent aid from the bounty of Johnson, who
at last was at the expense of burying both him and his wife.

While the Dictionary was going forward, Johnson lived part of the
time in Holborn, part in Gough-square, Fleet-street; and he had an
upper room fitted up like a counting-house for the purpose, in
which he gave to the copyists their several tasks.  The words,
partly taken from other dictionaries, and partly supplied by
himself, having been first written down with spaces left between
them, he delivered in writing their etymologies, definitions, and
various significations.  The authorities were copied from the books
themselves, in which he had marked the passages with a black-lead
pencil, the traces of which could easily be effaced.  I have seen
several of them, in which that trouble had not been taken; so that
they were just as when used by the copyists.  It is remarkable,
that he was so attentive in the choice of the passages in which
words were authorised, that one may read page after page of his
Dictionary with improvement and pleasure; and it should not pass
unobserved, that he has quoted no authour whose writings had a
tendency to hurt sound religion and morality.

The necessary expense of preparing a work of such magnitude for the
press, must have been a considerable deduction from the price
stipulated to be paid for the copy-right.  I understand that
nothing was allowed by the booksellers on that account; and I
remember his telling me, that a large portion of it having by
mistake been written upon both sides of the paper, so as to be
inconvenient for the compositor, it cost him twenty pounds to have
it transcribed upon one side only.

He is now to be considered as 'tugging at his oar,' as engaged in a
steady continued course of occupation, sufficient to employ all his
time for some years; and which was the best preventive of that
constitutional melancholy which was ever lurking about him, ready
to trouble his quiet.  But his enlarged and lively mind could not
be satisfied without more diversity of employment, and the pleasure
of animated relaxation.  He therefore not only exerted his talents
in occasional composition very different from Lexicography, but
formed a club in Ivy-lane, Paternoster-row, with a view to enjoy
literary discussion, and amuse his evening hours.  The members
associated with him in this little society were his beloved friend
Dr. Richard Bathurst, Mr. Hawkesworth, afterwards well known by his
writings, Mr. John Hawkins, an attorney, and a few others of
different professions.

1749: AETAT. 40.]--In January, 1749, he published the Vanity of
human Wishes, being the Tenth Satire of Juvenal imitated.  He, I
believe, composed it the preceding year.  Mrs. Johnson, for the
sake of country air, had lodgings at Hampstead, to which he
resorted occasionally, and there the greatest part, if not the
whole, of this Imitation was written.  The fervid rapidity with
which it was produced, is scarcely credible.  I have heard him say,
that he composed seventy lines of it in one day, without putting
one of them upon paper till they were finished.  I remember when I
once regretted to him that he had not given us more of Juvenal's
Satires, he said he probably should give more, for he had them all
in his head; by which I understood that he had the originals and
correspondent allusions floating in his mind, which he could, when
he pleased, embody and render permanent without much labour.  Some
of them, however, he observed were too gross for imitation.

The profits of a single poem, however excellent, appear to have
been very small in the last reign, compared with what a publication
of the same size has since been known to yield.  I have mentioned,
upon Johnson's own authority, that for his London he had only ten
guineas; and now, after his fame was established, he got for his
Vanity of Human Wishes but five guineas more, as is proved by an
authentick document in my possession.

His Vanity of Human Wishes has less of common life, but more of a
philosophick dignity than his London.  More readers, therefore,
will be delighted with the pointed spirit of London, than with the
profound reflection of The Vanity of Human Wishes.  Garrick, for
instance, observed in his sprightly manner, with more vivacity than
regard to just discrimination, as is usual with wits: 'When Johnson
lived much with the Herveys, and saw a good deal of what was
passing in life, he wrote his London, which is lively and easy.
When he became more retired, he gave us his Vanity of Human Wishes,
which is as hard as Greek.  Had he gone on to imitate another
satire, it would have been as hard as Hebrew.'

Garrick being now vested with theatrical power by being manager of
Drury-lane theatre, he kindly and generously made use of it to
bring out Johnson's tragedy, which had been long kept back for want
of encouragement.  But in this benevolent purpose he met with no
small difficulty from the temper of Johnson, which could not brook
that a drama which he had formed with much study, and had been
obliged to keep more than the nine years of Horace, should be
revised and altered at the pleasure of an actor.  Yet Garrick knew
well, that without some alterations it would not be fit for the
stage.  A violent dispute having ensued between them, Garrick
applied to the Reverend Dr. Taylor to interpose.  Johnson was at
first very obstinate.  'Sir, (said he) the fellow wants me to make
Mahomet run mad, that he may have an opportunity of tossing his
hands and kicking his heels.'  He was, however, at last, with
difficulty, prevailed on to comply with Garrick's wishes, so as to
allow of some changes; but still there were not enough.

Dr. Adams was present the first night of the representation of
Irene, and gave me the following account: 'Before the curtain drew
up, there were catcalls whistling, which alarmed Johnson's friends.
The Prologue, which was written by himself in a manly strain,
soothed the audience, and the play went off tolerably, till it came
to the conclusion, when Mrs. Pritchard, the heroine of the piece,
was to be strangled upon the stage, and was to speak two lines with
the bowstring round her neck.  The audience cried out "Murder!
Murder!"  She several times attempted to speak; but in vain.  At
last she was obliged to go off the stage alive.'  This passage was
afterwards struck out, and she was carried off to be put to death
behind the scenes, as the play now has it.  The Epilogue, as
Johnson informed me, was written by Sir William Yonge.  I know not
how his play came to be thus graced by the pen of a person then so
eminent in the political world.

Notwithstanding all the support of such performers as Garrick,
Barry, Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Pritchard, and every advantage of dress
and decoration, the tragedy of Irene did not please the publick.
Mr. Garrick's zeal carried it through for nine nights, so that the
authour had his three nights' profits; and from a receipt signed by
him, now in the hands of Mr. James Dodsley, it appears that his
friend Mr. Robert Dodsley gave him one hundred pounds for the copy,
with his usual reservation of the right of one edition.

When asked how he felt upon the ill success of his tragedy, he
replied, 'Like the Monument;' meaning that he continued firm and
unmoved as that column.  And let it be remembered, as an admonition
to the genus irritabile of dramatick writers, that this great man,
instead of peevishly complaining of the bad taste of the town,
submitted to its decision without a murmur.  He had, indeed, upon
all occasions, a great deference for the general opinion: 'A man
(said he) who writes a book, thinks himself wiser or wittier than
the rest of mankind; he supposes that he can instruct or amuse
them, and the publick to whom he appeals, must, after all, be the
judges of his pretensions.'

On occasion of his play being brought upon the stage, Johnson had a
fancy that as a dramatick authour his dress should be more gay than
what he ordinarily wore; he therefore appeared behind the scenes,
and even in one of the side boxes, in a scarlet waistcoat, with
rich gold lace, and a gold-laced hat.  He humourously observed to
Mr. Langton, 'that when in that dress he could not treat people
with the same ease as when in his usual plain clothes.'  Dress
indeed, we must allow, has more effect even upon strong minds than
one should suppose, without having had the experience of it.  His
necessary attendance while his play was in rehearsal, and during
its performance, brought him acquainted with many of the performers
of both sexes, which produced a more favourable opinion of their
profession than he had harshly expressed in his Life of Savage.
With some of them he kept up an acquaintance as long as he and they
lived, and was ever ready to shew them acts of kindness.  He for a
considerable time used to frequent the Green Room, and seemed to
take delight in dissipating his gloom, by mixing in the sprightly
chit-chat of the motley circle then to be found there.  Mr. David
Hume related to me from Mr. Garrick, that Johnson at last denied
himself this amusement, from considerations of rigid virtue;
saying, 'I'll come no more behind your scenes, David; for the silk
stockings and white bosoms of your actresses excite my amorous
propensities.'

1750: AETAT. 41.]--In 1750 he came forth in the character for which
he was eminently qualified, a majestick teacher of moral and
religious wisdom.  The vehicle which he chose was that of a
periodical paper, which he knew had been, upon former occasions,
employed with great success.  The Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian,
were the last of the kind published in England, which had stood the
test of a long trial; and such an interval had now elapsed since
their publication, as made him justly think that, to many of his
readers, this form of instruction would, in some degree, have the
advantage of novelty.  A few days before the first of his Essays
came out, there started another competitor for fame in the same
form, under the title of The Tatler Revived, which I believe was
'born but to die.'  Johnson was, I think, not very happy in the
choice of his title, The Rambler, which certainly is not suited to
a series of grave and moral discourses; which the Italians have
literally, but ludicrously translated by Il Vagabondo; and which
has been lately assumed as the denomination of a vehicle of
licentious tales, The Rambler's Magazine.  He gave Sir Joshua
Reynolds the following account of its getting this name: 'What MUST
be done, Sir, WILL be done.  When I was to begin publishing that
paper, I was at a loss how to name it.  I sat down at night upon my
bedside, and resolved that I would not go to sleep till I had fixed
its title.  The Rambler seemed the best that occurred, and I took
it.'

With what devout and conscientious sentiments this paper was
undertaken, is evidenced by the following prayer, which he composed
and offered up on the occasion: 'Almighty GOD, the giver of all
good things, without whose help all labour is ineffectual, and
without whose grace all wisdom is folly; grant, I beseech Thee,
that in this undertaking thy Holy Spirit may not be with-held from
me, but that I may promote thy glory, and the salvation of myself
and others: grant this, O LORD, for the sake of thy son JESUS
CHRIST.  Amen.'

The first paper of The Rambler was published on Tuesday the 20th of
March, 1750; and its authour was enabled to continue it, without
interruption, every Tuesday and Friday, till Saturday the 17th of
March, 1752, on which day it closed.  This is a strong confirmation
of the truth of a remark of his, which I have had occasion to quote
elsewhere, that 'a man may write at any time, if he will set
himself doggedly to it;' for, notwithstanding his constitutional
indolence, his depression of spirits, and his labour in carrying on
his Dictionary, he answered the stated calls of the press twice a
week from the stores of his mind, during all that time.

Posterity will be astonished when they are told, upon the authority
of Johnson himself, that many of these discourses, which we should
suppose had been laboured with all the slow attention of literary
leisure, were written in haste as the moment pressed, without even
being read over by him before they were printed.  It can be
accounted for only in this way; that by reading and meditation, and
a very close inspection of life, he had accumulated a great fund of
miscellaneous knowledge, which, by a peculiar promptitude of mind,
was ever ready at his call, and which he had constantly accustomed
himself to clothe in the most apt and energetick expression.  Sir
Joshua Reynolds once asked him by what means he had attained his
extraordinary accuracy and flow of language.  He told him, that he
had early laid it down as a fixed rule to do his best on every
occasion, and in every company; to impart whatever he knew in the
most forcible language he could put it in; and that by constant
practice, and never suffering any careless expressions to escape
him, or attempting to deliver his thoughts without arranging them
in the clearest manner, it became habitual to him.

As The Rambler was entirely the work of one man, there was, of
course, such a uniformity in its texture, as very much to exclude
the charm of variety; and the grave and often solemn cast of
thinking, which distinguished it from other periodical papers, made
it, for some time, not generally liked.  So slowly did this
excellent work, of which twelve editions have now issued from the
press, gain upon the world at large, that even in the closing
number the authour says, 'I have never been much a favourite of the
publick.'

Johnson told me, with an amiable fondness, a little pleasing
circumstance relative to this work.  Mrs. Johnson, in whose
judgement and taste he had great confidence, said to him, after a
few numbers of The Rambler had come out, 'I thought very well of
you before; but I did not imagine you could have written any thing
equal to this.'  Distant praise, from whatever quarter, is not so
delightful as that of a wife whom a man loves and esteems.  Her
approbation may be said to 'come home to his bosom;' and being so
near, its effect is most sensible and permanent.

Mr. James Elphinston, who has since published various works, and
who was ever esteemed by Johnson as a worthy man, happened to be in
Scotland while The Rambler was coming out in single papers at
London.  With a laudable zeal at once for the improvement of his
countrymen, and the reputation of his friend, he suggested and took
the charge of an edition of those Essays at Edinburgh, which
followed progressively the London publication.

This year he wrote to the same gentleman upon a mournful occasion.


'To MR. JAMES ELPHINSTON.

September 25, 1750.

'DEAR SIR, You have, as I find by every kind of evidence, lost an
excellent mother; and I hope you will not think me incapable of
partaking of your grief.  I have a mother, now eighty-two years of
age, whom, therefore, I must soon lose, unless it please GOD that
she rather should mourn for me.  I read the letters in which you
relate your mother's death to Mrs. Strahan, and think I do myself
honour, when I tell you that I read them with tears; but tears are
neither to YOU nor to ME of any further use, when once the tribute
of nature has been paid.  The business of life summons us away from
useless grief, and calls us to the exercise of those virtues of
which we are lamenting our deprivation.  The greatest benefit which
one friend can confer upon another, is to guard, and excite, and
elevate his virtues.  This your mother will still perform, if you
diligently preserve the memory of her life, and of her death: a
life, so far as I can learn, useful, wise, and innocent; and a
death resigned, peaceful, and holy.  I cannot forbear to mention,
that neither reason nor revelation denies you to hope, that you may
increase her happiness by obeying her precepts; and that she may,
in her present state, look with pleasure upon every act of virtue
to which her instructions or example have contributed.  Whether
this be more than a pleasing dream, or a just opinion of separate
spirits, is, indeed, of no great importance to us, when we consider
ourselves as acting under the eye of GOD: yet, surely, there is
something pleasing in the belief, that our separation from those
whom we love is merely corporeal; and it may be a great incitement
to virtuous friendship, if it can be made probable, that that union
that has received the divine approbation shall continue to
eternity.

'There is one expedient by which you may, in some degree, continue
her presence.  If you write down minutely what you remember of her
from your earliest years, you will read it with great pleasure, and
receive from it many hints of soothing recollection, when time
shall remove her yet farther from you, and your grief shall be
matured to veneration.  To this, however painful for the present, I
cannot but advise you, as to a source of comfort and satisfaction
in the time to come; for all comfort and all satisfaction is
sincerely wished you by, dear Sir, your most obliged, most
obedient, and most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


The Rambler has increased in fame as in age.  Soon after its first
folio edition was concluded, it was published in six duodecimo
volumes; and its authour lived to see ten numerous editions of it
in London, beside those of Ireland and Scotland.

The style of Johnson was, undoubtedly, much formed upon that of the
great writers in the last century, Hooker, Bacon, Sanderson,
Hakewell, and others; those 'GIANTS,' as they were well
characterised by A GREAT PERSONAGE, whose authority, were I to name
him, would stamp a reverence on the opinion.

Johnson assured me, that he had not taken upon him to add more than
four or five words to the English language, of his own formation;
and he was very much offended at the general licence, by no means
'modestly taken' in his time not only to coin new words, but to use
many words in senses quite different from their established
meaning, and those frequently very fantastical.

Sir Thomas Brown, whose life Johnson wrote, was remarkably fond of
Anglo-Latin diction; and to his example we are to ascribe Johnson's
sometimes indulging himself in this kind of phraseology.  Johnson's
comprehension of mind was the mould for his language.  Had his
conceptions been narrower, his expression would have been easier.
His sentences have a dignified march; and, it is certain, that his
example has given a general elevation to the language of his
country, for many of our best writers have approached very near to
him; and, from the influence which he has had upon our composition,
scarcely any thing is written now that is not better expressed than
was usual before he appeared to lead the national taste.

Though The Rambler was not concluded till the year 1752, I shall,
under this year, say all that I have to observe upon it.  Some of
the translations of the mottos by himself are admirably done.  He
acknowledges to have received 'elegant translations' of many of
them from Mr. James Elphinston; and some are very happily
translated by a Mr. F. Lewis, of whom I never heard more, except
that Johnson thus described him to Mr. Malone: 'Sir, he lived in
London, and hung loose upon society.'

His just abhorrence of Milton's political notions was ever strong.
But this did not prevent his warm admiration of Milton's great
poetical merit, to which he has done illustrious justice, beyond
all who have written upon the subject.  And this year he not only
wrote a Prologue, which was spoken by Mr. Garrick before the acting
of Comus at Drury-lane theatre, for the benefit of Milton's grand-
daughter, but took a very zealous interest in the success of the
charity.

1751: AETAT. 42.]--In 1751 we are to consider him as carrying on
both his Dictionary and Rambler.

Though Johnson's circumstances were at this time far from being
easy, his humane and charitable disposition was constantly exerting
itself.  Mrs. Anna Williams, daughter of a very ingenious Welsh
physician, and a woman of more than ordinary talents and
literature, having come to London in hopes of being cured of a
cataract in both her eyes, which afterwards ended in total
blindness, was kindly received as a constant visitor at his house
while Mrs. Johnson lived; and after her death, having come under
his roof in order to have an operation upon her eyes performed with
more comfort to her than in lodgings, she had an apartment from him
during the rest of her life, at all times when he had a house.

1752: AETAT. 43.]--In 1752 he was almost entirely occupied with his
Dictionary.  The last paper of his Rambler was published March 2,
this year; after which, there was a cessation for some time of any
exertion of his talents as an essayist.  But, in the same year, Dr.
Hawkesworth, who was his warm admirer, and a studious imitator of
his style, and then lived in great intimacy with him, began a
periodical paper, entitled The Adventurer, in connection with other
gentlemen, one of whom was Johnson's much-beloved friend, Dr.
Bathurst; and, without doubt, they received many valuable hints
from his conversation, most of his friends having been so assisted
in the course of their works.

That there should be a suspension of his literary labours during a
part of the year 1752, will not seem strange, when it is considered
that soon after closing his Rambler, he suffered a loss which,
there can be no doubt, affected him with the deepest distress.  For
on the 17th of March, O.S., his wife died.

The following very solemn and affecting prayer was found after Dr.
Johnson's decease, by his servant, Mr. Francis Barber, who
delivered it to my worthy friend the Reverend Mr. Strahan, Vicar of
Islington, who at my earnest request has obligingly favoured me
with a copy of it, which he and I compared with the original:


'April 26, 1752, being after 12 at Night of the 25th.

'O Lord! Governour of heaven and earth, in whose hands are embodied
and departed Spirits, if thou hast ordained the Souls of the Dead
to minister to the Living, and appointed my departed Wife to have
care of me, grant that I may enjoy the good effects of her
attention and ministration, whether exercised by appearance,
impulses, dreams or in any other manner agreeable to thy
Government.  Forgive my presumption, enlighten my ignorance, and
however meaner agents are employed, grant me the blessed influences
of thy holy Spirit, through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.'


That his love for his wife was of the most ardent kind, and, during
the long period of fifty years, was unimpaired by the lapse of
time, is evident from various passages in the series of his Prayers
and Meditations, published by the Reverend Mr. Strahan, as well as
from other memorials, two of which I select, as strongly marking
the tenderness and sensibility of his mind.

'March 28, 1753.  I kept this day as the anniversary of my Tetty's
death, with prayer and tears in the morning.  In the evening I
prayed for her conditionally, if it were lawful.'

'April 23, 1753.  I know not whether I do not too much indulge the
vain longings of affection; but I hope they intenerate my heart,
and that when I die like my Tetty, this affection will be
acknowledged in a happy interview, and that in the mean time I am
incited by it to piety.  I will, however, not deviate too much from
common and received methods of devotion.'


Her wedding ring, when she became his wife, was, after her death,
preserved by him, as long as he lived, with an affectionate care,
in a little round wooden box, in the inside of which he pasted a
slip of paper, thus inscribed by him in fair characters, as
follows:


        'Eheu!
     Eliz. Johnson
    Nupta Jul. 9 1736,
     Mortua, eheu!
    Mart. 17 1752.'


After his death, Mr. Francis Barber, his faithful servant and
residuary legatee, offered this memorial of tenderness to Mrs. Lucy
Porter, Mrs. Johnson's daughter; but she having declined to accept
of it, he had it enamelled as a mourning ring for his old master,
and presented it to his wife, Mrs. Barber, who now has it.

I have, indeed, been told by Mrs. Desmoulins, who, before her
marriage, lived for some time with Mrs. Johnson at Hampstead, that
she indulged herself in country air and nice living, at an
unsuitable expense, while her husband was drudging in the smoke of
London, and that she by no means treated him with that complacency
which is the most engaging quality in a wife.  But all this is
perfectly compatible with his fondness for her, especially when it
is remembered that he had a high opinion of her understanding, and
that the impressions which her beauty, real or imaginary, had
originally made upon his fancy, being continued by habit, had not
been effaced, though she herself was doubtless much altered for the
worse.  The dreadful shock of separation took place in the night;
and he immediately dispatched a letter to his friend, the Reverend
Dr. Taylor, which, as Taylor told me, expressed grief in the
strongest manner he had ever read; so that it is much to be
regretted it has not been preserved.  The letter was brought to Dr.
Taylor, at his house in the Cloisters, Westminster, about three in
the morning; and as it signified an earnest desire to see him, he
got up, and went to Johnson as soon as he was dressed, and found
him in tears and in extreme agitation.  After being a little while
together, Johnson requested him to join with him in prayer.  He
then prayed extempore, as did Dr. Taylor; and thus, by means of
that piety which was ever his primary object, his troubled mind
was, in some degree, soothed and composed.

The next day he wrote as follows:


'To THE REVEREND DR. TAYLOR.

'DEAR SIR,--Let me have your company and instruction.  Do not live
away from me.  My distress is great.

'Pray desire Mrs. Taylor to inform me what mourning I should buy
for my mother and Miss Porter, and bring a note in writing with
you.

'Remember me in your prayers, for vain is the help of man.  I am,
dear Sir, &c.

'March 18, 1752.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


That his sufferings upon the death of his wife were severe, beyond
what are commonly endured, I have no doubt, from the information of
many who were then about him, to none of whom I give more credit
than to Mr. Francis Barber, his faithful negro servant, who came
into his family about a fortnight after the dismal event.  These
sufferings were aggravated by the melancholy inherent in his
constitution; and although he probably was not oftener in the wrong
than she was, in the little disagreements which sometimes troubled
his married state, during which, he owned to me, that the gloomy
irritability of his existence was more painful to him than ever, he
might very naturally, after her death, be tenderly disposed to
charge himself with slight omissions and offences, the sense of
which would give him much uneasiness.  Accordingly we find, about a
year after her decease, that he thus addressed the Supreme Being:
'O LORD, who givest the grace of repentance, and hearest the
prayers of the penitent, grant that by true contrition I may obtain
forgiveness of all the sins committed, and of all duties neglected
in my union with the wife whom thou hast taken from me; for the
neglect of joint devotion, patient exhortation, and mild
instruction.'  The kindness of his heart, notwithstanding the
impetuosity of his temper, is well known to his friends; and I
cannot trace the smallest foundation for the following dark and
uncharitable assertion by Sir John Hawkins: 'The apparition of his
departed wife was altogether of the terrifick kind, and hardly
afforded him a hope that she was in a state of happiness.'  That
he, in conformity with the opinion of many of the most able,
learned, and pious Christians in all ages, supposed that there was
a middle state after death, previous to the time at which departed
souls are finally received to eternal felicity, appears, I think,
unquestionably from his devotions: 'And, O LORD, so far as it may
be lawful in me, I commend to thy fatherly goodness the soul of my
departed wife; beseeching thee to grant her whatever is best in her
present state, and finally to receive her to eternal happiness.'
But this state has not been looked upon with horrour, but only as
less gracious.

He deposited the remains of Mrs. Johnson in the church of Bromley,
in Kent, to which he was probably led by the residence of his
friend Hawkesworth at that place.  The funeral sermon which he
composed for her, which was never preached, but having been given
to Dr. Taylor, has been published since his death, is a performance
of uncommon excellence, and full of rational and pious comfort to
such as are depressed by that severe affliction which Johnson felt
when he wrote it.  When it is considered that it was written in
such an agitation of mind, and in the short interval between her
death and burial, it cannot be read without wonder.

From Mr. Francis Barber I have had the following authentick and
artless account of the situation in which he found him recently
after his wife's death:

'He was in great affliction.  Mrs. Williams was then living in his
house, which was in Gough-square.  He was busy with the Dictionary.
Mr. Shiels, and some others of the gentlemen who had formerly
written for him, used to come about him.  He had then little for
himself, but frequently sent money to Mr. Shiels when in distress.
The friends who visited him at that time, were chiefly Dr.
Bathurst, and Mr. Diamond, an apothecary in Cork-street,
Burlington-gardens, with whom he and Mrs. Williams generally dined
every Sunday.  There was a talk of his going to Iceland with him,
which would probably have happened had he lived.  There were also
Mr. Cave, Dr. Hawkesworth, Mr. Ryland, merchant on Tower Hill, Mrs.
Masters, the poetess, who lived with Mr. Cave, Mrs. Carter, and
sometimes Mrs. Macaulay, also Mrs. Gardiner, wife of a tallow-
chandler on Snow-hill, not in the learned way, but a worthy good
woman; Mr. (now Sir Joshua) Reynolds; Mr. Millar, Mr. Dodsley, Mr.
Bouquet, Mr. Payne of Paternoster-row, booksellers; Mr. Strahan,
the printer; the Earl of Orrery, Lord Southwell, Mr. Garrick.'

Many are, no doubt, omitted in this catalogue of his friends, and,
in particular, his humble friend Mr. Robert Levet, an obscure
practiser in physick amongst the lower people, his fees being
sometimes very small sums, sometimes whatever provisions his
patients could afford him; but of such extensive practice in that
way, that Mrs. Williams has told me, his walk was from Hounsditch
to Marybone.  It appears from Johnson's diary that their
acquaintance commenced about the year 1746; and such was Johnson's
predilection for him, and fanciful estimation of his moderate
abilities, that I have heard him say he should not be satisfied,
though attended by all the College of Physicians, unless he had Mr.
Levet with him.  Ever since I was acquainted with Dr. Johnson, and
many years before, as I have been assured by those who knew him
earlier, Mr. Levet had an apartment in his house, or his chambers,
and waited upon him every morning, through the whole course of his
late and tedious breakfast.  He was of a strange grotesque
appearance, stiff and formal in his manner, and seldom said a word
while any company was present.

The circle of his friends, indeed, at this time was extensive and
various, far beyond what has been generally imagined.  To trace his
acquaintance with each particular person, if it could be done,
would be a task, of which the labour would not be repaid by the
advantage.  But exceptions are to be made; one of which must be a
friend so eminent as Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was truly his dulce
decus, and with whom he maintained an uninterrupted intimacy to the
last hour of his life.  When Johnson lived in Castle-street,
Cavendish-square, he used frequently to visit two ladies, who lived
opposite to him, Miss Cotterells, daughters of Admiral Cotterell.
Reynolds used also to visit there, and thus they met.  Mr.
Reynolds, as I have observed above, had, from the first reading of
his Life of Savage, conceived a very high admiration of Johnson's
powers of writing.  His conversation no less delighted him; and he
cultivated his acquaintance with the laudable zeal of one who was
ambitious of general improvement.  Sir Joshua, indeed, was lucky
enough at their very first meeting to make a remark, which was so
much above the common-place style of conversation, that Johnson at
once perceived that Reynolds had the habit of thinking for himself.
The ladies were regretting the death of a friend, to whom they owed
great obligations; upon which Reynolds observed, 'You have,
however, the comfort of being relieved from a burthen of
gratitude.'  They were shocked a little at this alleviating
suggestion, as too selfish; but Johnson defended it in his clear
and forcible manner, and was much pleased with the MIND, the fair
view of human nature, which it exhibited, like some of the
reflections of Rochefaucault.  The consequence was, that he went
home with Reynolds, and supped with him.

Sir Joshua told me a pleasant characteristical anecdote of Johnson
about the time of their first acquaintance.  When they were one
evening together at the Miss Cotterells', the then Duchess of
Argyle and another lady of high rank came in.  Johnson thinking
that the Miss Cotterells were too much engrossed by them, and that
he and his friend were neglected, as low company of whom they were
somewhat ashamed, grew angry; and resolving to shock their supposed
pride, by making their great visitors imagine that his friend and
he were low indeed, he addressed himself in a loud tone to Mr.
Reynolds, saying, 'How much do you think you and I could get in a
week, if we were to WORK AS HARD as we could?'--as if they had been
common mechanicks.

His acquaintance with Bennet Langton, Esq. of Langton, in
Lincolnshire, another much valued friend, commenced soon after the
conclusion of his Rambler; which that gentleman, then a youth, had
read with so much admiration, that he came to London chiefly with
the view of endeavouring to be introduced to its authour.  By a
fortunate chance he happened to take lodgings in a house where Mr.
Levet frequently visited; and having mentioned his wish to his
landlady, she introduced him to Mr. Levet, who readily obtained
Johnson's permission to bring Mr. Langton to him; as, indeed,
Johnson, during the whole course of his life, had no shyness, real
or affected, but was easy of access to all who were properly
recommended, and even wished to see numbers at his levee, as his
morning circle of company might, with strict propriety, be called.
Mr. Langton was exceedingly surprised when the sage first appeared.
He had not received the smallest intimation of his figure, dress,
or manner.  From perusing his writings, he fancied he should see a
decent, well-drest, in short, remarkably decorous philosopher.
Instead of which, down from his bed-chamber, about noon, came, as
newly risen, a huge uncouth figure, with a little dark wig which
scarcely covered his head, and his clothes hanging loose about him.
But his conversation was so rich, so animated, and so forcible, and
his religious and political notions so congenial with those in
which Langton had been educated, that he conceived for him that
veneration and attachment which he ever preserved.  Johnson was not
the less ready to love Mr. Langton, for his being of a very ancient
family; for I have heard him say, with pleasure, 'Langton, Sir, has
a grant of free warren from Henry the Second; and Cardinal Stephen
Langton, in King John's reign, was of this family.'

Mr. Langton afterwards went to pursue his studies at Trinity
College, Oxford, where he formed an acquaintance with his fellow
student, Mr. Topham Beauclerk; who, though their opinions and modes
of life were so different, that it seemed utterly improbable that
they should at all agree, had so ardent a love of literature, so
acute an understanding, such elegance of manners, and so well
discerned the excellent qualities of Mr. Langton, a gentleman
eminent not only for worth and learning, but for an inexhaustible
fund of entertaining conversation, that they became intimate
friends.

Johnson, soon after this acquaintance began, passed a considerable
time at Oxford.  He at first thought it strange that Langton should
associate so much with one who had the character of being loose,
both in his principles and practice; but, by degrees, he himself
was fascinated.  Mr. Beauclerk's being of the St. Alban's family,
and having, in some particulars, a resemblance to Charles the
Second, contributed, in Johnson's imagination, to throw a lustre
upon his other qualities; and, in a short time, the moral, pious
Johnson, and the gay, dissipated Beauclerk, were companions.  'What
a coalition! (said Garrick, when he heard of this;) I shall have my
old friend to bail out of the Round-house.'  But I can bear
testimony that it was a very agreeable association.  Beauclerk was
too polite, and valued learning and wit too much, to offend Johnson
by sallies of infidelity or licentiousness; and Johnson delighted
in the good qualities of Beauclerk, and hoped to correct the evil.
Innumerable were the scenes in which Johnson was amused by these
young men.  Beauclerk could take more liberty with him, than any
body with whom I ever saw him; but, on the other hand, Beauclerk
was not spared by his respectable companion, when reproof was
proper.  Beauclerk had such a propensity to satire, that at one
time Johnson said to him, 'You never open your mouth but with
intention to give pain; and you have often given me pain, not from
the power of what you said, but from seeing your intention.'  At
another time applying to him, with a slight alteration, a line of
Pope, he said,


    'Thy love of folly, and thy scorn of fools--


Every thing thou dost shews the one, and every thing thou say'st
the other.'  At another time he said to him, 'Thy body is all vice,
and thy mind all virtue.'  Beauclerk not seeming to relish the
compliment, Johnson said, 'Nay, Sir, Alexander the Great, marching
in triumph into Babylon, could not have desired to have had more
said to him.'

Johnson was some time with Beauclerk at his house at Windsor, where
he was entertained with experiments in natural philosophy.  One
Sunday, when the weather was very fine, Beauclerk enticed him,
insensibly, to saunter about all the morning.  They went into a
church-yard, in the time of divine service, and Johnson laid
himself down at his ease upon one of the tomb-stones.  'Now, Sir,
(said Beauclerk) you are like Hogarth's Idle Apprentice.'  When
Johnson got his pension, Beauclerk said to him, in the humorous
phrase of Falstaff, 'I hope you'll now purge and live cleanly like
a gentleman.'

One night when Beauclerk and Langton had supped at a tavern in
London, and sat till about three in the morning, it came into their
heads to go and knock up Johnson, and see if they could prevail on
him to join them in a ramble.  They rapped violently at the door of
his chambers in the Temple, till at last he appeared in his shirt,
with his little black wig on the top of his head, instead of a
nightcap, and a poker in his hand, imagining, probably, that some
ruffians were coming to attack him.  When he discovered who they
were, and was told their errand, he smiled, and with great good
humour agreed to their proposal: 'What, is it you, you dogs!  I'll
have a frisk with you.'  He was soon drest, and they sallied forth
together into Covent-Garden, where the greengrocers and fruiterers
were beginning to arrange their hampers, just come in from the
country.  Johnson made some attempts to help them; but the honest
gardeners stared so at his figure and manner, and odd interference,
that he soon saw his services were not relished.  They then
repaired to one of the neighbouring taverns, and made a bowl of
that liquor called Bishop, which Johnson had always liked; while in
joyous contempt of sleep, from which he had been roused, he
repeated the festive lines,


    'Short, O short then be thy reign,
     And give us to the world again!'


They did not stay long, but walked down to the Thames, took a boat,
and rowed to Billingsgate.  Beauclerk and Johnson were so well
pleased with their amusement, that they resolved to persevere in
dissipation for the rest of the day: but Langton deserted them,
being engaged to breakfast with some young Ladies.  Johnson scolded
him for 'leaving his social friends, to go and sit with a set of
wretched UN-IDEA'D girls.'  Garrick being told of this ramble, said
to him smartly, 'I heard of your frolick t'other night.  You'll be
in the Chronicle.'  Upon which Johnson afterwards observed, 'HE
durst not do such a thing.  His WIFE would not LET him!'

1753: AETAT. 44.]--He entered upon this year 1753 with his usual
piety, as appears from the following prayer, which I transcribed
from that part of his diary which he burnt a few days before his
death:

'Jan. 1, 1753, N.S.  which I shall use for the future.

'Almighty God, who hast continued my life to this day, grant that,
by the assistance of thy Holy Spirit, I may improve the time which
thou shalt grant me, to my eternal salvation.  Make me to remember,
to thy glory, thy judgements and thy mercies.  Make me so to
consider the loss of my wife, whom thou hast taken from me, that it
may dispose me, by thy grace, to lead the residue of my life in thy
fear.  Grant this, O LORD, for JESUS CHRIST'S sake.  Amen.'

He now relieved the drudgery of his Dictionary, and the melancholy
of his grief, by taking an active part in the composition of The
Adventurer, in which he began to write April 10.

In one of the books of his diary I find the following entry:

'Apr. 3, 1753.  I began the second vol. of my Dictionary, room
being left in the first for Preface, Grammar, and History, none of
them yet begun.

'O God, who hast hitherto supported me, enable me to proceed in
this labour, and in the whole task of my present state; that when I
shall render up, at the last day, an account of the talent
committed to me, I may receive pardon, for the sake of JESUS
CHRIST.  Amen.'

1754: AETAT. 45.]--The Dictionary, we may believe, afforded Johnson
full occupation this year.  As it approached to its conclusion, he
probably worked with redoubled vigour, as seamen increase their
exertion and alacrity when they have a near prospect of their
haven.

Lord Chesterfield, to whom Johnson had paid the high compliment of
addressing to his Lordship the Plan of his Dictionary, had behaved
to him in such a manner as to excite his contempt and indignation.
The world has been for many years amused with a story confidently
told, and as confidently repeated with additional circumstances,
that a sudden disgust was taken by Johnson upon occasion of his
having been one day kept long in waiting in his Lordship's
antechamber, for which the reason assigned was, that he had company
with him; and that at last, when the door opened, out walked Colley
Cibber; and that Johnson was so violently provoked when he found
for whom he had been so long excluded, that he went away in a
passion, and never would return.  I remember having mentioned this
story to George Lord Lyttelton, who told me, he was very intimate
with Lord Chesterfield; and holding it as a well-known truth,
defended Lord Chesterfield, by saying, that 'Cibber, who had been
introduced familiarly by the back-stairs, had probably not been
there above ten minutes.'  It may seem strange even to entertain a
doubt concerning a story so long and so widely current, and thus
implicitly adopted, if not sanctioned, by the authority which I
have mentioned; but Johnson himself assured me, that there was not
the least foundation for it.  He told me, that there never was any
particular incident which produced a quarrel between Lord
Chesterfield and him; but that his Lordship's continued neglect was
the reason why he resolved to have no connection with him.  When
the Dictionary was upon the eve of publication, Lord Chesterfield,
who, it is said, had flattered himself with expectations that
Johnson would dedicate the work to him, attempted, in a courtly
manner, to sooth, and insinuate himself with the Sage, conscious,
as it should seem, of the cold indifference with which he had
treated its learned authour; and further attempted to conciliate
him, by writing two papers in The World, in recommendation of the
work; and it must be confessed, that they contain some studied
compliments, so finely turned, that if there had been no previous
offence, it is probable that Johnson would have been highly
delighted.*  Praise, in general, was pleasing to him; but by praise
from a man of rank and elegant accomplishments, he was peculiarly
gratified.


* Boswell could not have read the second paper carefully.  It is
silly and indecent and was certain to offend Johnson.--ED.


This courtly device failed of its effect.  Johnson, who thought
that 'all was false and hollow,' despised the honeyed words, and
was even indignant that Lord Chesterfield should, for a moment,
imagine that he could be the dupe of such an artifice.  His
expression to me concerning Lord Chesterfield, upon this occasion,
was, 'Sir, after making great professions, he had, for many years,
taken no notice of me; but when my Dictionary was coming out, he
fell a scribbling in The World about it.  Upon which, I wrote him a
letter expressed in civil terms, but such as might shew him that I
did not mind what he said or wrote, and that I had done with him.'

This is that celebrated letter of which so much has been said, and
about which curiosity has been so long excited, without being
gratified.  I for many years solicited Johnson to favour me with a
copy of it, that so excellent a composition might not be lost to
posterity.  He delayed from time to time to give it me; till at
last in 1781, when we were on a visit at Mr. Dilly's, at Southill
in Bedfordshire, he was pleased to dictate it to me from memory.
He afterwards found among his papers a copy of it, which he had
dictated to Mr. Baretti, with its title and corrections, in his own
handwriting.  This he gave to Mr. Langton; adding that if it were
to come into print, he wished it to be from that copy.  By Mr.
Langton's kindness, I am enabled to enrich my work with a perfect
transcript of what the world has so eagerly desired to see.


'TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD

'February 7, 1755.

'MY LORD, I have been lately informed, by the proprietor of The
World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to
the publick, were written by your Lordship.  To be so
distinguished, is an honour, which, being very little accustomed to
favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what
terms to acknowledge.

'When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your
Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the
enchantment of your address; and could not forbear to wish that I
might boast myself Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre;--that I
might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending; but
I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor
modesty would suffer me to continue it.  When I had once addressed
your Lordship in publick, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing
which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess.  I had done all
that I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected,
be it ever so little.

'Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited in your
outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I
have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is
useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of
publication, without one act of assistance, one word of
encouragement, or one smile of favour.  Such treatment I did not
expect, for I never had a Patron before.

'The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and
found him a native of the rocks.

'Is not a Patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man
struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached ground,
encumbers him with help?  The notice which you have been pleased to
take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has
been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am
solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want
it.  I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess
obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling
that the Publick should consider me as owing that to a Patron,
which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.

'Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to
any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I
should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have been
long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted
myself with so much exultation, my Lord, your Lordship's most
humble, most obedient servant,

'SAM JOHNSON.'


'While this was the talk of the town, (says Dr. Adams, in a letter
to me) I happened to visit Dr. Warburton, who finding that I was
acquainted with Johnson, desired me earnestly to carry his
compliments to him, and to tell him that he honoured him for his
manly behaviour in rejecting these condescensions of Lord
Chesterfield, and for resenting the treatment he had received from
him, with a proper spirit.  Johnson was visibly pleased with this
compliment, for he had always a high opinion of Warburton.  Indeed,
the force of mind which appeared in this letter, was congenial with
that which Warburton himself amply possessed.'

There is a curious minute circumstance which struck me, in
comparing the various editions of Johnson's imitations of Juvenal.
In the tenth Satire, one of the couplets upon the vanity of wishes
even for literary distinction stood thus:


    'Yet think what ills the scholar's life assail,
     Pride, envy, want, the GARRET, and the jail.'


But after experiencing the uneasiness which Lord Chesterfield's
fallacious patronage made him feel, he dismissed the word garret
from the sad group, and in all the subsequent editions the line
stands


    'Pride, envy, want, the PATRON, and the jail.'


That Lord Chesterfield must have been mortified by the lofty
contempt, and polite, yet keen satire with which Johnson exhibited
him to himself in this letter, it is impossible to doubt.  He,
however, with that glossy duplicity which was his constant study,
affected to he quite unconcerned.  Dr. Adams mentioned to Mr.
Robert Dodsley that he was sorry Johnson had written his letter to
Lord Chesterfield.  Dodsley, with the true feelings of trade, said
'he was very sorry too; for that he had a property in the
Dictionary, to which his Lordship's patronage might have been of
consequence.'  He then told Dr. Adams, that Lord Chesterfield had
shewn him the letter.  'I should have imagined (replied Dr. Adams)
that Lord Chesterfield would have concealed it.'  'Poh! (said
Dodsley) do you think a letter from Johnson could hurt Lord
Chesterfield?  Not at all, Sir.  It lay upon his table; where any
body might see it.  He read it to me; said, "this man has great
powers," pointed out the severest passages, and observed how well
they were expressed.'  This air of indifference, which imposed upon
the worthy Dodsley, was certainly nothing but a specimen of that
dissimulation which Lord Chesterfield inculcated as one of the most
essential lessons for the conduct of life.  His Lordship
endeavoured to justify himself to Dodsley from the charges brought
against him by Johnson; but we may judge of the flimsiness of his
defence, from his having excused his neglect of Johnson, by saying
that 'he had heard he had changed his lodgings, and did not know
where he lived;' as if there could have been the smallest
difficulty to inform himself of that circumstance, by inquiring in
the literary circle with which his Lordship was well acquainted,
and was, indeed, himself one of its ornaments.

Dr. Adams expostulated with Johnson, and suggested, that his not
being admitted when he called on him, was, probably, not to be
imputed to Lord Chesterfield; for his Lordship had declared to
Dodsley, that 'he would have turned off the best servant he ever
had, if he had known that he denied him to a man who would have
been always more than welcome;' and, in confirmation of this, he
insisted on Lord Chesterfield's general affability and easiness of
access, especially to literary men.  'Sir (said Johnson) that is
not Lord Chesterfield; he is the proudest man this day existing.'
'No, (said Dr. Adams) there is one person, at least, as proud; I
think, by your own account, you are the prouder man of the two.'
'But mine (replied Johnson, instantly) was DEFENSIVE pride.'  This,
as Dr. Adams well observed, was one of those happy turns for which
he was so remarkably ready.

Johnson having now explicitly avowed his opinion of Lord
Chesterfield, did not refrain from expressing himself concerning
that nobleman with pointed freedom: 'This man (said he) I thought
had been a Lord among wits; but, I find, he is only a wit among
Lords!'  And when his Letters to his natural son were published, he
observed, that 'they teach the morals of a whore, and the manners
of a dancing master.'

On the 6th of March came out Lord Bolingbroke's works, published by
Mr. David Mallet.  The wild and pernicious ravings, under the name
of Philosophy, which were thus ushered into the world, gave great
offence to all well-principled men.  Johnson, hearing of their
tendency, which nobody disputed, was roused with a just
indignation, and pronounced this memorable sentence upon the noble
authour and his editor.  'Sir, he was a scoundrel, and a coward: a
scoundrel, for charging a blunderbuss against religion and
morality; a coward, because he had not resolution to fire it off
himself, but left half a crown to a beggarly Scotchman, to draw the
trigger after his death!'

Johnson this year found an interval of leisure to make an excursion
to Oxford, for the purpose of consulting the libraries there.

Of his conversation while at Oxford at this time, Mr. Warton
preserved and communicated to me the following memorial, which,
though not written with all the care and attention which that
learned and elegant writer bestowed on those compositions which he
intended for the publick eye, is so happily expressed in an easy
style, that I should injure it by any alteration:

'When Johnson came to Oxford in 1754, the long vacation was
beginning, and most people were leaving the place.  This was the
first time of his being there, after quitting the University.  The
next morning after his arrival, he wished to see his old College,
Pembroke.  I went with him.  He was highly pleased to find all the
College-servants which he had left there still remaining,
particularly a very old butler; and expressed great satisfaction at
being recognised by them, and conversed with them familiarly.  He
waited on the master, Dr. Radcliffe, who received him very coldly.
Johnson at least expected, that the master would order a copy of
his Dictionary, now near publication: but the master did not choose
to talk on the subject, never asked Johnson to dine, nor even to
visit him, while he stayed at Oxford.  After we had left the
lodgings, Johnson said to me, "THERE lives a man, who lives by the
revenues of literature, and will not move a finger to support it.
If I come to live at Oxford, I shall take up my abode at Trinity."
We then called on the Reverend Mr. Meeke, one of the fellows, and
of Johnson's standing.  Here was a most cordial greeting on both
sides.  On leaving him, Johnson said, "I used to think Meeke had
excellent parts, when we were boys together at the College: but,
alas!


     'Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!'


I remember, at the classical lecture in the Hall, I could not bear
Meeke's superiority, and I tried to sit as far from him as I could,
that I might not hear him construe."

'As we were leaving the College, he said, "Here I translated Pope's
Messiah.  Which do you think is the best line in it?--My own
favourite is,


     'Vallis aromaticas fundit Saronica nubes.'"


I told him, I thought it a very sonorous hexameter.  I did not tell
him, it was not in the Virgilian style.  He much regretted that his
FIRST tutor was dead; for whom he seemed to retain the greatest
regard.  He said, "I once had been a whole morning sliding in
Christ-Church Meadow, and missed his lecture in logick.  After
dinner, he sent for me to his room.  I expected a sharp rebuke for
my idleness, and went with a beating heart.  When we were seated,
he told me he had sent for me to drink a glass of wine with him,
and to tell me, he was NOT angry with me for missing his lecture.
This was, in fact, a most severe reprimand.  Some more of the boys
were then sent for, and we spent a very pleasant afternoon."
Besides Mr. Meeke, there was only one other Fellow of Pembroke now
resident: from both of whom Johnson received the greatest
civilities during this visit, and they pressed him very much to
have a room in the College.

'In the course of this visit (1754), Johnson and I walked, three or
four times, to Ellsfield, a village beautifully situated about
three miles from Oxford, to see Mr. Wise, Radclivian librarian,
with whom Johnson was much pleased.  At this place, Mr. Wise had
fitted up a house and gardens, in a singular manner, but with great
taste.  Here was an excellent library; particularly, a valuable
collection of books in Northern literature, with which Johnson was
often very busy.  One day Mr. Wise read to us a dissertation which
he was preparing for the press, intitled, "A History and Chronology
of the fabulous Ages."  Some old divinities of Thrace, related to
the Titans, and called the CABIRI, made a very important part of
the theory of this piece; and in conversation afterwards, Mr. Wise
talked much of his CABIRI.  As we returned to Oxford in the
evening, I out-walked Johnson, and he cried out Sufflamina, a Latin
word which came from his mouth with peculiar grace, and was as much
as to say, Put on your drag chain.  Before we got home, I again
walked too fast for him; and he now cried out, "Why, you walk as if
you were pursued by all the CABIRI in a body."  In an evening, we
frequently took long walks from Oxford into the country, returning
to supper.  Once, in our way home, we viewed the ruins of the
abbies of Oseney and Rewley, near Oxford.  After at least half an
hour's silence, Johnson said, "I viewed them with indignation!"  We
had then a long conversation on Gothick buildings; and in talking
of the form of old halls, he said, "In these halls, the fire place
was anciently always in the middle of the room, till the Whigs
removed it on one side."--About this time there had been an
execution of two or three criminals at Oxford on a Monday.  Soon
afterwards, one day at dinner, I was saying that Mr. Swinton the
chaplain of the gaol, and also a frequent preacher before the
University, a learned man, but often thoughtless and absent,
preached the condemnation-sermon on repentance, before the
convicts, on the preceding day, Sunday; and that in the close he
told his audience, that he should give them the remainder of what
he had to say on the subject, the next Lord's Day.  Upon which, one
of our company, a Doctor of Divinity, and a plain matter-of-fact
man, by way of offering an apology for Mr. Swinton, gravely
remarked, that he had probably preached the same sermon before the
University: "Yes, Sir, (says Johnson) but the University were not
to be hanged the next morning."

'I forgot to observe before, that when he left Mr. Meeke, (as I
have told above) he added, "About the same time of life, Meeke was
left behind at Oxford to feed on a Fellowship, and I went to London
to get my living: now, Sir, see the difference of our literary
characters!"'

The degree of Master of Arts, which, it has been observed, could
not be obtained for him at an early period of his life, was now
considered as an honour of considerable importance, in order to
grace the title-page of his Dictionary; and his character in the
literary world being by this time deservedly high, his friends
thought that, if proper exertions were made, the University of
Oxford would pay him the compliment.


To THE REVEREND THOMAS WARTON.

'DEAR SIR,--I am extremely sensible of the favour done me, both by
Mr. Wise and yourself.  The book* cannot, I think, be printed in
less than six weeks, nor probably so soon; and I will keep back the
title-page, for such an insertion as you seem to promise me. . . .

'I had lately the favour of a letter from your brother, with some
account of poor Collins, for whom I am much concerned.  I have a
notion, that by very great temperance, or more properly abstinence,
he may yet recover. . . .

'You know poor Mr. Dodsley has lost his wife; I believe he is much
affected.  I hope he will not suffer so much as I yet suffer for
the loss of mine.

[Greek text omitted]

I have ever since seemed to myself broken off from mankind; a kind
of solitary wanderer in the wild of life, without any direction, or
fixed point of view: a gloomy gazer on a world to which I have
little relation.  Yet I would endeavour, by the help of you and
your brother, to supply the want of closer union, by friendship:
and hope to have long the pleasure of being, dear Sir, most
affectionately your's,

'[London.] Dec. 21, 1754.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


* 'His Dictionary'--WARTON.


1755: AETAT. 46.]--In 1755 we behold him to great advantage; his
degree of Master of Arts conferred upon him, his Dictionary
published, his correspondence animated, his benevolence exercised.

Mr. Charles Burney, who has since distinguished himself so much in
the science of Musick, and obtained a Doctor's degree from the
University of Oxford, had been driven from the capital by bad
health, and was now residing at Lynne Regis, in Norfolk.  He had
been so much delighted with Johnson's Rambler and the Plan of his
Dictionary, that when the great work was announced in the news-
papers as nearly finished,' he wrote to Dr. Johnson, begging to be
informed when and in what manner his Dictionary would be published;
intreating, if it should be by subscription, or he should have any
books at his own disposal, to be favoured with six copies for
himself and friends.

In answer to this application, Dr. Johnson wrote the following
letter, of which (to use Dr. Burney's own words) 'if it be
remembered that it was written to an obscure young man, who at this
time had not much distinguished himself even in his own profession,
but whose name could never have reached the authour of The Rambler,
the politeness and urbanity may be opposed to some of the stories
which have been lately circulated of Dr. Johnson's natural rudeness
and ferocity.'


'TO MR. BURNEY, IN LYNNE REGIS, NORFOLK.

'SIR,--If you imagine that by delaying my answer I intended to shew
any neglect of the notice with which you have favoured me, you will
neither think justly of yourself nor of me.  Your civilities were
offered with too much elegance not to engage attention; and I have
too much pleasure in pleasing men like you, not to feel very
sensibly the distinction which you have bestowed upon me.

'Few consequences of my endeavours to please or to benefit mankind
have delighted me more than your friendship thus voluntarily
offered, which now I have it I hope to keep, because I hope to
continue to deserve it.

'I have no Dictionaries to dispose of for myself, but shall be glad
to have you direct your friends to Mr. Dodsley, because it was by
his recommendation that I was employed in the work.

'When you have leisure to think again upon me, let me be favoured
with another letter; and another yet, when you have looked into my
Dictionary.  If you find faults, I shall endeavour to mend them; if
you find none, I shall think you blinded by kind partiality: but to
have made you partial in his favour, will very much gratify the
ambition of, Sir, your most obliged and most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Gough-square, Fleet-street, April 8,1755.'


The Dictionary, with a Grammar and History of the English Language,
being now at length published, in two volumes folio, the world
contemplated with wonder so stupendous a work achieved by one man,
while other countries had thought such undertakings fit only for
whole academies.  Vast as his powers were, I cannot but think that
his imagination deceived him, when he supposed that by constant
application he might have performed the task in three years.

The extensive reading which was absolutely necessary for the
accumulation of authorities, and which alone may account for
Johnson's retentive mind being enriched with a very large and
various store of knowledge and imagery, must have occupied several
years.  The Preface furnishes an eminent instance of a double
talent, of which Johnson was fully conscious.  Sir Joshua Reynolds
heard him say, 'There are two things which I am confident I can do
very well: one is an introduction to any literary work, stating
what it is to contain, and how it should be executed in the most
perfect manner; the other is a conclusion, shewing from various
causes why the execution has not been equal to what the authour
promised to himself and to the publick.'

A few of his definitions must be admitted to be erroneous.  Thus,
Windward and Leeward, though directly of opposite meaning, are
defined identically the same way; as to which inconsiderable specks
it is enough to observe, that his Preface announces that he was
aware there might be many such in so immense a work; nor was he at
all disconcerted when an instance was pointed out to him.  A lady
once asked him how he came to define Pastern the KNEE of a horse:
instead of making an elaborate defence, as she expected, he at once
answered, 'Ignorance, madam, pure ignorance.'  His definition of
Network* has been often quoted with sportive malignity, as
obscuring a thing in itself very plain.  But to these frivolous
censures no other answer is necessary than that with which we are
furnished by his own Preface.


* Any thing reticulated or decussated, at equal distances, with
interstices between the intersections.'--ED.


His introducing his own opinions, and even prejudices, under
general definitions of words, while at the same time the original
meaning of the words is not explained, as his Tory, Whig, Pension,
Oats, Excise,* and a few more, cannot be fully defended, and must
be placed to the account of capricious and humorous indulgence.
Talking to me upon this subject when we were at Ashbourne in 1777,
he mentioned a still stronger instance of the predominance of his
private feelings in the composition of this work, than any now to
be found in it.  'You know, Sir, Lord Gower forsook the old
Jacobite interest.  When I came to the word Renegado, after telling
that it meant "one who deserts to the enemy, a revolter," I added,
Sometimes we say a GOWER.  Thus it went to the press; but the
printer had more wit than I, and struck it out.'


* Tory.  'One who adheres to the ancient constitution or the state
and the apostolical hierarchy of the church or England, opposed to
a whig.'  Whig.  'The name of a faction.'  Pension.  'An allowance
made to any one without an equivalent.  In England it is generally
understood to mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his
country.'  Oats.  'A grain which in England is generally given to
horses, but in Scotland supports the people.'  Excise.  'A hateful
tax levied upon commodities, and adjudged not by the common judges
of property, but wretches hired by those to whom excise is paid.'--
ED.


Let it, however, be remembered, that this indulgence does not
display itself only in sarcasm towards others, but sometimes in
playful allusion to the notions commonly entertained of his own
laborious task.  Thus: 'Grub-street, the name of a street in
London, much inhabited by writers of small histories, dictionaries,
and temporary poems; whence any mean production is called Grub-
street.'--'Lexicographer, a writer of dictionaries, a harmless
drudge.'

It must undoubtedly seem strange, that the conclusion of his
Preface should be expressed in terms so desponding, when it is
considered that the authour was then only in his forty-sixth year.
But we must ascribe its gloom to that miserable dejection of
spirits to which he was constitutionally subject, and which was
aggravated by the death of his wife two years before.  I have heard
it ingeniously observed by a lady of rank and elegance, that 'his
melancholy was then at its meridian.'  It pleased GOD to grant him
almost thirty years of life after this time; and once, when he was
in a placid frame of mind, he was obliged to own to me that he had
enjoyed happier days, and had many more friends, since that gloomy
hour than before.

It is a sad saying, that 'most of those whom he wished to please
had sunk into the grave;' and his case at forty-five was singularly
unhappy, unless the circle of his friends was very narrow.  He said
to Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'If a man does not make new acquaintance as
he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone.  A
man, Sir, should keep his friendship in constant repair.'

In July this year he had formed some scheme of mental improvement,
the particular purpose of which does not appear.  But we find in
his Prayers and Meditations, p. 25, a prayer entitled 'On the Study
of Philosophy, as an Instrument of living;' and after it follows a
note, 'This study was not pursued.'

On the 13th of the same month he wrote in his Journal the following
scheme of life, for Sunday:

'Having lived' (as he with tenderness of conscience expresses
himself) 'not without an habitual reverence for the Sabbath, yet
without that attention to its religious duties which Christianity
requires;

'1.  To rise early, and in order to it, to go to sleep early on
Saturday.

'2.  To use some extraordinary devotion in the morning.

'3.  To examine the tenour of my life, and particularly the last.
week; and to mark my advances in religion, or recession from it.

'4.  To read the Scripture methodically with such helps as are at
hand.

'5.  To go to church twice.

'6.  To read books of Divinity, either speculative or practical.

'7.  To instruct my family.

'8.  To wear off by meditation any worldly soil contracted in the
week.'

1756: AETAT. 47.]--In 1756 Johnson found that the great fame of his
Dictionary had not set him above the necessity of 'making provision
for the day that was passing over him.'  No royal or noble patron
extended a munificent hand to give independence to the man who had
conferred stability on the language of his country.  We may feel
indignant that there should have been such unworthy neglect; but we
must, at the same time, congratulate ourselves, when we consider
that to this very neglect, operating to rouse the natural indolence
of his constitution, we owe many valuable productions, which
otherwise, perhaps, might never have appeared.

He had spent, during the progress of the work, the money for which
he had contracted to write his Dictionary.  We have seen that the
reward of his labour was only fifteen hundred and seventy-five
pounds; and when the expence of amanuenses and paper, and other
articles are deducted, his clear profit was very inconsiderable.  I
once said to him, 'I am sorry, Sir, you did not get more for your
Dictionary.'  His answer was, 'I am sorry, too.  But it was very
well.  The booksellers are generous, liberal-minded men.'  He, upon
all occasions, did ample justice to their character in this
respect.  He considered them as the patrons of literature; and,
indeed, although they have eventually been considerable gainers by
his Dictionary, it is to them that we owe its having been
undertaken and carried through at the risk of great expence, for
they were not absolutely sure of being indemnified.

He this year resumed his scheme of giving an edition of Shakspeare
with notes.*  He issued Proposals of considerable length, in which
he shewed that he perfectly well knew what a variety of research
such an undertaking required; but his indolence prevented him from
pursuing it with that diligence which alone can collect those
scattered facts that genius, however acute, penetrating, and
luminous, cannot discover by its own force.  It is remarkable, that
at this time his fancied activity was for the moment so vigorous,
that he promised his work should be published before Christmas,
1757.  Yet nine years elapsed before it saw the light.  His throes
in bringing it forth had been severe and remittent; and at last we
may almost conclude that the Caesarian operation was performed by
the knife of Churchill, whose upbraiding satire, I dare say, made
Johnson's friends urge him to dispatch.


    'He for subscribers bates his hook,
     And takes your cash; but where's the book?
     No matter where; wise fear, you know,
     Forbids the robbing of a foe;
     But what, to serve our private ends,
     Forbids the cheating of our friends?'


* First proposed in 1745--ED.


About this period he was offered a living of considerable value in
Lincolnshire, if he were inclined to enter into holy orders.  It
was a rectory in the gift of Mr. Langton, the father of his much
valued friend.  But he did not accept of it; partly I believe from
a conscientious motive, being persuaded that his temper and habits
rendered him unfit for that assiduous and familiar instruction of
the vulgar and ignorant which he held to be an essential duty in a
clergyman; and partly because his love of a London life was so
strong, that he would have thought himself an exile in any other
place, particularly if residing in the country.  Whoever would wish
to see his thoughts upon that subject displayed in their full
force, may peruse The Adventurer, Number 126.

1757: AETAT. 48.]--MR. BURNEY having enclosed to him an extract
from the review of his Dictionary in the Bibliotheque des Savans,
and a list of subscribers to his Shakspeare, which Mr. Burney had
procured in Norfolk, he wrote the following answer:


'TO MR. BURNEY, IN LYNNE, NORFOLK.

'SIR,--That I may shew myself sensible of your favours, and not
commit the same fault a second time, I make haste to answer the
letter which I received this morning.  The truth is, the other
likewise was received, and I wrote an answer; but being desirous to
transmit you some proposals and receipts, I waited till I could
find a convenient conveyance, and day was passed after day, till
other things drove it from my thoughts; yet not so, but that I
remember with great pleasure your commendation of my Dictionary.
Your praise was welcome, not only because I believe it was sincere,
but because praise has been very scarce.  A man of your candour
will be surprised when I tell you, that among all my acquaintance
there were only two, who upon the publication of my book did not
endeavour to depress me with threats of censure from the publick,
or with objections learned from those who had learned them from my
own Preface.  Your's is the only letter of goodwill that I have
received; though, indeed, I am promised something of that sort from
Sweden.

'How my new edition will be received I know not; the subscription
has not been very successful.  I shall publish about March.

'If you can direct me how to send proposals, I should wish that
they were in such hands.

'I remember, Sir, in some of the first letters with which you
favoured me, you mentioned your lady.  May I enquire after her?  In
return for the favours which you have shewn me, it is not much to
tell you, that I wish you and her all that can conduce to your
happiness.  I am, Sir, your most obliged, and most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Gough-square, Dec. 24, 1757.'


In 1758 we find him, it should seem, in as easy and pleasant a
state of existence, as constitutional unhappiness ever permitted
him to enjoy.


'TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ., AT LANGTON, LINCOLNSHIRE.

'DEAREST SIR,--I must indeed have slept very fast, not to have been
awakened by your letter.  None of your suspicions are true; I am
not much richer than when you left me; and, what is worse, my
omission of an answer to your first letter, will prove that I am
not much wiser.  But I go on as I formerly did, designing to be
some time or other both rich and wise; and yet cultivate neither
mind nor fortune.  Do you take notice of my example, and learn the
danger of delay.  When I was as you are now, towering in the
confidence of twenty-one, little did I suspect that I should be at
forty-nine, what I now am.

'But you do not seem to need my admonition.  You are busy in
acquiring and in communicating knowledge, and while you are
studying, enjoy the end of study, by making others wiser and
happier.  I was much pleased with the tale that you told me of
being tutour to your sisters.  I, who have no sisters nor brothers,
look with some degree of innocent envy on those who may be said to
be born to friends; and cannot see, without wonder, how rarely that
native union is afterwards regarded.  It sometimes, indeed,
happens, that some supervenient cause of discord may overpower this
original amity; but it seems to me more frequently thrown away with
levity, or lost by negligence, than destroyed by injury or
violence.  We tell the ladies that good wives make good husbands; I
believe it is a more certain position that good brothers make good
sisters.

'I am satisfied with your stay at home, as Juvenal with his
friend's retirement to Cumae: I know that your absence is best,
though it be not best for me.


    'Quamvis digressu veteris confusus amici,
     Laudo tamen vacuis quod sedem figere Cumis
     Destinet, atque unum civem donare Sibylloe.'


'Langton is a good Cumae, but who must be Sibylla?  Mrs. Langton is
as wise as Sibyl, and as good; and will live, if my wishes can
prolong life, till she shall in time be as old.  But she differs in
this, that she has not scattered her precepts in the wind, at least
not those which she bestowed upon you.

'The two Wartons just looked into the town, and were taken to see
Cleone, where, David* says, they were starved for want of company
to keep them warm.  David and Doddy** have had a new quarrel, and,
I think, cannot conveniently quarrel any more.  Cleone was well
acted by all the characters, but Bellamy left nothing to be
desired.  I went the first night, and supported it, as well as I
might; for Doddy, you know, is my patron, and I would not desert
him.  The play was very well received.  Doddy, after the danger was
over, went every night to the stage-side, and cried at the distress
of poor Cleone.


* Mr. Garrick--BOSWELL.

** Mr. Dodsley, the Authour of Cleone.--BOSWELL.


'I have left off housekeeping, and therefore made presents of the
game which you were pleased to send me.  The pheasant I gave to Mr.
Richardson,* the bustard to Dr. Lawrence, and the pot I placed with
Miss Williams, to be eaten by myself.  She desires that her
compliments and good wishes may be accepted by the family; and I
make the same request for myself.


* Mr. Samuel Richardson, authour of Clarissa.--BOSWELL.


'Mr. Reynolds has within these few days raised his price to twenty
guineas a head, and Miss is much employed in miniatures.  I know
not any body [else] whose prosperity has increased since you left
them.

'Murphy is to have his Orphan of China acted next month; and is
therefore, I suppose, happy.  I wish I could tell you of any great
good to which I was approaching, but at present my prospects do not
much delight me; however, I am always pleased when I find that you,
dear Sir, remember, your affectionate, humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Jan. 9, 1758.'


Dr. Burney has kindly favoured me with the following memorandum,
which I take the liberty to insert in his own genuine easy style.
I love to exhibit sketches of my illustrious friend by various
eminent hands.

'Soon after this, Mr. Burney, during a visit to the capital, had an
interview with him in Gough-square, where he dined and drank tea
with him, and was introduced to the acquaintance of Mrs. Williams.
After dinner, Mr. Johnson proposed to Mr. Burney to go up with him
into his garret, which being accepted, he there found about five or
six Greek folios, a deal writing-desk, and a chair and a half.
Johnson giving to his guest the entire seat, tottered himself on
one with only three legs and one arm.  Here he gave Mr. Burney Mrs.
Williams's history, and shewed him some volumes of his Shakspeare
already printed, to prove that he was in earnest.  Upon Mr.
Burney's opening the first volume, at the Merchant of Venice, he
observed to him, that he seemed to be more severe on Warburton than
Theobald.  "O poor Tib.! (said Johnson) he was ready knocked down
to my hands; Warburton stands between me and him."  "But, Sir,
(said Mr. Burney,) you'll have Warburton upon your bones, won't
you?"  "No, Sir; he'll not come out: he'll only growl in his den."
"But you think, Sir, that Warburton is a superiour critick to
Theobald?"  "O Sir he'd make two-and-fifty Theobalds, cut into
slices!  The worst of Warburton is, that he has a rage for saying
something, when there's nothing to be said."  Mr. Burney then asked
him whether he had seen the letter which Warburton had written in
answer to a pamphlet addressed "To the most impudent Man alive."
He answered in the negative.  Mr. Burney told him it was supposed
to be written by Mallet.  The controversey now raged between the
friends of Pope and Bolingbroke; and Warburton and Mallet were the
leaders of the several parties.  Mr. Burney asked him then if he
had seen Warburton's book against Bolingbroke's Philosophy?  "No,
Sir, I have never read Bolingbroke's impiety, and therefore am not
interested about its confutation."'

On the fifteenth of April he began a new periodical paper, entitled
The Idler, which came out every Saturday in a weekly news-paper,
called The Universal Chronicle, or Weekly Gazette, published by
Newbery.  These essays were continued till April 5, 1760.  Of one
hundred and three, their total number, twelve were contributed by
his friends.

The Idler is evidently the work of the same mind which produced The
Rambler, but has less body and more spirit.  It has more variety of
real life, and greater facility of language.  He describes the
miseries of idleness, with the lively sensations of one who has
felt them; and in his private memorandums while engaged in it, we
find 'This year I hope to learn diligence.'  Many of these
excellent essays were written as hastily as an ordinary letter.
Mr. Langton remembers Johnson, when on a visit at Oxford, asking
him one evening how long it was till the post went out; and on
being told about half an hour, he exclaimed, 'then we shall do very
well.'  He upon this instantly sat down and finished an Idler,
which it was necessary should be in London the next day.  Mr.
Langton having signified a wish to read it, 'Sir, (said he) you
shall not do more than I have done myself.'  He then folded it up
and sent it off.

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

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

Voltaire's Candide, written to refute the system of Optimism, which
it has accomplished with brilliant success, is wonderfully similar
in its plan and conduct to Johnson's Rasselas; insomuch, that I
have heard Johnson say, that if they had not been published so
closely one after the other that there was not time for imitation,
it would have been in vain to deny that the scheme of that which
came latest was taken from the other.  Though the proposition
illustrated by both these works was the same, namely, that in our
present state there is more evil than good, the intention of the
writers was very different.  Voltaire, I am afraid, meant only by
wanton profaneness to obtain a sportive victory over religion, and
to discredit the belief of a superintending Providence; Johnson
meant, by shewing the unsatisfactory nature of things temporal, to
direct the hopes of man to things eternal.  Rasselas, as was
observed to me by a very accomplished lady, may be considered as a
more enlarged and more deeply philosophical discourse in prose,
upon the interesting truth, which in his Vanity of Human Wishes he
had so successfully enforced in verse.

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


'TO JOSEPH SIMPSON, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--Your father's inexorability not only grieves but amazes
me: he is your father; he was always accounted a wise man; nor do I
remember any thing to the disadvantage of his good-nature; but in
his refusal to assist you there is neither good-nature, fatherhood,
nor wisdom.  It is the practice of good-nature to overlook faults
which have already, by the consequences, punished the delinquent.
It is natural for a father to think more favourably than others of
his children; and it is always wise to give assistance while a
little help will prevent the necessity of greater.

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

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

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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

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

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


'Chelsea, March 16, 1759.

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

'T. SMOLLET.'


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

1760: AETAT. 51.]--I take this opportunity to relate the manner in
which an acquaintance first commenced between Dr. Johnson and Mr.
Murphy.  During the publication of The Gray's-Inn Journal, a
periodical paper which was successfully carried on by Mr. Murphy
alone, when a very young man, he happened to be in the country with
Mr. Foote; and having mentioned that he was obliged to go to London
in order to get ready for the press one of the numbers of that
Journal, Foote said to him, 'You need not go on that account.  Here
is a French magazine, in which you will find a very pretty oriental
tale; translate that, and send it to your printer.'  Mr. Murphy
having read the tale, was highly pleased with it, and followed
Foote's advice.  When he returned to town, this tale was pointed
out to him in The Rambler, from whence it had been translated into
the French magazine.  Mr. Murphy then waited upon Johnson, to
explain this curious incident.  His talents, literature, and
gentleman-like manners, were soon perceived by Johnson, and a
friendship was formed which was never broken.

1762: AETAT. 53.]--A lady having at this time solicited him to
obtain the Archbishop of Canterbury's patronage to have her son
sent to the University, one of those solicitations which are too
frequent, where people, anxious for a particular object, do not
consider propriety, or the opportunity which the persons whom they
solicit have to assist them, he wrote to her the following answer,
with a copy of which I am favoured by the Reverend Dr. Farmer,
Master of Emanuel College, Cambridge.


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

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

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

'June 8, 1762.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


'TO MR. JOSEPH BARETTI, AT MILAN.

'London, July 20, 1762.

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

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

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

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

'May you, my Baretti, be very happy at Milan, or some other place
nearer to, Sir, your most affectionate humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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

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

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

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

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

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

1763: AETAT. 54.]--This is to me a memorable year; for in it I had
the happiness to obtain the acquaintance of that extraordinary man
whose memoirs I am now writing; an acquaintance which I shall ever
esteem as one of the most fortunate circumstances in my life.
Though then but two-and-twenty, I had for several years read his
works with delight and instruction, and had the highest reverence
for their authour, which had grown up in my fancy into a kind of
mysterious veneration, by figuring to myself a state of solemn
elevated abstraction, in which I supposed him to live in the
immense metropolis of London.  Mr. Gentleman, a native of Ireland,
who passed some years in Scotland as a player, and as an instructor
in the English language, a man whose talents and worth were
depressed by misfortunes, had given me a representation of the
figure and manner of DICTIONARY JOHNSON! as he was then generally
called; and during my first visit to London, which was for three
months in 1760, Mr. Derrick the poet, who was Gentleman's friend
and countryman, flattered me with hopes that he would introduce me
to Johnson, an honour of which I was very ambitious.  But he never
found an opportunity; which made me doubt that he had promised to
do what was not in his power; till Johnson some years afterwards
told me, 'Derrick, Sir, might very well have introduced you.  I had
a kindness for Derrick, and am sorry he is dead.'

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

When I returned to London in the end of 1762, to my surprise and
regret I found an irreconcilable difference had taken place between
Johnson and Sheridan.  A pension of two hundred pounds a year had
been given to Sheridan.  Johnson, who, as has been already
mentioned, thought slightingly of Sheridan's art, upon hearing that
he was also pensioned, exclaimed, 'What! have they given HIM a
pension?  Then it is time for me to give up mine.'

Johnson complained that a man who disliked him repeated his sarcasm
to Mr. Sheridan, without telling him what followed, which was, that
after a pause he added, 'However, I am glad that Mr. Sheridan has a
pension, for he is a very good man.'  Sheridan could never forgive
this hasty contemptuous expression.  It rankled in his mind; and
though I informed him of all that Johnson said, and that he would
be very glad to meet him amicably, he positively declined repeated
offers which I made, and once went off abruptly from a house where
he and I were engaged to dine, because he was told that Dr. Johnson
was to be there.

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

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

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

At last, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was sitting in Mr.
Davies's back-parlour, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs.
Davies, Johnson unexpectedly came into the shop; and Mr. Davies
having perceived him through the glass-door in the room in which we
were sitting, advancing towards us,--he announced his aweful
approach to me, somewhat in the manner of an actor in the part of
Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet on the appearance of his father's
ghost, 'Look, my Lord, it comes.'  I found that I had a very
perfect idea of Johnson's figure, from the portrait of him painted
by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had published his Dictionary,
in the attitude of sitting in his easy chair in deep meditation,
which was the first picture his friend did for him, which Sir
Joshua very kindly presented to me, and from which an engraving has
been made for this work.  Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and
respectfully introduced me to him.  I was much agitated; and
recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard
much, I said to Davies, 'Don't tell where I come from.'--'From
Scotland,' cried Davies roguishly.  'Mr. Johnson, (said I) I do
indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it.'  I am willing to
flatter myself that I meant this as light pleasantry to sooth and
conciliate him, and not as an humiliating abasement at the expence
of my country.  But however that might be, this speech was somewhat
unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which he was so
remarkable, he seized the expression 'come from Scotland,' which I
used in the sense of being of that country; and, as if I had said
that I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, 'That, Sir, I
find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.'
This stroke stunned me a good deal; and when we had sat down, I
felt myself not a little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what
might come next.  He then addressed himself to Davies: 'What do you
think of Garrick?  He has refused me an order for the play for Miss
Williams, because he knows the house will be full, and that an
order would be worth three shillings.'  Eager to take any opening
to get into conversation with him, I ventured to say, 'O, Sir, I
cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge such a trifle to you.'  'Sir,
(said he, with a stern look,) I have known David Garrick longer
than you have done: and I know no right you have to talk to me on
the subject.'  Perhaps I deserved this check; for it was rather
presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any doubt of the
justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance and pupil.*
I now felt myself much mortified, and began to think that the hope
which I had long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was
blasted.  And, in truth, had not my ardour been uncommonly strong,
and my resolution uncommonly persevering, so rough a reception
might have deterred me for ever from making any further attempts.
Fortunately, however, I remained upon the field not wholly
discomfited.


* That this was a momentary sally against Garrick there can be no
doubt; for at Johnson's desire he had, some years before, given a
benefit-night at his theatre to this very person, by which she had
got two hundred pounds.  Johnson, indeed, upon all other occasions,
when I was in his company praised the very liberal charity of
Garrick.  I once mentioned to him, 'It is observed, Sir, that you
attack Garrick yourself, but will suffer nobody else to do it.'
Johnson, (smiling) 'Why, Sir, that is true.'--BOSWELL.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


    "Perch'd on the eagle's soaring wing,
     The lowly linnet loves to sing."


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

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


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


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


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


And then, Sir,


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


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


    "Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing,
     They mock the air with idle state."'


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I complained to him that I had not yet acquired much knowledge, and
asked his advice as to my studies.  He said, 'Don't talk of study
now.  I will give you a plan; but it will require some time to
consider of it.'  'It is very good in you (I replied,) to allow me
to be with you thus.  Had it been foretold to me some years ago
that I should pass an evening with the authour of The Rambler, how
should I have exulted!'  What I then expressed, was sincerely from
the heart.  He was satisfied that it was, and cordially answered,
'Sir, I am glad we have met.  I hope we shall pass many evenings
and mornings too, together.'  We finished a couple of bottles of
port, and sat till between one and two in the morning.

As Dr. Oliver Goldsmith will frequently appear in this narrative, I
shall endeavour to make my readers in some degree acquainted with
his singular character.  He was a native of Ireland, and a
contemporary with Mr. Burke at Trinity College, Dublin, but did not
then give much promise of future celebrity.  He, however, observed
to Mr. Malone, that 'though he made no great figure in
mathematicks, which was a study in much repute there, he could turn
an Ode of Horace into English better than any of them.'  He
afterwards studied physick at Edinburgh, and upon the Continent;
and I have been informed, was enabled to pursue his travels on
foot, partly by demanding at Universities to enter the lists as a
disputant, by which, according to the custom of many of them, he
was entitled to the premium of a crown, when luckily for him his
challenge was not accepted; so that, as I once observed to Dr.
Johnson, he DISPUTED his passage through Europe.  He then came to
England, and was employed successively in the capacities of an
usher to an academy, a corrector of the press, a reviewer, and a
writer for a news-paper.  He had sagacity enough to cultivate
assiduously the acquaintance of Johnson, and his faculties were
gradually enlarged by the contemplation of such a model.  To me and
many others it appeared that he studiously copied the manner of
Johnson, though, indeed, upon a smaller scale.

At this time I think he had published nothing with his name, though
it was pretty generally known that one Dr. Goldsmith was the
authour of An Enquiry into the present State of polite Learning in
Europe, and of The Citizen of the World, a series of letters
supposed to be written from London by a Chinese.  No man had the
art of displaying with more advantage as a writer, whatever
literary acquisitions he made.  'Nihil quod tetigit non ornavit.'
His mind resembled a fertile, but thin soil.  There was a quick,
but not a strong vegetation, of whatever chanced to be thrown upon
it.  No deep root could be struck.  The oak of the forest did not
grow there; but the elegant shrubbery and the fragrant parterre
appeared in gay succession.  It has been generally circulated and
believed that he was a mere fool in conversation; but, in truth,
this has been greatly exaggerated.  He had, no doubt, a more than
common share of that hurry of ideas which we often find in his
countrymen, and which sometimes produces a laughable confusion in
expressing them.  He was very much what the French call un etourdi,
and from vanity and an eager desire of being conspicuous wherever
he was, he frequently talked carelessly without knowledge of the
subject, or even without thought.  His person was short, his
countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar
aukwardly affecting the easy gentleman.  Those who were in any way
distinguished, excited envy in him to so ridiculous an excess, that
the instances of it are hardly credible.  When accompanying two
beautiful young ladies* with their mother on a tour in France, he
was seriously angry that more attention was paid to them than to
him; and once at the exhibition of the Fantoccini in London, when
those who sat next him observed with what dexterity a puppet was
made to toss a pike, he could not bear that it should have such
praise, and exclaimed with some warmth, 'Pshaw! I can do it better
myself.'


* These were the Misses Horneck, known otherwise as 'Little Comedy'
and 'The Jessamy Bride.'--ED.


He boasted to me at this time of the power of his pen in commanding
money, which I believe was true in a certain degree, though in the
instance he gave he was by no means correct.  He told me that he
had sold a novel for four hundred pounds.  This was his Vicar of
Wakefield.  But Johnson informed me, that he had made the bargain
for Goldsmith, and the price was sixty pounds.  'And, Sir, (said
he,) a sufficient price too, when it was sold; for then the fame of
Goldsmith had not been elevated, as it afterwards was, by his
Traveller; and the bookseller had such faint hopes of profit by his
bargain, that he kept the manuscript by him a long time, and did
not publish it till after The Traveller had appeared.  Then, to be
sure, it was accidentally worth more money.

Mrs. Piozzi and Sir John Hawkins have strangely misstated the
history of Goldsmith's situation and Johnson's friendly
interference, when this novel was sold.  I shall give it
authentically from Johnson's own exact narration:--'I received one
morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great
distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging
that I would come to him as soon as possible.  I sent him a guinea,
and promised to come to him directly.  I accordingly went as soon
as I was drest, and found that his landlady had arrested him for
his rent, at which he was in a violent passion.  I perceived that
he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira
and a glass before him.  I put the cork into the bottle, desired he
would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he
might be extricated.  He then told me that he had a novel ready for
the press, which he produced to me.  I looked into it, and saw its
merit; told the landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a
bookseller, sold it for sixty pounds.  I brought Goldsmith the
money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady
in a high tone for having used him so ill.'

My next meeting with Johnson was on Friday the 1st of July, when he
and I and Dr. Goldsmith supped together at the Mitre.  I was before
this time pretty well acquainted with Goldsmith, who was one of the
brightest ornaments of the Johnsonian school.  Goldsmith's
respectful attachment to Johnson was then at its height; for his
own literary reputation had not yet distinguished him so much as to
excite a vain desire of competition with his great Master.  He had
increased my admiration of the goodness of Johnson's heart, by
incidental remarks in the course of conversation, such as, when I
mentioned Mr. Levet, whom he entertained under his roof, 'He is
poor and honest, which is recommendation enough to Johnson;' and
when I wondered that he was very kind to a man of whom I had heard
a very bad character, 'He is now become miserable; and that insures
the protection of Johnson.'

He talked very contemptuously of Churchill's poetry, observing,
that 'it had a temporary currency, only from its audacity of abuse,
and being filled with living names, and that it would sink into
oblivion.'  I ventured to hint that he was not quite a fair judge,
as Churchill had attacked him violently.  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, I am
a very fair judge.  He did not attack me violently till he found I
did not like his poetry; and his attack on me shall not prevent me
from continuing to say what I think of him, from an apprehension
that it may be ascribed to resentment.  No, Sir, I called the
fellow a blockhead at first, and I will call him a blockhead still.
However, I will acknowledge that I have a better opinion of him
now, than I once had; for he has shewn more fertility than I
expected.  To be sure, he is a tree that cannot produce good fruit:
he only bears crabs.  But, Sir, a tree that produces a great many
crabs is better than a tree which produces only a few.'

Let me here apologize for the imperfect manner in which I am
obliged to exhibit Johnson's conversation at this period.  In the
early part of my acquaintance with him, I was so wrapt in
admiration of his extraordinary colloquial talents, and so little
accustomed to his peculiar mode of expression, that I found it
extremely difficult to recollect and record his conversation with
its genuine vigour and vivacity.  In progress of time, when my mind
was, as it were, strongly impregnated with the Johnsonian oether, I
could, with much more facility and exactness, carry in my memory
and commit to paper the exuberant variety of his wisdom and wit.

At this time MISS Williams, as she was then called, though she did
not reside with him in the Temple under his roof, but had lodgings
in Bolt-court, Fleet-street, had so much of his attention, that he
every night drank tea with her before he went home, however late it
might be, and she always sat up for him.  This, it may be fairly
conjectured, was not alone a proof of his regard for HER, but of
his own unwillingness to go into solitude, before that unseasonable
hour at which he had habituated himself to expect the oblivion of
repose.  Dr. Goldsmith, being a privileged man, went with him this
night, strutting away, and calling to me with an air of
superiority, like that of an esoterick over an exoterick disciple
of a sage of antiquity, 'I go to Miss Williams.'  I confess, I then
envied him this mighty privilege, of which he seemed so proud; but
it was not long before I obtained the same mark of distinction.

On Tuesday the 5th of July, I again visited Johnson.

Talking of London, he observed, 'Sir, if you wish to have a just
notion of the magnitude of this city, you must not be satisfied
with seeing its great streets and squares, but must survey the
innumerable little lanes and courts.  It is not in the showy
evolutions of buildings, but in the multiplicity of human
habitations which are crouded together, that the wonderful
immensity of London consists.'

On Wednesday, July 6, he was engaged to sup with me at my lodgings
in Downing-street, Westminster.  But on the preceding night my
landlord having behaved very rudely to me and some company who were
with me, I had resolved not to remain another night in his house.
I was exceedingly uneasy at the aukward appearance I supposed I
should make to Johnson and the other gentlemen whom I had invited,
not being able to receive them at home, and being obliged to order
supper at the Mitre.  I went to Johnson in the morning, and talked
of it as a serious distress.  He laughed, and said, 'Consider, Sir,
how insignificant this will appear a twelvemonth hence.'--Were this
consideration to be applied to most of the little vexatious
incidents of life, by which our quiet is too often disturbed, it
would prevent many painful sensations.  I have tried it frequently,
with good effect.  'There is nothing (continued he) in this mighty
misfortune; nay, we shall be better at the Mitre.'

I had as my guests this evening at the Mitre tavern, Dr. Johnson,
Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Thomas Davies, Mr. Eccles, an Irish gentleman,
for whose agreeable company I was obliged to Mr. Davies, and the
Reverend Mr. John Ogilvie, who was desirous of being in company
with my illustrious friend, while I, in my turn, was proud to have
the honour of shewing one of my countrymen upon what easy terms
Johnson permitted me to live with him.

Goldsmith, as usual, endeavoured, with too much eagerness, to
SHINE, and disputed very warmly with Johnson against the well-known
maxim of the British constitution, 'the King can do no wrong;'
affirming, that 'what was morally false could not be politically
true; and as the King might, in the exercise of his regal power,
command and cause the doing of what was wrong, it certainly might
be said, in sense and in reason, that he could do wrong.'  JOHNSON.
'Sir, you are to consider, that in our constitution, according to
its true principles, the King is the head; he is supreme; he is
above every thing, and there is no power by which he can be tried.
Therefore, it is, Sir, that we hold the King can do no wrong; that
whatever may happen to be wrong in government may not be above our
reach, by being ascribed to Majesty.  Redress is always to be had
against oppression, by punishing the immediate agents.  The King,
though he should command, cannot force a Judge to condemn a man
unjustly; therefore it is the Judge whom we prosecute and punish.
Political institutions are formed upon the consideration of what
will most frequently tend to the good of the whole, although now
and then exceptions may occur.  Thus it is better in general that a
nation should have a supreme legislative power, although it may at
times be abused.  And then, Sir, there is this consideration, that
if the abuse be enormous, Nature will rise up, and claiming her
original rights, overturn a corrupt political system.'  I mark this
animated sentence with peculiar pleasure, as a noble instance of
that truly dignified spirit of freedom which ever glowed in his
heart, though he was charged with slavish tenets by superficial
observers; because he was at all times indignant against that false
patriotism, that pretended love of freedom, that unruly
restlessness, which is inconsistent with the stable authority of
any good government.

'Bayle's Dictionary is a very useful work for those to consult who
love the biographical part of literature, which is what I love
most.'

Talking of the eminent writers in Queen Anne's reign, he observed,
'I think Dr. Arbuthnot the first man among them.  He was the most
universal genius, being an excellent physician, a man of deep
learning, and a man of much humour.  Mr. Addison was, to be sure, a
great man; his learning was not profound; but his morality, his
humour, and his elegance of writing, set him very high.'

Mr. Ogilvie was unlucky enough to choose for the topick of his
conversation the praises of his native country.  He began with
saying, that there was very rich land round Edinburgh.  Goldsmith,
who had studied physick there, contradicted this, very untruly,
with a sneering laugh.  Disconcerted a little by this, Mr. Ogilvie
then took new ground, where, I suppose, he thought himself
perfectly safe; for he observed, that Scotland had a great many
noble wild prospects.  JOHNSON.  'I believe, Sir, you have a great
many.  Norway, too, has noble wild prospects; and Lapland is
remarkable for prodigious noble wild prospects.  But, Sir, let me
tell you, the noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the
high road that leads him to England!'  This unexpected and pointed
sally produced a roar of applause.  After all, however, those, who
admire the rude grandeur of Nature, cannot deny it to Caledonia.

On Saturday, July 9, I found Johnson surrounded with a numerous
levee, but have not preserved any part of his conversation.  On the
14th we had another evening by ourselves at the Mitre.  It
happening to be a very rainy night, I made some common-place
observations on the relaxation of nerves and depression of spirits
which such weather occasioned; adding, however, that it was good
for the vegetable creation.  Johnson, who, as we have already seen,
denied that the temperature of the air had any influence on the
human frame, answered, with a smile of ridicule.  'Why yes, Sir, it
is good for vegetables, and for the animals who eat those
vegetables, and for the animals who eat those animals.'  This
observation of his aptly enough introduced a good supper; and I
soon forgot, in Johnson's company, the influence of a moist
atmosphere.

Feeling myself now quite at ease as his companion, though I had all
possible reverence for him, I expressed a regret that I could not
be so easy with my father, though he was not much older than
Johnson, and certainly however respectable had not more learning
and greater abilities to depress me.  I asked him the reason of
this.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I am a man of the world.  I live in the
world, and I take, in some degree, the colour of the world as it
moves along.  Your father is a Judge in a remote part of the
island, and all his notions are taken from the old world.  Besides,
Sir, there must always be a struggle between a father and son while
one aims at power and the other at independence.'

He enlarged very convincingly upon the excellence of rhyme over
blank verse in English poetry.  I mentioned to him that Dr. Adam
Smith, in his lectures upon composition, when I studied under him
in the College of Glasgow, had maintained the same opinion
strenuously, and I repeated some of his arguments.  JOHNSON.  'Sir,
I was once in company with Smith, and we did not take to each
other; but had I known that he loved rhyme as much as you tell me
he does, I should have HUGGED him.'

'Idleness is a disease which must be combated; but I would not
advise a rigid adherence to a particular plan of study.  I myself
have never persisted in any plan for two days together.  A man
ought to read just as inclination leads him; for what he reads as a
task will do him little good.  A young man should read five hours
in a day, and so may acquire a great deal of knowledge.'

To such a degree of unrestrained frankness had he now accustomed
me, that in the course of this evening I talked of the numerous
reflections which had been thrown out against him on account of his
having accepted a pension from his present Majesty.  'Why, Sir,
(said he, with a hearty laugh,) it is a mighty foolish noise that
they make.*  I have accepted of a pension as a reward which has
been thought due to my literary merit; and now that I have this
pension, I am the same man in every respect that I have ever been;
I retain the same principles.  It is true, that I cannot now curse
(smiling) the House of Hanover; nor would it be decent for me to
drink King James's health in the wine that King George gives me
money to pay for.  But, Sir, I think that the pleasure of cursing
the House of Hanover, and drinking King James's health, are amply
overbalanced by three hundred pounds a year.'


* When I mentioned the same idle clamour to him several years
afterwards, he said, with a smile, 'I wish my pension were twice as
large, that they might make twice as much noise.'--BOSWELL.


There was here, most certainly, an affectation of more Jacobitism
than he really had.  Yet there is no doubt that at earlier periods
he was wont often to exercise both his pleasantry and ingenuity in
talking Jacobitism.  My much respected friend, Dr. Douglas, now
Bishop of Salisbury, has favoured me with the following admirable
instance from his Lordship's own recollection.  One day, when
dining at old Mr. Langton's where Miss Roberts, his niece, was one
of the company, Johnson, with his usual complacent attention to the
fair sex, took her by the hand and said, 'My dear, I hope you are a
Jacobite.'  Old Mr. Langton, who, though a high and steady Tory,
was attached to the present Royal Family, seemed offended, and
asked Johnson, with great warmth, what he could mean by putting
such a question to his niece?  'Why, Sir, (said Johnson) I meant no
offence to your niece, I meant her a great compliment.  A Jacobite,
Sir, believes in the divine right of Kings.  He that believes in
the divine right of Kings believes in a Divinity.  A Jacobite
believes in the divine right of Bishops.  He that believes in the
divine right of Bishops believes in the divine authority of the
Christian religion.  Therefore, Sir, a Jacobite is neither an
Atheist nor a Deist.  That cannot be said of a Whig; for Whiggism
is a negation of all principle.'*


* He used to tell, with great humour, from my relation to him, the
following little story of my early years, which was literally true:
'Boswell, in the year 1745, was a fine boy, wore a white cockade,
and prayed for King James, till one of his uncles (General Cochran)
gave him a shilling on condition that he should pray for King
George, which he accordingly did.  So you see (says Boswell) that
Whigs of all ages are made the same way.'--BOSWELL.


He advised me, when abroad, to be as much as I could with the
Professors in the Universities, and with the Clergy; for from their
conversation I might expect the best accounts of every thing in
whatever country I should be, with the additional advantage of
keeping my learning alive.

It will be observed, that when giving me advice as to my travels,
Dr. Johnson did not dwell upon cities, and palaces, and pictures,
and shows, and Arcadian scenes.  He was of Lord Essex's opinion,
who advises his kinsman Roger Earl of Rutland, 'rather to go an
hundred miles to speak with one wise man, than five miles to see a
fair town.'

I described to him an impudent fellow from Scotland, who affected
to be a savage, and railed at all established systems.  JOHNSON.
'There is nothing surprizing in this, Sir.  He wants to make
himself conspicuous.  He would tumble in a hogstye, as long as you
looked at him and called to him to come out.  But let him alone,
never mind him, and he'll soon give it over.'

I added, that the same person maintained that there was no
distinction between virtue and vice.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, if the
fellow does not think as he speaks, he is lying; and I see not what
honour he can propose to himself from having the character of a
lyar.  But if he does really think that there is no distinction
between virtue and vice, why, Sir, when he leaves our houses let us
count our spoons.'

He recommended to me to keep a journal of my life, full and
unreserved.  He said it would be a very good exercise, and would
yield me great satisfaction when the particulars were faded from my
remembrance.  I was uncommonly fortunate in having had a previous
coincidence of opinion with him upon this subject, for I had kept
such a journal for some time; and it was no small pleasure to me to
have this to tell him, and to receive his approbation.  He
counselled me to keep it private, and said I might surely have a
friend who would burn it in case of my death.  From this habit I
have been enabled to give the world so many anecdotes, which would
otherwise have been lost to posterity.  I mentioned that I was
afraid I put into my journal too many little incidents.  JOHNSON.
'There is nothing, Sir, too little for so little a creature as man.
It is by studying little things that we attain the great art of
having as little misery and as much happiness as possible.'

Next morning Mr. Dempster happened to call on me, and was so much
struck even with the imperfect account which I gave him of Dr.
Johnson's conversation, that to his honour be it recorded, when I
complained that drinking port and sitting up late with him affected
my nerves for some time after, he said, 'One had better be palsied
at eighteen than not keep company with such a man.'

On Tuesday, July 18, I found tall Sir Thomas Robinson sitting with
Johnson.  Sir Thomas said, that the king of Prussia valued himself
upon three things;--upon being a hero, a musician, and an authour.
JOHNSON.  'Pretty well, Sir, for one man.  As to his being an
authour, I have not looked at his poetry; but his prose is poor
stuff.  He writes just as you might suppose Voltaire's footboy to
do, who has been his amanuensis.  He has such parts as the valet
might have, and about as much of the colouring of the style as
might be got by transcribing his works.'  When I was at Ferney, I
repeated this to Voltaire, in order to reconcile him somewhat to
Johnson, whom he, in affecting the English mode of expression, had
previously characterised as 'a superstitious dog;' but after
hearing such a criticism on Frederick the Great, with whom he was
then on bad terms, he exclaimed, 'An honest fellow!'

Mr. Levet this day shewed me Dr. Johnson's library, which was
contained in two garrets over his Chambers, where Lintot, son of
the celebrated bookseller of that name, had formerly his warehouse.
I found a number of good books, but very dusty and in great
confusion.  The floor was strewed with manuscript leaves, in
Johnson's own handwriting, which I beheld with a degree of
veneration, supposing they perhaps might contain portions of The
Rambler or of Rasselas.  I observed an apparatus for chymical
experiments, of which Johnson was all his life very fond.  The
place seemed to be very favourable for retirement and meditation.
Johnson told me, that he went up thither without mentioning it to
his servant, when he wanted to study, secure from interruption; for
he would not allow his servant to say he was not at home when he
really was.  'A servant's strict regard for truth, (said he) must
be weakened by such a practice.  A philosopher may know that it is
merely a form of denial; but few servants are such nice
distinguishers.  If I accustom a servant to tell a lie for ME, have
I not reason to apprehend that he will tell many lies for HIMSELF.'

Mr. Temple, now vicar of St. Gluvias, Cornwall, who had been my
intimate friend for many years, had at this time chambers in
Farrar's-buildings, at the bottom of Inner Temple-lane, which he
kindly lent me upon my quitting my lodgings, he being to return to
Trinity Hall, Cambridge.  I found them particularly convenient for
me, as they were so near Dr. Johnson's.

On Wednesday, July 20, Dr. Johnson, Mr. Dempster, and my uncle Dr.
Boswell, who happened to be now in London, supped with me at these
Chambers.  JOHNSON.  'Pity is not natural to man.  Children are
always cruel.  Savages are always cruel.  Pity is acquired and
improved by the cultivation of reason.  We may have uneasy
sensations from seeing a creature in distress, without pity; for we
have not pity unless we wish to relieve them.  When I am on my way
to dine with a friend, and finding it late, have bid the coachman
make haste, if I happen to attend when he whips his horses, I may
feel unpleasantly that the animals are put to pain, but I do not
wish him to desist.  No, Sir, I wish him to drive on.'

Rousseau's treatise on the inequality of mankind was at this time a
fashionable topick.  It gave rise to an observation by Mr.
Dempster, that the advantages of fortune and rank were nothing to a
wise man, who ought to value only merit.  JOHNSON.  'If man were a
savage, living in the woods by himself, this might be true; but in
civilized society we all depend upon each other, and our happiness
is very much owing to the good opinion of mankind.  Now, Sir, in
civilized society, external advantages make us more respected.  A
man with a good coat upon his back meets with a better reception
than he who has a bad one.  Sir, you may analyse this, and say what
is there in it?  But that will avail you nothing, for it is a part
of a general system.  Pound St. Paul's Church into atoms, and
consider any single atom; it is, to be sure, good for nothing: but,
put all these atoms together, and you have St. Paul's Church.  So
it is with human felicity, which is made up of many ingredients,
each of which may be shewn to be very insignificant.  In civilized
society, personal merit will not serve you so much as money will.
Sir, you may make the experiment.  Go into the street, and give one
man a lecture on morality, and another a shilling, and see which
will respect you most.  If you wish only to support nature, Sir
William Petty fixes your allowance at three pounds a year; but as
times are much altered, let us call it six pounds.  This sum will
fill your belly, shelter you from the weather, and even get you a
strong lasting coat, supposing it to be made of good bull's hide.
Now, Sir, all beyond this is artificial, and is desired in order to
obtain a greater degree of respect from our fellow-creatures.  And,
Sir, if six hundred pounds a year procure a man more consequence,
and, of course, more happiness than six pounds a year, the same
proportion will hold as to six thousand, and so on as far as
opulence can be carried.  Perhaps he who has a large fortune may
not be so happy as he who has a small one; but that must proceed
from other causes than from his having the large fortune: for,
coeteris paribus, he who is rich in a civilized society, must be
happier than he who is poor; as riches, if properly used, (and it
is a man's own fault if they are not,) must be productive of the
highest advantages.  Money, to be sure, of itself is of no use; for
its only use is to part with it.  Rousseau, and all those who deal
in paradoxes, are led away by a childish desire of novelty.  When I
was a boy, I used always to choose the wrong side of a debate,
because most ingenious things, that is to say, most new things,
could be said upon it.  Sir, there is nothing for which you may not
muster up more plausible arguments, than those which are urged
against wealth and other external advantages.  Why, now, there is
stealing; why should it be thought a crime?  When we consider by
what unjust methods property has been often acquired, and that what
was unjustly got it must be unjust to keep, where is the harm in
one man's taking the property of another from him?  Besides, Sir,
when we consider the bad use that many people make of their
property, and how much better use the thief may make of it, it may
be defended as a very allowable practice.  Yet, Sir, the experience
of mankind has discovered stealing to be so very bad a thing, that
they make no scruple to hang a man for it.  When I was running
about this town a very poor fellow, I was a great arguer for the
advantages of poverty; but I was, at the same time, very sorry to
be poor.  Sir, all the arguments which are brought to represent
poverty as no evil, shew it to be evidently a great evil.  You
never find people labouring to convince you that you may live very
happily upon a plentiful fortune.--So you hear people talking how
miserable a King must be; and yet they all wish to be in his
place.'

It was suggested that Kings must be unhappy, because they are
deprived of the greatest of all satisfactions, easy and unreserved
society.  JOHNSON.  'That is an ill-founded notion.  Being a King
does not exclude a man from such society.  Great Kings have always
been social.  The King of Prussia, the only great King at present,
is very social.  Charles the Second, the last King of England who
was a man of parts, was social; and our Henrys and Edwards were all
social.'

Mr. Dempster having endeavoured to maintain that intrinsick merit
OUGHT to make the only distinction amongst mankind.  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, mankind have found that this cannot be.  How shall we
determine the proportion of intrinsick merit?  Were that to be the
only distinction amongst mankind, we should soon quarrel about the
degrees of it.  Were all distinctions abolished, the strongest
would not long acquiesce, but would endeavour to obtain a
superiority by their bodily strength.  But, Sir, as subordination
is very necessary for society, and contentions for superiority very
dangerous, mankind, that is to say, all civilized nations, have
settled it upon a plain invariable principle.  A man is born to
hereditary rank; or his being appointed to certain offices, gives
him a certain rank.  Subordination tends greatly to human
happiness.  Were we all upon an equality, we should have no other
enjoyment than mere animal pleasure.'

He took care to guard himself against any possible suspicion that
his settled principles of reverence for rank and respect for wealth
were at all owing to mean or interested motives; for he asserted
his own independence as a literary man.  'No man (said he) who ever
lived by literature, has lived more independently than I have
done.'  He said he had taken longer time than he needed to have
done in composing his Dictionary.  He received our compliments upon
that great work with complacency, and told us that the Academia
della Crusca could scarcely believe that it was done by one man.

At night* Mr. Johnson and I supped in a private room at the Turk's
Head coffee-house, in the Strand.  'I encourage this house (said
he;) for the mistress of it is a good civil woman, and has not much
business.'


* July 21.


'Sir, I love the acquaintance of young people; because, in the
first place, I don't like to think myself growing old.  In the next
place, young acquaintances must last longest, if they do last; and
then, Sir, young men have more virtue than old men: they have more
generous sentiments in every respect.  I love the young dogs of
this age: they have more wit and humour and knowledge of life than
we had; but then the dogs are not so good scholars.  Sir, in my
early years I read very hard.  It is a sad reflection, but a true
one, that I knew almost as much at eighteen as I do now.  My
judgement, to be sure, was not so good; but I had all the facts.  I
remember very well, when I was at Oxford, an old gentleman said to
me, "Young man, ply your book diligently now, and acquire a stock
of knowledge; for when years come upon you, you will find that
poring upon books will be but an irksome task."'

He again insisted on the duty of maintaining subordination of rank.
'Sir, I would no more deprive a nobleman of his respect, than of
his money.  I consider myself as acting a part in the great system
of society, and I do to others as I would have them to do to me.  I
would behave to a nobleman as I should expect he would behave to
me, were I a nobleman and he Sam. Johnson.  Sir, there is one Mrs.
Macaulay* in this town, a great republican.  One day when I was at
her house, I put on a very grave countenance, and said to her,
"Madam, I am now become a convert to your way of thinking.  I am
convinced that all mankind are upon an equal footing; and to give
you an unquestionable proof, Madam, that I am in earnest, here is a
very sensible, civil, well-behaved fellow-citizen, your footman; I
desire that he may be allowed to sit down and dine with us."  I
thus, Sir, shewed her the absurdity of the levelling doctrine.  She
has never liked me since.  Sir, your levellers wish to level DOWN
as far as themselves; but they cannot bear levelling UP to
themselves.  They would all have some people under them; why not
then have some people above them?'  I mentioned a certain authour
who disgusted me by his forwardness, and by shewing no deference to
noblemen into whose company he was admitted.  JOHNSON.  'Suppose a
shoemaker should claim an equality with him, as he does with a
Lord; how he would stare.  "Why, Sir, do you stare?  (says the
shoemaker,) I do great service to society.  'Tis true I am paid for
doing it; but so are you, Sir: and I am sorry to say it, paid
better than I am, for doing something not so necessary.  For
mankind could do better without your books, than without my shoes."
Thus, Sir, there would be a perpetual struggle for precedence, were
there no fixed invariable rules for the distinction of rank, which
creates no jealousy, as it is allowed to be accidental.'


* This ONE Mrs. Macaulay was the same personage who afterwards made
herself so much known as the celebrated female historian.'--
BOSWELL.


He said he would go to the Hebrides with me, when I returned from
my travels, unless some very good companion should offer when I was
absent, which he did not think probable; adding, 'There are few
people to whom I take so much to as you.'  And when I talked of my
leaving England, he said with a very affectionate air, 'My dear
Boswell, I should be very unhappy at parting, did I think we were
not to meet again.'  I cannot too often remind my readers, that
although such instances of his kindness are doubtless very
flattering to me; yet I hope my recording them will be ascribed to
a better motive than to vanity; for they afford unquestionable
evidence of his tenderness and complacency, which some, while they
were forced to acknowledge his great powers, have been so strenuous
to deny.

He maintained that a boy at school was the happiest of human
beings.  I supported a different opinion, from which I have never
yet varied, that a man is happier; and I enlarged upon the anxiety
and sufferings which are endured at school.  JOHNSON.  'Ah! Sir, a
boy's being flogged is not so severe as a man's having the hiss of
the world against him.'

On Tuesday, July 26, I found Mr. Johnson alone.  It was a very wet
day, and I again complained of the disagreeable effects of such
weather.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, this is all imagination, which physicians
encourage; for man lives in air, as a fish lives in water; so that
if the atmosphere press heavy from above, there is an equal
resistance from below.  To be sure, bad weather is hard upon people
who are obliged to be abroad; and men cannot labour so well in the
open air in bad weather, as in good: but, Sir, a smith or a taylor,
whose work is within doors, will surely do as much in rainy
weather, as in fair.  Some very delicate frames, indeed, may be
affected by wet weather; but not common constitutions.'

We talked of the education of children; and I asked him what he
thought was best to teach them first.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, it is no
matter what you teach them first, any more than what leg you shall
put into your breeches first.  Sir, you may stand disputing which
is best to put in first, but in the mean time your breech is bare.
Sir, while you are considering which of two things you should teach
your child first, another boy has learnt them both.'

On Thursday, July 28, we again supped in private at the Turk's Head
coffee-house.  JOHNSON.  'Swift has a higher reputation than he
deserves.  His excellence is strong sense; for his humour, though
very well, is not remarkably good.  I doubt whether The Tale of a
Tub be his; for he never owned it, and it is much above his usual
manner.'

'Thomson, I think, had as much of the poet about him as most
writers.  Every thing appeared to him through the medium of his
favourite pursuit.  He could not have viewed those two candles
burning but with a poetical eye.'

'As to the Christian religion, Sir, besides the strong evidence
which we have for it, there is a balance in its favour from the
number of great men who have been convinced of its truth, after a
serious consideration of the question.  Grotius was an acute man, a
lawyer, a man accustomed to examine evidence, and he was convinced.
Grotius was not a recluse, but a man of the world, who certainly
had no bias to the side of religion.  Sir Isaac Newton set out an
infidel, and came to be a very firm believer.'

He this evening recommended to me to perambulate Spain.  I said it
would amuse him to get a letter from me dated at Salamancha.
JOHNSON.  'I love the University of Salamancha; for when the
Spaniards were in doubt as to the lawfulness of their conquering
America, the University of Salamancha gave it as their opinion that
it was not lawful.'  He spoke this with great emotion, and with
that generous warmth which dictated the lines in his London,
against Spanish encroachment.

I expressed my opinion of my friend Derrick as but a poor writer.
JOHNSON.  'To be sure, Sir, he is; but you are to consider that his
being a literary man has got for him all that he has.  It has made
him King of Bath.  Sir, he has nothing to say for himself but that
he is a writer.  Had he not been a writer, he must have been
sweeping the crossings in the streets, and asking halfpence from
every body that past.'

In justice however, to the memory of Mr. Derrick, who was my first
tutor in the ways of London, and shewed me the town in all its
variety of departments, both literary and sportive, the particulars
of which Dr. Johnson advised me to put in writing, it is proper to
mention what Johnson, at a subsequent period, said of him both as a
writer and an editor: 'Sir, I have often said, that if Derrick's
letters had been written by one of a more established name, they
would have been thought very pretty letters.'  And, 'I sent Derrick
to Dryden's relations to gather materials for his life; and I
believe he got all that I myself should have got.'

Johnson said once to me, 'Sir, I honour Derrick for his presence of
mind.  One night, when Floyd, another poor authour, was wandering
about the streets in the night, he found Derrick fast asleep upon a
bulk; upon being suddenly waked, Derrick started up, "My dear
Floyd, I am sorry to see you in this destitute state; will you go
home with me to MY LODGINGS?"'

I again begged his advice as to my method of study at Utrecht.
'Come, (said he) let us make a day of it.  Let us go down to
Greenwich and dine, and talk of it there.'  The following Saturday
was fixed for this excursion.

As we walked along the Strand to-night, arm in arm, a woman of the
town accosted us, in the usual enticing manner.  'No, no, my girl,
(said Johnson) it won't do.'  He, however, did not treat her with
harshness, and we talked of the wretched life of such women; and
agreed, that much more misery than happiness, upon the whole, is
produced by illicit commerce between the sexes.

On Saturday, July 30, Dr. Johnson and I took a sculler at the
Temple-stairs, and set out for Greenwich.  I asked him if he really
thought a knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages an essential
requisite to a good education.  JOHNSON.  'Most certainly, Sir; for
those who know them have a very great advantage over those who do
not.  Nay, Sir, it is wonderful what a difference learning makes
upon people even in the common intercourse of life, which does not
appear to be much connected with it.'  'And yet, (said I) people go
through the world very well, and carry on the business of life to
good advantage, without learning.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, that may
be true in cases where learning cannot possibly be of any use; for
instance, this boy rows us as well without learning, as if he could
sing the song of Orpheus to the Argonauts, who were the first
sailors.'  He then called to the boy, 'What would you give, my lad,
to know about the Argonauts?'  'Sir, (said the boy,) I would give
what I have.'  Johnson was much pleased with his answer, and we
gave him a double fare.  Dr. Johnson then turning to me, 'Sir,
(said he) a desire of knowledge is the natural feeling of mankind;
and every human being, whose mind is not debauched, will be willing
to give all that he has to get knowledge.'

We landed at the Old Swan, and walked to Billingsgate, where we
took oars, and moved smoothly along the silver Thames.  It was a
very fine day.  We were entertained with the immense number and
variety of ships that were lying at anchor, and with the beautiful
country on each side of the river.

I talked of preaching, and of the great success which those called
Methodists have.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, it is owing to their expressing
themselves in a plain and familiar manner, which is the only way to
do good to the common people, and which clergymen of genius and
learning ought to do from a principle of duty, when it is suited to
their congregations; a practice, for which they will be praised by
men of sense.  To insist against drunkenness as a crime, because it
debases reason, the noblest faculty of man, would be of no service
to the common people: but to tell them that they may die in a fit
of drunkenness, and shew them how dreadful that would be, cannot
fail to make a deep impression.  Sir, when your Scotch clergy give
up their homely manner, religion will soon decay in that country.'
Let this observation, as Johnson meant it, be ever remembered.

I was much pleased to find myself with Johnson at Greenwich, which
he celebrates in his London as a favourite scene.  I had the poem
in my pocket, and read the lines aloud with enthusiasm:


    'On Thames's banks in silent thought we stood:
     Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood:
     Pleas'd with the seat which gave ELIZA birth,
     We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth.'


Afterwards he entered upon the business of the day, which was to
give me his advice as to a course of study.

We walked in the evening in Greenwich Park.  He asked me, I
suppose, by way of trying my disposition, 'Is not this very fine?'
Having no exquisite relish of the beauties of Nature, and being
more delighted with 'the busy hum of men,' I answered, 'Yes, Sir;
but not equal to Fleet-street.'  JOHNSON.  'You are right, Sir.'

I am aware that many of my readers may censure my want of taste.
Let me, however, shelter myself under the authority of a very
fashionable Baronet in the brilliant world, who, on his attention
being called to the fragrance of a May evening in the country,
observed, 'This may be very well; but, for my part, I prefer the
smell of a flambeau at the playhouse.'

We staid so long at Greenwich, that our sail up the river, in our
return to London, was by no means so pleasant as in the morning;
for the night air was so cold that it made me shiver.  I was the
more sensible of it from having sat up all the night before,
recollecting and writing in my journal what I thought worthy of
preservation; an exertion, which, during the first part of my
acquaintance with Johnson, I frequently made.  I remember having
sat up four nights in one week, without being much incommoded in
the day time.

Johnson, whose robust frame was not in the least affected by the
cold, scolded me, as if my shivering had been a paltry effeminacy,
saying, 'Why do you shiver?'  Sir William Scott, of the Commons,
told me, that when he complained of a head-ache in the post-chaise,
as they were travelling together to Scotland, Johnson treated him
in the same manner:

'At your age, Sir, I had no head-ache.'

We concluded the day at the Turk's Head coffee-house very socially.
He was pleased to listen to a particular account which I gave him
of my family, and of its hereditary estate, as to the extent and
population of which he asked questions, and made calculations;
recommending, at the same time, a liberal kindness to the tenantry,
as people over whom the proprietor was placed by Providence.  He
took delight in hearing my description of the romantick seat of my
ancestors.  'I must be there, Sir, (said he) and we will live in
the old castle; and if there is not a room in it remaining, we will
build one.'  I was highly flattered, but could scarcely indulge a
hope that Auchinleck would indeed be honoured by his presence, and
celebrated by a description, as it afterwards was, in his Journey
to the Western Islands.

After we had again talked of my setting out for Holland, he said,
'I must see thee out of England; I will accompany you to Harwich.'
I could not find words to express what I felt upon this unexpected
and very great mark of his affectionate regard.

Next day, Sunday, July 31, I told him I had been that morning at a
meeting of the people called Quakers, where I had heard a woman
preach.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's
walking on his hinder legs.  It is not done well; but you are
surprized to find it done at all.'

On Tuesday, August 2 (the day of my departure from London having
been fixed for the 5th,) Dr. Johnson did me the honour to pass a
part of the morning with me at my Chambers.  He said, that 'he
always felt an inclination to do nothing.'  I observed, that it was
strange to think that the most indolent man in Britain had written
the most laborious work, The English Dictionary.

I had now made good my title to be a privileged man, and was
carried by him in the evening to drink tea with Miss Williams,
whom, though under the misfortune of having lost her sight, I found
to be agreeable in conversation; for she had a variety of
literature, and expressed herself well; but her peculiar value was
the intimacy in which she had long lived with Johnson, by which she
was well acquainted with his habits, and knew how to lead him on to
talk.

After tea he carried me to what he called his walk, which was a
long narrow paved court in the neighbourhood, overshadowed by some
trees.  There we sauntered a considerable time; and I complained to
him that my love of London and of his company was such, that I
shrunk almost from the thought of going away, even to travel, which
is generally so much desired by young men.  He roused me by manly
and spirited conversation.  He advised me, when settled in any
place abroad, to study with an eagerness after knowledge, and to
apply to Greek an hour every day; and when I was moving about, to
read diligently the great book of mankind.

On Wednesday, August 3, we had our last social evening at the
Turk's Head coffee-house, before my setting out for foreign parts.
I had the misfortune, before we parted, to irritate him
unintentionally.  I mentioned to him how common it was in the world
to tell absurd stories of him, and to ascribe to him very strange
sayings.  JOHNSON.  'What do they make me say, Sir?'  BOSWELL.
'Why, Sir, as an instance very strange indeed, (laughing heartily
as I spoke,) David Hume told me, you said that you would stand
before a battery of cannon, to restore the Convocation to its full
powers.'  Little did I apprehend that he had actually said this:
but I was soon convinced of my errour; for, with a determined look,
he thundered out 'And would I not, Sir?  Shall the Presbyterian
KIRK of Scotland have its General Assembly, and the Church of
England be denied its Convocation?'  He was walking up and down the
room while I told him the anecdote; but when he uttered this
explosion of high-church zeal, he had come close to my chair, and
his eyes flashed with indignation.  I bowed to the storm, and
diverted the force of it, by leading him to expatiate on the
influence which religion derived from maintaining the church with
great external respectability.

On Friday, August 5, we set out early in the morning in the Harwich
stage coach.  A fat elderly gentlewoman, and a young Dutchman,
seemed the most inclined among us to conversation.  At the inn
where we dined, the gentlewoman said that she had done her best to
educate her children; and particularly, that she had never suffered
them to be a moment idle.  JOHNSON.  'I wish, madam, you would
educate me too; for I have been an idle fellow all my life.'  'I am
sure, Sir, (said she) you have not been idle.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay,
Madam, it is very true; and that gentleman there (pointing to me,)
has been idle.  He was idle at Edinburgh.  His father sent him to
Glasgow, where he continued to be idle.  He then came to London,
where he has been very idle; and now he is going to Utrecht, where
he will be as idle as ever.  I asked him privately how he could
expose me so.  JOHNSON.  'Poh, poh! (said he) they knew nothing
about you, and will think of it no more.'  In the afternoon the
gentlewoman talked violently against the Roman Catholicks, and of
the horrours of the Inquisition.  To the utter astonishment of all
the passengers but myself, who knew that he could talk upon any
side of a question, he defended the Inquisition, and maintained,
that 'false doctrine should be checked on its first appearance;
that the civil power should unite with the church in punishing
those who dared to attack the established religion, and that such
only were punished by the Inquisition.'  He had in his pocket
Pomponius Mela de situ Orbis, in which he read occasionally, and
seemed very intent upon ancient geography.  Though by no means
niggardly, his attention to what was generally right was so minute,
that having observed at one of the stages that I ostentatiously
gave a shilling to the coachman, when the custom was for each
passenger to give only six-pence, he took me aside and scolded me,
saying that what I had done would make the coachman dissatisfied
with all the rest of the passengers, who gave him no more than his
due.  This was a just reprimand; for in whatever way a man may
indulge his generosity or his vanity in spending his money, for the
sake of others he ought not to raise the price of any article for
which there is a constant demand.

At supper this night* he talked of good eating with uncommon
satisfaction.  'Some people (said he,) have a foolish way of not
minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat.  For my part, I
mind my belly very studiously, and very carefully; for I look upon
it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything
else.'  He now appeared to me Jean Bull philosophe, and he was, for
the moment, not only serious but vehement.  Yet I have heard him,
upon other occasions, talk with great contempt of people who were
anxious to gratify their palates; and the 206th number of his
Rambler is a masterly essay against gulosity.  His practice,
indeed, I must acknowledge, may be considered as casting the
balance of his different opinions upon this subject; for I never
knew any man who relished good eating more than he did.  When at
table, he was totally absorbed in the business of the moment; his
looks seemed rivetted to his plate; nor would he, unless when in
very high company, say one word, or even pay the least attention to
what was said by others, till he had satisfied his appetite, which
was so fierce, and indulged with such intenseness, that while in
the act of eating, the veins of his forehead swelled, and generally
a strong perspiration was visible.  To those whose sensations were
delicate, this could not but be disgusting; and it was doubtless
not very suitable to the character of a philosopher, who should be
distinguished by self-command.  But it must be owned, that Johnson,
though he could be rigidly ABSTEMIOUS, was not a TEMPERATE man
either in eating or drinking.  He could refrain, but he could not
use moderately.  He told me, that he had fasted two days without
inconvenience, and that he had never been hungry but once.  They
who beheld with wonder how much he eat upon all occasions when his
dinner was to his taste, could not easily conceive what he must
have meant by hunger; and not only was he remarkable for the
extraordinary quantity which he eat, but he was, or affected to be,
a man of very nice discernment in the science of cookery.  He used
to descant critically on the dishes which had been at table where
he had dined or supped, and to recollect very minutely what he had
liked.  I remember, when he was in Scotland, his praising 'Gordon's
palates,' (a dish of palates at the Honourable Alexander Gordon's)
with a warmth of expression which might have done honour to more
important subjects.  'As for Maclaurin's imitation of a MADE DISH,
it was a wretched attempt.'  He about the same time was so much
displeased with the performances of a nobleman's French cook, that
he exclaimed with vehemence, 'I'd throw such a rascal into the
river, and he then proceeded to alarm a lady at whose house he was
to sup, by the following manifesto of his skill: 'I, Madam, who
live at a variety of good tables, am a much better judge of
cookery, than any person who has a very tolerable cook, but lives
much at home; for his palate is gradually adapted to the taste of
his cook; whereas, Madam, in trying by a wider range, I can more
exquisitely judge.'  When invited to dine, even with an intimate
friend, he was not pleased if something better than a plain dinner
was not prepared for him.  I have heard him say on such an
occasion, 'This was a good dinner enough, to be sure; but it was
not a dinner to ASK a man to.'  On the other hand, he was wont to
express, with great glee, his satisfaction when he had been
entertained quite to his mind.  One day when we had dined with his
neighbour and landlord in Bolt-court, Mr. Allen, the printer, whose
old housekeeper had studied his taste in every thing, he pronounced
this eulogy: 'Sir, we could not have had a better dinner had there
been a Synod of Cooks.'


* At Colchester.--ED.


While we were left by ourselves, after the Dutchman had gone to
bed, Dr. Johnson talked of that studied behaviour which many have
recommended and practised.  He disapproved of it; and said, 'I
never considered whether I should be a grave man, or a merry man,
but just let inclination, for the time, have its course.'

I teized him with fanciful apprehensions of unhappiness.  A moth
having fluttered round the candle, and burnt itself, he laid hold
of this little incident to admonish me; saying, with a sly look,
and in a solemn but quiet tone, 'That creature was its own
tormentor, and I believe its name was BOSWELL.'

Next day we got to Harwich to dinner; and my passage in the packet-
boat to Helvoetsluys being secured, and my baggage put on board, we
dined at our inn by ourselves.  I happened to say it would be
terrible if he should not find a speedy opportunity of returning to
London, and be confined to so dull a place.  JOHNSON.  'Don't Sir,
accustom yourself to use big words for little matters.  It would
NOT be TERRIBLE, though I WERE to be detained some time here.'

We went and looked at the church, and having gone into it and
walked up to the altar, Johnson, whose piety was constant and
fervent, sent me to my knees, saying, 'Now that you are going to
leave your native country, recommend yourself to the protection of
your CREATOR and REDEEMER.'

After we came out of the church, we stood talking for some time
together of Bishop Berkeley's ingenious sophistry to prove the non-
existence of matter, and that every thing in the universe is merely
ideal.  I observed, that though we are satisfied his doctrine is
not true, it is impossible to refute it.  I never shall forget the
alacrity with which Johnson answered, striking his foot with mighty
force against a large stone, till he rebounded from it, 'I refute
it THUS.'

My revered friend walked down with me to the beach, where we
embraced and parted with tenderness, and engaged to correspond by
letters.  I said, 'I hope, Sir, you will not forget me in my
ahsence.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, it is more likely you should forget
me, than that I should forget you.'  As the vessel put out to sea,
I kept my eyes upon him for a considerable time, while he remained
rolling his majestick frame in his usual manner: and at last I
perceived him walk hack into the town, and he disappeared.

1764: AETAT. 55.]--Early in 1764 Johnson paid a visit to the
Langton family, at their seat of Langton, in Lincolnshire, where he
passed some time, much to his satisfaction.  His friend Bennet
Langton, it will not he doubted, did every thing in his power to
make the place agreeable to so illustrious a guest; and the elder
Mr. Langton and his lady, being fully capable of understanding his
value, were not wanting in attention.

Johnson, during his stay at Langton, had the advantage of a good
library, and saw several gentlemen of the neighbourhood.  I have
obtained from Mr. Langton the following particulars of this period.

He was now fully convinced that he could not have been satisfied
with a country living; for, talking of a respectable clergyman in
Lincolnshire, he observed, 'This man, Sir, fills up the duties of
his life well.  I approve of him, but could not imitate him.'

To a lady who endeavoured to vindicate herself from blame for
neglecting social attention to worthy neighbours, by saying, 'I
would go to them if it would do them any good,' he said, 'What
good, Madam, do you expect to have in your power to do them?  It is
shewing them respect, and that is doing them good.'

So socially accommodating was he, that once when Mr. Langton and he
were driving together in a coach, and Mr. Langton complained of
being sick, he insisted that they should go out and sit on the back
of it in the open air, which they did.  And being sensible how
strange the appearance must be, observed, that a countryman whom
they saw in a field, would probably be thinking, 'If these two
madmen should come down, what would become of me?'

Soon after his return to London, which was in February, was founded
that CLUB which existed long without a name, but at Mr. Garrick's
funeral became distinguished by the title of THE LITERARY CLUB.
Sir Joshua Reynolds had the merit of being the first proposer of
it, to which Johnson acceded, and the original members were, Sir
Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Johnson, Mr. Edmund Burke, Dr. Nugent, Mr.
Beauclerk, Mr. Langton, Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Chamier, and Sir John
Hawkins.  They met at the Turk's Head, in Gerrard-street, Soho, one
evening in every week, at seven, and generally continued their
conversation till a pretty late hour.  This club has been gradually
increased to its present number, thirty-five: After about ten
years, instead of supping weekly, it was resolved to dine together
once a fortnight during the meeting of Parliament.  Their original
tavern having been converted into a private house, they moved first
to Prince's in Sackville-street, then to Le Telier's in Dover-
street, and now meet at Parsloe's, St. James's-street.  Between the
time of its formation, and the time at which this work is passing
through the press, (June 1792,) the following persons, now dead,
were members of it: Mr. Dunning, (afterwards Lord Ashburton,) Mr.
Samuel Dyer, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Shipley Bishop of St. Asaph, Mr.
Vesey, Mr. Thomas Warton and Dr. Adam Smith.  The present members
are,--Mr. Burke, Mr. Langton, Lord Charlemont, Sir Robert Chambers,
Dr. Percy Bishop of Dromore, Dr. Barnard Bishop of Killaloc, Dr.
Marlay Bishop of Clonfert, Mr. Fox, Dr. George Fordyce, Sir William
Scott, Sir Joseph Banks, Sir Charles Bunbury, Mr. Windham of
Norfolk, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Gibbon, Sir William Jones, Mr. Colman,
Mr. Steevens, Dr. Burney, Dr. Joseph Warton, Mr. Malone, Lord
Ossory, Lord Spencer, Lord Lucan, Lord Palmerston, Lord Eliot, Lord
Macartney, Mr. Richard Burke junior, Sir William Hamilton, Dr.
Warren, Mr. Courtenay, Dr. Hinchcliffe Bishop of Peterborough, the
Duke of Leeds, Dr. Douglas Bishop of Salisbury, and the writer of
this account.

Not very long after the institution of our club, Sir Joshua
Reynolds was speaking of it to Garrick.  'I like it much, (said
he), I think I shall be of you.'  When Sir Joshua mentioned this to
Dr. Johnson, he was much displeased with the actor's conceit.
'HE'LL BE OF US, (said Johnson) how does he know we will PERMIT
him?  The first Duke in England has no right to hold such
language.'  However, when Garrick was regularly proposed some time
afterwards, Johnson, though he had taken a momentary offence at his
arrogance, warmly and kindly supported him, and he was accordingly
elected, was a most agreeable member, and continued to attend our
meetings to the time of his death.

It was Johnson's custom to observe certain days with a pious
abstraction; viz. New-year's-day, the day of his wife's death, Good
Friday, Easter-day, and his own birth-day.  He this year says:--'I
have now spent fifty-five years in resolving; having, from the
earliest time almost that I can remember, been forming schemes of a
better life.  I have done nothing.  The need of doing, therefore,
is pressing, since the time of doing is short.  O GOD, grant me to
resolve aright, and to keep my resolutions, for JESUS CHRIST'S
sake.  Amen.'

About this time he was afflicted with a very severe return of the
hypochondriack disorder, which was ever lurking about him.  He was
so ill, as, notwithstanding his remarkable love of company, to be
entirely averse to society, the most fatal symptom of that malady.
Dr. Adams told me, that as an old friend he was admitted to visit
him, and that he found him in a deplorable state, sighing,
groaning, talking to himself, and restlessly walking from room to
room.  He then used this emphatical expression of the misery which
he felt: 'I would consent to have a limb amputated to recover my
spirits.'

Talking to himself was, indeed, one of his singularities ever since
I knew him.  I was certain that he was frequently uttering pious
ejaculations; for fragments of the Lord's Prayer have been
distinctly overheard.  His friend Mr. Thomas Davies, of whom
Churchill says,


     'That Davies hath a very pretty wife,'


when Dr. Johnson muttered 'lead us not into temptation,' used with
waggish and gallant humour to whisper Mrs. Davies, 'You, my dear,
are the cause of this.'

He had another particularity, of which none of his friends ever
ventured to ask an explanation.  It appeared to me some
superstitious habit, which he had contracted early, and from which
he had never called upon his reason to disentangle him.  This was
his anxious care to go out or in at a door or passage by a certain
number of steps from a certain point, or at least so as that either
his right or his left foot, (I am not certain which,) should
constantly make the first actual movement when he came close to the
door or passage.  Thus I conjecture: for I have, upon innumerable
occasions, observed him suddenly stop, and then seem to count his
steps with a deep earnestness; and when he had neglected or gone
wrong in this sort of magical movement, I have seen him go back
again, put himself in a proper posture to begin the ceremony, and,
having gone through it, break from his abstraction, walk briskly
on, and join his companion.  A strange instance of something of
this nature, even when on horseback, happened when he was in the
isle of Sky.  Sir Joshua Reynolds has observed him to go a good way
about, rather than cross a particular alley in Leicester-fields;
but this Sir Joshua imputed to his having had some disagreeable
recollection associated with it.

That the most minute singularities which belonged to him, and made
very observable parts of his appearance and manner, may not be
omitted, it is requisite to mention, that while talking or even
musing as he sat in his chair, he commonly held his head to one
side towards his right shoulder, and shook it in a tremulous
manner, moving his body backwards and forwards, and rubbing his
left knee in the same direction, with the palm of his hand.  In the
intervals of articulating he made various sounds with his mouth,
sometimes as if ruminating, or what is called chewing the cud,
sometimes giving a half whistle, sometimes making his tongue play
backwards from the roof of his mouth, as if clucking like a hen,
and sometimes protruding it against his upper gums in front, as if
pronouncing quickly under his breath, TOO, TOO, TOO: all this
accompanied sometimes with a thoughtful look, but more frequently
with a smile.  Generally when he had concluded a period, in the
course of a dispute, by which time he was a good deal exhausted by
violence and vociferation, he used to blow out his breath like a
Whale.  This I supposed was a relief to his lungs; and seemed in
him to be a contemptuous mode of expression, as if he had made the
arguments of his opponent fly like chaff before the wind.

1765: AETAT. 56.]--Trinity College, Dublin, at this time surprised
Johnson with a spontaneous compliment of the highest academical
honours, by creating him Doctor of Laws.

He appears this year to have been seized with a temporary fit of
ambition, for he had thoughts both of studying law and of engaging
in politics.  His 'Prayer before the Study of Law' is truly
admirable:--


'Sept. 26, 1765.

'Almighty GOD, the giver of wisdom, without whose help resolutions
are vain, without whose blessing study is ineffectual; enable me,
if it be thy will, to attain such knowledge as may qualify me to
direct the doubtful, and instruct the ignorant; to prevent wrongs
and terminate contentions; and grant that I may use that knowledge
which I shall attain, to thy glory and my own salvation, for JESUS
CHRIST'S sake.  Amen.'


This year was distinguished by his being introduced into the family
of Mr. Thrale, one of the most eminent brewers in England, and
Member of Parliament for the borough of Southwark.  Foreigners are
not a little amazed when they hear of brewers, distillers, and men
in similar departments of trade, held forth as persons of
considerable consequence.  In this great commercial country it is
natural that a situation which produces much wealth should be
considered as very respectable; and, no doubt, honest industry is
entitled to esteem.  But, perhaps, the too rapid advance of men of
low extraction tends to lessen the value of that distinction by
birth and gentility, which has ever been found beneficial to the
grand scheme of subordination.  Johnson used to give this account
of the rise of Mr. Thrale's father: 'He worked at six shillings a
week for twenty years in the great brewery, which afterwards was
his own.  The proprietor of it had an only daughter, who was
married to a nobleman.  It was not fit that a peer should continue
the business.  On the old man's death, therefore, the brewery was
to be sold.  To find a purchaser for so large a property was a
difficult matter; and, after some time, it was suggested, that it
would be adviseable to treat with Thrale, a sensible, active,
honest man, who had been employed in the house, and to transfer the
whole to him for thirty thousand pounds, security being taken upon
the property.  This was accordingly settled.  In eleven years
Thrale paid the purchase-money.  He acquired a large fortune, and
lived to be Member of Parliament for Southwark.  But what was most
remarkable was the liberality with which he used his riches.  He
gave his son and daughters the best education.  The esteem which
his good conduct procured him from the nobleman who had married his
master's daughter, made him be treated with much attention; and his
son, both at school and at the University of Oxford, associated
with young men of the first rank.  His allowance from his father,
after he left college, was splendid; no less than a thousand a
year.  This, in a man who had risen as old Thrale did, was a very
extraordinary instance of generosity.  He used to say, "If this
young dog does not find so much after I am gone as he expects, let
him remember that he has had a great deal in my own time."'

The son, though in affluent circumstances, had good sense enough to
carry on his father's trade, which was of such extent, that I
remember he once told me, he would not quit it for an annuity of
ten thousand a year; 'Not (said he,) that I get ten thousand a year
by it, but it is an estate to a family.'  Having left daughters
only, the property was sold for the immense sum of one hundred and
thirty-five thousand pounds; a magnificent proof of what may be
done by fair trade in no long period of time.

Mr. Thrale had married Miss Hesther Lynch Salusbury, of good Welsh
extraction, a lady of lively talents, improved by education.  That
Johnson's introduction into Mr. Thrale's family, which contributed
so much to the happiness of his life, was owing to her desire for
his conversation, is very probable and a general supposition: but
it is not the truth.  Mr. Murphy, who was intimate with Mr. Thrale,
having spoken very highly of Dr. Johnson, he was requested to make
them acquainted.  This being mentioned to Johnson, he accepted of
an invitation to dinner at Thrale's, and was so much pleased with
his reception, both by Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, and they so much
pleased with him, that his invitations to their house were more and
more frequent, till at last he became one of the family, and an
apartment was appropriated to him, both in their house in
Southwark, and in their villa at Streatham.

Johnson had a very sincere esteem for Mr. Thrale, as a man of
excellent principles, a good scholar, well skilled in trade, of a
sound understanding, and of manners such as presented the character
of a plain independent English Squire.  As this family will
frequently be mentioned in the course of the following pages, and
as a false notion has prevailed that Mr. Thrale was inferiour, and
in some degree insignificant, compared with Mrs. Thrale, it may be
proper to give a true state of the case from the authority of
Johnson himself in his own words.

'I know no man, (said he,) who is more master of his wife and
family than Thrale.  If he but holds up a finger, he is obeyed.  It
is a great mistake to suppose that she is above him in literary
attainments.  She is more flippant; but he has ten times her
learning: he is a regular scholar; but her learning is that of a
school-boy in one of the lower forms.'  My readers may naturally
wish for some representation of the figures of this couple.  Mr.
Thrale was tall, well proportioned, and stately.  As for Madam, or
my Mistress, by which epithets Johnson used to mention Mrs. Thrale,
she was short, plump, and brisk.  She has herself given us a lively
view of the idea which Johnson had of her person, on her appearing
before him in a dark-coloured gown: 'You little creatures should
never wear those sort of clothes, however; they are unsuitable in
every way.  What! have not all insects gay colours?'  Mr. Thrale
gave his wife a liberal indulgence, both in the choice of their
company, and in the mode of entertaining them.  He understood and
valued Johnson, without remission, from their first acquaintance to
the day of his death.  Mrs. Thrale was enchanted with Johnson's
conversation, for its own sake, and had also a very allowable
vanity in appearing to be honoured with the attention of so
celebrated a man.

Nothing could be more fortunate for Johnson than this connection.
He had at Mr. Thrale's all the comforts and even luxuries of life;
his melancholy was diverted, and his irregular habits lessened by
association with an agreeable and well-ordered family.  He was
treated with the utmost respect, and even affection.  The vivacity
of Mrs. Thrale's literary talk roused him to cheerfulness and
exertion, even when they were alone.  But this was not often the
case; for he found here a constant succession of what gave him the
highest enjoyment: the society of the learned, the witty, and the
eminent in every way, who were assembled in numerous companies,
called forth his wonderful powers, and gratified him with
admiration, to which no man could be insensible.

In the October of this year he at length gave to the world his
edition of Shakspeare, which, if it had no other merit but that of
producing his Preface, in which the excellencies and defects of
that immortal bard are displayed with a masterly hand, the nation
would have had no reason to complain.

In 1764 and 1765 it should seem that Dr. Johnson was so busily
employed with his edition of Shakspeare, as to have had little
leisure for any other literary exertion, or, indeed, even for
private correspondence.  He did not favour me with a single letter
for more than two years, for which it will appear that he
afterwards apologised.

He was, however, at all times ready to give assistance to his
friends, and others, in revising their works, and in writing for
them, or greatly improving their Dedications.  In that courtly
species of composition no man excelled Dr. Johnson.  Though the
loftiness of his mind prevented him from ever dedicating in his own
person, he wrote a very great number of Dedications for others.
Some of these, the persons who were favoured with them are
unwilling should be mentioned, from a too anxious apprehension, as
I think, that they might be suspected of having received larger
assistance; and some, after all the diligence I have bestowed, have
escaped my enquiries.  He told me, a great many years ago, 'he
believed he had dedicated to all the Royal Family round;' and it
was indifferent to him what was the subject of the work dedicated,
provided it were innocent.  He once dedicated some Musick for the
German Flute to Edward, Duke of York.  In writing Dedications for
others, he considered himself as by no means speaking his own
sentiments.

I returned to London in February,* and found Dr. Johnson in a good
house in Johnson's Court, Fleet-street, in which he had
accommodated Miss Williams with an apartment on the ground floor,
while Mr. Levet occupied his post in the garret: his faithful
Francis was still attending upon him.  He received me with much
kindness.  The fragments of our first conversation, which I have
preserved, are these:

I told him that Voltaire, in a conversation with me, had
distinguished Pope and Dryden thus:--'Pope drives a handsome
chariot, with a couple of neat trim nags; Dryden a coach, and six
stately horses.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, the truth is, they both
drive coaches and six; but Dryden's horses are either galloping or
stumbling: Pope's go at a steady even trot.'  He said of
Goldsmith's Traveller, which had been published in my absence,
'There has not been so fine a poem since Pope's time.'


* 1766.


Talking of education, 'People have now a-days, (said he,) got a
strange opinion that every thing should be taught by lectures.
Now, I cannot see that lectures can do so much good as reading the
books from which the lectures are taken.  I know nothing that can
be best taught by lectures, except where experiments are to be
shewn.  You may teach chymistry by lectures.--You might teach
making of shoes by lectures!'

At night I supped with him at the Mitre tavern, that we might renew
our social intimacy at the original place of meeting.  But there
was now a considerable difference in his way of living.  Having had
an illness, in which he was advised to leave off wine, he had, from
that period, continued to abstain from it, and drank only water, or
lemonade.

I told him that a foreign friend of his, whom I had met with
abroad, was so wretchedly perverted to infidelity, that he treated
the hopes of immortality with brutal levity; and said, 'As man dies
like a dog, let him lie like a dog.'  JOHNSON.  'IF he dies like a
dog, LET him lie like a dog.'  I added, that this man said to me,
'I hate mankind, for I think myself one of the best of them, and I
know how bad I am.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, he must be very singular in
his opinion, if he thinks himself one of the best of men; for none
of his friends think him so.'--He said, 'no honest man could be a
Deist; for no man could be so after a fair examination of the
proofs of Christianity.'  I named Hume.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; Hume
owned to a clergyman in the bishoprick of Durham, that he had never
read the New Testament with attention.'  I mentioned Hume's notion,
that all who are happy are equally happy; a little miss with a new
gown at a dancing school ball, a general at the head of a
victorious army, and an orator, after having made an eloquent
speech in a great assembly.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, that all who are
happy, are equally happy, is not true.  A peasant and a philosopher
may be equally SATISFIED, but not equally HAPPY.  Happiness
consists in the multiplicity of agreeable consciousness.  A peasant
has not capacity for having equal happiness with a philosopher.'

Dr. Johnson was very kind this evening, and said to me 'You have
now lived five-and-twenty years, and you have employed them well.'
'Alas, Sir, (said I,) I fear not.  Do I know history?  Do I know
mathematicks?  Do I know law?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, though you may
know no science so well as to be able to teach it, and no
profession so well as to be able to follow it, your general mass of
knowledge of books and men renders you very capable to make
yourself master of any science, or fit yourself for any
profession.'  I mentioned that a gay friend had advised me against
being a lawyer, because I should be excelled by plodding block-
heads.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, in the formulary and statutory part of
law, a plodding block-head may excel; but in the ingenious and
rational part of it a plodding block-head can never excel.'

I talked of the mode adopted by some to rise in the world, by
courting great men, and asked him whether he had ever submitted to
it.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I never was near enough to great men, to
court them.  You may be prudently attached to great men and yet
independent.  You are not to do what you think wrong; and, Sir, you
are to calculate, and not pay too dear for what you get.  You must
not give a shilling's worth of court for six-pence worth of good.
But if you can get a shilling's worth of good for six-pence worth
of court, you are a fool if you do not pay court.'

I talked to him a great deal of what I had seen in Corsica, and of
my intention to publish an account of it.  He encouraged me by
saying, 'You cannot go to the bottom of the subject; but all that
you tell us will be new to us.  Give us as many anecdotes as you
can.'

Our next meeting at the Mitre was on Saturday the 15th of February,
when I presented to him my old and most intimate friend, the
Reverend Mr. Temple, then of Cambridge.  I having mentioned that I
had passed some time with Rousseau in his wild retreat, and having
quoted some remark made by Mr. Wilkes, with whom I had spent many
pleasant hours in Italy, Johnson said (sarcastically,) 'It seems,
Sir, you have kept very good company abroad, Rousseau and Wilkes!'
Thinking it enough to defend one at a time, I said nothing as to my
gay friend, but answered with a smile, 'My dear Sir, you don't call
Rousseau bad company.  Do you really think HIM a bad man?'
JOHNSON.  'Sir, if you are talking jestingly of this, I don't talk
with you.  If you mean to be serious, I think him one of the worst
of men; a rascal who ought to be hunted out of society, as he has
been.  Three or four nations have expelled him; and it is a shame
that he is protected in this country.'  BOSWELL.  'I don't deny,
Sir, but that his novel may, perhaps, do harm; but I cannot think
his intention was bad.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, that will not do.  We
cannot prove any man's intention to be bad.  You may shoot a man
through the head, and say you intended to miss him; but the Judge
will order you to be hanged.  An alleged want of intention, when
evil is committed, will not be allowed in a court of justice.
Rousseau, Sir, is a very bad man.  I would sooner sign a sentence
for his transportation, than that of any felon who has gone from
the Old Bailey these many years.  Yes, I should like to have him
work in the plantations.'  BOSWELL.  'Sir, do you think him as bad
a man as Voltaire?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, it is difficult to settle
the proportion of iniquity between them.'

On his favourite subject of subordination, Johnson said, 'So far is
it from being true that men are naturally equal, that no two people
can be half an hour together, but one shall acquire an evident
superiority over the other.'

I mentioned the advice given us by philosophers, to console
ourselves, when distressed or embarrassed, by thinking of those who
are in a worse situation than ourselves.  This, I observed, could
not apply to all, for there must be some who have nobody worse than
they are.  JOHNSON.  'Why, to be sure, Sir, there are; but they
don't know it.  There is no being so poor and so contemptible, who
does not think there is somebody still poorer, and still more
contemptible.'

As my stay in London at this time was very short, I had not many
opportunities of being with Dr. Johnson; but I felt my veneration
for him in no degree lessened, by my having seen multoram hominum
mores et urbes.  On the contrary, by having it in my power to
compare him with many of the most celebrated persons of other
countries, my admiration of his extraordinary mind was increased
and confirmed.

The roughness, indeed, which sometimes appeared in his manners, was
more striking to me now, from my having been accustomed to the
studied smooth complying habits of the Continent; and I clearly
recognised in him, not without respect for his honest conscientious
zeal, the same indignant and sarcastical mode of treating every
attempt to unhinge or weaken good principles.

One evening when a young gentleman teized him with an account of
the infidelity of his servant, who, he said, would not believe the
scriptures, because he could not read them in the original tongues,
and be sure that they were not invented, 'Why, foolish fellow,
(said Johnson,) has he any better authority for almost every thing
that he believes?'  BOSWELL.  'Then the vulgar, Sir, never can know
they are right, but must submit themselves to the learned.'
JOHNSON.  'To be sure, Sir.  The vulgar are the children of the
State, and must be taught like children.'  BOSWELL.  'Then, Sir, a
poor Turk must be a Mahometan, just as a poor Englishman must be a
Christian?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, yes, Sir; and what then?  This now is
such stuff as I used to talk to my mother, when I first began to
think myself a clever fellow; and she ought to have whipt me for
it.'

Another evening Dr. Goldsmith and I called on him, with the hope of
prevailing on him to sup with us at the Mitre.  We found him
indisposed, and resolved not to go abroad.  'Come then, (said
Goldsmith,) we will not go to the Mitre to-night, since we cannot
have the big man with us.'  Johnson then called for a bottle of
port, of which Goldsmith and I partook, while our friend, now a
water-drinker, sat by us.  GOLDSMITH.  'I think, Mr. Johnson, you
don't go near the theatres now.  You give yourself no more concern
about a new play, than if you had never had any thing to do with
the stage.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, our tastes greatly alter.  The
lad does not care for the child's rattle, and the old man does not
care for the young man's whore.'  GOLDSMITH.  'Nay, Sir, but your
Muse was not a whore.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I do not think she was.
But as we advance in the journey of life, we drop some of the
things which have pleased us; whether it be that we are fatigued
and don't choose to carry so many things any farther, or that we
find other things which we like better.'  BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, why
don't you give us something in some other way?'  GOLDSMITH.  'Ay,
Sir, we have a claim upon you.'  JOHNSON.  No, Sir, I am not
obliged to do any more.  No man is obliged to do as much as he can
do.  A man is to have part of his life to himself.  If a soldier
has fought a good many campaigns, he is not to be blamed if he
retires to ease and tranquillity.  A physician, who has practised
long in a great city, may be excused if he retires to a small town,
and takes less practice.  Now, Sir, the good I can do by my
conversation bears the same proportion to the good I can do by my
writings, that the practice of a physician, retired to a small
town, does to his practice in a great city.'  BOSWELL.  'But I
wonder, Sir, you have not more pleasure in writing than in not
writing.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you MAY wonder.'

He talked of making verses, and observed, 'The great difficulty is
to know when you have made good ones.  When composing, I have
generally had them in my mind, perhaps fifty at a time, walking up
and down in my room; and then I have written them down, and often,
from laziness, have written only half lines.  I have written a
hundred lines in a day.  I remember I wrote a hundred lines of The
Vanity of Human Wishes in a day.  Doctor, (turning to Goldsmith,) I
am not quite idle; I made one line t'other day; but I made no
more.'  GOLDSMITH.  'Let us hear it; we'll put a bad one to it.'
JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, I have forgot it.'


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

'DEAR SIR,--What your friends have done, that from your departure
till now nothing has been heard of you, none of us are able to
inform the rest; but as we are all neglected alike, no one thinks
himself entitled to the privilege of complaint.

'I should have known nothing of you or of Langton, from the time
that dear Miss Langton left us, had not I met Mr. Simpson, of
Lincoln, one day in the street, by whom I was informed that Mr.
Langton, your Mamma, and yourself, had been all ill, but that you
were all recovered.

'That sickness should suspend your correspondence, I did not
wonder; but hoped that it would be renewed at your recovery.

'Since you will not inform us where you are, or how you live, I
know not whether you desire to know any thing of us.  However, I
will tell you that THE CLUB subsists; but we have the loss of
Burke's company since he has been engaged in publick business, in
which he has gained more reputation than perhaps any man at his
[first] appearance ever gained before.  He made two speeches in the
House for repealing the Stamp-act, which were publickly commended
by Mr. Pitt, and have filled the town with wonder.

'Burke is a great man by nature, and is expected soon to attain
civil greatness.  I am grown greater too, for I have maintained the
news-papers these many weeks; and what is greater still, I have
risen every morning since New-year's day, at about eight; when I
was up, I have indeed done but little; yet it is no slight
advancement to obtain for so many hours more, the consciousness of
being.

'I wish you were in my new study; I am now writing the first letter
in it.  I think it looks very pretty about me.

'Dyer is constant at THE CLUB; Hawkins is remiss; I am not over
diligent.  Dr. Nugent, Dr. Goldsmith, and Mr. Reynolds, are very
constant.  Mr. Lye is printing his Saxon and Gothick Dictionary;
all THE CLUB subscribes.

'You will pay my respects to all my Lincolnshire friends.  I am,
dear Sir, most affectionately your's,

'March 9, 1766.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

Johnson's-court, Fleet-street.'


The Honourable Thomas Hervey and his lady having unhappily
disagreed, and being about to separate, Johnson interfered as their
friend, and wrote him a letter of expostulation, which I have not
been able to find; but the substance of it is ascertained by a
letter to Johnson in answer to it, which Mr. Hervey printed.  The
occasion of this correspondence between Dr. Johnson and Mr. Harvey,
was thus related to me by Mr. Beauclerk.  'Tom Harvey had a great
liking for Johnson, and in his will had left him a legacy of fifty
pounds.  One day he said to me, "Johnson may want this money now,
more than afterwards.  I have a mind to give it him directly.  Will
you be so good as to carry a fifty pound note from me to him?"
This I positively refused to do, as he might, perhaps, have knocked
me down for insulting him, and have afterwards put the note in his
pocket.  But I said, if Harvey would write him a letter, and
enclose a fifty pound note, I should take care to deliver it.  He
accordingly did write him a letter, mentioning that he was only
paying a legacy a little sooner.  To his letter he added, "P. S.  I
am going to part with my wife."  Johnson then wrote to him, saying
nothing of the note, but remonstrating with him against parting
with his wife.'

In February, 1767, there happened one of the most remarkable
incidents of Johnson's life, which gratified his monarchical
enthusiasm, and which he loved to relate with all its
circumstances, when requested by his friends.  This was his being
honoured by a private conversation with his Majesty, in the library
at the Queen's house.  He had frequently visited those splendid
rooms and noble collection of books, which he used to say was more
numerous and curious than he supposed any person could have made in
the time which the King had employed.  Mr. Barnard, the librarian,
took care that he should have every accommodation that could
contribute to his ease and convenience, while indulging his
literary taste in that place; so that he had here a very agreeable
resource at leisure hours.

His Majesty having been informed of his occasional visits, was
pleased to signify a desire that he should be told when Dr. Johnson
came next to the library.  Accordingly, the next time that Johnson
did come, as soon as he was fairly engaged with a book, on which,
while he sat by the fire, he seemed quite intent, Mr. Barnard stole
round to the apartment where the King was, and, in obedience to his
Majesty's commands, mentioned that Dr. Johnson was then in the
library.  His Majesty said he was at leisure, and would go to him;
upon which Mr. Barnard took one of the candles that stood on the
King's table, and lighted his Majesty through a suite of rooms,
till they came to a private door into the library, of which his
Majesty had the key.  Being entered, Mr. Barnard stepped forward
hastily to Dr. Johnson, who was still in a profound study, and
whispered him, 'Sir, here is the King.'  Johnson started up, and
stood still.  His Majesty approached him, and at once was
courteously easy.

His Majesty began by observing, that he understood he came
sometimes to the library; and then mentioning his having heard that
the Doctor had been lately at Oxford, asked him if he was not fond
of going thither.  To which Johnson answered, that he was indeed
fond of going to Oxford sometimes, but was likewise glad to come
back again.  The King then asked him what they were doing at
Oxford.  Johnson answered, he could not much commend their
diligence, but that in some respects they were mended, for they had
put their press under better regulations, and were at that time
printing Polybius.  He was then asked whether there were better
libraries at Oxford or Cambridge.  He answered, he believed the
Bodleian was larger than any they had at Cambridge; at the same
time adding, 'I hope, whether we have more books or not than they
have at Cambridge, we shall make as good use of them as they do.'
Being asked whether All-Souls or Christ-Church library was the
largest, he answered, 'All-Souls library is the largest we have,
except the Bodleian.'  'Aye, (said the King,) that is the publick
library.'

His Majesty enquired if he was then writing any thing.  He
answered, he was not, for he had pretty well told the world what he
knew, and must now read to acquire more knowledge.  The King, as it
should seem with a view to urge him to rely on his own stores as an
original writer, and to continue his labours, then said 'I do not
think you borrow much from any body.'  Johnson said, he thought he
had already done his part as a writer.  'I should have thought so
too, (said the King,) if you had not written so well.'--Johnson
observed to me, upon this, that 'No man could have paid a handsomer
compliment; and it was fit for a King to pay.  It was decisive.'
When asked by another friend, at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, whether he
made any reply to this high compliment, he answered, 'No, Sir.
When the King had said it, it was to be so.  It was not for me to
bandy civilities with my Sovereign.'  Perhaps no man who had spent
his whole life in courts could have shewn a more nice and dignified
sense of true politeness, than Johnson did in this instance.

His Majesty having observed to him that he supposed he must have
read a great deal; Johnson answered, that he thought more than he
read; that he had read a great deal in the early part of his life,
but having fallen into ill health, he had not been able to read
much, compared with others: for instance, he said he had not read
much, compared with Dr. Warburton.  Upon which the King said, that
he heard Dr. Warburton was a man of such general knowledge, that
you could scarce talk with him on any subject on which he was not
qualified to speak; and that his learning resembled Garrick's
acting, in its universality.  His Majesty then talked of the
controversy between Warburton and Lowth, which he seemed to have
read, and asked Johnson what he thought of it.  Johnson answered,
'Warburton has most general, most scholastick learning; Lowth is
the more correct scholar.  I do not know which of them calls names
best.'  The King was pleased to say he was of the same opinion;
adding, 'You do not think, then, Dr. Johnson, that there was much
argument in the case.'  Johnson said, he did not think there was.
'Why truly, (said the King,) when once it comes to calling names,
argument is pretty well at an end.'

His Majesty then asked him what he thought of Lord Lyttelton's
History, which was then just published.  Johnson said, he thought
his style pretty good, but that he had blamed Henry the Second
rather too much.  'Why, (said the King,) they seldom do these
things by halves.'  'No, Sir, (answered Johnson,) not to Kings.'
But fearing to be misunderstood, he proceeded to explain himself;
and immediately subjoined, 'That for those who spoke worse of Kings
than they deserved, he could find no excuse; but that he could more
easily conceive how some might speak better of them than they
deserved, without any ill intention; for, as Kings had much in
their power to give, those who were favoured by them would
frequently, from gratitude, exaggerate their praises; and as this
proceeded from a good motive, it was certainly excusable, as far as
errour could be excusable.'

The King then asked him what he thought of Dr. Hill.  Johnson
answered, that he was an ingenious man, but had no veracity; and
immediately mentioned, as an instance of it, an assertion of that
writer, that he had seen objects magnified to a much greater degree
by using three or four microscopes at a time, than by using one.
'Now, (added Johnson,) every one acquainted with microscopes knows,
that the more of them he looks through, the less the object will
appear.'  'Why, (replied the King,) this is not only telling an
untruth, but telling it clumsily; for, if that be the case, every
one who can look through a microscope will be able to detect him.'

'I now, (said Johnson to his friends, when relating what had
passed) began to consider that I was depreciating this man in the
estimation of his Sovereign, and thought it was time for me to say
something that might be more favourable.'  He added, therefore,
that Dr. Hill was, notwithstanding, a very curious observer; and if
he would have been contented to tell the world no more than he
knew, he might have been a very considerable man, and needed not to
have recourse to such mean expedients to raise his reputation.

The King then talked of literary journals, mentioned particularly
the Journal des Savans, and asked Johnson if it was well done.
Johnson said, it was formerly very well done, and gave some account
of the persons who began it, and carried it on for some years;
enlarging, at the same time, on the nature and use of such works.
The King asked him if it was well done now.  Johnson answered, he
had no reason to think that it was.  The King then asked him if
there were any other literary journals published in this kingdom,
except the Monthly and Critical Reviews; and on being answered
there were no other, his Majesty asked which of them was the best:
Johnson answered, that the Monthly Review was done with most care,
the Critical upon the best principles; adding that the authours of
the Monthly Review were enemies to the Church.  This the King said
he was sorry to hear.

The conversation next turned on the Philosophical Transactions,
when Johnson observed, that they had now a better method of
arranging their materials than formerly.  'Aye, (said the King,)
they are obliged to Dr. Johnson for that;' for his Majesty had
heard and remembered the circumstance, which Johnson himself had
forgot.

His Majesty expressed a desire to have the literary biography of
this country ably executed, and proposed to Dr. Johnson to
undertake it.  Johnson signified his readiness to comply with his
Majesty's wishes.

During the whole of this interview, Johnson talked to his Majesty
with profound respect, but still in his firm manly manner, with a
sonorous voice, and never in that subdued tone which is commonly
used at the levee and in the drawing-room.  After the King
withdrew, Johnson shewed himself highly pleased with his Majesty's
conversation, and gracious behaviour.  He said to Mr. Barnard,
'Sir, they may talk of the King as they will; but he is the finest
gentleman I have ever seen.'  And he afterwards observed to Mr.
Langton, 'Sir, his manners are those of as fine a gentleman as we
may suppose Lewis the Fourteenth or Charles the Second.'

At Sir Joshua Reynolds's, where a circle of Johnson's friends was
collected round him to hear his account of this memorable
conversation, Dr. Joseph Warton, in his frank and lively manner,
was very active in pressing him to mention the particulars.  'Come
now, Sir, this is an interesting matter; do favour us with it.'
Johnson, with great good humour, complied.

He told them, 'I found his Majesty wished I should talk, and I made
it my business to talk.  I find it does a man good to be talked to
by his Sovereign.  In the first place, a man cannot be in a
passion--.'  Here some question interrupted him, which is to be
regretted, as he certainly would have pointed out and illustrated
many circumstances of advantage, from being in a situation, where
the powers of the mind are at once excited to vigorous exertion,
and tempered by reverential awe.

During all the time in which Dr. Johnson was employed in relating
to the circle at Sir Joshua Reynolds's the particulars of what
passed between the King and him, Dr. Goldsmith remained unmoved
upon a sopha at some distance, affecting not to join in the least
in the eager curiosity of the company.  He assigned as a reason for
his gloom and seeming inattention, that he apprehended Johnson had
relinquished his purpose of furnishing him with a Prologue to his
play, with the hopes of which he had been flattered; but it was
strongly suspected that he was fretting with chagrin and envy at
the singular honour Dr. Johnson had lately enjoyed.  At length, the
frankness and simplicity of his natural character prevailed.  He
sprung from the sopha, advanced to Johnson, and in a kind of
flutter, from imagining himself in the situation which he had just
been hearing described, exclaimed, 'Well, you acquitted yourself in
this conversation better than I should have done; for I should have
bowed and stammered through the whole of it.'

His diary affords no light as to his employment at this time.  He
passed three months at Lichfield; and I cannot omit an affecting
and solemn scene there, as related by himself:--

'Sunday, Oct. 18, 1767.  Yesterday, Oct. 17, at about ten in the
morning, I took my leave for ever of my dear old friend, Catharine
Chambers, who came to live with my mother about 1724, and has been
but little parted from us since.  She buried my father, my brother,
and my mother.  She is now fifty-eight years old.

'I desired all to withdraw, then told her that we were to part for
ever; that as Christians, we should part with prayer; and that I
would, if she was willing, say a short prayer beside her.  She
expressed great desire to hear me; and held up her poor hands, as
she lay in bed, with great fervour, while I prayed, kneeling by
her, nearly in the following words:

'Almighty and most merciful Father, whose loving kindness is over
all thy works, behold, visit, and relieve this thy servant, who is
grieved with sickness.  Grant that the sense of her weakness may
add strength to her faith, and seriousness to her repentance.  And
grant that by the help of thy Holy Spirit, after the pains and
labours of this short life, we may all obtain everlasting
happiness, through JESUS CHRIST our Lord; for whose sake hear our
prayers.  Amen.  Our Father, &c.

'I then kissed her.  She told me, that to part was the greatest
pain that she had ever felt, and that she hoped we should meet
again in a better place.  I expressed, with swelled eyes, and great
emotion of tenderness, the same hopes.  We kissed, and parted.  I
humbly hope to meet again, and to part no more.'

1768: AETAT. 59]--It appears from his notes of the state of his
mind, that he suffered great perturbation and distraction in 1768.
Nothing of his writing was given to the publick this year, except
the Prologue to his friend Goldsmith's comedy of The Good-natured
Man.  The first lines of this Prologue are strongly
characteristical of the dismal gloom of his mind; which in his
case, as in the case of all who are distressed with the same malady
of imagination, transfers to others its own feelings.  Who could
suppose it was to introduce a comedy, when Mr. Bensley solemnly
began,


    'Press'd with the load of life, the weary mind
     Surveys the general toil of human kind.'


But this dark ground might make Goldsmith's humour shine the more.

In the spring of this year, having published my Account of Corsica,
with the Journal of a Tour to that Island, I returned to London,
very desirous to see Dr. Johnson, and hear him upon the subject.  I
found he was at Oxford, with his friend Mr. Chambers, who was now
Vinerian Professor, and lived in New Inn Hall.  Having had no
letter from him since that in which he criticised the Latinity of
my Thesis, and having been told by somebody that he was offended at
my having put into my Book an extract of his letter to me at Paris,
I was impatient to be with him, and therefore followed him to
Oxford, where I was entertained by Mr. Chambers, with a civility
which I shall ever gratefully remember.  I found that Dr. Johnson
had sent a letter to me to Scotland, and that I had nothing to
complain of but his being more indifferent to my anxiety than I
wished him to be.  Instead of giving, with the circumstances of
time and place, such fragments of his conversation as I preserved
during this visit to Oxford, I shall throw them together in
continuation.

Talking of some of the modern plays, he said False Delicacy was
totally void of character.  He praised Goldsmith's Good-natured
Man; said, it was the best comedy that had appeared since The
Provoked Husband, and that there had not been of late any such
character exhibited on the stage as that of Croaker.  I observed it
was the Suspirius of his Rambler.  He said, Goldsmith had owned he
had borrowed it from thence.  'Sir, (continued he,) there is all
the difference in the world between characters of nature and
characters of manners; and THERE is the difference between the
characters of Fielding and those of Richardson.  Characters of
manners are very entertaining; but they are to be understood by a
more superficial observer than characters of nature, where a man
must dive into the recesses of the human heart.'

It always appeared to me that he estimated the compositions of
Richardson too highly, and that he had an unreasonable prejudice
against Fielding.  In comparing those two writers, he used this
expression: 'that there was as great a difference between them as
between a man who knew how a watch was made, and a man who could
tell the hour by looking on the dial-plate.'

'I have not been troubled for a long time with authours desiring my
opinion of their works.  I used once to be sadly plagued with a man
who wrote verses, but who literally had no other notion of a verse,
but that it consisted of ten syllables.  Lay your knife and your
fork, across your plate, was to him a verse:


     Lay your knife and your fork, across your plate.


As he wrote a great number of verses, he sometimes by chance made
good ones, though he did not know it.'

Johnson expatiated on the advantages of Oxford for learning.
'There is here, Sir, (said he,) such a progressive emulation.  The
students are anxious to appear well to their tutors; the tutors are
anxious to have their pupils appear well in the college; the
colleges are anxious to have their students appear well in the
University; and there are excellent rules of discipline in every
college.  That the rules are sometimes ill observed, may be true;
but is nothing against the system.  The members of an University
may, for a season, be unmindful of their duty.  I am arguing for
the excellency of the institution.'

He said he had lately been a long while at Lichfield, but had grown
very weary before he left it.  BOSWELL.  'I wonder at that, Sir; it
is your native place.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, so is Scotland YOUR native
place.'

His prejudice against Scotland appeared remarkably strong at this
time.  When I talked of our advancement in literature, 'Sir, (said
he,) you have learnt a little from us, and you think yourselves
very great men.  Hume would never have written History, had not
Voltaire written it before him.  He is an echo of Voltaire.'
BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, we have Lord Kames.'  JOHNSON.  'You HAVE Lord
Kames.  Keep him; ha, ha, ha!  We don't envy you him.  Do you ever
see Dr. Robertson?'  BOSWELL.  'Yes, Sir.'  JOHNSON.  'Does the dog
talk of me?'  BOSWELL.  'Indeed, Sir, he does, and loves you.'
Thinking that I now had him in a corner, and being solicitous for
the literary fame of my country, I pressed him for his opinion on
the merit of Dr. Robertson's History of Scotland.  But, to my
surprize, he escaped.--'Sir, I love Robertson, and I won't talk of
his book.'

An essay, written by Mr. Deane, a divine of the Church of England,
maintaining the future life of brutes, by an explication of certain
parts of the scriptures, was mentioned, and the doctrine insisted
on by a gentleman who seemed fond of curious speculation.  Johnson,
who did not like to hear of any thing concerning a future state
which was not authorised by the regular canons of orthodoxy,
discouraged this talk; and being offended at its continuation, he
watched an opportunity to give the gentleman a blow of
reprehension.  So, when the poor speculatist, with a serious
metaphysical pensive face, addressed him, 'But really, Sir, when we
see a very sensible dog, we don't know what to think of him;'
Johnson, rolling with joy at the thought which beamed in his eye,
turned quickly round, and replied, 'True, Sir: and when we see a
very foolish FELLOW, we don't know what to think of HIM.'  He then
rose up, strided to the fire, and stood for some time laughing and
exulting.

I asked him if it was not hard that one deviation from chastity
should so absolutely ruin a young woman.  Johnson.  'Why, no, Sir;
it is the great principle which she is taught.  When she has given
up that principle, she has given up every notion of female honour
and virtue, which are all included in chastity.'

A gentleman talked to him of a lady whom he greatly admired and
wished to marry, but was afraid of her superiority of talents.
'Sir, (said he,) you need not be afraid; marry her.  Before a year
goes about, you'll find that reason much weaker, and that wit not
so bright.'  Yet the gentleman may be justified in his apprehension
by one of Dr. Johnson's admirable sentences in his life of Waller:
'He doubtless praised many whom he would have been afraid to marry;
and, perhaps, married one whom he would have been ashamed to
praise.  Many qualities contribute to domestic happiness, upon
which poetry has no colours to bestow; and many airs and sallies
may delight imagination, which he who flatters them never can
approve.'

He praised Signor Baretti.  'His account of Italy is a very
entertaining book; and, Sir, I know no man who carries his head
higher in conversation than Baretti.  There are strong powers in
his mind.  He has not, indeed, many hooks; but with what hooks he
has, he grapples very forcibly.'

At this time I observed upon the dial-plate of his watch a short
Greek inscription, taken from the New Testament, [Greek text omitted],
being the first words of our SAVIOUR'S solemn admonition to the
improvement of that time which is allowed us to prepare for eternity:
'the night cometh when no man can work.'  He sometime afterwards laid
aside this dial-plate; and when I asked him the reason, he said,
'It might do very well upon a clock which a man keeps in his
closet; but to have it upon his watch which he carries about with
him, and which is often looked at by others, might be censured as
ostentatious.'  Mr. Steevens is now possessed of the dial-plate
inscribed as above.

He remained at Oxford a considerable time; I was obliged to go to
London, where I received his letter, which had been returned from
Scotland.


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'MY DEAR BOSWELL,--I have omitted a long time to write to you,
without knowing very well why.  I could now tell why I should not
write; for who would write to men who publish the letters of their
friends, without their leave?  Yet I write to you in spite of my
caution, to tell you that I shall be glad to see you, and that I
wish you would empty your head of Corsica, which I think has filled
it rather too long.  But, at all events, I shall be glad, very glad
to see you.  I am, Sir, yours affectionately,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Oxford, March 23, 1768.'


Upon his arrival in London in May, he surprized me one morning with
a visit at my lodgings in Half-Moon-street, was quite satisfied
with my explanation, and was in the kindest and most agreeable
frame of mind.  As he had objected to a part of one of his letters
being published, I thought it right to take this opportunity of
asking him explicitly whether it would be improper to publish his
letters after his death.  His answer was, 'Nay, Sir, when I am
dead, you may do as you will.'

He talked in his usual style with a rough contempt of popular
liberty.  'They make a rout about UNIVERSAL liberty, without
considering that all that is to be valued, or indeed can be enjoyed
by individuals, is PRIVATE liberty.  Political liberty is good only
so far as it produces private liberty.  Now, Sir, there is the
liberty of the press, which you know is a constant topick.  Suppose
you and I and two hundred more were restrained from printing our
thoughts: what then?  What proportion would that restraint upon us
bear to the private happiness of the nation?'

This mode of representing the inconveniences of restraint as light
and insignificant, was a kind of sophistry in which he delighted to
indulge himself, in opposition to the extreme laxity for which it
has been fashionable for too many to argue, when it is evident,
upon reflection, that the very essence of government is restraint;
and certain it is, that as government produces rational happiness,
too much restraint is better than too little.  But when restraint
is unnecessary, and so close as to gall those who are subject to
it, the people may and ought to remonstrate; and, if relief is not
granted, to resist.  Of this manly and spirited principle, no man
was more convinced than Johnson himself.

His sincere regard for Francis Barber, his faithful negro servant,
made him so desirous of his further improvement, that he now placed
him at a school at Bishop Stortford, in Hertfordshire.  This humane
attention does Johnson's heart much honour.  Out of many letters
which Mr. Barber received from his master, he has preserved three,
which he kindly gave me, and which I shall insert according to
their dates.


'TO MR. FRANCIS BARBER.

'DEAR FRANCIS,--I have been very much out of order.  I am glad to
hear that you are well, and design to come soon to see you.  I
would have you stay at Mrs. Clapp's for the present, till I can
determine what we shall do.  Be a good boy.

'My compliments to Mrs. Clapp and to Mr. Fowler.  I am, your's
affectionately,

SAM. JOHNSON.'

'May 28, 1768.'


Soon afterwards, he supped at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in the
Strand, with a company whom I collected to meet him.  They were Dr.
Percy, now Bishop of Dromore, Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of Salisbury,
Mr. Langton, Dr. Robertson the Historian, Dr. Hugh Blair, and Mr.
Thomas Davies, who wished much to be introduced to these eminent
Scotch literati; but on the present occasion he had very little
opportunity of hearing them talk, for with an excess of prudence,
for which Johnson afterwards found fault with them, they hardly
opened their lips, and that only to say something which they were
certain would not expose them to the sword of Goliath; such was
their anxiety for their fame when in the presence of Johnson.  He
was this evening in remarkable vigour of mind, and eager to exert
himself in conversation, which he did with great readiness and
fluency; but I am sorry to find that I have preserved but a small
part of what passed.

He was vehement against old Dr. Mounsey, of Chelsea College, as 'a
fellow who swore and talked bawdy.'  'I have been often in his
company, (said Dr. Percy,) and never heard him swear or talk
bawdy.'  Mr. Davies, who sat next to Dr. Percy, having after this
had some conversation aside with him, made a discovery which, in
his zeal to pay court to Dr. Johnson, he eagerly proclaimed aloud
from the foot of the table: 'O, Sir, I have found out a very good
reason why Dr. Percy never heard Mounsey swear or talk bawdy; for
he tells me, he never saw him but at the Duke of Northumberland's
table.'  'And so, Sir, (said Johnson loudly, to Dr. Percy,) you
would shield this man from the charge of swearing and talking
bawdy, because he did not do so at the Duke of Northumberland's
table.  Sir, you might as well tell us that you had seen him hold
up his hand at the Old Bailey, and he neither swore nor talked
bawdy; or that you had seen him in the cart at Tyburn, and he
neither swore nor talked bawdy.  And is it thus, Sir, that you
presume to controvert what I have related?'  Dr. Johnson's
animadversion was uttered in such a manner, that Dr. Percy seemed
to be displeased, and soon afterwards left the company, of which
Johnson did not at that time take any notice.

Swift having been mentioned, Johnson, as usual, treated him with
little respect as an authour.  Some of us endeavoured to support
the Dean of St. Patrick's by various arguments.  One in particular
praised his Conduct of the Allies.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, his Conduct of
the Allies is a performance of very little ability.'  'Surely, Sir,
(said Dr. Douglas,) you must allow it has strong facts.'  JOHNSON.
'Why yes, Sir; but what is that to the merit of the composition?
In the Sessions-paper of the Old Bailey, there are strong facts.
Housebreaking is a strong fact; robbery is a strong fact; and
murder is a MIGHTY strong fact; but is great praise due to the
historian of those strong facts?  No, Sir.  Swift has told what he
had to tell distinctly enough, but that is all.  He had to count
ten, and he has counted it right.'  Then recollecting that Mr.
Davies, by acting as an INFORMER, had been the occasion of his
talking somewhat too harshly to his friend Dr. Percy, for which,
probably, when the first ebullition was over, he felt some
compunction, he took an opportunity to give him a hit; so added,
with a preparatory laugh, 'Why, Sir, Tom Davies might have written
The Conduct of the Allies.'  Poor Tom being thus suddenly dragged
into ludicrous notice in presence of the Scottish Doctors, to whom
he was ambitious of appearing to advantage, was grievously
mortified.  Nor did his punishment rest here; for upon subsequent
occasions, whenever he, 'statesman all over,' assumed a strutting
importance, I used to hail him--'the Authour of The Conduct of the
Allies.'

When I called upon Dr. Johnson next morning, I found him highly
satisfied with his colloquial prowess the preceding evening.
'Well, (said he,) we had good talk.'  BOSWELL.  'Yes, Sir; you
tossed and gored several persons.'

The late Alexander, Earl of Eglintoune, who loved wit more than
wine, and men of genius more than sycophants, had a great
admiration of Johnson; but from the remarkable elegance of his own
manners, was, perhaps, too delicately sensible of the roughness
which sometimes appeared in Johnson's behaviour.  One evening about
this time, when his Lordship did me the honour to sup at my
lodgings with Dr. Robertson and several other men of literary
distinction, he regretted that Johnson had not been educated with
more refinement, and lived more in polished society.  'No, no, my
Lord, (said Signor Baretti,) do with him what you would, he would
always have been a bear.'  'True, (answered the Earl, with a
smile,) but he would have been a DANCING bear.'

To obviate all the reflections which have gone round the world to
Johnson's prejudice, by applying to him the epithet of a BEAR, let
me impress upon my readers a just and happy saying of my friend
Goldsmith, who knew him well: 'Johnson, to be sure, has a roughness
in his manner; but no man alive has a more tender heart.  He has
nothing of the bear but his skin.'

1769: AETAT. 60.]--I came to London in the autumn, and having
informed him that I was going to be married in a few months, I
wished to have as much of his conversation as I could before
engaging in a state of life which would probably keep me more in
Scotland, and prevent me seeing him so often as when I was a single
man; but I found he was at Brighthelmstone with Mr. and Mrs.
Thrale.

After his return to town, we met frequently, and I continued the
practice of making notes of his conversation, though not with so
much assiduity as I wish I had done.  At this time, indeed, I had a
sufficient excuse for not being able to appropriate so much time to
my Journal; for General Paoli, after Corsica had been overpowered
by the monarchy of France, was now no longer at the head of his
brave countrymen, but having with difficulty escaped from his
native island, had sought an asylum in Great-Britain; and it was my
duty, as well as my pleasure, to attend much upon him.  Such
particulars of Johnson's conversation at this period as I have
committed to writing, I shall here introduce, without any strict
attention to methodical arrangement.  Sometimes short notes of
different days shall be blended together, and sometimes a day may
seem important enough to be separately distinguished.

He said, he would not have Sunday kept with rigid severity and
gloom, but with a gravity and simplicity of behaviour.

I told him that David Hume had made a short collection of
Scotticisms.  'I wonder, (said Johnson,) that HE should find them.'

On the 30th of September we dined together at the Mitre.  I
attempted to argue for the superior happiness of the savage life,
upon the usual fanciful topicks.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, there can be
nothing more false.  The savages have no bodily advantages beyond
those of civilised men.  They have not better health; and as to
care or mental uneasiness, they are not above it, but below it,
like bears.  No, Sir; you are not to talk such paradox: let me have
no more on't.  It cannot entertain, far less can it instruct.  Lord
Monboddo, one of your Scotch Judges, talked a great deal of such
nonsense.  I suffered HIM; but I will not suffer YOU.'--BOSWELL.
'But, Sir, does not Rousseau talk such nonsense?'  JOHNSON.  'True,
Sir, but Rousseau KNOWS he is talking nonsense, and laughs at the
world for staring at him.'  BOSWELL.  'How so, Sir?'  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, a man who talks nonsense so well, must know that he is
talking nonsense.  But I am AFRAID, (chuckling and laughing,)
Monboddo does NOT know that he is talking nonsense.'  BOSWELL.  'Is
it wrong then, Sir, to affect singularity, in order to make people
stare?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, if you do it by propagating errour: and,
indeed, it is wrong in any way.  There is in human nature a general
inclination to make people stare; and every wise man has himself to
cure of it, and does cure himself.  If you wish to make people
stare by doing better than others, why, make them stare till they
stare their eyes out.  But consider how easy it is to make people
stare by being absurd.  I may do it by going into a drawing-room
without my shoes.  You remember the gentleman in The Spectator, who
had a commission of lunacy taken out against him for his extreme
singularity, such as never wearing a wig, but a night-cap.  Now,
Sir, abstractedly, the night-cap was best; but, relatively, the
advantage was overbalanced by his making the boys run after him.'

Talking of a London life, he said, 'The happiness of London is not
to be conceived but by those who have been in it.  I will venture
to say, there is more learning and science within the circumference
of ten miles from where we now sit, than in all the rest of the
kingdom.'  BOSWELL.  'The only disadvantage is the great distance
at which people live from one another.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir; but
that is occasioned by the largeness of it, which is the cause of
all the other advantages.'  BOSWELL.  'Sometimes I have been in the
humour of wishing to retire to a desart.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you have
desart enough in Scotland.'

Although I had promised myself a great deal of instructive
conversation with him on the conduct of the married state, of which
I had then a near prospect, he did not say much upon that topick.
Mr. Seward heard him once say, that 'a man has a very bad chance
for happiness in that state, unless he marries a woman of very
strong and fixed principles of religion.'  He maintained to me,
contrary to the common notion, that a woman would not be the worse
wife for being learned; in which, from all that I have observed of
Artemisias, I humbly differed from him.

When I censured a gentleman of my acquaintance for marrying a
second time, as it shewed a disregard of his first wife, he said,
'Not at all, Sir.  On the contrary, were he not to marry again, it
might be concluded that his first wife had given him a disgust to
marriage; but by taking a second wife he pays the highest
compliment to the first, by shewing that she made him so happy as a
married man, that he wishes to be so a second time.'  So ingenious
a turn did he give to this delicate question.  And yet, on another
occasion, he owned that he once had almost asked a promise of Mrs.
Johnson that she would not marry again, but had checked himself.
Indeed, I cannot help thinking, that in his case the request would
have been unreasonable; for if Mrs. Johnson forgot, or thought it
no injury to the memory of her first love,--the husband of her
youth and the father of her children,--to make a second marriage,
why should she be precluded from a third, should she be so
inclined?  In Johnson's persevering fond appropriation of his
Tetty, even after her decease, he seems totally to have overlooked
the prior claim of the honest Birmingham trader.  I presume that
her having been married before had, at times, given him some
uneasiness; for I remember his observing upon the marriage of one
of our common friends, 'He has done a very foolish thing, Sir; he
has married a widow, when he might have had a maid.'

We drank tea with Mrs. Williams.  I had last year the pleasure of
seeing Mrs. Thrale at Dr. Johnson's one morning, and had
conversation enough with her to admire her talents, and to shew her
that I was as Johnsonian as herself.  Dr. Johnson had probably been
kind enough to speak well of me, for this evening he delivered me a
very polite card from Mr. Thrale and her, inviting me to Streatham.

On the 6th of October I complied with this obliging invitation, and
found, at an elegant villa, six miles from town, every circumstance
that can make society pleasing.  Johnson, though quite at home, was
yet looked up to with an awe, tempered by affection, and seemed to
be equally the care of his host and hostess.  I rejoiced at seeing
him so happy.

He played off his wit against Scotland with a good humoured
pleasantry, which gave me, though no bigot to national prejudices,
an opportunity for a little contest with him.  I having said that
England was obliged to us for gardeners, almost all their good
gardeners being Scotchmen.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, that is because
gardening is much more necessary amongst you than with us, which
makes so many of your people learn it.  It is ALL gardening with
you.  Things which grow wild here, must be cultivated with great
care in Scotland.  Pray now (throwing himself back in his chair,
and laughing,) are you ever able to bring the SLOE to perfection?'

I boasted that we had the honour of being the first to abolish the
unhospitable, troublesome, and ungracious custom of giving vails to
servants.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you abolished vails, because you were
too poor to be able to give them.'

Mrs. Thrale disputed with him on the merit of Prior.  He attacked
him powerfully; said he wrote of love like a man who had never felt
it: his love verses were college verses; and he repeated the song
'Alexis shunn'd his fellow swains,' &c., in so ludicrous a manner,
as to make us all wonder how any one could have been pleased with
such fantastical stuff.  Mrs. Thrale stood to her gun with great
courage, in defence of amorous ditties, which Johnson despised,
till he at last silenced her by saying, 'My dear Lady, talk no more
of this.  Nonsense can be defended but by nonsense.'

Mrs. Thrale then praised Garrick's talent for light gay poetry;
and, as a specimen, repeated his song in Florizel and Perdita, and
dwelt with peculiar pleasure on this line:


     'I'd smile with the simple, and feed with the poor.'


JOHNSON.  'Nay, my dear Lady, this will never do.  Poor David!
Smile with the simple;--What folly is that?  And who would feed
with the poor that can help it?  No, no; let me smile with the
wise, and feed with the rich.'  I repeated this sally to Garrick,
and wondered to find his sensibility as a writer not a little
irritated by it.  To sooth him, I observed, that Johnson spared
none of us; and I quoted the passage in Horace, in which he
compares one who attacks his friends for the sake of a laugh, to a
pushing ox, that is marked by a bunch of hay put upon his horns:
'foenum habet in cornu.'  'Ay, (said Garrick vehemently,) he has a
whole MOW of it.'

He would not allow much merit to Whitefield's oratory.  'His
popularity, Sir, (said be,) is chiefly owing to the peculiarity of
his manner.  He would be followed by crowds were he to wear a
night-cap in the pulpit, or were he to preach from a tree.'

On the evening of October 10, I presented Dr. Johnson to General
Paoli.  I had greatly wished that two men, for whom I had the
highest esteem, should meet.  They met with a manly ease, mutually
conscious of their own abilities, and of the abilities of each
other.  The General spoke Italian, and Dr. Johnson English, and
understood one another very well, with a little aid of
interpretation from me, in which I compared myself to an isthmus
which joins two great continents.  Upon Johnson's approach, the
General said, 'From what I have read of your works, Sir, and from
what Mr. Boswell has told me of you, I have long held you in great
veneration.'  The General talked of languages being formed on the
particular notions and manners of a people, without knowing which,
we cannot know the language.  We may know the direct signification
of single words; but by these no beauty of expression, no sally of
genius, no wit is conveyed to the mind.  All this must be by
allusion to other ideas.  'Sir, (said Johnson,) you talk of
language, as if you had never done any thing else but study it,
instead of governing a nation.'  The General said, 'Questo e un
troppo gran complimento;' this is too great a compliment.  Johnson
answered, 'I should have thought so, Sir, if I had not heard you
talk.'  The General asked him, what he thought of the spirit of
infidelity which was so prevalent.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, this gloom of
infidelity, I hope, is only a transient cloud passing through the
hemisphere, which will soon be dissipated, and the sun break forth
with his usual splendour.'  'You think then, (said the General,)
that they will change their principles like their clothes.'
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, if they bestow no more thought on principles
than on dress, it must be so.'  The General said, that 'a great
part of the fashionable infidelity was owing to a desire of shewing
courage.  Men who have no opportunities of shewing it as to things
in this life, take death and futurity as objects on which to
display it.'  JOHNSON.  'That is mighty foolish affectation.  Fear
is one of the passions of human nature, of which it is impossible
to divest it.  You remember that the Emperour Charles V, when he
read upon the tomb-stone of a Spanish nobleman, "Here lies one who
never knew fear," wittily said, "Then he never snuffed a candle
with his fingers."'

Dr. Johnson went home with me, and drank tea till late in the
night.  He said, 'General Paoli had the loftiest port of any man he
had ever seen.'  He denied that military men were always the best
bred men.  'Perfect good breeding,' he observed, 'consists in
having no particular mark of any profession, but a general elegance
of manners; whereas, in a military man, you can commonly
distinguish the BRAND of a soldier, l'homme d'epee.'

Dr. Johnson shunned to-night any discussion of the perplexed
question of fate and free will, which I attempted to agitate.
'Sir, (said he,) we KNOW our will is free, and THERE'S an end
on't.'

He honoured me with his company at dinner on the 16th of October,
at my lodgings in Old Bond-street, with Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr.
Garrick, Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Murphy, Mr. Bickerstaff, and Mr. Thomas
Davies.  Garrick played round him with a fond vivacity, taking hold
of the breasts of his coat, and, looking up in his face with a
lively archness, complimented him on the good health which he
seemed then to enjoy; while the sage, shaking his head, beheld him
with a gentle complacency.  One of the company not being come at
the appointed hour, I proposed, as usual upon such occasions, to
order dinner to be served; adding, 'Ought six people to be kept
waiting for one?'  'Why, yes, (answered Johnson, with a delicate
humanity,) if the one will suffer more by your sitting down, than
the six will do by waiting.'  Goldsmith, to divert the tedious
minutes, strutted about, bragging of his dress, and I believe was
seriously vain of it, for his mind was wonderfully prone to such
impressions.  'Come, come, (said Garrick,) talk no more of that.
You are, perhaps, the worst--eh, eh!'--Goldsmith was eagerly
attempting to interrupt him, when Garrick went on, laughing
ironically, 'Nay, you will always LOOK like a gentleman; but I am
talking of being well or ILL DREST.'  'Well, let me tell you, (said
Goldsmith,) when my tailor brought home my bloom-coloured coat, he
said, "Sir, I have a favour to beg of you.  When any body asks you
who made your clothes, be pleased to mention John Filby, at the
Harrow, in Waterlane."'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, that was because he
knew the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze at it, and
thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could make a coat
even of so absurd a colour.'

After dinner our conversation first turned upon Pope.  Johnson
said, his characters of men were admirably drawn, those of women
not so well.  He repeated to us, in his forcible melodious manner,
the concluding lines of the Dunciad.  While he was talking loudly
in praise of those lines, one of the company* ventured to say, 'Too
fine for such a poem:--a poem on what?'  JOHNSON, (with a
disdainful look,) 'Why, on DUNCES.  It was worth while being a
dunce then.  Ah, Sir, hadst THOU lived in those days!  It is not
worth while 'being a dunce now, when there are no wits.'
Bickerstaff observed, as a peculiar circumstance, that Pope's fame
was higher when he was alive than it was then.  Johnson said, his
Pastorals were poor things, though the versification was fine.  He
told us, with high satisfaction, the anecdote of Pope's inquiring
who was the authour of his London, and saying, he will be soon
deterre.  He observed, that in Dryden's poetry there were passages
drawn from a profundity which Pope could never reach.  He repeated
some fine lines on love, by the former, (which I have now
forgotten,) and gave great applause to the character of Zimri.
Goldsmith said, that Pope's character of Addison shewed a deep
knowledge of the human heart.  Johnson said, that the description
of the temple, in The Mourning Bride, was the finest poetical
passage he had ever read; he recollected none in Shakspeare equal
to it.  'But, (said Garrick, all alarmed for the 'God of his
idolatry,') we know not the extent and variety of his powers.  We
are to suppose there are such passages in his works.  Shakspeare
must not suffer from the badness of our memories.'  Johnson,
diverted by this enthusiastick jealousy, went on with greater
ardour: 'No, Sir; Congreve has NATURE;' (smiling on the tragick
eagerness of Garrick;) but composing himself, he added, 'Sir, this
is not comparing Congreve on the whole, with Shakspeare on the
whole; but only maintaining that Congreve has one finer passage
than any that can be found in Shakspeare.  Sir, a man may have no
more than ten guineas in the world, but he may have those ten
guineas in one piece; and so may have a finer piece than a man who
has ten thousand pounds: but then he has only one ten-guinea piece.
What I mean is, that you can shew me no passage where there is
simply a description of material objects, without any intermixture
of moral notions, which produces such an effect.'  Mr. Murphy
mentioned Shakspeare's description of the night before the battle
of Agincourt; but it was observed, it had MEN in it.  Mr. Davies
suggested the speech of Juliet, in which she figures herself
awaking in the tomb of her ancestors.  Some one mentioned the
description of Dover Cliff.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; it should be all
precipice,--all vacuum.  The crows impede your fall.  The
diminished appearance of the boats, and other circumstances, are
all very good descriptions; but do not impress the mind at once
with the horrible idea of immense height.  The impression is
divided; you pass on by computation, from one stage of the
tremendous space to another.  Had the girl in The Mourning Bride
said, she could not cast her shoe to the top of one of the pillars
in the temple, it would not have aided the idea, but weakened it.'


* Everyone guesses that 'one of the company' was Boswell.--HILL.


Talking of a Barrister who had a bad utterance, some one, (to rouse
Johnson,) wickedly said, that he was unfortunate in not having been
taught oratory by Sheridan.  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, if he had been
taught by Sheridan, he would have cleared the room.'  GARRICK.
'Sheridan has too much vanity to be a good man.'  We shall now see
Johnson's mode of DEFENDING a man; taking him into his own hands,
and discriminating.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir.  There is, to be sure, in
Sheridan, something to reprehend, and every thing to laugh at; but,
Sir, he is not a bad man.  No, Sir; were mankind to be divided into
good and bad, he would stand considerably within the ranks of good.
And, Sir, it must be allowed that Sheridan excels in plain
declamation, though he can exhibit no character.'

Mrs. Montagu, a lady distinguished for having written an Essay on
Shakspeare, being mentioned; REYNOLDS.  'I think that essay does
her honour.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir: it does HER honour, but it would
do nobody else honour.  I have, indeed, not read it all.  But when
I take up the end of a web, and find it packthread, I do not
expect, by looking further, to find embroidery.  Sir, I will
venture to say, there is not one sentence of true criticism in her
book.'  GARRICK.  'But, Sir, surely it shews how much Voltaire has
mistaken Shakspeare, which nobody else has done.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir,
nobody else has thought it worth while.  And what merit is there in
that?  You may as well praise a schoolmaster for whipping a boy who
has construed ill.  No, Sir, there is no real criticism in it: none
shewing the beauty of thought, as formed on the workings of the
human heart.'

The admirers of this Essay may be offended at the slighting manner
in which Johnson spoke of it; but let it be remembered, that he
gave his honest opinion unbiassed by any prejudice, or any proud
jealousy of a woman intruding herself into the chair of criticism;
for Sir Joshua Reynolds has told me, that when the Essay first came
out, and it was not known who had written it, Johnson wondered how
Sir Joshua could like it.  At this time Sir Joshua himself had
received no information concerning the authour, except being
assured by one of our most eminent literati, that it was clear its
authour did not know the Greek tragedies in the original.  One day
at Sir Joshua's table, when it was related that Mrs. Montagu, in an
excess of compliment to the authour of a modern tragedy, had
exclaimed, 'I tremble for Shakspeare;' Johnson said, 'When
Shakspeare has got ---- for his rival, and Mrs. Montagu for his
defender, he is in a poor state indeed.'

On Thursday, October 19, I passed the evening with him at his
house.  He advised me to complete a Dictionary of words peculiar to
Scotland, of which I shewed him a specimen.  'Sir, (said he,) Ray
has made a collection of north-country words.  By collecting those
of your country, you will do a useful thing towards the history of
the language.  He bade me also go on with collections which I was
making upon the antiquities of Scotland.  'Make a large book; a
folio.'  BOSWELL.  'But of what use will it be, Sir?'  JOHNSON.
'Never mind the use; do it.'

I complained that he had not mentioned Garrick in his Preface to
Shakspeare; and asked him if he did not admire him.  JOHNSON.
'Yes, as "a poor player, who frets and struts his hour upon the
stage;"--as a shadow.'  BOSWELL.  'But has he not brought
Shakspeare into notice?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, to allow that, would be
to lampoon the age.  Many of Shakspeare's plays are the worse for
being acted: Macbeth, for instance.'  BOSWELL.  'What, Sir, is
nothing gained by decoration and action?  Indeed, I do wish that
you had mentioned Garrick.'  JOHNSON.  'My dear Sir, had I
mentioned him, I must have mentioned many more: Mrs. Pritchard,
Mrs. Cibber,--nay, and Mr. Cibber too; he too altered Shakspeare.'
BOSWELL.  'You have read his apology, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, it is
very entertaining.  But as for Cibber himself, taking from his
conversation all that he ought not to have said, he was a poor
creature.  I remember when he brought me one of his Odes to have my
opinion of it; I could not bear such nonsense, and would not let
him read it to the end; so little respect had I for THAT GREAT MAN!
(laughing.)  Yet I remember Richardson wondering that I could treat
him with familiarity.'

I mentioned to him that I had seen the execution of several
convicts at Tyburn, two days before, and that none of them seemed
to be under any concern.  JOHNSON.  'Most of them, Sir, have never
thought at all.'  BOSWELL.  'But is not the fear of death natural
to man?'  JOHNSON.  'So much so, Sir, that the whole of life is but
keeping away the thoughts of it.'  He then, in a low and earnest
tone, talked of his meditating upon the aweful hour of his own
dissolution, and in what manner he should conduct himself upon that
occasion: 'I know not (said he,) whether I should wish to have a
friend by me, or have it all between GOD and myself.'

Talking of our feeling for the distresses of others;--JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, there is much noise made about it, but it is greatly
exaggerated.  No, Sir, we have a certain degree of feeling to
prompt us to do good: more than that, Providence does not intend.
It would be misery to no purpose.'  BOSWELL.  'But suppose now,
Sir, that one of your intimate friends were apprehended for an
offence for which he might be hanged.'  JOHNSON.  'I should do what
I could to bail him, and give him any other assistance; but if he
were once fairly hanged, I should not suffer.'  BOSWELL.  'Would
you eat your dinner that day, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir; and eat
it as if he were eating it with me.  Why, there's Baretti, who is
to be tried for his life to-morrow, friends have risen up for him
on every side; yet if he should be hanged, none of them will eat a
slice of plumb-pudding the less.  Sir, that sympathetic feeling
goes a very little way in depressing the mind.'

I told him that I had dined lately at Foote's, who shewed me a
letter which he had received from Tom Davies, telling him that he
had not been able to sleep from the concern which he felt on
account of 'This sad affair of Baretti,' begging of him to try if
he could suggest any thing that might be of service; and, at the
same time, recommending to him an industrious young man who kept a
pickle-shop.  JOHNSON.  'Ay, Sir, here you have a specimen of human
sympathy; a friend hanged, and a cucumber pickled.  We know not
whether Baretti or the pickle-man has kept Davies from sleep; nor
does he know himself.  And as to his not sleeping, Sir; Tom Davies
is a very great man; Tom has been upon the stage, and knows how to
do those things.  I have not been upon the stage, and cannot do
those things.'  BOSWELL.  'I have often blamed myself, Sir, for not
feeling for others as sensibly as many say they do.'  JOHNSON.
'Sir, don't be duped by them any more.  You will find these very
feeling people are not very ready to do you good.  They PAY you by
FEELING.'

BOSWELL.  'Foote has a great deal of humour?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes,
Sir.'  BOSWELL.  'He has a singular talent of exhibiting
character.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, it is not a talent; it is a vice; it
is what others abstain from.  It is not comedy, which exhibits the
character of a species, as that of a miser gathered from many
misers: it is farce, which exhibits individuals.'  BOSWELL.  'Did
not he think of exhibiting you, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, fear
restrained him; he knew I would have broken his bones.  I would
have saved him the trouble of cutting off a leg; I would not have
left him a leg to cut off.'  BOSWELL.  'Pray, Sir, is not Foote an
infidel?'  JOHNSON.  'I do not know, Sir, that the fellow is an
infidel; but if he be an infidel, he is an infidel as a dog is an
infidel; that is to say, he has never thought upon the subject.'*
BOSWELL.  'I suppose, Sir, he has thought superficially, and seized
the first notions which occurred to his mind.'  JOHNSON.  'Why
then, Sir, still he is like a dog, that snatches the piece next
him.  Did you never observe that dogs have not the power of
comparing?  A dog will take a small bit of meat as readily as a
large, when both are before him.'


* When Mr. Foote was at Edinburgh, he thought fit to entertain a
numerous Scotch company, with a great deal of coarse jocularity, at
the expense of Dr. Johnson, imagining it would be acceptable.  I
felt this as not civil to me; but sat very patiently till he had
exhausted his merriment on that subject; and then observed, that
surely Johnson must be allowed to have some sterling wit, and that
I had heard him say a very good thing of Mr. Foote himself.  'Ah,
my old friend Sam (cried Foote,) no man says better things; do let
us have it.'  Upon which I told the above story, which produced a
very loud laugh from the company.  But I never saw Foote so
disconcerted.--BOSWELL.


BOSWELL.  'What do you think of Dr. Young's Night Thoughts, Sir?'
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, there are very fine things in them.'  BOSWELL.
'Is there not less religion in the nation now, Sir, than there was
formerly?'  JOHNSON.  'I don't know, Sir, that there is.'  BOSWELL.
'For instance, there used to be a chaplain in every great family,
which we do not find now.'  JOHNSON.  'Neither do you find any of
the state servants, which great families used formerly to have.
There is a change of modes in the whole department of life.'

Next day, October 20, he appeared, for the only time I suppose in
his life, as a witness in a Court of Justice, being called to give
evidence to the character of Mr. Baretti, who having stabbed a man
in the street, was arraigned at the Old Bailey for murder.  Never
did such a constellation of genius enlighten the aweful Sessions-
House, emphatically called JUSTICE HALL; Mr. Burke, Mr. Garrick,
Mr. Beauclerk, and Dr. Johnson: and undoubtedly their favourable
testimony had due weight with the Court and Jury.  Johnson gave his
evidence in a slow, deliberate, and distinct manner, which was
uncommonly impressive.  It is well known that Mr. Baretti was
acquitted.

On the 26th of October, we dined together at the Mitre tavern.  I
found fault with Foote for indulging his talent of ridicule at the
expence of his visitors, which I colloquially termed making fools
of his company.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, when you go to see Foote, you
do not go to see a saint: you go to see a man who will be
entertained at your house, and then bring you on a publick stage;
who will entertain you at his house, for the very purpose of
bringing you on a publick stage.  Sir, he does not make fools of
his company; they whom he exposes are fools already: he only brings
them into action.'

We went home to his house to tea.  Mrs. Williams made it with
sufficient dexterity, notwithstanding her blindness, though her
manner of satisfying herself that the cups were full enough
appeared to me a little aukward; for I fancied she put her finger
down a certain way, till she felt the tea touch it.*  In my first
elation at being allowed the privilege of attending Dr. Johnson at
his late visits to this lady, which was like being e secretioribus
consiliis, I willingly drank cup after cup, as if it had been the
Heliconian spring.  But as the charm of novelty went off, I grew
more fastidious; and besides, I discovered that she was of a
peevish temper.


* Boswell afterwards learned that she felt the rising tea on the
outside of the cup.--ED.


There was a pretty large circle this evening.  Dr. Johnson was in
very good humour, lively, and ready to talk upon all subjects.  Mr.
Fergusson, the self-taught philosopher, told him of a new-invented
machine which went without horses: a man who sat in it turned a
handle, which worked a spring that drove it forward.  'Then, Sir,
(said Johnson,) what is gained is, the man has his choice whether
he will move himself alone, or himself and the machine too.'
Dominicetti being mentioned, he would not allow him any merit.
'There is nothing in all this boasted system.  No, Sir; medicated
baths can be no better than warm water: their only effect can be
that of tepid moisture.'  One of the company took the other side,
maintaining that medicines of various sorts, and some too of most
powerful effect, are introduced into the human frame by the medium
of the pores; and, therefore, when warm water is impregnated with
salutiferous substances, it may produce great effects as a bath.
This appeared to me very satisfactory.  Johnson did not answer it;
but talking for victory, and determined to be master of the field,
he had recourse to the device which Goldsmith imputed to him in the
witty words of one of Cibber's comedies: 'There is no arguing with
Johnson; for when his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with
the butt end of it.'  He turned to the gentleman, 'well, Sir, go to
Dominicetti, and get thyself fumigated; but be sure that the steam
be directed to thy HEAD, for THAT is the PECCANT PART.'  This
produced a triumphant roar of laughter from the motley assembly of
philosophers, printers, and dependents, male and female.

I know not how so whimsical a thought came into my mind, but I
asked, 'If, Sir, you were shut up in a castle, and a newborn child
with you, what would you do?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I should not
much like my company.'  BOSWELL.  'But would you take the trouble
of rearing it?'  He seemed, as may well be supposed, unwilling to
pursue the subject: but upon my persevering in my question,
replied, 'Why yes, Sir, I would; but I must have all conveniencies.
If I had no garden, I would make a shed on the roof, and take it
there for fresh air.  I should feed it, and wash it much, and with
warm water to please it, not with cold water to give it pain.'
BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, does not heat relax?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you are
not to imagine the water is to be very hot.  I would not CODDLE the
child.  No, Sir, the hardy method of treating children does no
good.  I'll take you five children from London, who shall cuff five
Highland children.  Sir, a man bred in London will carry a burthen,
or run, or wrestle, as well as a man brought up in the hardiest
manner in the country.'  BOSWELL.  'Good living, I suppose, makes
the Londoners strong.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I don't know that it
does.  Our Chairmen from Ireland, who are as strong men as any,
have been brought up upon potatoes.  Quantity makes up for
quality.'  BOSWELL.  'Would you teach this child that I have
furnished you with, any thing?'  JOHNSON.  'No, I should not be apt
to teach it.'  BOSWELL.  'Would not you have a pleasure in teaching
it?'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, I should NOT have a pleasure in teaching
it.'  BOSWELL.  'Have you not a pleasure in teaching men?--THERE I
have you.  You have the same pleasure in teaching men, that I
should have in teaching children.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, something about
that.'

I had hired a Bohemian as my servant while I remained in London,
and being much pleased with him, I asked Dr. Johnson whether his
being a Roman Catholick should prevent my taking him with me to
Scotland.  JOHNSON.  'Why no, Sir, if HE has no objection, you can
have none.'  BOSWELL.  'So, Sir, you are no great enemy to the
Roman Catholick religion.'  JOHNSON.  'No more, Sir, than to the
Presbyterian religion.'  BOSWELL.  'You are joking.'  JOHNSON.
'No, Sir, I really think so.  Nay, Sir, of the two, I prefer the
Popish.'  BOSWELL.  'How so, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, the
Presbyterians have no church, no apostolical ordination.'  BOSWELL.
'And do you think that absolutely essential, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'Why,
Sir, as it was an apostolical institution, I think it is dangerous
to be without it.  And, Sir, the Presbyterians have no public
worship: they have no form of prayer in which they know they are to
join.  They go to hear a man pray, and are to judge whether they
will join with him.'

I proceeded: 'What do you think, Sir, of Purgatory, as believed by
the Roman Catholicks?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, it is a very harmless
doctrine.  They are of opinion that the generality of mankind are
neither so obstinately wicked as to deserve everlasting punishment,
nor so good as to merit being admitted into the society of blessed
spirits; and therefore that God is graciously pleased to allow of a
middle state, where they may be purified by certain degrees of
suffering.  You see, Sir, there is nothing unreasonable in this.'
BOSWELL.  'But then, Sir, their masses for the dead?'  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, if it be once established that there are souls in
purgatory, it is as proper to pray for THEM, as for our brethren of
mankind who are yet in this life.'   BOSWELL.  'The idolatry of the
Mass?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, there is no idolatry in the Mass.  They
believe god to be there, and they adore him.'  BOSWELL.  'The
worship of Saints?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, they do not worship saints;
they invoke them; they only ask their prayers.  I am talking all
this time of the DOCTRINES of the Church of Rome.  I grant you that
in PRACTICE, Purgatory is made a lucrative imposition, and that the
people do become idolatrous as they recommend themselves to the
tutelary protection of particular saints.  I think their giving the
sacrament only in one kind is criminal, because it is contrary to
the express institution of CHRIST, and I wonder how the Council of
Trent admitted it.'  BOSWELL.  'Confession?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, I
don't know but that is a good thing.  The scripture says, "Confess
your faults one to another," and the priests confess as well as the
laity.  Then it must be considered that their absolution is only
upon repentance, and often upon penance also.  You think your sins
may be forgiven without penance, upon repentance alone.'

When we were alone, I introduced the subject of death, and
endeavoured to maintain that the fear of it might be got over.  I
told him that David Hume said to me, he was no more uneasy to think
he should NOT BE after this life, than that he HAD NOT BEEN before
he began to exist.  JOHNSON.  Sir, if he really thinks so, his
perceptions are disturbed; he is mad: if he does not think so, he
lies.  He may tell you, he holds his finger in the flame of a
candle, without feeling pain; would you believe him?  When he dies,
he at least gives up all he has.'  BOSWELL.  'Foote, Sir, told me,
that when he was very ill he was not afraid to die.'  JOHNSON.  'It
is not true, Sir.  Hold a pistol to Foote's breast, or to Hume's
breast, and threaten to kill them, and you'll see how they behave.'
BOSWELL.  'But may we not fortify our minds for the approach of
death?'  Here I am sensible I was in the wrong, to bring before his
view what he ever looked upon with horrour; for although when in a
celestial frame, in his Vanity of Human Wishes he has supposed
death to be 'kind Nature's signal for retreat,' from this state of
being to 'a happier seat,' his thoughts upon this aweful change
were in general full of dismal apprehensions.  His mind resembled
the vast amphitheatre, the Colisaeum at Rome.  In the centre stood
his judgement, which, like a mighty gladiator, combated those
apprehensions that, like the wild beasts of the Arena, were all
around in cells, ready to be let out upon him.  After a conflict,
he drives them back into their dens; but not killing them, they
were still assailing him.  To my question, whether we might not
fortify our minds for the approach of death, he answered, in a
passion, 'No, Sir, let it alone.  It matters not how a man dies,
but how he lives.  The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts
so short a time.'  He added, (with an earnest look,) 'A man knows
it must be so, and submits.  It will do him no good to whine.'

I attempted to continue the conversation.  He was so provoked, that
he said, 'Give us no more of this;' and was thrown into such a
state of agitation, that he expressed himself in a way that alarmed
and distressed me; shewed an impatience that I should leave him,
and when I was going away, called to me sternly, 'Don't let us meet
tomorrow.'

I went home exceedingly uneasy.  All the harsh observations which I
had ever heard made upon his character, crowded into my mind; and I
seemed to myself like the man who had put his head into the lion's
mouth a great many times with perfect safety, but at last had it
bit off.

Next morning I sent him a note, stating, that I might have been in
the wrong, but it was not intentionally; he was therefore, I could
not help thinking, too severe upon me.  That notwithstanding our
agreement not to meet that day, I would call on him in my way to
the city, and stay five minutes by my watch.  'You are, (said I,)
in my mind, since last night, surrounded with cloud and storm.  Let
me have a glimpse of sunshine, and go about my affairs in serenity
and chearfulness.'

Upon entering his study, I was glad that he was not alone, which
would have made our meeting more awkward.  There were with him, Mr.
Steevens and Mr. Tyers, both of whom I now saw for the first time.
My note had, on his own reflection, softened him, for he received
me very complacently; so that I unexpectedly found myself at ease,
and joined in the conversation.

I whispered him, 'Well, Sir, you are now in good humour.  JOHNSON.
'Yes, Sir.'  I was going to leave him, and had got as far as the
staircase.  He stopped me, and smiling, said, 'Get you gone IN;' a
curious mode of inviting me to stay, which I accordingly did for
some time longer.

This little incidental quarrel and reconciliation, which, perhaps,
I may be thought to have detailed too minutely, must be esteemed as
one of many proofs which his friends had, that though he might be
charged with bad humour at times, he was always a good-natured man;
and I have heard Sir Joshua Reynolds, a nice and delicate observer
of manners, particularly remark, that when upon any occasion
Johnson had been rough to any person in company, he took the first
opportunity of reconciliation, by drinking to him, or addressing
his discourse to him; but if he found his dignified indirect
overtures sullenly neglected, he was quite indifferent, and
considered himself as having done all that he ought to do, and the
other as now in the wrong.

I went to him early on the morning of the tenth of November.  'Now
(said he,) that you are going to marry, do not expect more from
life, than life will afford.  You may often find yourself out of
humour, and you may often think your wife not studious enough to
please you; and yet you may have reason to consider yourself as
upon the whole very happily married.'

1770: AETAT. 61.]--During this year there was a total cessation of
all correspondence between Dr. Johnson and me, without any coldness
on either side, but merely from procrastination, continued from day
to day; and as I was not in London, I had no opportunity of
enjoying his company and recording his conversation.  To supply
this blank, I shall present my readers with some Collectanea,
obligingly furnished to me by the Rev. Dr. Maxwell, of Falkland, in
Ireland, sometime assistant preacher at the Temple, and for many
years the social friend of Johnson, who spoke of him with a very
kind regard.

'His general mode of life, during my acquaintance, seemed to be
pretty uniform.  About twelve o'clock I commonly visited him, and
frequently found him in bed, or declaiming over his tea, which he
drank very plentifully.  He generally had a levee of morning
visitors, chiefly men of letters; Hawkesworth, Goldsmith, Murphy,
Langton, Steevens, Beaucherk, &c. &c., and sometimes learned
ladies, particularly I remember a French lady of wit and fashion
doing him the honour of a visit.  He seemed to me to be considered
as a kind of publick oracle, whom every body thought they had a
right to visit and consult; and doubtless they were well rewarded.
I never could discover how he found time for his compositions.  He
declaimed all the morning, then went to dinner at a tavern, where
he commonly staid late, and then drank his tea at some friend's
house, over which he loitered a great while, but seldom took
supper.  I fancy he must have read and wrote chiefly in the night,
for I can scarcely recollect that he ever refused going with me to
a tavern, and he often went to Ranelagh, which he deemed a place of
innocent recreation.

'He frequently gave all the silver in his pocket to the poor, who
watched him, between his house and the tavern where he dined.  He
walked the streets at all hours, and said he was never robbed, for
the rogues knew he had little money, nor had the appearance of
having much.

'Though the most accessible and communicative man alive; yet when
he suspected he was invited to be exhibited, he constantly spurned
the invitation.

'Two young women from Staffordshire visited him when I was present,
to consult him on the subject of Methodism, to which they were
inclined.  "Come, (said he,) you pretty fools, dine with Maxwell
and me at the Mitre, and we will talk over that subject;" which
they did, and after dinner he took one of them upon his knee, and
fondled her for half an hour together.

'Johnson was much attached to London: he observed, that a man
stored his mind better there, than any where else; and that in
remote situations a man's body might be feasted, but his mind was
starved, and his faculties apt to degenerate, from want of exercise
and competition.  No place, (he said,) cured a man's vanity or
arrogance so well as London; for as no man was either great or good
per se, but as compared with others not so good or great, he was
sure to find in the metropolis many his equals, and some his
superiours.  He observed, that a man in London was in less danger
of falling in love indiscreetly, than any where else; for there the
difficulty of deciding between the conflicting pretensions of a
vast variety of objects, kept him safe.  He told me, that he had
frequently been offered country preferment, if he would consent to
take orders; but he could not leave the improved society of the
capital, or consent to exchange the exhilarating joys and splendid
decorations of publick life, for the obscurity, insipidity, and
uniformity of remote situations.

'Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, he said, was the only book that
ever took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to rise.

'When exasperated by contradiction, he was apt to treat his
opponents with too much acrimony: as, "Sir, you don't see your way
through that question:"--"Sir, you talk the language of ignorance."
On my observing to him that a certain gentleman had remained silent
the whole evening, in the midst of a very brilliant and learned
society, "Sir, (said he,) the conversation overflowed, and drowned
him."

'He observed, that the established clergy in general did not preach
plain enough; and that polished periods and glittering sentences
flew over the heads of the common people, without any impression
upon their hearts.  Something might be necessary, he observed, to
excite the affections of the common people, who were sunk in
languor and lethargy, and therefore he supposed that the new
concomitants of methodism might probably produce so desirable an
effect.  The mind, like the body, he observed, delighted in change
and novelty, and even in religion itself, courted new appearances
and modifications.  Whatever might be thought of some methodist
teachers, he said, he could scarcely doubt the sincerity of that
man, who travelled nine hundred miles in a month, and preached
twelve times a week; for no adequate reward, merely temporal, could
be given for such indefatigable labour.

'In a Latin conversation with the Pere Boscovitch, at the house of
Mrs. Cholmondeley, I heard him maintain the superiority of Sir
Isaac Newton over all foreign philosophers, with a dignity and
eloquence that surprized that learned foreigner.  It being observed
to him, that a rage for every thing English prevailed much in
France after Lord Chatham's glorious war, he said, he did not
wonder at it, for that we had drubbed those fellows into a proper
reverence for us, and that their national petulance required
periodical chastisement.

'Speaking of a dull tiresome fellow, whom he chanced to meet, he
said, "That fellow seems to me to possess but one idea, and that is
a wrong one."

'Much enquiry having been made concerning a gentleman, who had
quitted a company where Johnson was, and no information being
obtained; at last Johnson observed, that "he did not care to speak
ill of any man behind his back, but he believed the gentleman was
an ATTORNEY."

'A gentleman who had been very unhappy in marriage, married
immediately after his wife died: Johnson said, it was the triumph
of hope over experience.

'He observed, that a man of sense and education should meet a
suitable companion in a wife.  It was a miserable thing when the
conversation could only be such as, whether the mutton should be
boiled or roasted, and probably a dispute about that.

'He did not approve of late marriages, observing that more was lost
in point of time, than compensated for by any possible advantages.
Even ill assorted marriages were preferable to cheerless celibacy.

'He said, foppery was never cured; it was the bad stamina of the
mind, which, like those of the body, were never rectified: once a
coxcomb, and always a coxcomb.

'Being told that Gilbert Cowper called him the Caliban of
literature; "Well, (said he,) I must dub him the Punchinello."

'He said few people had intellectual resources sufficient to forego
the pleasures of wine.  They could not otherwise contrive how to
fill the interval between dinner and supper.

'One evening at Mrs. Montagu's, where a splendid company was
assembled, consisting of the most eminent literary characters, I
thought he seemed highly pleased with the respect and attention
that were shewn him, and asked him on our return home if he was not
highly gratified by his visit:

"No, Sir, (said he,) not highly gratified; yet I do not recollect
to have passed many evenings with fewer objections."

'Though of no high extraction himself, he had much respect for
birth and family, especially among ladies.  He said, "adventitious
accomplishments may be possessed by all ranks; but one may easily
distinguish the born gentlewoman."

'Speaking of Burke, he said, "It was commonly observed, he spoke
too often in parliament; but nobody could say he did not speak
well, though too frequently and too familiarly."

'We dined tete a tete at the Mitre, as I was preparing to return to
Ireland, after an absence of many years.  I regretted much leaving
London, where I had formed many agreeable connexions: "Sir, (said
he,) I don't wonder at it; no man, fond of letters, leaves London
without regret.  But remember, Sir, you have seen and enjoyed a
great deal;-- you have seen life in its highest decorations, and
the world has nothing new to exhibit.  No man is so well qualifyed
to leave publick life as he who has long tried it and known it
well.  We are always hankering after untried situations and
imagining greater felicity from them than they can afford.  No,
Sir, knowledge and virtue may be acquired in all countries, and
your local consequence will make you some amends for the
intellectual gratifications you relinquish."

'He then took a most affecting leave of me; said, he knew, it was a
point of DUTY that called me away.  "We shall all be sorry to lose
you," said he: "laudo tamen."'


1771, AETAT. 62.]--


'To SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, IN LEICESTER-FIELDS.

'DEAR SIR,--When I came to Lichfield, I found that my portrait had
been much visited, and much admired.  Every man has a lurking wish
to appear considerable in his native place; and I was pleased with
the dignity conferred by such a testimony of your regard.

'Be pleased, therefore, to accept the thanks of, Sir, your most
obliged and most humble servant,

'Ashbourn in Derbyshire,

'SAM. JOHNSON.

July 17, 1771.'

'Compliments to Miss Reynolds.'


In his religious record of this year, we observe that he was better
than usual, both in body and mind, and better satisfied with the
regularity of his conduct.  But he is still 'trying his ways' too
rigorously.  He charges himself with not rising early enough; yet
he mentions what was surely a sufficient excuse for this, supposing
it to be a duty seriously required, as he all his life appears to
have thought it.  'One great hindrance is want of rest; my
nocturnal complaints grow less troublesome towards morning; and I
am tempted to repair the deficiencies of the night.'  Alas! how
hard would it be if this indulgence were to be imputed to a sick
man as a crime.  In his retrospect on the following Easter-Eve, he
says, 'When I review the last year, I am able to recollect so
little done, that shame and sorrow, though perhaps too weakly, come
upon me.'

In 1772 he was altogether quiescent as an authour; but it will be
found from the various evidences which I shall bring together that
his mind was acute, lively, and vigorous.


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--That you are coming so soon to town I am very glad; and
still more glad that you are coming as an advocate.  I think
nothing more likely to make your life pass happily away, than that
consciousness of your own value, which eminence in your profession
will certainly confer.  If I can give you any collateral help, I
hope you do not suspect that it will be wanting.  My kindness for
you has neither the merit of singular virtue, nor the reproach of
singular prejudice.  Whether to love you be right or wrong, I have
many on my side: Mrs. Thrale loves you, and Mrs. Williams loves
you, and what would have inclined me to love you, if I had been
neutral before, you are a great favourite of Dr. Beattie.*

'Of Dr. Beattie I should have thought much, but that his lady puts
him out of my head; she is a very lovely woman.

'The ejection which you come hither to oppose, appears very cruel,
unreasonable, and oppressive.  I should think there could not be
much doubt of your success.

'My health grows better, yet I am not fully recovered.  I believe
it is held, that men do not recover very fast after threescore.  I
hope yet to see Beattie's College: and have not given up the
western voyage.  But however all this may be or not, let us try to
make each other happy when we meet, and not refer our pleasure to
distant times or distant places.

'How comes it that you tell me nothing of your lady?  I hope to see
her some time, and till then shall be glad to hear of her.  I am,
dear Sir, &c.

'March 15, 1772.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


* Boswell had given Beattie a letter of introduction to Johnson the
preceding summer--ED.


On the 21st of March, I was happy to find myself again in my
friend's study, and was glad to see my old acquaintance, Mr.
Francis Barber, who was now returned home.  Dr. Johnson received me
with a hearty welcome; saying, 'I am glad you are come.'

I thanked him for showing civilities to Beattie.  'Sir, (said he,)
I should thank YOU.  We all love Beattie.  Mrs. Thrale says, if
ever she has another husband, she'll have Beattie.  He sunk upon us
that he was married; else we should have shewn his lady more
civilities.  She is a very fine woman.  But how can you shew
civilities to a nonentity?  I did not think he had been married.
Nay, I did not think about it one way or other; but he did not tell
us of his lady till late.'

He then spoke of St. Kilda, the most remote of the Hebrides.  I
told him, I thought of buying it.  JOHNSON.  'Pray do, Sir.  We
will go and pass a winter amid the blasts there.  We shall have
fine fish, and we will take some dried tongues with us, and some
books.  We will have a strong built vessel, and some Orkney men to
navigate her.  We must build a tolerable house: but we may carry
with us a wooden house ready made, and requiring nothing but to be
put up.  Consider, Sir, by buying St. Kilda, you may keep the
people from falling into worse hands.  We must give them a
clergyman, and he shall be one of Beattie's choosing.  He shall be
educated at Marischal College.  I'll be your Lord Chancellor, or
what you please.'  BOSWELL.  'Are you serious, Sir, in advising me
to buy St. Kilda? for if you should advise me to go to Japan, I
believe I should do it.'  JOHNSON.  'Why yes, Sir, I am serious.'
BOSWELL.  'Why then, I'll see what can be done.'

He was engaged to dine abroad, and asked me to return to him in the
evening at nine, which I accordingly did.

We drank tea with Mrs. Williams, who told us a story of second
sight, which happened in Wales where she was born.  He listened to
it very attentively, and said he should be glad to have some
instances of that faculty well authenticated.  His elevated wish
for more and more evidence for spirit, in opposition to the
groveling belief of materialism, led him to a love of such
mysterious disquisitions.  He again justly observed, that we could
have no certainty of the truth of supernatural appearances, unless
something was told us which we could not know by ordinary means, or
something done which could not be done but by supernatural power;
that Pharaoh in reason and justice required such evidence from
Moses; nay, that our Saviour said, 'If I had not done among them
the works which none other man did, they had not had sin.'

We talked of the Roman Catholick religion, and how little
difference there was in essential matters between ours and it.
JOHNSON.  'True, Sir; all denominations of Christians have really
little difference in point of doctrine, though they may differ
widely in external forms.  There is a prodigious difference between
the external form of one of your Presbyterian churches in Scotland,
and a church in Italy; yet the doctrine taught is essentially the
same.

In the morning we had talked of old families, and the respect due
to them.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you have a right to that kind of respect,
and are arguing for yourself.  I am for supporting the principle,
and am disinterested in doing it, as I have no such right.'
BOSWELL.  'Why, Sir, it is one more incitement to a man to do
well.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, and it is a matter of opinion, very
necessary to keep society together.  What is it but opinion, by
which we have a respect for authority, that prevents us, who are
the rabble, from rising up and pulling down you who are gentlemen
from your places, and saying, "We will be gentlemen in our turn?"
Now, Sir, that respect for authority is much more easily granted to
a man whose father has had it, than to an upstart, and so Society
is more easily supported.'  BOSWELL.  'At present, Sir, I think
riches seem to gain most respect.'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, riches do
not gain hearty respect; they only procure external attention.  A
very rich man, from low beginnings, may buy his election in a
borough; but, coeteris paribus, a man of family will be preferred.
People will prefer a man for whose father their fathers have voted,
though they should get no more money, or even less.  That shows
that the respect for family is not merely fanciful, but has an
actual operation.  If gentlemen of family would allow the rich
upstarts to spend their money profusely, which they are ready
enough to do, and not vie with them in expence, the upstarts would
soon be at an end, and the gentlemen would remain: but if the
gentlemen will vie in expence with the upstarts, which is very
foolish, they must be ruined.'

On Monday, March 23, I found him busy, preparing a fourth edition
of his folio Dictionary.  Mr. Peyton, one of his original
amanuenses, was writing for him.

He seemed also to be intent on some sort of chymical operation.  I
was entertained by observing how he contrived to send Mr. Peyton on
an errand, without seeming to degrade him.  'Mr. Peyton,--Mr.
Peyton, will you be so good as to take a walk to Temple-Bar?  You
will there see a chymist's shop; at which you will be pleased to
buy for me an ounce of oil of vitriol; not spirit of vitriol, but
oil of vitriol.  It will cost three half-pence.'  Peyton
immediately went, and returned with it, and told him it cost but a
penny.

On Saturday, March 27, I introduced to him Sir Alexander Macdonald,
with whom he had expressed a wish to be acquainted.  He received
him very courteously.

SIR A.  'I think, Sir, almost all great lawyers, such at least as
have written upon law, have known only law, and nothing else.'
JOHNSON.  'Why no, Sir; Judge Hale was a great lawyer, and wrote
upon law; and yet he knew a great many other things; and has
written upon other things.  Selden too.'  SIR A.  'Very true, Sir;
and Lord Bacon.  But was not Lord Coke a mere lawyer?'  JOHNSON.
'Why, I am afraid he was; but he would have taken it very ill if
you had told him so.  He would have prosecuted you for scandal.'
BOSWELL.  'Lord Mansfield is not a mere lawyer.  JOHNSON.  'No,
Sir.  I never was in Lord Mansfield's company; but Lord Mansfield
was distinguished at the University.  Lord Mansfield, when he first
came to town, "drank champagne with the wits," as Prior says.  He
was the friend of Pope.'  SIR A.  'Barristers, I believe, are not
so abusive now as they were formerly.  I fancy they had less law
long ago, and so were obliged to take to abuse, to fill up the
time.  Now they have such a number of precedents, they have no
occasion for abuse.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, they had more law long
ago than they have now.  As to precedents, to be sure they will
increase in course of time; but the more precedents there are, the
less occasion is there for law; that is to say, the less occasion
is there for investigating principles.'  SIR A.  'I have been
correcting several Scotch accents in my friend Boswell.  I doubt,
Sir, if any Scotchman ever attains to a perfect English
pronunciation.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, few of them do, because they
do not persevere after acquiring a certain degree of it.  But, Sir,
there can be no doubt that they may attain to a perfect English
pronunciation, if they will.  We find how near they come to it; and
certainly, a man who conquers nineteen parts of the Scottish
accent, may conquer the twentieth.  But, Sir, when a man has got
the better of nine tenths he grows weary, he relaxes his diligence,
he finds he has corrected his accent so far as not to be
disagreeable, and he no longer desires his friends to tell him when
he is wrong; nor does he choose to be told.  Sir, when people watch
me narrowly, and I do not watch myself, they will find me out to be
of a particular county.  In the same manner, Dunning may be found
out to be a Devonshire man.  So most Scotchmen may be found out.
But, Sir, little aberrations are of no disadvantage.  I never
catched Mallet in a Scotch accent; and yet Mallet, I suppose, was
past five-and-twenty before he came to London.'

I again visited him at night.  Finding him in a very good humour, I
ventured to lead him to the subject of our situation in a future
state, having much curiosity to know his notions on that point. . . .

BOSWELL.  'I do not know whether there are any well-attested
stories of the appearance of ghosts.  You know there is a famous
story of the appearance of Mrs. Veal, prefixed to Drelincourt on
Death.'  JOHNSON.  'I believe, Sir, that is given up.  I believe
the woman declared upon her death-bed that it was a lie.'  BOSWELL.
'This objection is made against the truth of ghosts appearing: that
if they are in a state of happiness, it would be a punishment to
them to return to this world; and if they are in a state of misery,
it would be giving them a respite.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, as the
happiness or misery of embodied spirits does not depend upon place,
but is intellectual, we cannot say that they are less happy or less
miserable by appearing upon earth.'

We went down between twelve and one to Mrs. Williams's room, and
drank tea.  I mentioned that we were to have the remains of Mr.
Gray, in prose and verse, published by Mr. Mason.  JOHNSON.  'I
think we have had enough of Gray.  I see they have published a
splendid edition of Akenside's works.  One bad ode may be suffered;
but a number of them together makes one sick.'  BOSWELL.
'Akenside's distinguished poem is his Pleasures of Imagination; but
for my part, I never could admire it so much as most people do.'
JOHNSON.  'Sir, I could not read it through.'  BOSWELL.  'I have
read it through; but I did not find any great power in it.'

On Tuesday, March 31, he and I dined at General Paoli's.

Dr. Johnson went home with me to my lodgings in Conduit-street and
drank tea, previous to our going to the Pantheon, which neither of
us had seen before.

He said, 'Goldsmith's Life of Parnell is poor; not that it is
poorly written, but that he had poor materials; for nobody can
write the life of a man, but those who have eat and drunk and lived
in social intercourse with him.'

I said, that if it was not troublesome and presuming too much, I
would request him to tell me all the little circumstances of his
life; what schools he attended, when he came to Oxford, when he
came to London, &c. &c.  He did not disapprove of my curiosity as
to these particulars; but said, 'They'll come out by degrees as we
talk together.'

We talked of the proper use of riches.  JOHNSON.  'If I were a man
of a great estate, I would drive all the rascals whom I did not
like out of the county at an election.'

We then walked to the Pantheon.  The first view of it did not
strike us so much as Ranelagh, of which he said, the 'coup d'oeil
was the finest thing he had ever seen.'  The truth is, Ranelagh is
of a more beautiful form; more of it or rather indeed the whole
rotunda, appears at once, and it is better lighted.  However, as
Johnson observed, we saw the Pantheon in time of mourning, when
there was a dull uniformity; whereas we had seen Ranelagh when the
view was enlivened with a gay profusion of colours.  Mrs. Bosville,
of Gunthwait, in Yorkshire, joined us, and entered into
conversation with us.  Johnson said to me afterwards, 'Sir, this is
a mighty intelligent lady.'

I said there was not half a guinea's worth of pleasure in seeing
this place.  JOHNSON.  'But, Sir, there is half a guinea's worth of
inferiority to other people in not having seen it.'  BOSWELL.  'I
doubt, Sir, whether there are many happy people here.'  JOHNSON.
'Yes, Sir, there are many happy people here.  There are many people
here who are watching hundreds, and who think hundreds are watching
them.'

Happening to meet Sir Adam Fergusson, I presented him to Dr.
Johnson.  Sir Adam expressed some apprehension that the Pantheon
would encourage luxury.  'Sir, (said Johnson,) I am a great friend
to publick amusements; for they keep people from vice.  You now
(addressing himself to me,) would have been with a wench, had you
not been here.--O! I forgot you were married.'

Sir Adam suggested, that luxury corrupts a people, and destroys the
spirit of liberty.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, that is all visionary.  I would
not give half a guinea to live under one form of government rather
than another.  It is of no moment to the happiness of an
individual.  Sir, the danger of the abuse of power is nothing to a
private man.  What Frenchman is prevented from passing his life as
he pleases?'  SIR ADAM.  'But, Sir, in the British constitution it
is surely of importance to keep up a spirit in the people, so as to
preserve a balance against the crown.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I perceive
you are a vile Whig.  Why all this childish jealousy of the power
of the crown?  The crown has not power enough.  When I say that all
governments are alike, I consider that in no government power can
be abused long.  Mankind will not bear it.  If a sovereign
oppresses his people to a great degree, they will rise and cut off
his head.  There is a remedy in human nature against tyranny, that
will keep us safe under every form of government.  Had not the
people of France thought themselves honoured as sharing in the
brilliant actions of Lewis XIV, they would not have endured him;
and we may say the same of the King of Prussia's people.'  Sir Adam
introduced the ancient Greeks and Romans.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, the mass
of both of them were barbarians.  The mass of every people must be
barbarous where there is no printing, and consequently knowledge is
not generally diffused.  Knowledge is diffused among our people by
the news-papers.'  Sir Adam mentioned the orators, poets, and
artists of Greece.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I am talking of the mass of the
people.  We see even what the boasted Athenians were.  The little
effect which Demosthenes's orations had upon them, shews that they
were barbarians.'

On Sunday, April 5, after attending divine service at St. Paul's
church, I found him alone.

He said, he went more frequently to church when there were prayers
only, than when there was also a sermon, as the people required
more an example for the one than the other; it being much easier
for them to hear a sermon, than to fix their minds on prayer.

On Monday, April 6, I dined with him at Sir Alexander Macdonald's,
where was a young officer in the regimentals of the Scots Royal,
who talked with a vivacity, fluency, and precision so uncommon,
that he attracted particular attention.  He proved to be the
Honourable Thomas Erskine, youngest brother to the Earl of Buchan,
who has since risen into such brilliant reputation at the bar in
Westminster-hall.

Fielding being mentioned, Johnson exclaimed, 'he was a blockhead;'
and upon my expressing my astonishment at so strange an assertion,
he said, 'What I mean by his being a blockhead is that he was a
barren rascal.'  BOSWELL.  'Will you not allow, Sir, that he draws
very natural pictures of human life?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, it is
of very low life.  Richardson used to say, that had he not known
who Fielding was, he should have believed he was an ostler.  Sir,
there is more knowledge of the heart in one letter of Richardson's,
than in all Tom Jones.  I, indeed, never read Joseph Andrews.'
ERSKINE.  'Surely, Sir, Richardson is very tedious.'  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, if you were to read Richardson for the story, your
impatience would be so much fretted that you would hang yourself.
But you must read him for the sentiment, and consider the story as
only giving occasion to the sentiment.'

We talked of gaming, and animadverted on it with severity.
JOHNSON.  'Nay, gentlemen, let us not aggravate the matter.  It is
not roguery to play with a man who is ignorant of the game, while
you are master of it, and so win his money; for he thinks he can
play better than you, as you think you can play better than he; and
the superiour skill carries it.'  ERSKINE.  'He is a fool, but you
are not a rogue.'  JOHNSON.  'That's much about the truth, Sir.  It
must be considered, that a man who only does what every one of the
society to which he belongs would do, is not a dishonest man.  In
the republick of Sparta, it was agreed, that stealing was not
dishonourable, if not discovered.  I do not commend a society where
there is an agreement that what would not otherwise be fair, shall
be fair; but I maintain, that an individual of any society, who
practises what is allowed, is not a dishonest man.'  BOSWELL.  'So
then, Sir, you do not think ill of a man who wins perhaps forty
thousand pounds in a winter?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I do not call a
gamester a dishonest man; but I call him an unsocial man, an
unprofitable man.  Gaming is a mode of transferring property
without producing any intermediate good.  Trade gives employment to
numbers, and so produces intermediate good.'

On Thursday, April 9, I called on him to beg he would go and dine
with me at the Mitre tavern.  He had resolved not to dine at all
this day, I know not for what reason; and I was so unwilling to be
deprived of his company, that I was content to submit to suffer a
want, which was at first somewhat painful, but he soon made me
forget it; and a man is always pleased with himself when he finds
his intellectual inclinations predominate.

He observed, that to reason philosophically on the nature of
prayer, was very unprofitable.

Talking of ghosts, he said, he knew one friend, who was an honest
man and a sensible man, who told him he had seen a ghost, old Mr.
Edward Cave, the printer at St. John's Gate.  He said, Mr. Cave did
not like to talk of it, and seemed to be in great horrour whenever
it was mentioned.  BOSWELL.  'Pray, Sir, what did he say was the
appearance?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, something of a shadowy being.'

On Friday, April 10, I dined with him at General Oglethorpe's,
where we found Dr. Goldsmith.

I started the question whether duelling was consistent with moral
duty.  The brave old General fired at this, and said, with a lofty
air, 'Undoubtedly a man has a right to defend his honour.'
GOLDSMITH.  (turning to me,) 'I ask you first, Sir, what would you
do if you were affronted?'  I answered I should think it necessary
to fight.  'Why then, (replied Goldsmith,) that solves the
question.'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, it does not solve the question.  It
does not follow that what a man would do is therefore right.'  I
said, I wished to have it settled, whether duelling was contrary to
the laws of Christianity.  Johnson immediately entered on the
subject, and treated it in a masterly manner; and so far as I have
been able to recollect, his thoughts were these: 'Sir, as men
become in a high degree refined, various causes of offence arise;
which are considered to be of such importance, that life must be
staked to atone for them, though in reality they are not so.  A
body that has received a very fine polish may be easily hurt.
Before men arrive at this artificial refinement, if one tells his
neighbour he lies, his neighbour tells him he lies; if one gives
his neighbour a blow, his neighbour gives him a blow: but in a
state of highly polished society, an affront is held to be a
serious injury.  It must therefore be resented, or rather a duel
must be fought upon it; as men have agreed to banish from their
society one who puts up with an affront without fighting a duel.
Now, Sir, it is never unlawful to fight in self-defence.  He, then,
who fights a duel, does not fight from passion against his
antagonist, but out of self-defence; to avert the stigma of the
world, and to prevent himself from being driven out of society.  I
could wish there was not that superfluity of refinement; but while
such notions prevail, no doubt a man may lawfully fight a duel.'

The General told us, that when he was a very young man, I think
only fifteen, serving under Prince Eugene of Savoy, he was sitting
in a company at table with a Prince of Wirtemberg.  The Prince took
up a glass of wine, and, by a fillip, made some of it fly in
Oglethorpe's face.  Here was a nice dilemma.  To have challenged
him instantly, might have fixed a quarrelsome character upon the
young soldier: to have taken no notice of it might have been
considered as cowardice.  Oglethorpe, therefore, keeping his eye
upon the Prince, and smiling all the time, as if he took what his
Highness had done in jest, said 'Mon Prince,--'.  (I forget the
French words he used, the purport however was,) 'That's a good
joke; but we do it much better in England;' and threw a whole glass
of wine in the Prince's face.  An old General who sat by, said, 'Il
a bien fait, mon Prince, vous l'avez commence:' and thus all ended
in good humour.

Dr. Johnson said, 'Pray, General, give us an account of the siege
of Belgrade.'  Upon which the General, pouring a little wine upon
the table, described every thing with a wet finger: 'Here we were,
here were the Turks,' &c. &c.  Johnson listened with the closest
attention.

A question was started, how far people who disagree in a capital
point can live in friendship together.  Johnson said they might.
Goldsmith said they could not, as they had not the idem velle atque
idem nolle--the same likings and the same aversions.  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, you must shun the subject as to which you disagree.  For
instance, I can live very well with Burke: I love his knowledge,
his genius, his diffusion, and affluence of conversation; but I
would not talk to him of the Rockingham party.'  GOLDSMITH.  'But,
Sir, when people live together who have something as to which they
disagree, and which they want to shun, they will be in the
situation mentioned in the story of Bluebeard: "You may look into
all the chambers but one."  But we should have the greatest
inclination to look into that chamber, to talk of that subject.'
JOHNSON.  (with a loud voice,) 'Sir, I am not saying that YOU could
live in friendship with a man from whom you differ as to some
point: I am only saying that I could do it.  You put me in mind of
Sappho in Ovid.'

Goldsmith told us, that he was now busy in writing a natural
history, and, that he might have full leisure for it, he had taken
lodgings, at a farmer's house, near to the six milestone, on the
Edgeware road, and had carried down his books in two returned post-
chaises.  He said, he believed the farmer's family thought him an
odd character, similar to that in which the Spectator appeared to
his landlady and her children: he was The Gentleman.  Mr. Mickle,
the translator of The Lusiad, and I went to visit him at this place
a few days afterwards.  He was not at home; but having a curiosity
to see his apartment, we went in and found curious scraps of
descriptions of animals, scrawled upon the wall with a black lead
pencil.

On Saturday, April 11, he appointed me to come to him in the
evening, when he should be at leisure to give me some assistance
for the defence of Hastie, the schoolmaster of Campbelltown, for
whom I was to appear in the house of Lords.  When I came, I found
him unwilling to exert himself.  I pressed him to write down his
thoughts upon the subject.  He said, 'There's no occasion for my
writing.  I'll talk to you.' . . .

Of our friend, Goldsmith, he said, 'Sir, he is so much afraid of
being unnoticed, that he often talks merely lest you should forget
that he is in the company.'  BOSWELL.  'Yes, he stands forward.'
JOHNSON.  'True, Sir; but if a man is to stand forward, he should
wish to do it not in an aukward posture, not in rags, not so as
that he shall only be exposed to ridicule.'  BOSWELL.  'For my
part, I like very well to hear honest Goldsmith talk away
carelessly.'  JOHNSON.  'Why yes, Sir; but he should not like to
hear himself.' . . .

On Tuesday, April 14, the decree of the Court of Session in the
schoolmaster's cause was reversed in the House of Lords, after a
very eloquent speech by Lord Mansfield, who shewed himself an adept
in school discipline, but I thought was too rigorous towards my
client.  On the evening of the next day I supped with Dr. Johnson,
at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in the Strand, in company with Mr.
Langton and his brother-in-law, Lord Binning.

I talked of the recent expulsion of six students from the
University of Oxford, who were methodists and would not desist from
publickly praying and exhorting.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, that expulsion
was extremely just and proper.  What have they to do at an
University who are not willing to be taught, but will presume to
teach?  Where is religion to be learnt but at an University?  Sir,
they were examined, and found to be mighty ignorant fellows.'
BOSWELL.  'But, was it not hard, Sir, to expel them, for I am told
they were good beings?'  JOHNSON.  'I believe they might be good
beings; but they were not fit to be in the University of Oxford.  A
cow is a very good animal in the field; but we turn her out of a
garden.'  Lord Elibank used to repeat this as an illustration
uncommonly happy.

Desirous of calling Johnson forth to talk, and exercise his wit,
though I should myself be the object of it, I resolutely ventured
to undertake the defence of convivial indulgence in wine, though he
was not to-night in the most genial humour.  After urging the
common plausible topicks, I at last had recourse to the maxim, in
vino veritas, a man who is well warmed with wine will speak truth.
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, that may be an argument for drinking, if you
suppose men in general to be liars.  But, Sir, I would not keep
company with a fellow, who lyes as long as he is sober, and whom
you must make drunk before you can get a word of truth out of him.'

At this time it appears from his Prayers and Meditations, that he
had been more than commonly diligent in religious duties,
particularly in reading the Holy Scriptures.  It was Passion Week,
that solemn season which the Christian world has appropriated to
the commemoration of the mysteries of our redemption, and during
which, whatever embers of religion are in our breasts, will be
kindled into pious warmth.

I paid him short visits both on Friday and Saturday, and seeing his
large folio Greek Testament before him, beheld him with a
reverential awe, and would not intrude upon his time.  While he was
thus employed to such good purpose, and while his friends in their
intercourse with him constantly found a vigorous intellect and a
lively imagination, it is melancholy to read in his private
register, 'My mind is unsettled and my memory confused.  I have of
late turned my thoughts with a very useless earnestness upon past
incidents.  I have yet got no command over my thoughts; an
unpleasing incident is almost certain to hinder my rest.'  What
philosophick heroism was it in him to appear with such manly
fortitude to the world while he was inwardly so distressed!  We may
surely believe that the mysterious principle of being 'made perfect
through suffering' was to be strongly exemplified in him.

On Sunday, April 19, being Easter-day, General Paoli and I paid him
a visit before dinner.

We talked of sounds.  The General said, there was no beauty in a
simple sound, but only in an harmonious composition of sounds.  I
presumed to differ from this opinion, and mentioned the soft and
sweet sound of a fine woman's voice.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, if a
serpent or a toad uttered it, you would think it ugly.'  BOSWELL.
'So you would think, Sir, were a beautiful tune to be uttered by
one of those animals.'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, it would be admired.
We have seen fine fiddlers whom we liked as little as toads.'
(laughing.)

While I remained in London this spring, I was with him at several
other times, both by himself and in company.  I dined with him one
day at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in the Strand, with Lord
Elibank, Mr. Langton, and Dr. Vansittart of Oxford.  Without
specifying each particular day, I have preserved the following
memorable things.

I regretted the reflection in his Preface to Shakspeare against
Garrick, to whom we cannot but apply the following passage: 'I
collated such copies as I could procure, and wished for more, but
have not found the collectors of these rarities very
communicative.'  I told him, that Garrick had complained to me of
it, and had vindicated himself by assuring me, that Johnson was
made welcome to the full use of his collection, and that he left
the key of it with a servant, with orders to have a fire and every
convenience for him.  I found Johnson's notion was, that Garrick
wanted to be courted for them, and that, on the contrary, Garrick
should have courted him, and sent him the plays of his own accord.
But, indeed, considering the slovenly and careless manner in which
books were treated by Johnson, it could not be expected that scarce
and valuable editions should have been lent to him.

A gentleman* having to some of the usual arguments for drinking
added this: 'You know, Sir, drinking drives away care, and makes us
forget whatever is disagreeable.  Would not you allow a man to
drink for that reason?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, if he sat next YOU.'


* The gentleman most likely is Boswell.--HILL.


A learned gentleman who in the course of conversation wished to
inform us of this simple fact, that the Counsel upon the circuit at
Shrewsbury were much bitten by fleas, took, I suppose, seven or
eight minutes in relating it circumstantially.  He in a plenitude
of phrase told us, that large bales of woollen cloth were lodged in
the town-hall;--that by reason of this, fleas nestled there in
prodigious numbers; that the lodgings of the counsel were near to
the town-hall;--and that those little animals moved from place to
place with wonderful agility.  Johnson sat in great impatience till
the gentleman had finished his tedious narrative, and then burst
out (playfully however), 'It is a pity, Sir, that you have not seen
a lion; for a flea has taken you such a time, that a lion must have
served you a twelvemonth.'

He would not allow Scotland to derive any credit from Lord
Mansfield; for he was educated in England.  'Much (said he,) may be
made of a Scotchman, if he be CAUGHT young.'

He said, 'I am very unwilling to read the manuscripts of authours,
and give them my opinion.  If the authours who apply to me have
money, I bid them boldly print without a name; if they have written
in order to get money, I tell them to go to the booksellers, and
make the best bargain they can.'  BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, if a
bookseller should bring you a manuscript to look at?'  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, I would desire the bookseller to take it away.'

I mentioned a friend of mine who had resided long in Spain, and was
unwilling to return to Britain.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, he is attached to
some woman.'  BOSWELL.  'I rather believe, Sir, it is the fine
climate which keeps him there.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, how can you
talk so?  What is CLIMATE to happiness?  Place me in the heart of
Asia, should I not be exiled?  What proportion does climate bear to
the complex system of human life?  You may advise me to go to live
at Bologna to eat sausages.  The sausages there are the best in the
world; they lose much by being carried.'

On Saturday, May 9, Mr. Dempster and I had agreed to dine by
ourselves at the British Coffee-house.  Johnson, on whom I happened
to call in the morning, said he would join us, which he did, and we
spent a very agreeable day, though I recollect but little of what
passed.

He said, 'Walpole was a minister given by the King to the people:
Pitt was a minister given by the people to the King,--as an
adjunct.'

'The misfortune of Goldsmith in conversation is this: he goes on
without knowing how he is to get off.  His genius is great, but his
knowledge is small.  As they say of a generous man, it is a pity he
is not rich, we may say of Goldsmith, it is a pity he is not
knowing.  He would not keep his knowledge to himself.'

1773: AETAT. 64.]--In 1773 his only publication was an edition of
his folio Dictionary, with additions and corrections; nor did he,
so far as is known, furnish any productions of his fertile pen to
any of his numerous friends or dependants, except the Preface to
his old amanuensis Macbean's Dictionary of Ancient Geography.


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,-- . . . A new edition of my great Dictionary is printed,
from a copy which I was persuaded to revise; but having made no
preparation, I was able to do very little.  Some superfluities I
have expunged, and some faults I have corrected, and here and there
have scattered a remark; but the main fabrick of the work remains
as it was.  I had looked very little into it since I wrote it, and,
I think, I found it full as often better, as worse, than I
expected.

'Baretti and Davies have had a furious quarrel; a quarrel, I think,
irreconcileable.  Dr. Goldsmith has a new comedy, which is expected
in the spring.  No name is yet given it.  The chief diversion
arises from a stratagem by which a lover is made to mistake his
future father-in-law's house for an inn.  This, you see, borders
upon farce.  The dialogue is quick and gay, and the incidents are
so prepared as not to seem improbable. . . .

'My health seems in general to improve; but I have been troubled
for many weeks with a vexatious catarrh, which is sometimes
sufficiently distressful.  I have not found any great effects from
bleeding and physick; and am afraid, that I must expect help from
brighter days and softer air.

'Write to me now and then; and whenever any good befalls you, make
haste to let me know it, for no one will rejoice at it more than,
dear Sir, your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Feb. 24, 1773.'

'You continue to stand very high in the favour of Mrs. Thrale.'


While a former edition of my work was passing through the press, I
was unexpectedly favoured with a packet from Philadelphia, from Mr.
James Abercrombie, a gentleman of that country, who is pleased to
honour me with very high praise of my Life of Dr. Johnson.  To have
the fame of my illustrious friend, and his faithful biographer,
echoed from the New World is extremely flattering; and my grateful
acknowledgements shall be wafted across the Atlantick.  Mr.
Abercrombie has politely conferred on me a considerable additional
obligation, by transmitting to me copies of two letters from Dr.
Johnson to American gentlemen.

On Saturday, April 3, the day after my arrival in London this year,
I went to his house late in the evening, and sat with Mrs. Williams
till he came home.  I found in the London Chronicle, Dr.
Goldsmith's apology to the publick for beating Evans, a bookseller,
on account of a paragraph in a newspaper published by him, which
Goldsmith thought impertinent to him and to a lady of his
acquaintance.  The apology was written so much in Dr. Johnson's
manner, that both Mrs. Williams and I supposed it to be his; but
when he came home, he soon undeceived us.  When he said to Mrs.
Williams, 'Well, Dr. Goldsmith's manifesto has got into your
paper;' I asked him if Dr. Goldsmith had written it, with an air
that made him see I suspected it was his, though subscribed by
Goldsmith.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, Dr. Goldsmith would no more have asked
me to write such a thing as that for him, than he would have asked
me to feed him with a spoon, or to do anything else that denoted
his imbecility.  I as much believe that he wrote it, as if I had
seen him do it.  Sir, had he shewn it to any one friend, he would
not have been allowed to publish it.  He has, indeed, done it very
well; but it is a foolish thing well done.  I suppose he has been
so much elated with the success of his new comedy, that he has
thought every thing that concerned him must he of importance to the
publick.'  BOSWELL.  'I fancy, Sir, this is the first time that he
has been engaged in such an adventure.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I
believe it is the first time he has BEAT; he may have BEEN BEATEN
before.  This, Sir, is a new plume to him.'

At Mr. Thrale's, in the evening, he repeated his usual paradoxical
declamation against action in publick speaking. 'Action can have no
effect upon reasonable minds.  It may augment noise, but it never
can enforce argument.'

Lord Chesterfield being mentioned, Johnson remarked, that almost
all of that celebrated nobleman's witty sayings were puns.  He,
however, allowed the merit of good wit to his Lordship's saying of
Lord Tyrawley and himself, when both very old and infirm: 'Tyrawley
and I have been dead these two years; but we don't choose to have
it known.'

The conversation having turned on modern imitations of ancient
ballads, and some one having praised their simplicity, he treated
them with that ridicule which he always displayed when that subject
was mentioned.

He disapproved of introducing scripture phrases into secular
discourse.  This seemed to me a question of some difficulty.  A
scripture expression may be used, like a highly classical phrase,
to produce an instantaneous strong impression; and it may be done
without being at all improper.  Yet I own there is danger, that
applying the language of our sacred book to ordinary subjects may
tend to lessen our reverence for it.  If therefore it be introduced
at all, it should be with very great caution.

On Thursday, April 8, I sat a good part of the evening with him,
but he was very silent.

Though he was not disposed to talk, he was unwilling that I should
leave him; and when I looked at my watch, and told him it was
twelve o'clock, he cried, What's that to you and me?' and ordered
Frank to tell Mrs. Williams that we were coming to drink tea with
her, which we did.  It was settled that we should go to church
together next day.

On the 9th of April, being Good Friday, I breakfasted with him on
tea and cross-buns; DOCTOR Levet, as Frank called him, making the
tea.  He carried me with him to the church of St. Clement Danes,
where he had his seat; and his behaviour was, as I had imaged to
myself, solemnly devout.  I never shall forget the tremulous
earnestness with which he pronounced the awful petition in the
Litany: 'In the hour of death, and at the day of judgement, good
LORD deliver us.

We went to church both in the morning and evening.  In the interval
between the two services we did not dine; but he read in the Greek
New Testament, and I turned over several of his books.

I told him that Goldsmith had said to me a few days before, 'As I
take my shoes from the shoemaker, and my coat from the taylor, so I
take my religion from the priest.'  I regretted this loose way of
talking.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, he knows nothing; he has made up his mind
about nothing.'

To my great surprize he asked me to dine with him on Easter-day.  I
never supposed that he had a dinner at his house; for I had not
then heard of any one of his friends having been entertained at his
table.  He told me, 'I generally have a meat pye on Sunday: it is
baked at a publick oven, which is very properly allowed, because
one man can attend it; and thus the advantage is obtained of not
keeping servants from church to dress dinners.'

April 11, being Easter-Sunday, after having attended Divine Service
at St. Paul's, I repaired to Dr. Johnson's.  I had gratified my
curiosity much in dining with JEAN JAQUES ROUSSEAU, while he lived
in the wilds of Neufchatel: I had as great a curiosity to dine with
DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON, in the dusky recess of a court in Fleet-street.
I supposed we should scarcely have knives and forks, and only some
strange, uncouth, ill-drest dish: but I found every thing in very
good order.  We had no other company but Mrs. Williams and a young
woman whom I did not know.  As a dinner here was considered as a
singular phaenomenon, and as I was frequently interrogated on the
subject, my readers may perhaps be desirous to know our bill of
fare.  Foote, I remember, in allusion to Francis, the NEGRO, was
willing to suppose that our repast was BLACK BROTH.  But the fact
was, that we had a very good soup, a boiled leg of lamb and
spinach, a veal pye, and a rice pudding.

He owned that he thought Hawkesworth was one of his imitators, but
he did not think Goldsmith was.  Goldsmith, he said, had great
merit.  BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, he is much indebted to you for his
getting so high in the publick estimation.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir,
he has perhaps got SOONER to it by his intimacy with me.'

Goldsmith, though his vanity often excited him to occasional
competition, had a very high regard for Johnson, which he at this
time expressed in the strongest manner in the Dedication of his
comedy, entitled, She Stoops to Conquer.

He told me that he had twelve or fourteen times attempted to keep a
journal of his life, but never could persevere.  He advised me to
do it.  'The great thing to be recorded, (said he,) is the state of
your own mind; and you should write down every thing that you
remember, for you cannot judge at first what is good or bad; and
write immediately while the impression is fresh, for it will not be
the same a week afterwards.'

I again solicited him to communicate to me the particulars of his
early life.  He said, 'You shall have them all for two-pence.  I
hope you shall know a great deal more of me before you write my
Life.'  He mentioned to me this day many circumstances, which I
wrote down when I went home, and have interwoven in the former part
of this narrative.

On Tuesday, April 13, he and Dr. Goldsmith and I dined at General
Oglethorpe's.  Goldsmith expatiated on the common topick, that the
race of our people was degenerated, and that this was owing to
luxury.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, in the first place, I doubt the fact.  I
believe there are as many tall men in England now, as ever there
were.  But, secondly, supposing the stature of our people to be
diminished, that is not owing to luxury; for, Sir, consider to how
very small a proportion of our people luxury can reach.  Our
soldiery, surely, are not luxurious, who live on sixpence a day;
and the same remark will apply to almost all the other classes.
Luxury, so far as it reaches the poor, will do good to the race of
people; it will strengthen and multiply them.  Sir, no nation was
ever hurt by luxury; for, as I said before, it can reach but to a
very few.  I admit that the great increase of commerce and
manufactures hurts the military spirit of a people; because it
produces a competition for something else than martial honours,--a
competition for riches.  It also hurts the bodies of the people;
for you will observe, there is no man who works at any particular
trade, but you may know him from his appearance to do so.  One part
or other of his body being more used than the rest, he is in some
degree deformed: but, Sir, that is not luxury.  A tailor sits
cross-legged; but that is not luxury.'  GOLDSMITH.  'Come, you're
just going to the same place by another road.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay,
Sir, I say that is not LUXURY.  Let us take a walk from Charing-
cross to White-chapel, through, I suppose, the greatest series of
shops in the world; what is there in any of these shops (if you
except gin-shops,) that can do any human being any harm?'
GOLDSMITH.  'Well, Sir, I'll accept your challenge.  The very next
shop to Northumberland-house is a pickle-shop.'  JOHNSON.  'Well,
Sir: do we not know that a maid can in one afternoon make pickles
sufficient to serve a whole family for a year? nay, that five
pickle-shops can serve all the kingdom?  Besides, Sir, there is no
harm done to any body by the making of pickles, or the eating of
pickles.'

We drank tea with the ladies; and Goldsmith sung Tony Lumpkin's
song in his comedy, She Stoops to Conquer, and a very pretty one,
to an Irish tune, which he had designed for Miss Hardcastle; but as
Mrs. Bulkeley, who played the part, could not sing, it was left
out.  He afterwards wrote it down for me, by which means it was
preserved, and now appears amongst his poems.  Dr. Johnson, in his
way home, stopped at my lodgings in Piccadilly, and sat with me,
drinking tea a second time, till a late hour.

I told him that Mrs. Macaulay said, she wondered how he could
reconcile his political principles with his moral; his notions of
inequality and subordination with wishing well to the happiness of
all mankind, who might live so agreeably, had they all their
portions of land, and none to domineer over another.  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, I reconcile my principles very well, because mankind are
happier in a state of inequality and subordination.  Were they to
be in this pretty state of equality, they would soon degenerate
into brutes;--they would become Monboddo's nation;--their tails
would grow.  Sir, all would be losers were all to work for all--
they would have no intellectual improvement.  All intellectual
improvement arises from leisure; all leisure arises from one
working for another.'

Talking of the family of Stuart, he said, 'It should seem that the
family at present on the throne has now established as good a right
as the former family, by the long consent of the people; and that
to disturb this right might be considered as culpable.  At the same
time I own, that it is a very difficult question, when considered
with respect to the house of Stuart.  To oblige people to take
oaths as to the disputed right, is wrong.  I know not whether I
could take them: but I do not blame those who do.'  So
conscientious and so delicate was he upon this subject, which has
occasioned so much clamour against him.

On Thursday, April 15, I dined with him and Dr. Goldsmith at
General Paoli's.

I spoke of Allan Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd, in the Scottish dialect,
as the best pastoral that had ever been written; not only abounding
with beautiful rural imagery, and just and pleasing sentiments, but
being a real picture of manners; and I offered to teach Dr. Johnson
to understand it.  'No, Sir, (said he,) I won't learn it.  You
shall retain your superiority by my not knowing it.'

It having been observed that there was little hospitality in
London;--JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, any man who has a name, or who has
the power of pleasing, will be very generally invited in London.
The man, Sterne, I have been told, has had engagements for three
months.'  GOLDSMITH.  'And a very dull fellow.'  JOHNSON.  'Why,
no, Sir.'

Martinelli told us, that for several years he lived much with
Charles Townshend, and that he ventured to tell him he was a bad
joker.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, thus much I can say upon the subject.
One day he and a few more agreed to go and dine in the country, and
each of them was to bring a friend in his carriage with him.
Charles Townshend asked Fitzherbert to go with him, but told him,
"You must find somebody to bring you back: I can only carry you
there."  Fitzherbert did not much like this arrangement.  He
however consented, observing sarcastically, "It will do very well;
for then the same jokes will serve you in returning as in going."'

An eminent publick character being mentioned;--JOHNSON.  'I
remember being present when he shewed himself to be so corrupted,
or at least something so different from what I think right, as to
maintain, that a member of parliament should go along with his
party right or wrong.  Now, Sir, this is so remote from native
virtue, from scholastick virtue, that a good man must have
undergone a great change before he can reconcile himself to such a
doctrine.  It is maintaining that you may lie to the publick; for
you lie when you call that right which you think wrong, or the
reverse.  A friend of ours, who is too much an echo of that
gentleman, observed, that a man who does not stick uniformly to a
party, is only waiting to be bought.  Why then, said I, he is only
waiting to be what that gentleman is already.'

We talked of the King's coming to see Goldsmith's new play.--'I
wish he would,' said Goldsmith; adding, however, with an affected
indifference, 'Not that it would do me the least good.'  JOHNSON.
'Well then, Sir, let us say it would do HIM good, (laughing.)  No,
Sir, this affectation will not pass;--it is mighty idle.  In such a
state as ours, who would not wish to please the Chief Magistrate?'
GOLDSMITH.  'I DO wish to please him.  I remember a line in
Dryden,--


     "And every poet is the monarch's friend."


It ought to be reversed.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, there are finer lines in
Dryden on this subject:--


    "For colleges on bounteous Kings depend,
     And never rebel was to arts a friend."'


General Paoli observed, that 'successful rebels might.'
MARTINELLI.  'Happy rebellions.'  GOLDSMITH.  'We have no such
phrase.'  GENERAL PAOLI.  'But have you not the THING?'  GOLDSMITH.
'Yes; all our HAPPY revolutions.  They have hurt our constitution,
and will hurt it, till we mend it by another HAPPY REVOLUTION.'  I
never before discovered that my friend Goldsmith had so much of the
old prejudice in him.

General Paoli, talking of Goldsmith's new play, said, 'Il a fait un
compliment tres gracieux a une certaine grande dame;' meaning a
Duchess of the first rank.

I expressed a doubt whether Goldsmith intended it, in order that I
might hear the truth from himself.  It, perhaps, was not quite fair
to endeavour to bring him to a confession, as he might not wish to
avow positively his taking part against the Court.  He smiled and
hesitated.  The General at once relieved him, by this beautiful
image: 'Monsieur Goldsmith est comme la mer, qui jette des perles
et beaucoup d'autres belles choses, sans s'en appercevoir.'
GOLDSMITH.  'Tres bien dit et tres elegamment.'

A person was mentioned, who it was said could take down in short
hand the speeches in parliament with perfect exactness.  JOHNSON.
'Sir, it is impossible.  I remember one, Angel, who came to me to
write for him a Preface or Dedication to a book upon short hand,
and he professed to write as fast as a man could speak.  In order
to try him, I took down a book, and read while he wrote; and I
favoured him, for I read more deliberately than usual.  I had
proceeded but a very little way, when he begged I would desist, for
he could not follow me.'  Hearing now for the first time of this
Preface or Dedication, I said, 'What an expense, Sir, do you put us
to in buying books, to which you have written Prefaces or
Dedications.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, I have dedicated to the Royal family
all round; that is to say, to the last generation of the Royal
family.'  GOLDSMITH.  'And perhaps, Sir, not one sentence of wit in
a whole Dedication.'  JOHNSON.  'Perhaps not, Sir.'  BOSWELL.
'What then is the reason for applying to a particular person to do
that which any one may do as well?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, one man
has greater readiness at doing it than another.'

I spoke of Mr. Harris, of Salisbury, as being a very learned man,
and in particular an eminent Grecian.  JOHNSON.  'I am not sure of
that.  His friends give him out as such, but I know not who of his
friends are able to judge of it.'  GOLDSMITH.  'He is what is much
better: he is a worthy humane man.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, that is
not to the purpose of our argument: that will as much prove that he
can play upon the fiddle as well as Giardini, as that he is an
eminent Grecian.'  GOLDSMITH.  'The greatest musical performers
have but small emoluments.  Giardini, I am told, does not get above
seven hundred a year.'  JOHNSON.  'That is indeed but little for a
man to get, who does best that which so many endeavour to do.
There is nothing, I think, in which the power of art is shown so
much as in playing on the fiddle.  In all other things we can do
something at first.  Any man will forge a bar of iron, if you give
him a hammer; not so well as a smith, but tolerably.  A man will
saw a piece of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one; but give
him a fiddle and a fiddle-stick, and he can do nothing.'

On Monday, April 19, he called on me with Mrs. Williams, in Mr.
Strahan's coach, and carried me out to dine with Mr. Elphinston, at
his academy at Kensington.  A printer having acquired a fortune
sufficient to keep his coach, was a good topick for the credit of
literature.  Mrs. Williams said, that another printer, Mr.
Hamilton, had not waited so long as Mr. Strahan, but had kept his
coach several years sooner.  JOHNSON.  'He was in the right.  Life
is short.  The sooner that a man begins to enjoy his wealth the
better.'

Mr. Elphinston talked of a new book that was much admired, and
asked Dr. Johnson if he had read it.  JOHNSON.  'I have looked into
it.'  'What, (said Elphinston,) have you not read it through?'
Johnson, offended at being thus pressed, and so obliged to own his
cursory mode of reading, answered tartly, 'No, Sir, do YOU read
books THROUGH?'

On Wednesday, April 21, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale's.  A
gentleman attacked Garrick for being vain.  JOHNSON.  'No wonder,
Sir, that he is vain; a man who is perpetually flattered in every
mode that can be conceived.  So many bellows have blown the fire,
that one wonders he is not by this time become a cinder.'  BOSWELL.
'And such bellows too.  Lord Mansfield with his cheeks like to
burst: Lord Chatham like an Aeolus.  I have read such notes from
them to him, as were enough to turn his head.'  JOHNSON.  'True.
When he whom every body else flatters, flatters me, I then am truly
happy.'  Mrs. THRALE.  'The sentiment is in Congreve, I think.'
JOHNSON.  'Yes, Madam, in The Way of the World:


    "If there's delight in love, 'tis when I see
     That heart which others bleed for, bleed for me."


No, Sir, I should not be surprized though Garrick chained the
ocean, and lashed the winds.'  BOSWELL.  'Should it not be, Sir,
lashed the ocean and chained the winds?'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir,
recollect the original:


    "In Corum atque Eurum solitus saevire flagellis
     Barbarus, Aeolia nunquam hoc in carcere passos,
     Ipsum compedibus qui vinxerat Ennosigaeum."


The modes of living in different countries, and the various views
with which men travel in quest of new scenes, having been talked
of, a learned gentleman who holds a considerable office in the law,
expatiated on the happiness of a savage life; and mentioned an
instance of an officer who had actually lived for some time in the
wilds of America, of whom, when in that state, he quoted this
reflection with an air of admiration, as if it had been deeply
philosophical: 'Here am I, free and unrestrained, amidst the rude
magnificence of Nature, with this Indian woman by my side, and this
gun with which I can procure food when I want it; what more can be
desired for human happiness?'  It did not require much sagacity to
foresee that such a sentiment would not be permitted to pass
without due animadversion.  JOHNSON.  'Do not allow yourself, Sir,
to be imposed upon by such gross absurdity.  It is sad stuff; it is
brutish.  If a bull could speak, he might as well exclaim,--Here am
I with this cow and this grass; what being can enjoy greater
felicity?'

We talked of the melancholy end of a gentleman who had destroyed
himself.  JOHNSON.  'It was owing to imaginary difficulties in his
affairs, which, had he talked with any friend, would soon have
vanished.'  BOSWELL.  'Do you think, Sir, that all who commit
suicide are mad?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, they are often not universally
disordered in their intellects, but one passion presses so upon
them, that they yield to it, and commit suicide, as a passionate
man will stab another.'  He added, 'I have often thought, that
after a man has taken the resolution to kill himself, it is not
courage in him to do any thing, however desperate, because he has
nothing to fear.'  GOLDSMITH.  'I don't see that.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay,
but my dear Sir, why should not you see what every one else sees?'
GOLDSMITH.  'It is for fear of something that he has resolved to
kill himself; and will not that timid disposition restrain him?'
JOHNSON.  'It does not signify that the fear of something made him
resolve; it is upon the state of his mind, after the resolution is
taken, that I argue.  Suppose a man, either from fear, or pride, or
conscience, or whatever motive, has resolved to kill himself; when
once the resolution is taken, he has nothing to fear.  He may then
go and take the King of Prussia by the nose, at the head of his
army.  He cannot fear the rack, who is resolved to kill himself.
When Eustace Budgel was walking down to the Thames, determined to
drown himself, he might, if he pleased, without any apprehension of
danger, have turned aside, and first set fire to St. James's
palace.'

On Tuesday, April 27, Mr. Beauclerk and I called on him in the
morning.  As we walked up Johnson's-court, I said, 'I have a
veneration for this court;' and was glad to find that Beauclerk had
the same reverential enthusiasm.  We found him alone.  We talked of
Mr. Andrew Stuart's elegant and plausible Letters to Lord
Mansfield: a copy of which had been sent by the authour to Dr.
Johnson.  JOHNSON.  'They have not answered the end.  They have not
been talked of; I have never heard of them.  This is owing to their
not being sold.  People seldom read a book which is given to them;
and few are given.  The way to spread a work is to sell it at a low
price.  No man will send to buy a thing that costs even sixpence,
without an intention to read it.'

He said, 'Goldsmith should not be for ever attempting to shine in
conversation: he has not temper for it, he is so much mortified
when he fails.  Sir, a game of jokes is composed partly of skill,
partly of chance, a man may be beat at times by one who has not the
tenth part of his wit.  Now Goldsmith's putting himself against
another, is like a man laying a hundred to one who cannot spare the
hundred.  It is not worth a man's while.  A man should not lay a
hundred to one, unless he can easily spare it, though he has a
hundred chances for him: he can get but a guinea, and he may lose a
hundred.  Goldsmith is in this state.  When he contends, if he gets
the better, it is a very little addition to a man of his literary
reputation: if he does not get the better, he is miserably vexed.'

Johnson's own superlative powers of wit set him above any risk of
such uneasiness.  Garrick had remarked to me of him, a few days
before, 'Rabelais and all other wits are nothing compared with him.
You may be diverted by them; but Johnson gives you a forcible hug,
and shakes laughter out of you, whether you will or no.'

Goldsmith, however, was often very fortunate in his witty contests,
even when he entered the lists with Johnson himself.  Sir Joshua
Reynolds was in company with them one day, when Goldsmith said,
that he thought he could write a good fable, mentioned the
simplicity which that kind of composition requires, and observed,
that in most fables the animals introduced seldom talk in
character.  'For instance, (said he,) the fable of the little
fishes, who saw birds fly over their heads, and envying them,
petitioned Jupiter to be changed into birds.  The skill (continued
he,) consists in making them talk like little fishes.'  While he
indulged himself in this fanciful reverie, he observed Johnson
shaking his sides, and laughing.  Upon which he smartly proceeded,
'Why, Dr. Johnson, this is not so easy as you seem to think; for if
you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like WHALES.'

On Thursday, April 29, I dined with him at General Oglethorpe's,
where were Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Langton, Dr. Goldsmith, and Mr.
Thrale.  I was very desirous to get Dr. Johnson absolutely fixed in
his resolution to go with me to the Hebrides this year; and I told
him that I had received a letter from Dr. Robertson the historian,
upon the subject, with which he was much pleased; and now talked in
such a manner of his long-intended tour, that I was satisfied he
meant to fulfil his engagement.

The character of Mallet having been introduced, and spoken of
slightingly by Goldsmith; JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, Mallet had talents
enough to keep his literary reputation alive as long as he himself
lived; and that, let me tell you, is a good deal.'  GOLDSMITH.
'But I cannot agree that it was so.  His literary reputation was
dead long before his natural death.  I consider an authour's
literary reputation to be alive only while his name will ensure a
good price for his copy from the booksellers.  I will get you (to
Johnson,) a hundred guineas for any thing whatever that you shall
write, if you put your name to it.'

Dr. Goldsmith's new play, She Stoops to Conquer, being mentioned;
JOHNSON.  'I know of no comedy for many years that has so much
exhilarated an audience, that has answered so much the great end of
comedy--making an audience merry.'

Goldsmith having said, that Garrick's compliment to the Queen,
which he introduced into the play of The Chances, which he had
altered and revised this year, was mean and gross flattery;
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I would not WRITE, I would not give solemnly
under my hand, a character beyond what I thought really true; but a
speech on the stage, let it flatter ever so extravagantly, is
formular.  It has always been formular to flatter Kings and Queens;
so much so, that even in our church-service we have "our most
religious King," used indiscriminately, whoever is King.  Nay, they
even flatter themselves;--"we have been graciously pleased to
grant."  No modern flattery, however, is so gross as that of the
Augustan age, where the Emperour was deified.  "Proesens Divus
habebitur Augustus."  And as to meanness, (rising into warmth,) how
is it mean in a player,--a showman,--a fellow who exhibits himself
for a shilling, to flatter his Queen?  The attempt, indeed, was
dangerous; for if it had missed, what became of Garrick, and what
became of the Queen?  As Sir William Temple says of a great
General, it is necessary not only that his designs be formed in a
masterly manner, but that they should be attended with success.
Sir, it is right, at a time when the Royal Family is not generally
liked, to let it be seen that the people like at least one of
them.'  SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.  'I do not perceive why the profession
of a player should be despised; for the great and ultimate end of
all the employments of mankind is to produce amusement.  Garrick
produces more amusement than any body.'  BOSWELL.  'You say, Dr.
Johnson, that Garrick exhibits himself for a shilling.  In this
respect he is only on a footing with a lawyer who exhibits himself
for his fee, and even will maintain any nonsense or absurdity, if
the case requires it.  Garrick refuses a play or a part which he
does not like; a lawyer never refuses.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, what
does this prove? only that a lawyer is worse.  Boswell is now like
Jack in The Tale of a Tub, who, when he is puzzled by an argument,
hangs himself.  He thinks I shall cut him down, but I'll let him
hang.' (laughing vociferously.)  SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.  'Mr. Boswell
thinks that the profession of a lawyer being unquestionably
honourable, if he can show the profession of a player to be more
honourable, he proves his argument.'

On Friday, April 30, I dined with him at Mr. Beauclerk's, where
were Lord Charlemont, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and some more members of
the LITERARY CLUB, whom he had obligingly invited to meet me, as I
was this evening to be balloted for as candidate for admission into
that distinguished society.  Johnson had done me the honour to
propose me, and Beauclerk was very zealous for me.

Goldsmith being mentioned; JOHNSON.  'It is amazing how little
Goldsmith knows.  He seldom comes where he is not more ignorant
than any one else.'  SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.  'Yet there is no man
whose company is more liked.'  JOHNSON.  'To be sure, Sir.  When
people find a man of the most distinguished abilities as a writer,
their inferiour while he is with them, it must be highly gratifying
to them.  What Goldsmith comically says of himself is very true,--
he always gets the better when he argues alone; meaning, that he is
master of a subject in his study, and can write well upon it; but
when he comes into company, grows confused, and unable to talk.
Take him as a poet, his Traveller is a very fine performance; ay,
and so is his Deserted Village, were it not sometimes too much the
echo of his Traveller.  Whether, indeed, we take him as a poet,--as
a comick writer,--or as an historian, he stands in the first
class.'  BOSWELL.  'An historian!  My dear Sir, you surely will not
rank his compilation of the Roman History with the works of other
historians of this age?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, who are before him?'
BOSWELL.  'Hume,--Robertson,--Lord Lyttelton.'  JOHNSON (his
antipathy to the Scotch beginning to rise).  'I have not read Hume;
but, doubtless, Goldsmith's History is better than the VERBIAGE of
Robertson, or the foppery of Dalrymple.'  BOSwELL.  'Will you not
admit the superiority of Robertson, in whose History we find such
penetration--such painting?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you must consider how
that penetration and that painting are employed.  It is not
history, it is imagination.  He who describes what he never saw,
draws from fancy.  Robertson paints minds as Sir Joshua paints
faces in a history-piece: he imagines an heroic countenance.  You
must look upon Robertson's work as romance, and try it by that
standard.  History it is not.  Besides, Sir, it is the great
excellence of a writer to put into his book as much as his book
will hold.  Goldsmith has done this in his History.  Now Robertson
might have put twice as much into his book.  Robertson is like a
man who has packed gold in wool: the wool takes up more room than
the gold.  No, Sir; I always thought Robertson would be crushed by
his own weight,--would be buried under his own ornaments.
Goldsmith tells you shortly all you want to know: Robertson detains
you a great deal too long.  No man will read Robertson's cumbrous
detail a second time; but Goldsmith's plain narrative will please
again and again.  I would say to Robertson what an old tutor of a
college said to one of his pupils: "Read over your compositions,
and where ever you meet with a passage which you think is
particularly fine, strike it out."  Goldsmith's abridgement is
better than that of Lucius Florus or Eutropius; and I will venture
to say, that if you compare him with Vertot, in the same places of
the Roman History, you will find that he excels Vertot.  Sir, he
has the art of compiling, and of saying every thing he has to say
in a pleasing manner.  He is now writing a Natural History and will
make it as entertaining as a Persian Tale.'

I cannot dismiss the present topick without observing, that it is
probable that Dr. Johnson, who owned that he often 'talked for
victory,' rather urged plausible objections to Dr. Robertson's
excellent historical works, in the ardour of contest, than
expressed his real and decided opinion; for it is not easy to
suppose, that he should so widely differ from the rest of the
literary world.

JOHNSON.  'I remember once being with Goldsmith in Westminster-
abbey.  While we surveyed the Poets' Corner, I said to him,


    "Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis."


when we got to Temple-bar he stopped me, pointed to the heads upon
it, and slily whispered me,


    "Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur ISTIS."'*


* In allusion to Dr. Johnson's supposed political principles, and
perhaps his own.  Boswell.


Johnson praised John Bunyan highly.  'His Pilgrim's Progress has
great merit, both for invention, imagination, and the conduct of
the story; and it has had the best evidence of its merit, the
general and continued approbation of mankind.  Few books, I
believe, have had a more extensive sale.  It is remarkable, that it
begins very much like the poem of Dante; yet there was no
translation of Dante when Bunyan wrote.  There is reason to think
that he had read Spenser.'

A proposition which had been agitated, that monuments to eminent
persons should, for the time to come, be erected in St. Paul's
church as well as in Westminster-abbey, was mentioned; and it was
asked, who should be honoured by having his monument first erected
there.  Somebody suggested Pope.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, as Pope was
a Roman Catholick, I would not have his to be first.  I think
Milton's rather should have the precedence.  I think more highly of
him now than I did at twenty.  There is more thinking in him and in
Butler, than in any of our poets.'

The gentlemen went away to their club, and I was left at
Beauclerk's till the fate of my election should be announced to me.
I sat in a state of anxiety which even the charming conversation of
Lady Di Beauclerk could not entirely dissipate.  In a short time I
received the agreeable intelligence that I was chosen.  I hastened
to the place of meeting, and was introduced to such a society as
can seldom be found.  Mr. Edmund Burke, whom I then saw for the
first time, and whose splendid talents had long made me ardently
wish for his acquaintance; Dr. Nugent, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Goldsmith,
Mr. (afterwards Sir William) Jones, and the company with whom I had
dined.  Upon my entrance, Johnson placed himself behind a chair, on
which he leaned as on a desk or pulpit, and with humorous formality
gave me a Charge, pointing out the conduct expected from me as a
good member of this club.

Goldsmith produced some very absurd verses which had been publickly
recited to an audience for money.  JOHNSON.  'I can match this
nonsense.  There was a poem called Eugenio, which came out some
years ago, and concludes thus:


    "And now, ye trifling, self-assuming elves,
     Brimful of pride, of nothing, of yourselves,
     Survey Eugenio, view him o'er and o'er,
     Then sink into yourselves, and be no more."


Nay, Dryden in his poem on the Royal Society, has these lines:


    "Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go,
       And see the ocean leaning on the sky;
     From thence our rolling neighbours we shall know,
       And on the lunar world securely pry."'


Much pleasant conversation passed, which Johnson relished with
great good humour.  But his conversation alone, or what led to it,
or was interwoven with it, is the business of this work.

On Saturday, May 1, we dined by ourselves at our old rendezvous,
the Mitre tavern.  He was placid, but not much disposed to talk.
He observed that 'The Irish mix better with the English than the
Scotch do; their language is nearer to English; as a proof of
which, they succeed very well as players, which Scotchmen do not.
Then, Sir, they have not that extreme nationality which we find in
the Scotch.  I will do you, Boswell, the justice to say, that you
are the most UNSCOTTIFIED of your countrymen.  You are almost the
only instance of a Scotchman that I have known, who did not at
every other sentence bring in some other Scotchman.'

On Friday, May 7, I breakfasted with him at Mr. Thrale's in the
Borough.  While we were alone, I endeavoured as well as I could to
apologise for a lady who had been divorced from her husband by act
of Parliament.  I said, that he had used her very ill, had behaved
brutally to her, and that she could not continue to live with him
without having her delicacy contaminated; that all affection for
him was thus destroyed; that the essence of conjugal union being
gone, there remained only a cold form, a mere civil obligation;
that she was in the prime of life, with qualities to produce
happiness; that these ought not to be lost; and, that the gentleman
on whose account she was divorced had gained her heart while thus
unhappily situated.  Seduced, perhaps, by the charms of the lady in
question, I thus attempted to palliate what I was sensible could
not be justified; for when I had finished my harangue, my venerable
friend gave me a proper check: 'My dear Sir, never accustom your
mind to mingle virtue and vice.  The woman's a whore, and there's
an end on't.'

He described the father of one of his friends thus: 'Sir, he was so
exuberant a talker at publick meeting, that the gentlemen of his
county were afraid of him.  No business could be done for his
declamation.'

He did not give me full credit when I mentioned that I had carried
on a short conversation by signs with some Esquimaux who were then
in London, particularly with one of them who was a priest.  He
thought I could not make them understand me.  No man was more
incredulous as to particular facts, which were at all
extraordinary; and therefore no man was more scrupulously
inquisitive, in order to discover the truth.

I dined with him this day at the house of my friends, Messieurs
Edward and Charles Dilly, booksellers in the Poultry: there were
present, their elder brother Mr. Dilly of Bedfordshire, Dr.
Goldsmith, Mr. Langton, Mr. Claxton, Reverend Dr. Mayo a dissenting
minister, the Reverend Mr. Toplady, and my friend the Reverend Mr.
Temple.

BOSWELL.  'I am well assured that the people of Otaheite who have
the bread tree, the fruit of which serves them for bread, laughed
heartily when they were informed of the tedious process necessary
with us to have bread;--plowing, sowing, harrowing, reaping,
threshing, grinding, baking.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, all ignorant
savages will laugh when they are told of the advantages of
civilized life.  Were you to tell men who live without houses, how
we pile brick upon brick, and rafter upon rafter, and that after a
house is raised to a certain height, a man tumbles off a scaffold,
and breaks his neck; he would laugh heartily at our folly in
building; but it does not follow that men are better without
houses.  No, Sir, (holding up a slice of a good loaf,) this is
better than the bread tree.'

I introduced the subject of toleration.  JOHNSON.  'Every society
has a right to preserve publick peace and order, and therefore has
a good right to prohibit the propagation of opinions which have a
dangerous tendency.  To say the MAGISTRATE has this right, is using
an inadequate word: it is the SOCIETY for which the magistrate is
agent.  He may be morally or theologically wrong in restraining the
propagation of opinions which he thinks dangerous, but he is
politically right.'  MAYO.  'I am of opinion, Sir, that every man
is entitled to liberty of conscience in religion; and that the
magistrate cannot restrain that right.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I agree
with you.  Every man has a right to liberty of conscience, and with
that the magistrate cannot interfere.  People confound liberty of
thinking with liberty of talking; nay, with liberty of preaching.
Every man has a physical right to think as he pleases; for it
cannot be discovered how he thinks.  He has not a moral right, for
he ought to inform himself, and think justly.  But, Sir, no member
of a society has a right to TEACH any doctrine contrary to what the
society holds to be true.  The magistrate, I say, may be wrong in
what he thinks: but while he thinks himself right, he may and ought
to enforce what he thinks.'  MAYO.  'Then, Sir, we are to remain
always in errour, and truth never can prevail; and the magistrate
was right in persecuting the first Christians.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir,
the only method by which religious truth can be established is by
martyrdom.  The magistrate has a right to enforce what he thinks;
and he who is conscious of the truth has a right to suffer.  I am
afraid there is no other way of ascertaining the truth, but by
persecution on the one hand and enduring it on the other.'
GOLDSMITH.  'But how is a man to act, Sir?  Though firmly convinced
of the truth of his doctrine, may he not think it wrong to expose
himself to persecution?  Has he a right to do so?  Is it not, as it
were, committing voluntary suicide?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, as to
voluntary suicide, as you call it, there are twenty thousand men in
an army who will go without scruple to be shot at, and mount a
breach for five-pence a day.'  GOLDSMITH.  'But have they a moral
right to do this?'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, if you will not take the
universal opinion of mankind, I have nothing to say.  If mankind
cannot defend their own way of thinking, I cannot defend it.  Sir,
if a man is in doubt whether it would be better for him to expose
himself to martyrdom or not, he should not do it.  He must be
convinced that he has a delegation from heaven.'  GOLDSMITH.  'I
would consider whether there is the greater chance of good or evil
upon the whole.  If I see a man who had fallen into a well, I would
wish to help him out; but if there is a greater probability that he
shall pull me in, than that I shall pull him out, I would not
attempt it.  So were I to go to Turkey, I might wish to convert the
Grand Signor to the Christian faith; but when I considered that I
should probably be put to death without effectuating my purpose in
any degree, I should keep myself quiet.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you must
consider that we have perfect and imperfect obligations.  Perfect
obligations, which are generally not to do something, are clear and
positive; as, "thou shalt not kill?'  But charity, for instance, is
not definable by limits.  It is a duty to give to the poor; but no
man can say how much another should give to the poor, or when a man
has given too little to save his soul.  In the same manner it is a
duty to instruct the ignorant, and of consequence to convert
infidels to Christianity; but no man in the common course of things
is obliged to carry this to such a degree as to incur the danger of
martyrdom, as no man is obliged to strip himself to the shirt in
order to give charity.  I have said, that a man must be persuaded
that he has a particular delegation from heaven.'  GOLDSMITH.  'How
is this to be known?  Our first reformers, who were burnt for not
believing bread and wine to be CHRIST'--JOHNSON.  (interrupting
him,) 'Sir, they were not burnt for not believing bread and wine to
be CHRIST, but for insulting those who did believe it.  And, Sir,
when the first reformers began, they did not intend to be martyred:
as many of them ran away as could.'  BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, there was
your countryman, Elwal, who you told me challenged King George with
his black-guards, and his red-guards.'  JOHNSON.  'My countryman,
Elwal, Sir, should have been put in the stocks; a proper pulpit for
him; and he'd have had a numerous audience.  A man who preaches in
the stocks will always have hearers enough.'  BOSWELL.  'But Elwal
thought himself in the right.'  JOHNSON.  'We are not providing for
mad people; there are places for them in the neighbourhood.'
(meaning moorfields.)  MAYO.  'But, Sir, is it not very hard that I
should not be allowed to teach my children what I really believe to
be the truth?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, you might contrive to teach
your children extra scandalum; but, Sir, the magistrate, if he
knows it, has a right to restrain you.  Suppose you teach your
children to be thieves?'  MAYO.  'This is making a joke of the
subject.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, take it thus:--that you teach them
the community of goods; for which there are as many plausible
arguments as for most erroneous doctrines.  You teach them that all
things at first were in common, and that no man had a right to any
thing but as he laid his hands upon it; and that this still is, or
ought to be, the rule amongst mankind.  Here, Sir, you sap a great
principle in society,--property.  And don't you think the
magistrate would have a right to prevent you?  Or, suppose you
should teach your children the notion of the Adamites, and they
should run naked into the streets, would not the magistrate have a
right to flog 'em into their doublets?'  MAYO.  'I think the
magistrate has no right to interfere till there is some overt act.'
BOSWELL.  'So, Sir, though he sees an enemy to the state charging a
blunderbuss, he is not to interfere till it is fired off?'  MAYO.
'He must be sure of its direction against the state.'  JOHNSON.
'The magistrate is to judge of that.--He has no right to restrain
your thinking, because the evil centers in yourself.  If a man were
sitting at this table, and chopping off his fingers, the
magistrate, as guardian of the community, has no authority to
restrain him, however he might do it from kindness as a parent.--
Though, indeed, upon more consideration, I think he may; as it is
probable, that he who is chopping off his own fingers, may soon
proceed to chop off those of other people.  If I think it right to
steal Mr. Dilly's plate, I am a bad man; but he can say nothing to
me.  If I make an open declaration that I think so, he will keep me
out of his house.  If I put forth my hand, I shall be sent to
Newgate.  This is the gradation of thinking, preaching, and acting:
if a man thinks erroneously, he may keep his thoughts to himself,
and nobody will trouble him; if he preaches erroneous doctrine,
society may expel him; if he acts in consequence of it, the law
takes place, and he is hanged.'  MAYO.  'But, Sir, ought not
Christians to have liberty of conscience?'  JOHNSON.  'I have
already told you so, Sir.  You are coming back to where you were.'
BOSWELL.  'Dr. Mayo is always taking a return post-chaise, and
going the stage over again.  He has it at half price.'  JOHNSON.
'Dr. Mayo, like other champions for unlimited toleration, has got a
set of words.  Sir, it is no matter, politically, whether the
magistrate be right or wrong.  Suppose a club were to be formed, to
drink confusion to King George the Third, and a happy restoration
to Charles the Third, this would be very bad with respect to the
State; but every member of that club must either conform to its
rules, or be turned out of it.  Old Baxter, I remember, maintains,
that the magistrate should "tolerate all things that are
tolerable."  This is no good definition of toleration upon any
principle; but it shows that he thought some things were not
tolerable.'  TOPLADY.  'Sir, you have untwisted this difficult
subject with great dexterity.'

During this argument, Goldsmith sat in restless agitation, from a
wish to get in and SHINE.  Finding himself excluded, he had taken
his hat to go away, but remained for some time with it in his hand,
like a gamester, who at the close of a long night, lingers for a
little while, to see if he can have a favourable opening to finish
with success.  Once when he was beginning to speak, he found
himself overpowered by the loud voice of Johnson, who was at the
opposite end of the table, and did not perceive Goldsmith's
attempt.  Thus disappointed of his wish to obtain the attention of
the company, Goldsmith in a passion threw down his hat, looking
angrily at Johnson, and exclaiming in a bitter tone, 'TAKE IT.'
When Toplady was going to speak, Johnson uttered some sound, which
led Goldsmith to think that he was beginning again, and taking the
words from Toplady.  Upon which, he seized this opportunity of
venting his own envy and spleen, under the pretext of supporting
another person:

'Sir, (said he to Johnson,) the gentleman has heard you patiently
for an hour; pray allow us now to hear him.'  JOHNSON.  (sternly,)
'Sir, I was not interrupting the gentleman.  I was only giving him
a signal of my attention.  Sir, you are impertinent.'  Goldsmith
made no reply, but continued in the company for some time.

A gentleman present ventured to ask Dr. Johnson if there was not a
material difference as to toleration of opinions which lead to
action, and opinions merely speculative; for instance, would it be
wrong in the magistrate to tolerate those who preach against the
doctrine of the TRINITY?  Johnson was highly offended, and said, 'I
wonder, Sir, how a gentleman of your piety can introduce this
subject in a mixed company.'  He told me afterwards, that the
impropriety was, that perhaps some of the company might have talked
on the subject in such terms as might have shocked him; or he might
have been forced to appear in their eyes a narrow-minded man.  The
gentleman, with submissive deference, said, he had only hinted at
the question from a desire to hear Dr. Johnson's opinion upon it.
JOHNSON.  'Why then, Sir, I think that permitting men to preach any
opinion contrary to the doctrine of the established church tends,
in a certain degree, to lessen the authority of the church, and
consequently, to lessen the influence of religion.'  'It may be
considered, (said the gentleman,) whether it would not be politick
to tolerate in such a case.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, we have been talking
of RIGHT: this is another question.  I think it is NOT politick to
tolerate in such a case.'

BOSWELL.  'Pray, Mr. Dilly, how does Dr. Leland's History of
Ireland sell?'  JOHNSON.  (bursting forth with a generous
indignation,) 'The Irish are in a most unnatural state; for we see
there the minority prevailing over the majority.  There is no
instance, even in the ten persecutions, of such severity as that
which the protestants of Ireland have exercised against the
Catholicks.  Did we tell them we have conquered them, it would be
above board: to punish them by confiscation and other penalties, as
rebels, was monstrous injustice.  King William was not their lawful
sovereign: he had not been acknowledged by the Parliament of
Ireland, when they appeared in arms against him.'

He and Mr. Langton and I went together to THE CLUB, where we found
Mr. Burke, Mr. Garrick, and some other members, and amongst them
our friend Goldsmith, who sat silently brooding over Johnson's
reprimand to him after dinner.  Johnson perceived this, and said
aside to some of us, 'I'll make Goldsmith forgive me;' and then
called to him in a loud voice, 'Dr. Goldsmith,--something passed
to-day where you and I dined; I ask your pardon.'  Goldsmith
answered placidly, 'It must be much from you, Sir, that I take
ill.'  And so at once the difference was over, and they were on as
easy terms as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual.

In our way to the club to-night, when I regretted that Goldsmith
would, upon every occasion, endeavour to shine, by which he often
exposed himself, Mr. Langton observed, that he was not like
Addison, who was content with the fame of his writings, and did not
aim also at excellency in conversation, for which he found himself
unfit; and that he said to a lady who complained of his having
talked little in company, 'Madam, I have but ninepence in ready
money, but I can draw for a thousand pounds.'  I observed, that
Goldsmith had a great deal of gold in his cabinet, but, not content
with that, was always taking out his purse.  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir,
and that so often an empty purse!'

Goldsmith's incessant desire of being conspicuous in company, was
the occasion of his sometimes appearing to such disadvantage as one
should hardly have supposed possible in a man of his genius.  When
his literary reputation had risen deservedly high, and his society
was much courted, he became very jealous of the extraordinary
attention which was every where paid to Johnson.  One evening, in a
circle of wits, he found fault with me for talking of Johnson as
entitled to the honour of unquestionable superiority.  'Sir, (said
he,) you are for making a monarchy of what should be a republick.'

He was still more mortified, when talking in a company with fluent
vivacity, and, as he flattered himself, to the admiration of all
who were present; a German who sat next him, and perceived Johnson
rolling himself, as if about to speak, suddenly stopped him,
saying, 'Stay, stay,--Toctor Shonson is going to say something.'
This was, no doubt, very provoking, especially to one so irritable
as Goldsmith, who frequently mentioned it with strong expressions
of indignation.

It may also be observed, that Goldsmith was sometimes content to be
treated with an easy familiarity, but, upon occasions, would be
consequential and important.  An instance of this occurred in a
small particular.  Johnson had a way of contracting the names of
his friends; as Beauclerk, Beau; Boswell, Bozzy; Langton, Lanky;
Murphy, Mur; Sheridan, Sherry.  I remember one day, when Tom Davies
was telling that Dr. Johnson said, 'We are all in labour for a name
to GOLDY'S play,' Goldsmith seemed displeased that such a liberty
should be taken with his name, and said, 'I have often desired him
not to call me GOLDY.'  Tom was remarkably attentive to the most
minute circumstance about Johnson.  I recollect his telling me
once, on my arrival in London, 'Sir, our great friend has made an
improvement on his appellation of old Mr. Sheridan.  He calls him
now Sherry derry.'

On Monday, May 9, as I was to set out on my return to Scotland next
morning, I was desirous to see as much of Dr. Johnson as I could.
But I first called on Goldsmith to take leave of him.  The jealousy
and envy which, though possessed of many most amiable qualities, he
frankly avowed, broke out violently at this interview.  Upon
another occasion, when Goldsmith confessed himself to be of an
envious disposition, I contended with Johnson that we ought not to
be angry with him, he was so candid in owning it.  'Nay, Sir, (said
Johnson,) we must be angry that a man has such a superabundance of
an odious quality, that he cannot keep it within his own breast,
but it boils over.'  In my opinion, however, Goldsmith had not more
of it than other people have, but only talked of it freely.

He now seemed very angry that Johnson was going to be a traveller;
said 'he would be a dead weight for me to carry, and that I should
never be able to lug him along through the Highlands and Hebrides.'
Nor would he patiently allow me to enlarge upon Johnson's wonderful
abilities; but exclaimed, 'Is he like Burke, who winds into a
subject like a serpent?'  'But, (said I,) Johnson is the Hercules
who strangled serpents in his cradle.'

I dined with Dr. Johnson at General Paoli's.  He was obliged, by
indisposition, to leave the company early; he appointed me,
however, to meet him in the evening at Mr. (now Sir Robert)
Chambers's in the Temple, where he accordingly came, though he
continued to be very ill.  Chambers, as is common on such
occasions, prescribed various remedies to him.  JOHNSON.  (fretted
by pain,) 'Pr'ythee don't tease me.  Stay till I am well, and then
you shall tell me how to cure myself.'  He grew better, and talked
with a noble enthusiasm of keeping up the representation of
respectable families.  His zeal on this subject was a circumstance
in his character exceedingly remarkable, when it is considered that
he himself had no pretensions to blood.  I heard him once say, 'I
have great merit in being zealous for subordination and the honours
of birth; for I can hardly tell who was my grandfather.'  He
maintained the dignity and propriety of male succession, in
opposition to the opinion of one of our friends, who had that day
employed Mr. Chambers to draw his will, devising his estate to his
three sisters, in preference to a remote heir male.  Johnson called
them 'three DOWDIES,' and said, with as high a spirit as the
boldest Baron in the most perfect days of the feudal system, 'An
ancient estate should always go to males.  It is mighty foolish to
let a stranger have it because he marries your daughter, and takes
your name.  As for an estate newly acquired by trade, you may give
it, if you will, to the dog Towser, and let him keep his OWN name.'

I have known him at times exceedingly diverted at what seemed to
others a very small sport.  He now laughed immoderately, without
any reason that we could perceive, at our friend's making his will;
called him the TESTATOR, and added, 'I dare say, he thinks he has
done a mighty thing.  He won't stay till he gets home to his seat
in the country, to produce this wonderful deed: he'll call up the
landlord of the first inn on the road; and, after a suitable
preface upon mortality and the uncertainty of life, will tell him
that he should not delay making his will; and here, Sir, will he
say, is my will, which I have just made, with the assistance of one
of the ablest lawyers in the kingdom; and he will read it to him
(laughing all the time).  He believes he has made this will; but he
did not make it: you, Chambers, made it for him.  I trust you have
had more conscience than to make him say, "being of sound
understanding;" ha, ha, ha!  I hope he has left me a legacy.  I'd
have his will turned into verse, like a ballad.'

Mr. Chambers did not by any means relish this jocularity upon a
matter of which pars magna fuit, and seemed impatient till he got
rid of us.  Johnson could not stop his merriment, but continued it
all the way till we got without the Temple-gate.  He then burst
into such a fit of laughter, that he appeared to be almost in a
convulsion; and, in order to support himself, laid hold of one of
the posts at the side of the foot pavement, and sent forth peals so
loud, that in the silence of the night his voice seemed to resound
from Temple-bar to Fleet-ditch.

This most ludicrous exhibition of the aweful, melancholy, and
venerable Johnson, happened well to counteract the feelings of
sadness which I used to experience when parting with him for a
considerable time.  I accompanied him to his door, where he gave me
his blessing.


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR Sir,--I shall set out from London on Friday the sixth of this
month, and purpose not to loiter much by the way.  Which day I
shall be at Edinburgh, I cannot exactly tell.  I suppose I must
drive to an inn, and send a porter to find you.

'I am afraid Beattie will not be at his College soon enough for us,
and I shall be sorry to miss him; but there is no staying for the
concurrence of all conveniences.  We will do as well as we can.  I
am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'August 3, 1773.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'Newcastle, Aug. 11, 1773.

'DEAR SIR, I came hither last night, and hope, but do not
absolutely promise, to be in Edinburgh on Saturday.  Beattie will
not come so soon.  I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'My compliments to your lady.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


TO THE SAME.

'Mr. Johnson sends his compliments to Mr. Boswell, being just
arrived at Boyd's.--Saturday night.'


His stay in Scotland was from the 18th of August, on which day he
arrived, till the 22nd of November, when he set out on his return
to London; and I believe ninety-four days were never passed by any
man in a more vigorous exertion.*


* In his Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, published the year
after Johnson died, Boswell gives a detailed account of Johnson's
conversation and adventures with him throughout the journey of
1773.  Partly owing to their uninterrupted association, partly to
the strangeness and variation of background and circumstances, and
partly to Boswell's larger leisure during the tour for the
elaboration of his account, the journal is even more racy,
picturesque, and interesting than any equal part of the Life.  No
reader who enjoys the Life should fail to read the Tour--
unabridged!--ED.


His humane forgiving disposition was put to a pretty strong test on
his return to London, by a liberty which Mr. Thomas Davies had
taken with him in his absence, which was, to publish two volumes,
entitled, Miscellaneous and fugitive Pieces, which he advertised in
the news-papers, 'By the Authour of the Rambler.'  In this
collection, several of Dr. Johnson's acknowledged writings, several
of his anonymous performances, and some which he had written for
others, were inserted; but there were also some in which he had no
concern whatever.  He was at first very angry, as he had good
reason to be.  But, upon consideration of his poor friend's narrow
circumstances, and that he had only a little profit in view, and
meant no harm, he soon relented, and continued his kindness to him
as formerly.

In the course of his self-examination with retrospect to this year,
he seems to have been much dejected; for he says, January 1, 1774,
'This year has passed with so little improvement, that I doubt
whether I have not rather impaired than increased my learning'; and
yet we have seen how he READ, and we know how he TALKED during that
period.

He was now seriously engaged in writing an account of our travels
in the Hebrides, in consequence of which I had the pleasure of a
more frequent correspondence with him.


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

'DEAR SIR,--You have reason to reproach me that I have left your
last letter so long unanswered, but I had nothing particular to
say.  Chambers, you find, is gone far, and poor Goldsmith is gone
much further.  He died of a fever, exasperated, as I believe, by
the fear of distress.  He had raised money and squandered it, by
every artifice of acquisition, and folly of expence.  But let not
his frailties be remembered; he was a very great man.

'I have just begun to print my Journey to the Hebrides, and am
leaving the press to take another journey into Wales, whither Mr.
Thrale is going, to take possession of, at least, five hundred a
year, fallen to his lady.  All at Streatham, that are alive, are
well.

'I have never recovered from the last dreadful illness, but flatter
myself that I grow gradually better; much, however, yet remains to
mend.  [Greek text omitted].

'If you have the Latin version of Busy, curious, thirsty fly, be so
kind as to transcribe and send it; but you need not be in haste,
for I shall be I know not where, for at least five weeks.  I wrote
the following tetastrick on poor Goldsmith:--


[Greek text omitted]


'Please to make my most respectful compliments to all the ladies,
and remember me to young George and his sisters.  I reckon George
begins to shew a pair of heels.

'Do not be sullen now, but let me find a letter when I come back.
I am, dear Sir, your affectionate, humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.

'July 5,1774.'


In his manuscript diary of this year, there is the following
entry:--

'Nov. 27.  Advent Sunday.  I considered that this day, being the
beginning of the ecclesiastical year, was a proper time for a new
course of life.  I began to read the Greek Testament regularly at
160 verses every Sunday.  This day I began the Acts.

'In this week I read Virgil's Pastorals.  I learned to repeat the
Pollio and Gallus.  I read carelessly the first Georgick.'

Such evidences of his unceasing ardour, both for 'divine and human
lore,' when advanced into his sixty-fifth year, and notwithstanding
his many disturbances from disease, must make us at once honour his
spirit, and lament that it should be so grievously clogged by its
material tegument.


1775: AETAT. 66.]--


'MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON.

'Edinburgh, Feb. 2,1775.

'. . . As to Macpherson,' I am anxious to have from yourself a full
and pointed account of what has passed between you and him.  It is
confidently told here, that before your book came out he sent to
you, to let you know that he understood you meant to deny the
authenticity of Ossian's poems; that the originals were in his
possession; that you might have inspection of them, and might take
the evidence of people skilled in the Erse language; and that he
hoped, after this fair offer, you would not be so uncandid as to
assert that he had refused reasonable proof.  That you paid no
regard to his message, but published your strong attack upon him;
and then he wrote a letter to you, in such terms as he thought
suited to one who had not acted as a man of veracity.' . . .

What words were used by Mr. Macpherson in his letter to the
venerable Sage, I have never heard; but they are generally said to
have been of a nature very different from the language of literary
contest.  Dr. Johnson's answer appeared in the news-papers of the
day, and has since been frequently re-published; but not with
perfect accuracy.  I give it as dictated to me by himself, written
down in his presence, and authenticated by a note in his own
handwriting, 'This, I think, is a true copy.'


'MR. JAMES MACPHERSON,--I received your foolish and impudent
letter.  Any violence offered me I shall do my best to repel; and
what I cannot do for myself, the law shall do for me.  I hope I
shall never be deterred from detecting what I think a cheat, by the
menaces of a ruffian.

'What would you have me retract?  I thought your book an imposture;
I think it an imposture still.  For this opinion I have given my
reasons to the publick, which I here dare you to refute.  Your rage
I defy.  Your abilities, since your Homer, are not so formidable;
and what I hear of your morals, inclines me to pay regard not to
what you shall say, but to what you shall prove.  You may print
this if
you will.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Mr. Macpherson little knew the character of Dr. Johnson, if he
supposed that he could be easily intimidated; for no man was ever
more remarkable for personal courage.  He had, indeed, an aweful
dread of death, or rather, 'of something after death;' and what
rational man, who seriously thinks of quitting all that he has ever
known, and going into a new and unknown state of being, can be
without that dread?  But his fear was from reflection; his courage
natural.  His fear, in that one instance, was the result of
philosophical and religious consideration.  He feared death, but he
feared nothing else, not even what might occasion death.  Many
instances of his resolution may be mentioned.  One day, at Mr.
Beauclerk's house in the country, when two large dogs were
fighting, he went up to them, and beat them till they separated;
and at another time, when told of the danger there was that a gun
might burst if charged with many balls, he put in six or seven, and
fired it off against a wall.  Mr. Langton told me, that when they
were swimming together near Oxford, he cautioned Dr. Johnson
against a pool, which was reckoned particularly dangerous; upon
which Johnson directly swam into it.  He told me himself that one
night he was attacked in the street by four men, to whom he would
not yield, but kept them all at bay, till the watch came up, and
carried both him and them to the round-house.  In the playhouse at
Lichfield, as Mr. Garrick informed me, Johnson having for a moment
quitted a chair which was placed for him between the side-scenes, a
gentleman took possession of it, and when Johnson on his return
civilly demanded his seat, rudely refused to give it up; upon which
Johnson laid hold of it, and tossed him and the chair into the pit.
Foote, who so successfully revived the old comedy, by exhibiting
living characters, had resolved to imitate Johnson on the stage,
expecting great profits from his ridicule of so celebrated a man.
Johnson being informed of his intention, and being at dinner at Mr.
Thomas Davies's the bookseller, from whom I had the story, he asked
Mr. Davies 'what was the common price of an oak stick;' and being
answered six-pence, 'Why then, Sir, (said he,) give me leave to
send your servant to purchase me a shilling one.  I'll have a
double quantity; for I am told Foote means to take me off, as he
calls it, and I am determined the fellow shall not do it with
impunity.  Davies took care to acquaint Foote of this, which
effectually checked the wantonness of the mimick.  Mr. Macpherson's
menaces made Johnson provide himself with the same implement of
defence; and had he been attacked, I have no doubt that, old as he
was, he would have made his corporal prowess be felt as much as his
intellectual.

His Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland is a most valuable
performance.  Johnson's grateful acknowledgements of kindnesses
received in the course of this tour, completely refute the brutal
reflections which have been thrown out against him, as if he had
made an ungrateful return; and his delicacy in sparing in his book
those who we find from his letters to Mrs. Thrale were just objects
of censure, is much to be admired.  His candour and amiable
disposition is conspicuous from his conduct, when informed by Mr.
Macleod, of Rasay, that he had committed a mistake, which gave that
gentleman some uneasiness.  He wrote him a courteous and kind
letter, and inserted in the news-papers an advertisement,
correcting the mistake.

As to his prejudice against the Scotch, which I always ascribed to
that nationality which he observed in THEM, he said to the same
gentleman, 'When I find a Scotchman, to whom an Englishman is as a
Scotchman, that Scotchman shall be as an Englishman to me.'  His
intimacy with many gentlemen of Scotland, and his employing so many
natives of that country as his amanuenses, prove that his prejudice
was not virulent; and I have deposited in the British Museum,
amongst other pieces of his writing, the following note in answer
to one from me, asking if he would meet me at dinner at the Mitre,
though a friend of mine, a Scotchman, was to be there:--

'Mr. Johnson does not see why Mr. Boswell should suppose a
Scotchman less acceptable than any other man.  He will be at the
Mitre.'

My much-valued friend Dr. Barnard, now Bishop of Killaloc, having
once expressed to him an apprehension, that if he should visit
Ireland he might treat the people of that country more unfavourably
than he had done the Scotch, he answered, with strong pointed
double-edged wit, 'Sir, you have no reason to be afraid of me.  The
Irish are not in a conspiracy to cheat the world by false
representations of the merits of their countrymen.  No, Sir; the
Irish are a FAIR PEOPLE;--they never speak well of one another.'

All the miserable cavillings against his Journey, in newspapers,
magazines, and other fugitive publications, I can speak from
certain knowledge, only furnished him with sport.  At last there
came out a scurrilous volume, larger than Johnson's own, filled
with malignant abuse, under a name, real or fictitious, of some low
man in an obscure corner of Scotland, though supposed to be the
work of another Scotchman, who has found means to make himself well
known both in Scotland and England.  The effect which it had upon
Johnson was, to produce this pleasant observation to Mr. Seward, to
whom he lent the book: 'This fellow must be a blockhead.  They
don't know how to go about their abuse.  Who will read a five-
shilling book against me?  No, Sir, if they had wit, they should
have kept pelting me with pamphlets.'

On Tuesday, March 21, I arrived in London; and on repairing to Dr.
Johnson's before dinner, found him in his study, sitting with Mr.
Peter Garrick, the elder brother of David, strongly resembling him
in countenance and voice, but of more sedate and placid manners.
Johnson informed me, that 'though Mr. Beauclerk was in great pain,
it was hoped he was not in danger, and that he now wished to
consult Dr. Heberden to try the effect of a NEW UNDERSTANDING.'
Both at this interview, and in the evening at Mr. Thrale's where he
and Mr. Peter Garrick and I met again, he was vehement on the
subject of the Ossian controversy; observing, 'We do not know that
there are any ancient Erse manuscripts; and we have no other reason
to disbelieve that there are men with three heads, but that we do
not know that there are any such men.'  He also was outrageous upon
his supposition that my countrymen 'loved Scotland better than
truth,' saying, 'All of them,--nay not all,--but DROVES of them,
would come up, and attest any thing for the honour of Scotland.'
He also persevered in his wild allegation, that he questioned if
there was a tree between Edinburgh and the English border older
than himself.  I assured him he was mistaken, and suggested that
the proper punishment would be that he should receive a stripe at
every tree above a hundred years old, that was found within that
space.  He laughed, and said, 'I believe I might submit to it for a
BAUBEE!'

The doubts which, in my correspondence with him, I had ventured to
state as to the justice and wisdom of the conduct of Great-Britain
towards the American colonies, while I at the same time requested
that he would enable me to inform myself upon that momentous
subject, he had altogether disregarded; and had recently published
a pamphlet, entitled, Taxation no Tyranny; an answer to the
Resolutions and Address of the American Congress.

He had long before indulged most unfavourable sentiments of our
fellow-subjects in America.  For, as early as 1769, I was told by
Dr. John Campbell, that he had said of them, 'Sir, they are a race
of convicts, and ought to be thankful for any thing we allow them
short of hanging.'

Of this performance I avoided to talk with him; for I had now
formed a clear and settled opinion, that the people of America were
well warranted to resist a claim that their fellow-subjects in the
mother-country should have the entire command of their fortunes, by
taxing them without their own consent; and the extreme violence
which it breathed, appeared to me so unsuitable to the mildness of
a christian philosopher, and so directly opposite to the principles
of peace which he had so beautifully recommended in his pamphlet
respecting Falkland's Islands, that I was sorry to see him appear
in so unfavourable a light.

On Friday, March 24, I met him at the LITERARY CLUB, where were Mr.
Beauclerk, Mr. Langton, Mr. Colman, Dr. Percy, Mr. Vesey, Sir
Charles Bunbury, Dr. George Fordyce, Mr. Steevens, and Mr. Charles
Fox.  Before he came in, we talked of his Journey to the Western
Islands, and of his coming away 'willing to believe the second
sight,' which seemed to excite some ridicule.  I was then so
impressed with the truth of many of the stories of it which I had
been told, that I avowed my conviction, saying, 'He is only WILLING
to believe: I DO believe.  The evidence is enough for me, though
not for his great mind.  What will not fill a quart bottle will
fill a pint bottle.  I am filled with belief.'  'Are you? (said
Colman,) then cork it up.'

I found his Journey the common topick of conversation in London at
this time, wherever I happened to be.  At one of Lord Mansfield's
formal Sunday evening conversations, strangely called Levees, his
Lordship addressed me, 'We have all been reading your travels, Mr.
Boswell.'  I answered, 'I was but the humble attendant of Dr.
Johnson.'  The Chief Justice replied, with that air and manner
which none, who ever saw and heard him, can forget, 'He speaks ill
of nobody but Ossian.'

Johnson was in high spirits this evening at the club, and talked
with great animation and success.  He attacked Swift, as he used to
do upon all occasions.  The Tale of a Tub is so much superiour to
his other writings, that one can hardly believe he was the authour
of it: 'there is in it such a vigour of mind, such a swarm of
thoughts, so much of nature, and art, and life.'  I wondered to
hear him say of Gulliver's Travels, 'When once you have thought of
big men and little men, it is very easy to do all the rest.'  I
endeavoured to make a stand for Swift, and tried to rouse those who
were much more able to defend him; but in vain.  Johnson at last,
of his own accord, allowed very great merit to the inventory of
articles found in the pocket of the Man Mountain, particularly the
description of his watch, which it was conjectured was his God; as
he consulted it upon all occasions.  He observed, that 'Swift put
his name to but two things, (after he had a name to put,) The Plan
for the Improvement of the English Language, and the last Drapier's
Letter.'

From Swift, there was an easy transition to Mr. Thomas Sheridan--
JOHNSON.  'Sheridan is a wonderful admirer of the tragedy of
Douglas, and presented its authour with a gold medal.  Some years
ago, at a coffee-house in Oxford, I called to him, "Mr. Sheridan,
Mr. Sheridan, how came you to give a gold medal to Home, for
writing that foolish play?"  This you see, was wanton and insolent;
but I MEANT to be wanton and insolent.  A medal has no value but as
a stamp of merit.  And was Sheridan to assume to himself the right
of giving that stamp?  If Sheridan was magnificent enough to bestow
a gold medal as an honorary reward of dramatick excellence, he
should have requested one of the Universities to choose the person
on whom it should be conferred.  Sheridan had no right to give a
stamp of merit: it was counterfeiting Apollo's coin.'

On Monday, March 27, I breakfasted with him at Mr Strahan's.  He
told us, that he was engaged to go that evening to Mrs. Abington's
benefit.  'She was visiting some ladies whom I was visiting, and
begged that I would come to her benefit.  I told her I could not
hear: but she insisted so much on my coming, that it would have
been brutal to have refused her.'  This was a speech quite
characteristical.  He loved to bring forward his having been in the
gay circles of life; and he was, perhaps, a little vain of the
solicitations of this elegant and fashionable actress.  He told us,
the play was to be the The Hypocrite, altered from Cibber's
Nonjuror, so as to satirize the Methodists.  'I do not think (said
he,) the character of The Hypocrite justly applicable to the
Methodists, but it was very applicable to the Nonjurors.'

Mr. Strahan had taken a poor boy from the country as an apprentice,
upon Johnson's recommendation.  Johnson having enquired after him,
said, 'Mr. Strahan, let me have five guineas on account, and I'll
give this boy one.  Nay if a man recommends a boy, and does nothing
for him, it is sad work.  Call him down.'

I followed him into the court-yard, behind Mr. Strahan's house; and
there I had a proof of what I had heard him profess, that he talked
alike to all.  'Some people tell you that they let themselves down
to the capacity of their hearers.  I never do that.  I speak
uniformly, in as intelligible a manner as I can.'

'Well, my boy, how do you go on?'--'Pretty well, Sir; but they are
afraid I an't strong enough for some parts of the business.'
JOHNSON.  'Why, I shall be sorry for it; for when you consider with
how little mental power and corporeal labour a printer can get a
guinea a week, it is a very desirable occupation for you.  Do you
hear,--take all the pains you can; and if this does not do, we must
think of some other way of life for you.  There's a guinea.'

Here was one of the many, many instances of his active benevolence.
At the same time, the slow and sonorous solemnity with which, while
he bent himself down, he addressed a little thick short-legged boy,
contrasted with the boy's aukwardness and awe, could not but excite
some ludicrous emotions.

I met him at Drury-lane play-house in the evening.  Sir Joshua
Reynolds, at Mrs. Abington's request, had promised to bring a body
of wits to her benefit; and having secured forty places in the
front boxes, had done me the honour to put me in the group.
Johnson sat on the seat directly behind me; and as he could neither
see nor hear at such a distance from the stage, he was wrapped up
in grave abstraction, and seemed quite a cloud, amidst all the
sunshine of glitter and gaiety.  I wondered at his patience in
sitting out a play of five acts, and a farce of two.  He said very
little; but after the prologue to Bon Ton had been spoken, which he
could hear pretty well from the more slow and distinct utterance,
he talked of prologue-writing, and observed, 'Dryden has written
prologues superiour to any that David Garrick has written; but
David Garrick has written more good prologues than Dryden has done.
It is wonderful that he has been able to write such variety of
them.'

At Mr. Beauclerk's, where I supped, was Mr. Garrick, whom I made
happy with Johnson's praise of his prologues; and I suppose, in
gratitude to him, he took up one of his favourite topicks, the
nationality of the Scotch, which he maintained in a pleasant
manner, with the aid of a little poetical fiction.  'Come, come,
don't deny it: they are really national.  Why, now, the Adams are
as liberal-minded men as any in the world: but, I don't know how it
is, all their workmen are Scotch.  You are, to be sure, wonderfully
free from that nationality: but so it happens, that you employ the
only Scotch shoe-black in London.'  He imitated the manner of his
old master with ludicrous exaggeration; repeating, with pauses and
half-whistlings interjected,


    'Os homini sublime dedit,--caelumque tueri
     Jussit,--et erectos ad sidera--tollere vultus';


looking downwards all the time, and, while pronouncing the four
last words, absolutely touching the ground with a kind of contorted
gesticulation.

Garrick, however, when he pleased, could imitate Johnson very
exactly; for that great actor, with his distinguished powers of
expression which were so universally admired, possessed also an
admirable talent of mimickry.  He was always jealous that Johnson
spoke lightly of him.  I recollect his exhibiting him to me one
day, as if saying, 'Davy has some convivial pleasantry about him,
but 'tis a futile fellow;' which he uttered perfectly with the tone
and air of Johnson.

I cannot too frequently request of my readers, while they peruse my
account of Johnson's conversation, to endeavour to keep in mind his
deliberate and strong utterance.  His mode of speaking was indeed
very impressive; and I wish it could be preserved as musick is
written, according to the very ingenious method of Mr. Steele, who
has shewn how the recitation of Mr. Garrick, and other eminent
speakers, might be transmitted to posterity IN SCORE.

Next day I dined with Johnson at Mr. Thrale's.  He attacked Gray,
calling him 'a dull fellow.'  BOSWELL.  'I understand he was
reserved, and might appear dull in company; but surely he was not
dull in poetry.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, he was dull in company, dull in
his closet, dull every where.  He was dull in a new way, and that
made many people think him GREAT.  He was a mechanical poet.'  He
then repeated some ludicrous lines, which have escaped my memory,
and said, 'Is not that GREAT, like his Odes?'  Mrs. Thrale
maintained that his Odes were melodious; upon which he exclaimed,


   'Weave the warp, and weave the woof;'--

I added, in a solemn tone,


    'The winding-sheet of Edward's race.'


'THERE is a good line.'  'Ay, (said he,) and the next line is a
good one,' (pronouncing it contemptuously;)


    'Give ample verge and room enough.'--


'No, Sir, there are but two good stanzas in Gray's poetry, which
are in his Elegy in a Country Church-yard.'  He then repeated the
stanza,


    'For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,' &c.


mistaking one word; for instead of precincts he said confines.  He
added, 'The other stanza I forget.'

A young lady who had married a man much her inferiour in rank being
mentioned, a question arose how a woman's relations should behave
to her in such a situation; and, while I recapitulate the debate,
and recollect what has since happened, I cannot but be struck in a
manner that delicacy forbids me to express.  While I contended that
she ought to be treated with an inflexible steadiness of
displeasure, Mrs. Thrale was all for mildness and forgiveness, and,
according to the vulgar phrase, 'making the best of a bad bargain.'
JOHNSON.  Madam, we must distinguish.  Were I a man of rank, I
would not let a daughter starve who had made a mean marriage; but
having voluntarily degraded herself from the station which she was
originally entitled to hold, I would support her only in that which
she herself had chosen; and would not put her on a level with my
other daughters.  You are to consider, Madam, that it is our duty
to maintain the subordination of civilized society; and when there
is a gross and shameful deviation from rank, it should be punished
so as to deter others from the same perversion.'

On Friday, March 31, I supped with him and some friends at a
tavern.  One of the company* attempted, with too much forwardness,
to rally him on his late appearance at the theatre; but had reason
to repent of his temerity.  'Why, Sir, did you go to Mrs.
Abington's benefit?  Did you see?'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir.'  'Did you
hear?'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir.'  'Why then, Sir, did you go?'
JOHNSON.  'Because, Sir, she is a favourite of the publick; and
when the publick cares the thousandth part for you that it does for
her, I will go to your benefit too.'


* Very likely Boswell.--HILL.


Next morning I won a small bet from Lady Diana Beauclerk, by asking
him as to one of his particularities, which her Ladyship laid I
durst not do.  It seems he had been frequently observed at the Club
to put into his pocket the Seville oranges, after he had squeezed
the juice of them into the drink which he made for himself.
Beauclerk and Garrick talked of it to me, and seemed to think that
he had a strange unwillingness to be discovered.  We could not
divine what he did with them; and this was the bold question to be
put.  I saw on his table the spoils of the preceding night, some
fresh peels nicely scraped and cut into pieces.  'O, Sir, (said I,)
I now partly see what you do with the squeezed oranges which you
put into your pocket at the Club.'  JOHNSON.  'I have a great love
for them.'  BOSWELL.  'And pray, Sir, what do you do with them?
You scrape them, it seems, very neatly, and what next?'  JOHNSON.
'Let them dry, Sir.'  BOSWELL.  'And what next?'  JOHNSON.  'Nay,
Sir, you shall know their fate no further.'  BOSWELL.  'Then the
world must be left in the dark.  It must be said (assuming a mock
solemnity,) he scraped them, and let them dry, but what he did with
them next, he never could be prevailed upon to tell.'  JOHNSON.
'Nay, Sir, you should say it more emphatically:--he could not be
prevailed upon, even by his dearest friends, to tell.'

He had this morning received his Diploma as Doctor of Laws from the
University of Oxford.  He did not vaunt of his new dignity, but I
understood he was highly pleased with it.

I observed to him that there were very few of his friends so
accurate as that I could venture to put down in writing what they
told me as his sayings.  JOHNSON.  'Why should you write down MY
sayings?'  BOSWELL.  'I write them when they are good.'  JOHNSON.
'Nay, you may as well write down the sayings of any one else that
are good.'  But WHERE, I might with great propriety have added, can
I find such?

Next day, Sunday, April 2, I dined with him at Mr. Hoole's.  We
talked of Pope.  JOHNSON.  'He wrote, his Dunciad for fame.  That
was his primary motive.  Had it not been for that, the dunces might
have railed against him till they were weary, without his troubling
himself about them.  He delighted to vex them, no doubt; but he had
more delight in seeing how well he could vex them.'

His Taxation no Tyranny being mentioned, he said, 'I think I have
not been attacked enough for it.  Attack is the re-action; I never
think I have hit hard, unless it rebounds.'  BOSWELL.  'I don't
know, Sir, what you would be at.  Five or six shots of small arms
in every newspaper, and repeated cannonading in pamphlets, might, I
think, satisfy you.  But, Sir, you'll never make out this match, of
which we have talked, with a certain political lady,* since you are
so severe against her principles.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, I have the
better chance for that.  She is like the Amazons of old; she must
be courted by the sword.  But I have not been severe upon her.'
BOSWELL.  'Yes, Sir, you have made her ridiculous.'  JOHNSON.
'That was already done, Sir.  To endeavour to make HER ridiculous,
is like blacking the chimney.'


* Croker identifies her as Mrs. Macaulay.  See p. 119.--ED.


I talked of the cheerfulness of Fleet-street, owing to the constant
quick succession of people which we perceive passing through it.
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, Fleet-street has a very animated appearance;
but I think the full tide of human existence is at Charing-cross.'

He made the common remark on the unhappiness which men who have led
a busy life experience, when they retire in expectation of enjoying
themselves at ease, and that they generally languish for want of
their habitual occupation, and wish to return to it.  He mentioned
as strong an instance of this as can well be imagined.  'An eminent
tallow-chandler in London, who had acquired a considerable fortune,
gave up the trade in favour of his foreman, and went to live at a
country-house near town.  He soon grew weary, and paid frequent
visits to his old shop, where he desired they might let him know
their melting-days, and he would come and assist them; which he
accordingly did.  Here, Sir, was a man, to whom the most disgusting
circumstance in the business to which he had been used was a relief
from idleness.'

On Wednesday, April 5, I dined with him at Messieurs Dilly's, with
Mr. John Scott of Amwell, the Quaker, Mr. Langton, Mr. Miller, (now
Sir John,) and Dr. Thomas Campbell, an Irish clergyman, whom I took
the liberty of inviting to Mr. Dilly's table, having seen him at
Mr. Thrale's, and been told that he had come to England chiefly
with a view to see Dr. Johnson, for whom he entertained the highest
veneration.  He has since published A Philosophical Survey of the
South of Ireland, a very entertaining book, which has, however, one
fault;--that it assumes the fictitious character of an Englishman.

We talked of publick speaking--JOHNSON.  'We must not estimate a
man's powers by his being able, or not able to deliver his
sentiments in publick.  Isaac Hawkins Browne, one of the first wits
of this country, got into Parliament, and never opened his mouth.
For my own part, I think it is more disgraceful never to try to
speak, than to try it and fail; as it is more disgraceful not to
fight, than to fight and be beaten.'  This argument appeared to me
fallacious; for if a man has not spoken, it may be said that he
would have done very well it he had tried; whereas, if he has tried
and failed, there is nothing to be said for him.  'Why then, (I
asked,) is it thought disgraceful for a man not to fight, and not
disgraceful not to speak in publick?'  JOHNSON.  'Because there may
be other reasons for a man's not speaking in publick than want of
resolution: he may have nothing to say, (laughing.) Whereas, Sir,
you know courage is reckoned the greatest of all virtues; because,
unless a man has that virtue, he has no security for preserving any
other.'

On Thursday, April 6, I dined with him at Mr. Thomas Davies's, with
Mr. Hicky, the painter, and my old acquaintance Mr. Moody, the
player.

Dr. Johnson, as usual, spoke contemptuously of Colley Cibber.  'It
is wonderful that a man, who for forty years had lived with the
great and the witty, should have acquired so ill the talents of
conversation: and he had but half to furnish; for one half of what
he said was oaths.'  He, however, allowed considerable merit to
some of his comedies, and said there was no reason to believe that
the Careless Husband was not written by himself.  Davies said, he
was the first dramatick writer who introduced genteel ladies upon
the stage.  Johnson refuted this observation by instancing several
such characters in comedies before his time.  DAVIES.  (trying to
defend himself from a charge of ignorance,) 'I mean genteel moral
characters.'  'I think (said Hicky,) gentility and morality are
inseparable.'  BOSWELL.  'By no means, Sir.  The genteelest
characters are often the most immoral.  Does not Lord Chesterfield
give precepts for uniting wickedness and the graces?  A man,
indeed, is not genteel when he gets drunk; but most vices may be
committed very genteelly: a man may debauch his friend's wife
genteelly: he may cheat at cards genteelly.'  HICKY.  'I do not
think THAT is genteel.'  BOSWELL.  'Sir, it may not be like a
gentleman, but it may be genteel.'  JOHNSON.  'You are meaning two
different things.  One means exteriour grace; the other honour.  It
is certain that a man may be very immoral with exteriour grace.
Lovelace, in Clarissa, is a very genteel and a very wicked
character.  Tom Hervey, who died t'other day, though a vicious man,
was one of the genteelest men that ever lived.'  Tom Davies
instanced Charles the Second.  JOHNSON.  (taking fire at any attack
upon that Prince, for whom he had an extraordinary partiality,)
'Charles the Second was licentious in his practice; but he always
had a reverence for what was good.  Charles the Second knew his
people, and rewarded merit.  The Church was at no time better
filled than in his reign.  He was the best King we have had from
his time till the reign of his present Majesty, except James the
Second, who was a very good King, but unhappily believed that it
was necessary for the salvation of his subjects that they should be
Roman Catholicks.  HE had the merit of endeavouring to do what he
thought was for the salvation of the souls of his subjects, till he
lost a great Empire.  WE, who thought that we should NOT be saved
if we were Roman Catholicks, had the merit of maintaining our
religion, at the expence of submitting ourselves to the government
of King William, (for it could not be done otherwise,)--to the
government of one of the most worthless scoundrels that ever
existed.  No; Charles the Second was not such a man as -----,
(naming another King).  He did not destroy his father's will.  He
took money, indeed, from France: but he did not betray those over
whom he ruled: he did not let the French fleet pass ours.  George
the First knew nothing, and desired to know nothing; did nothing,
and desired to do nothing: and the only good thing that is told of
him is, that he wished to restore the crown to its hereditary
successor.'  He roared with prodigious violence against George the
Second.  When he ceased, Moody interjected, in an Irish tone, and
with a comick look, 'Ah! poor George the Second.'

I mentioned that Dr. Thomas Campbell had come from Ireland to
London, principally to see Dr. Johnson.  He seemed angry at this
observation.  DAVIES.  'Why, you know, Sir, there came a man from
Spain to see Livy; and Corelli came to England to see Purcell, and
when he heard he was dead, went directly back again to Italy.'
JOHNSON.  'I should not have wished to be dead to disappoint
Campbell, had he been so foolish as you represent him; but I should
have wished to have been a hundred miles off.'  This was apparently
perverse; and I do believe it was not his real way of thinking: he
could not but like a man who came so far to see him.  He laughed
with some complacency, when I told him Campbell's odd expression to
me concerning him: 'That having seen such a man, was a thing to
talk of a century hence,'--as if he could live so long.

We got into an argument whether the Judges who went to India might
with propriety engage in trade.  Johnson warmly maintained that
they might.  'For why (he urged,) should not Judges get riches, as
well as those who deserve them less?'  I said, they should have
sufficient salaries, and have nothing to take off their attention
from the affairs of the publick.  JOHNSON.  'No Judge, Sir, can
give his whole attention to his office; and it is very proper that
he should employ what time he has to himself, to his own advantage,
in the most profitable manner.'  'Then, Sir, (said Davies, who
enlivened the dispute by making it somewhat dramatick,) he may
become an insurer; and when he is going to the bench, he may be
stopped,--"Your Lordship cannot go yet: here is a bunch of
invoices: several ships are about to sail."'  JOHNSON.  Sir, you
may as well say a Judge should not have a house; for they may come
and tell him, "Your Lordship's house is on fire;" and so, instead
of minding the business of his Court, he is to be occupied in
getting the engine with the greatest speed.  There is no end of
this.  Every Judge who has land, trades to a certain extent in corn
or in cattle; and in the land itself, undoubtedly.  His steward
acts for him, and so do clerks for a great merchant.  A Judge may
be a farmer; but he is not to geld his own pigs.  A Judge may play
a little at cards for his amusement; but he is not to play at
marbles, or at chuck-farthing in the Piazza.  No, Sir; there is no
profession to which a man gives a very great proportion of his
time.  It is wonderful, when a calculation is made, how little the
mind is actually employed in the discharge of any profession.  No
man would be a Judge, upon the condition of being totally a Judge.
The best employed lawyer has his mind at work but for a small
proportion of his time; a great deal of his occupation is merely
mechanical.  I once wrote for a magazine: I made a calculation,
that if I should write but a page a day, at the same rate, I
should, in ten years, write nine volumes in folio, of an ordinary
size and print.'  BOSWELL.  'Such as Carte's History?'  JOHNSON.
'Yes, Sir.  When a man writes from his own mind, he writes very
rapidly.  The greatest part of a writer's time is spent in reading,
in order to write: a man will turn over half a library to make one
book.'

We spoke of Rolt, to whose Dictionary of Commerce Dr. Johnson wrote
the Preface.    JOHNSON.  'Old Gardner the bookseller employed Rolt
and Smart to write a monthly miscellany, called The Universal
Visitor.  There was a formal written contract, which Allen the
printer saw.  Gardner thought as you do of the Judge.  They were
bound to write nothing else; they were to have, I think, a third of
the profits of this sixpenny pamphlet; and the contract was for
ninety-nine years.  I wish I had thought of giving this to Thurlow,
in the cause about Literary Property.  What an excellent instance
would it have been of the oppression of booksellers towards poor
authours!' (smiling.)  Davies, zealous for the honour of THE TRADE,
said, Gardner was not properly a bookseller.  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir;
he certainly was a bookseller.  He had served his time regularly,
was a member of the Stationers' company, kept a shop in the face of
mankind, purchased copyright, and was a bibliopole, Sir, in every
sense.  I wrote for some months in The Universal Visitor, for poor
Smart, while he was mad, not then knowing the terms on which he was
engaged to write, and thinking I was doing him good.  I hoped his
wits would soon return to him.  Mine returned to me, and I wrote in
The Universal Visitor no longer.

Friday, April 7, I dined with him at a Tavern, with a numerous
company.

One of the company suggested an internal objection to the antiquity
of the poetry said to be Ossian's, that we do not find the wolf in
it, which must have been the case had it been of that age.

The mention of the wolf had led Johnson to think of other wild
beasts; and while Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Langton were carrying
on a dialogue about something which engaged them earnestly, he, in
the midst of it, broke out, 'Pennant tells of Bears--' [what he
added, I have forgotten.]  They went on, which he being dull of
hearing, did not perceive, or, if he did, was not willing to break
off his talk; so he continued to vociferate his remarks, and BEAR
('like a word in a catch' as Beauclerk said,) was repeatedly heard
at intervals, which coming from him who, by those who did not know
him, had been so often assimilated to that ferocious animal, while
we who were sitting around could hardly stifle laughter, produced a
very ludicrous effect.  Silence having ensued, he proceeded: 'We
are told, that the black bear is innocent; but I should not like to
trust myself with him.'  Mr. Gibbon muttered, in a low tone of
voice, 'I should not like to trust myself with YOU.'  This piece of
sarcastick pleasantry was a prudent resolution, if applied to a
competition of abilities.

Patriotism having become one of our topicks, Johnson suddenly
uttered, in a strong determined tone, an apophthegm, at which many
will start: 'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.'  But
let it be considered, that he did not mean a real and generous love
of our country, but that pretended patriotism which so many, in all
ages and countries, have made a cloak for self-interest.

Mrs. Prichard being mentioned, he said, 'Her playing was quite
mechanical.  It is wonderful how little mind she had.  Sir, she had
never read the tragedy of Macbeth all through.  She no more thought
of the play out of which her part was taken, than a shoemaker
thinks of the skin, out of which the piece of leather, of which he
is making a pair of shoes, is cut.'

On Saturday, April 8, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale's, where we
met the Irish Dr. Campbell.  Johnson had supped the night before at
Mrs. Abington's, with some fashionable people whom he named; and he
seemed much pleased with having made one in so elegant a circle.
Nor did he omit to pique his MISTRESS a little with jealousy of her
housewifery; for he said, (with a smile,) 'Mrs. Abington's jelly,
my dear lady, was better than yours.'

Mrs. Thrale, who frequently practised a coarse mode of flattery, by
repeating his bon-mots in his hearing, told us that he had said, a
certain celebrated actor was just fit to stand at the door of an
auction-room with a long pole, and cry 'Pray gentlemen, walk in;'
and that a certain authour, upon hearing this, had said, that
another still more celebrated actor was fit for nothing better than
that, and would pick your pocket after you came out.  JOHNSON.
'Nay, my dear lady, there is no wit in what our friend added; there
is only abuse.  You may as well say of any man that he will pick a
pocket.  Besides, the man who is stationed at the door does not
pick people's pockets; that is done within, by the auctioneer.'

On Monday, April 10, I dined with him at General Oglethorpe's, with
Mr. Langton and the Irish Dr. Campbell, whom the General had
obligingly given me leave to bring with me.  This learned gentleman
was thus gratified with a very high intellectual feast, by not only
being in company with Dr. Johnson, but with General Oglethorpe, who
had been so long a celebrated name both at home and abroad.

I must, again and again, intreat of my readers not to suppose that
my imperfect record of conversation contains the whole of what was
said by Johnson, or other eminent persons who lived with him.  What
I have preserved, however, has the value of the most perfect
authenticity.

He urged General Oglethorpe to give the world his Life.  He said,
'I know no man whose Life would be more interesting.  If I were
furnished with materials, I should be very glad to write it.'

Mr. Scott of Amwell's Elegies were lying in the room.  Dr. Johnson
observed, 'They are very well; but such as twenty people might
write.'  Upon this I took occasion to controvert Horace's maxim,


    '------- mediocribus esse poetis
     Non Di, non homines, non concessere columnae.'


For here, (I observed,) was a very middle-rate poet, who pleased
many readers, and therefore poetry of a middle sort was entitled to
some esteem; nor could I see why poetry should not, like every
thing else, have different gradations of excellence, and
consequently of value.  Johnson repeated the common remark, that,
'as there is no necessity for our having poetry at all, it being
merely a luxury, an instrument of pleasure, it can have no value,
unless when exquisite in its kind.'  I declared myself not
satisfied.  'Why then, Sir, (said he,) Horace and you must settle
it.'  He was not much in the humour of talking.

No more of his conversation for some days appears in my journal,
except that when a gentleman told him he had bought a suit of lace
for his lady, he said, 'Well, Sir, you have done a good thing and a
wise thing.'  'I have done a good thing, (said the gentleman,) but
I do not know that I have done a wise thing.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir;
no money is better spent than what is laid out for domestick
satisfaction.  A man is pleased that his wife is drest as well as
other people; and a wife is pleased that she is drest.'

On Friday, April 14, being Good-Friday, I repaired to him in the
morning, according to my usual custom on that day, and breakfasted
with him.  I observed that he fasted so very strictly, that he did
not even taste bread, and took no milk with his tea; I suppose
because it is a kind of animal food.

I told him that I had been informed by Mr. Orme, that many parts of
the East-Indies were better mapped than the Highlands of Scotland.
JOHNSON.  'That a country may be mapped, it must be travelled
over.'  'Nay, (said I, meaning to laugh with him at one of his
prejudices,) can't you say, it is not WORTH mapping?'

As we walked to St. Clement's church, and saw several shops open
upon this most solemn fast-day of the Christian world, I remarked,
that one disadvantage arising from the immensity of London, was,
that nobody was heeded by his neighbour; there was no fear of
censure for not observing Good-Friday, as it ought to be kept, and
as it is kept in country-towns.  He said, it was, upon the whole,
very well observed even in London.  He, however, owned, that London
was too large; but added, 'It is nonsense to say the head is too
big for the body.  It would be as much too big, though the body
were ever so large; that is to say, though the country were ever so
extensive.  It has no similarity to a head connected with a body.'

Dr. Wetherell, Master of University College, Oxford, accompanied us
home from church; and after he was gone, there came two other
gentlemen, one of whom uttered the commonplace complaints, that by
the increase of taxes, labour would be dear, other nations would
undersell us, and our commerce would be ruined.  JOHNSON.
(smiling,) 'Never fear, Sir.  Our commerce is in a very good state;
and suppose we had no commerce at all, we could live very well on
the produce of our own country.'  I cannot omit to mention, that I
never knew any man who was less disposed to be querulous than
Johnson.  Whether the subject was his own situation, or the state
of the publick, or the state of human nature in general, though he
saw the evils, his mind was turned to resolution, and never to
whining or complaint.

We went again to St. Clement's in the afternoon.  He had found
fault with the preacher in the morning for not choosing a text
adapted to the day.  The preacher in the afternoon had chosen one
extremely proper: 'It is finished.'

After the evening service, he said, 'Come, you shall go home with
me, and sit just an hour.'  But he was better than his word; for
after we had drunk tea with Mrs. Williams, he asked me to go up to
his study with him, where we sat a long while together in a serene
undisturbed frame of mind, sometimes in silence, and sometimes
conversing, as we felt ourselves inclined, or more properly
speaking, as HE was inclined; for during all the course of my long
intimacy with him, my respectful attention never abated, and my
wish to hear him was such, that I constantly watched every dawning
of communication from that great and illuminated mind.

He again advised me to keep a journal fully and minutely, but not
to mention such trifles as, that meat was too much or too little
done, or that the weather was fair or rainy.  He had, till very
near his death, a contempt for the notion that the weather affects
the human frame.

I told him that our friend Goldsmith had said to me, that he had
come too late into the world, for that Pope and other poets had
taken up the places in the Temple of Fame; so that, as but a few at
any period can possess poetical reputation, a man of genius can now
hardly acquire it.  JOHNSON.  'That is one of the most sensible
things I have ever heard of Goldsmith.  It is difficult to get
literary fame, and it is every day growing more difficult.  Ah,
Sir, that should make a man think of securing happiness in another
world, which all who try sincerely for it may attain.  In
comparison of that, how little are all other things!  The belief of
immortality is impressed upon all men, and all men act under an
impression of it, however they may talk, and though, perhaps, they
may be scarcely sensible of it.'  I said, it appeared to me that
some people had not the least notion of immortality; and I
mentioned a distinguished gentleman of our acquaintance.  JOHNSON.
'Sir, if it were not for the notion of immortality, he would cut a
throat to fill his pockets.'  When I quoted this to Beauclerk, who
knew much more of the gentleman than we did, he said, in his acid
manner, 'He would cut a throat to fill his pockets, if it were not
for fear of being hanged.'

He was pleased to say, 'If you come to settle here, we will have
one day in the week on which we will meet by ourselves.  That is
the happiest conversation where there is no competition, no vanity,
but a calm quiet interchange of sentiments.'  In his private
register this evening is thus marked, 'Boswell sat with me till
night; we had some serious talk.'  It also appears from the same
record, that after I left him he was occupied in religious duties,
in 'giving Francis, his servant, some directions for preparation to
communicate; in reviewing his life, and resolving on better
conduct.'  The humility and piety which he discovers on such
occasions, is truely edifying.  No saint, however, in the course of
his religious warfare, was more sensible of the unhappy failure of
pious resolves, than Johnson.  He said one day, talking to an
acquaintance on this subject, 'Sir Hell is paved with good
intentions.'

On Sunday, April 16, being Easter Day, after having attended the
solemn service at St. Paul's, I dined with Dr. Johnson and Mrs.
Williams.  I maintained that Horace was wrong in placing happiness
in Nil admirari, for that I thought admiration one of the most
agreeable of all our feelings; and I regretted that I had lost much
of my disposition to admire, which people generally do as they
advance in life.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, as a man advances in life, he
gets what is better than admiration--judgement, to estimate things
at their true value.'  I still insisted that admiration was more
pleasing than judgement, as love is more pleasing than friendship.
The feeling of friendship is like that of being comfortably filled
with roast beef; love, like being enlivened with champagne.
JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; admiration and love are like being intoxicated
with champagne; judgement and friendship like being enlivened.
Waller has hit upon the same thought with you: but I don't believe
you have borrowed from Waller.  I wish you would enable yourself to
borrow more.'

He then took occasion to enlarge on the advantages of reading, and
combated the idle superficial notion, that knowledge enough may be
acquired in conversation.  'The foundation (said he,) must be laid
by reading.  General principles must be had from books, which,
however, must be brought to the test of real life.  In conversation
you never get a system.  What is said upon a subject is to be
gathered from a hundred people.  The parts of a truth, which a man
gets thus, are at such a distance from each other that he never
attains to a full view.'

On Tuesday, April 15, he and I were engaged to go with Sir Joshua
Reynolds to dine with Mr. Cambridge, at his beautiful villa on the
banks of the Thames, near Twickenham.  Dr. Johnson's tardiness was
such, that Sir Joshua, who had an appointment at Richmond, early in
the day, was obliged to go by himself on horseback, leaving his
coach to Johnson and me.  Johnson was in such good spirits, that
every thing seemed to please him as we drove along.

Our conversation turned on a variety of subjects.  He thought
portrait-painting an improper employment for a woman.  'Publick
practice of any art, (he observed,) and staring in men's faces, is
very indelicate in a female.'  I happened to start a question,
whether, when a man knows that some of his intimate friends are
invited to the house of another friend, with whom they are all
equally intimate, he may join them without an invitation.  JOHNSON.
'No, Sir; he is not to go when he is not invited.  They may be
invited on purpose to abuse him' (smiling).

As a curious instance how little a man knows, or wishes to know,
his own character in the world, or, rather, as a convincing proof
that Johnson's roughness was only external, and did not proceed
from his heart, I insert the following dialogue.  JOHNSON.  'It is
wonderful, Sir, how rare a quality good humour is in life.  We meet
with very few good humoured men.'  I mentioned four of our friends,
none of whom he would allow to be good humoured.  One was ACID,
another was MUDDY, and to the others he had objections which have
escaped me.  Then, shaking his head and stretching himself at ease
in the coach, and smiling with much complacency, he turned to me
and said, 'I look upon MYSELF as a good humoured fellow.'  The
epithet FELLOW, applied to the great Lexicographer, the stately
Moralist, the masterly critick, as if he had been SAM Johnson, a
mere pleasant companion, was highly diverting; and this light
notion of himself struck me with wonder.  I answered, also smiling,
'No, no, Sir; that will NOT do.  You are good natured, but not good
humoured: you are irascible.  You have not patience with folly and
absurdity.  I believe you would pardon them, if there were time to
deprecate your vengeance; but punishment follows so quick after
sentence, that they cannot escape.

I had brought with me a great bundle of Scotch magazines and news-
papers, in which his Journey to the Western Islands was attacked in
every mode; and I read a great part of them to him, knowing they
would afford him entertainment.  I wish the writers of them had
been present: they would have been sufficiently vexed.  One
ludicrous imitation of his style, by Mr. Maclaurin, now one of the
Scotch Judges, with the title of Lord Dreghorn, was distinguished
by him from the rude mass.  'This (said he,) is the best.  But I
could caricature my own style much better myself.'  He defended his
remark upon the general insufficiency of education in Scotland; and
confirmed to me the authenticity of his witty saying on the
learning of the Scotch;--'Their learning is like bread in a
besieged town: every man gets a little, but no man gets a full
meal.'  'There is (said he,) in Scotland, a diffusion of learning,
a certain portion of it widely and thinly spread.  A merchant there
has as much learning as one of their clergy.

No sooner had we made our bow to Mr. Cambridge, in his library,
than Johnson ran eagerly to one side of the room, intent on poring
over the backs of the books.  Sir Joshua observed, (aside,) 'He
runs to the books, as I do to the pictures: but I have the
advantage.  I can see much more of the pictures than he can of the
books.'  Mr. Cambridge, upon this, politely said, 'Dr. Johnson, I
am going, with your pardon, to accuse myself, for I have the same
custom which I perceive you have.  But it seems odd that one should
have such a desire to look at the backs of books.'  Johnson, ever
ready for contest, instantly started from his reverie, wheeled
about, and answered, 'Sir, the reason is very plain.  Knowledge is
of two kinds.  We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can
find information upon it.  When we enquire into any subject, the
first thing we have to do is to know what books have treated of it.
This leads us to look at catalogues, and the backs of books in
libraries.'  Sir Joshua observed to me the extraordinary
promptitude with which Johnson flew upon an argument.  'Yes, (said
I,) he has no formal preparation, no flourishing with his sword; he
is through your body in an instant.'

Johnson was here solaced with an elegant entertainment, a very
accomplished family, and much good company; among whom was Mr.
Harris of Salisbury, who paid him many compliments on his Journey
to the Western Islands.

The common remark as to the utility of reading history being made;--
JOHNSON.  'We must consider how very little history there is; I
mean real authentick history.  That certain Kings reigned, and
certain battles were fought, we can depend upon as true; but all
the colouring, all the philosophy of history is conjecture.'
BOSWELL.  'Then, Sir, you would reduce all history to no better
than an almanack, a mere chronological series of remarkable
events.'  Mr. Gibbon, who must at that time have been employed upon
his History, of which he published the first volume in the
following year, was present; but did not step forth in defence of
that species of writing.  He probably did not like to TRUST himself
with JOHNSON!

The Beggar's Opera, and the common question, whether it was
pernicious in its effects, having been introduced;--JOHNSON.  'As
to this matter, which has been very much contested, I myself am of
opinion, that more influence has been ascribed to The Beggar's
Opera, than it in reality ever had; for I do not believe that any
man was ever made a rogue by being present at its representation.
At the same time I do not deny that it may have some influence, by
making the character of a rogue familiar, and in some degree
pleasing.'  Then collecting himself as it were, to give a heavy
stroke: 'There is in it such a LABEFACTATION of all principles, as
may be injurious to morality.'

While he pronounced this response, we sat in a comical sort of
restraint, smothering a laugh, which we were afraid might burst
out.

We talked of a young gentleman's* marriage with an eminent singer,
and his determination that she should no longer sing in publick,
though his father was very earnest she should, because her talents
would be liberally rewarded, so as to make her a good fortune.  It
was questioned whether the young gentleman, who had not a shilling
in the world, but was blest with very uncommon talents, was not
foolishly delicate, or foolishly proud, and his father truely
rational without being mean.  Johnson, with all the high spirit of
a Roman senator, exclaimed, 'He resolved wisely and nobly to be
sure.  He is a brave man.  Would not a gentleman be disgraced by
having his wife singing publickly for hire?  No, Sir, there can be
no doubt here.  I know not if I should not PREPARE myself for a
publick singer, as readily as let my wife be one.'


* Probably Richard Brinsley Sheridan, whose romantic marriage with
the beautiful Elizabeth Linley took place in 1773.  He became a
member of the Club on Johnson's proposal.  See below, p. 325.--ED.


Johnson arraigned the modern politicks of this country, as entirely
devoid of all principle of whatever kind.  'Politicks (said he,)
are now nothing more than means of rising in the world.  With this
sole view do men engage in politicks, and their whole conduct
proceeds upon it.'

Somebody found fault with writing verses in a dead language,
maintaining that they were merely arrangements of so many words,
and laughed at the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, for
sending forth collections of them not only in Greek and Latin, but
even in Syriac, Arabick, and other more unknown tongues.  JOHNSON.
'I would have as many of these as possible; I would have verses in
every language that there are the means of acquiring.  Nobody
imagines that an University is to have at once two hundred poets;
but it should be able to show two hundred scholars.  Pieresc's
death was lamented, I think, in forty languages.  And I would have
had at every coronation, and every death of a King, every Gaudium,
and every Luctus, University verses, in as many languages as can be
acquired.  I would have the world to be thus told, "Here is a
school where every thing may be learnt."'

Having set out next day on a visit to the Earl of Pembroke, at
Wilton, and to my friend, Mr. Temple, at Mamhead, in Devonshire,
and not having returned to town till the second of May, I did not
see Dr. Johnson for a considerable time, and during the remaining
part of my stay in London, kept very imperfect notes of his
conversation, which had I according to my usual custom written out
at large soon after the time, much might have been preserved, which
is now irretrievably lost.

On Monday, May 8, we went together and visited the mansions of
Bedlam.  I had been informed that he had once been there before
with Mr. Wedderburne, (now Lord Loughborough,) Mr. Murphy, and Mr.
Foote; and I had heard Foote give a very entertaining account of
Johnson's happening to have his attention arrested by a man who was
very furious, and who, while beating his straw, supposed it was
William Duke of Cumberland, whom he was punishing for his cruelties
in Scotland, in 1746.  There was nothing peculiarly remarkable this
day; but the general contemplation of insanity was very affecting.
I accompanied him home, and dined and drank tea with him.

On Friday, May 12, as he had been so good as to assign me a room in
his house, where I might sleep occasionally, when I happened to sit
with him to a late hour, I took possession of it this night, found
every thing in excellent order, and was attended by honest Francis
with a most civil assiduity.  I asked Johnson whether I might go to
a consultation with another lawyer upon Sunday, as that appeared to
me to be doing work as much in my way, as if an artisan should work
on the day appropriated for religious rest.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir,
when you are of consequence enough to oppose the practice of
consulting upon Sunday, you should do it: but you may go now.  It
is not criminal, though it is not what one should do, who is
anxious for the preservation and increase of piety, to which a
peculiar observance of Sunday is a great help.  The distinction is
clear between what is of moral and what is of ritual obligation.'

On Saturday, May 13, I breakfasted with him by invitation,
accompanied by Mr. Andrew Crosbie, a Scotch Advocate, whom he had
seen at Edinburgh, and the Hon. Colonel (now General) Edward
Stopford, brother to Lord Courtown, who was desirous of being
introduced to him.  His tea and rolls and butter, and whole
breakfast apparatus were all in such decorum, and his behaviour was
so courteous, that Colonel Stopford was quite surprized, and
wondered at his having heard so much said of Johnson's slovenliness
and roughness.

I passed many hours with him on the 17th, of which I find all my
memorial is, 'much laughing.'  It should seem he had that day been
in a humour for jocularity and merriment, and upon such occasions I
never knew a man laugh more heartily.  We may suppose, that the
high relish of a state so different from his habitual gloom,
produced more than ordinary exertions of that distinguishing
faculty of man, which has puzzled philosophers so much to explain.
Johnson's laugh was as remarkable as any circumstance in his
manner.  It was a kind of good humoured growl.  Tom Davies
described it drolly enough: 'He laughs like a rhinoceros.'


'TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--I have an old amanuensis in great distress.  I have
given what I think I can give, and begged till I cannot tell where
to beg again.  I put into his hands this morning four guineas.  If
you could collect three guineas more, it would clear him from his
present difficulty.  I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'May 21, 1775.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


After my return to Scotland, I wrote three letters to him.


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--I am returned from the annual ramble into the middle
counties.  Having seen nothing I had not seen before, I have
nothing to relate.  Time has left that part of the island few
antiquities; and commerce has left the people no singularities.  I
was glad to go abroad, and, perhaps, glad to come home; which is,
in other words, I was, I am afraid, weary of being at home, and
weary of being abroad.  Is not this the state of life?  But, if we
confess this weariness, let us not lament it, for all the wise and
all the good say, that we may cure it. . . .

'Mrs. Thrale was so entertained with your Journal,* that she almost
read herself blind.  She has a great regard for you.

'Of Mrs. Boswell, though she knows in her heart that she does not
love me, I am always glad to hear any good, and hope that she and
the little dear ladies will have neither sickness nor any other
affliction.  But she knows that she does not care what becomes of
me, and for that she may be sure that I think her very much to
blame.

'Never, my dear Sir, do you take it into your head to think that I
do not love you; you may settle yourself in full confidence both of
my love and my esteem; I love you as a kind man, I value you as a
worthy man, and hope in time to reverence you as a man of exemplary
piety.  I hold you, as Hamlet has it, "in my heart of hearts," and
therefore, it is little to say, that I am, Sir, your affectionate
humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Aug. 27, 1775.'


* My Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, which that lady read in the
original manuscript.--BOSWELL.


'TO MR. ROBERT LEVET.

'Paris,* Oct. 22, 1775.

'DEAR SIR,--We are still here, commonly very busy in looking about
us.  We have been to-day at Versailles.  You have seen it, and I
shall not describe it.  We came yesterday from Fontainbleau, where
the Court is now.  We went to see the King and Queen at dinner, and
the Queen was so impressed by Miss,** that she sent one of the
Gentlemen to enquire who she was.  I find all true that you have
ever told me of Paris.  Mr. Thrale is very liberal, and keeps us
two coaches, and a very fine table; but I think our cookery very
bad.  Mrs. Thrale got into a convent of English nuns; and I talked
with her through the grate, and I am very kindly used by the
English Benedictine friars.  But upon the whole I cannot make much
acquaintance here; and though the churches, palaces, and some
private houses are very magnificent, there is no very great
pleasure after having seen many, in seeing more; at least the
pleasure, whatever it be, must some time have an end, and we are
beginning to think when we shall come home.  Mr. Thrale calculates
that, as we left Streatham on the fifteenth of September, we shall
see it again about the fifteenth of November.


* Written from a tour in France with the Thrales, Johnson's only
visit to the Continent.--ED.

** Miss Thrale.


'I think I had not been on this side of the sea five days before I
found a sensible improvement in my health.  I ran a race in the
rain this day, and beat Baretti.  Baretti is a fine fellow, and
speaks French, I think, quite as well as English.

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Williams; and give my love to Francis;
and tell my friends that I am not lost.  I am, dear Sir, your
affectionate humble, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


It is to be regretted that he did not write an account of his
travels in France; for as he is reported to have once said, that
'he could write the Life of a Broomstick,' so, notwithstanding so
many former travellers have exhausted almost every subject for
remark in that great kingdom, his very accurate observation, and
peculiar vigour of thought and illustration, would have produced a
valuable work.

When I met him in London the following year, the account which he
gave me of his French tour, was, 'Sir, I have seen all the
visibilities of Paris, and around it; but to have formed an
acquaintance with the people there, would have required more time
than I could stay.  I was just beginning to creep into acquaintance
by means of Colonel Drumgold, a very high man, Sir, head of L'Ecole
Militaire, a most complete character, for he had first been a
professor of rhetorick, and then became a soldier.  And, Sir, I was
very kindly treated by the English Benedictines, and have a cell
appropriated to me in their convent.'

He observed, 'The great in France live very magnificently, but the
rest very miserably.  There is no happy middle state as in England.
The shops of Paris are mean; the meat in the markets is such as
would be sent to a gaol in England: and Mr. Thrale justly observed,
that the cookery of the French was forced upon them by necessity;
for they could not eat their meat, unless they added some taste to
it.  The French are an indelicate people; they will spit upon any
place.  At Madame ------'s, a literary lady of rank, the footman
took the sugar in his fingers, and threw it into my coffee.  I was
going to put it aside; but hearing it was made on purpose for me, I
e'en tasted Tom's fingers.  The same lady would needs make tea a
l'Angloise.  The spout of the tea-pot did not pour freely; she had
the footman blow into it.  France is worse than Scotland in every
thing but climate.  Nature has done more for the French; but they
have done less for themselves than the Scotch have done.'

It happened that Foote was at Paris at the same time with Dr.
Johnson, and his description of my friend while there, was
abundantly ludicrous.  He told me, that the French were quite
astonished at his figure and manner, and at his dress, which he
obstinately continued exactly as in London;--his brown clothes,
black stockings, and plain shirt.  He mentioned, that an Irish
gentleman said to Johnson, 'Sir, you have not seen the best French
players.'  JOHNSON.  'Players, Sir!  I look on them as no better
than creatures set upon tables and joint-stools to make faces and
produce laughter, like dancing dogs.'--'But, Sir, you will allow
that some players are better than others?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, as
some dogs dance better than others.'

While Johnson was in France, he was generally very resolute in
speaking Latin.  It was a maxim with him that a man should not let
himself down, by speaking a language which he speaks imperfectly.
Indeed, we must have often observed how inferiour, how much like a
child a man appears, who speaks a broken tongue.  When Sir Joshua
Reynolds, at one of the dinners of the Royal Academy, presented him
to a Frenchman of great distinction, he would not deign to speak
French, but talked Latin, though his Excellency did not understand
it, owing, perhaps, to Johnson's English pronunciation: yet upon
another occasion he was observed to speak French to a Frenchman of
high rank, who spoke English; and being asked the reason, with some
expression of surprise,--he answered, 'because I think my French is
as good as his English.'  Though Johnson understood French
perfectly, he could not speak it readily, as I have observed at his
first interview with General Pauli, in 1769; yet he wrote it, I
imagine, pretty well.

Here let me not forget a curious anecdote, as related to me by Mr.
Beauclerk, which I shall endeavour to exhibit as well as I can in
that gentleman's lively manner; and in justice to him it is proper
to add, that Dr. Johnson told me I might rely both on the
correctness of his memory, and the fidelity of his narrative.
'When Madame de Boufflers was first in England, (said Beauclerk,)
she was desirous to see Johnson.  I accordingly went with her to
his chambers in the Temple, where she was entertained with his
conversation for some time.  When our visit was over, she and I
left him, and were got into Inner Temple-lane, when all at once I
heard a noise like thunder.  This was occasioned by Johnson, who it
seems, upon a little recollection, had taken it into his head that
he ought to have done the honours of his literary residence to a
foreign lady of quality, and eager to shew himself a man of
gallantry, was hurrying down the stair-case in violent agitation.
He overtook us before we reached the Temple-gate, and brushing in
between me and Madame de Boufflers, seized her hand, and conducted
her to her coach.  His dress was a rusty brown morning suit, a pair
of old shoes by way of slippers, a little shrivelled wig sticking
on the top of his head, and the sleeves of his shirt and the knees
of his breeches hanging loose.  A considerable crowd of people
gathered round, and were not a little struck by this singular
appearance.'

He spoke Latin with wonderful fluency and elegance.  When Pere
Boscovich was in England, Johnson dined in company with him at Sir
Joshua Reynolds's, and at Dr.  Douglas's, now Bishop of Salisbury.
Upon both occasions that celebrated foreigner expressed his
astonishment at Johnson's Latin conversation.  When at Paris,
Johnson thus characterised Voltaire to Freron the Journalist: 'Vir
est acerrimi ingenii et paucarum literarum.'

In the course of this year Dr. Burney informs me that 'he very
frequently met Dr. Johnson at Mr. Thrale's, at Streatham, where
they had many long conversations, often sitting up as long as the
fire and candles lasted, and much longer than the patience of the
servants subsisted.'

A few of Johnson's sayings, which that gentleman recollects, shall
here be inserted.

'I never take a nap after dinner but when I have had a bad night,
and then the nap takes me.'

'The writer of an epitaph should not be considered as saying
nothing but what is strictly true.  Allowance must be made for some
degree of exaggerated praise.  In lapidary inscriptions a man is
not upon oath.'

'There is now less flogging in our great schools than formerly, but
then less is learned there; so that what the boys get at one end
they lose at the other.'

'More is learned in publick than in private schools, from
emulation; there is the collision of mind with mind, or the
radiation of many minds pointing to one centre.  Though few boys
make their own exercises, yet if a good exercise is given up, out
of a great number of boys, it is made by somebody.'

'I hate by-roads in education.  Education is as well known, and has
long been as well known, as ever it can be.  Endeavouring to make
children prematurely wise is useless labour.  Suppose they have
more knowledge at five or six years old than other children, what
use can be made of it?  It will be lost before it is wanted, and
the waste of so much time and labour of the teacher can never be
repaid.  Too much is expected from precocity, and too little
performed.  Miss ---- was an instance of early cultivation, but in
what did it terminate?  In marrying a little Presbyterian parson,
who keeps an infant boarding-school, so that all her employment now
is,


    "To suckle fools, and chronicle small-beer."


She tells the children, "This is a cat, and that is a dog, with
four legs and a tail; see there! you are much better than a cat or
a dog, for you can speak."  If I had bestowed such an education on
a daughter, and had discovered that she thought of marrying such a
fellow, I would have sent her to the Congress.'

'After having talked slightingly of musick, he was observed to
listen very attentively while Miss Thrale played on the
harpsichord, and with eagerness he called to her, "Why don't you
dash away like Burney?"  Dr. Burney upon this said to him, "I
believe, Sir, we shall make a musician of you at last."  Johnson
with candid complacency replied, "Sir, I shall be glad to have a
new sense given to me."'

'He had come down one morning to the breakfast-room, and been a
considerable time by himself before any body appeared.  When, on a
subsequent day, he was twitted by Mrs. Thrale for being very late,
which he generally was, he defended himself by alluding to the
extraordinary morning, when he had been too early.  "Madame, I do
not like to come down to VACUITY."'

'Dr. Burney having remarked that Mr. Garrick was beginning to look
old, he said, "Why, Sir, you are not to wonder at that; no man's
face has had more wear and tear."'

1776: AETAT. 67.]--Having arrived in London late on Friday, the
15th of March, I hastened next morning to wait on Dr. Johnson, at
his house; but found he was removed from Johnson's-court, No. 7, to
Bolt-court, No. 8, still keeping to his favourite Fleet-street.  My
reflection at the time upon this change as marked in my Journal, is
as follows: 'I felt a foolish regret that he had left a court which
bore his name;* but it was not foolish to be affected with some
tenderness of regard for a place in which I had seen him a great
deal, from whence I had often issued a better and a happier man
than when I went in, and which had often appeared to my imagination
while I trod its pavements, in the solemn darkness of the night, to
be sacred to wisdom and piety.'  Being informed that he was at Mr.
Thrale's, in the Borough, I hastened thither, and found Mrs. Thrale
and him at breakfast.  I was kindly welcomed.  In a moment he was
in a full glow of conversation, and I felt myself elevated as if
brought into another state of being.  Mrs. Thrale and I looked to
each other while he talked, and our looks expressed our congenial
admiration and affection for him.  I shall ever recollect this
scene with great pleasure, I exclaimed to her, 'I am now,
intellectually, Hermippus redivivus, I am quite restored by him, by
transfusion of mind.'  'There are many (she replied) who admire and
respect Mr. Johnson; but you and I LOVE him.'


* He said, when in Scotland, that he was Johnson of that Ilk.--
BOSWELL.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnson expressed his disapprobation of ornamental architecture,
such as magnificent columns supporting a portico, or expensive
pilasters supporting merely their own capitals, 'because it
consumes labour disproportionate to its utility.'  For the same
reason he satyrised statuary.  'Painting (said he) consumes labour
not disproportionate to its effect; but a fellow will hack half a
year at a block of marble to make something in stone that hardly
resembles a man.  The value of statuary is owing to its difficulty.
You would not value the finest head cut upon a carrot.'

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

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

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

Next morning we visited Dr. Wetherell, Master of University
College, with whom Dr. Johnson conferred on the most advantageous
mode of disposing of the books printed at the Clarendon press.  I
often had occasion to remark, Johnson loved business, loved to have
his wisdom actually operate on real life.

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

Dr. Adams told us, that in some of the Colleges at Oxford, the
fellows had excluded the students from social intercourse with them
in the common room.  JOHNSON.  'They are in the right, Sir: there
can be no real conversation, no fair exertion of mind amongst them,
if the young men are by; for a man who has a character does not
choose to stake it in their presence.'  BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, may
there not be very good conversation without a contest for
superiority?'  JOHNSON.  'No animated conversation, Sir, for it
cannot be but one or other will come off superiour.  I do not mean
that the victor must have the better of the argument, for he may
take the weak side; but his superiority of parts and knowledge will
necessarily appear: and he to whom he thus shews himself superiour
is lessened in the eyes of the young men.'

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

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

We drank tea with Dr. Horne, late President of Magdalen College,
and Bishop of Norwich, of whose abilities, in different respects,
the publick has had eminent proofs, and the esteem annexed to whose
character was increased by knowing him personally.

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

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

I mentioned Sir Richard Steele having published his Christian Hero,
with the avowed purpose of obliging himself to lead a religious
life; yet, that his conduct was by no means strictly suitable.
JOHNSON.  'Steele, I believe, practised the lighter vices.'

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

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

Next morning, Thursday, March 21, we set out in a post-chaise to
pursue our ramble.  It was a delightful day, and we rode through
Blenheim park.  When I looked at the magnificent bridge built by
John Duke of Marlborough, over a small rivulet, and recollected the
Epigram made upon it--


    'The lofty arch his high ambition shows,
     The stream, an emblem of his bounty flows:'


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

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


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


* Sir John Hawkins has preserved very few Memorabilia of Johnson.
There is, however, to be found, in his bulky tome [p. 87], a very
excellent one upon this subject:--'In contradiction to those, who,
having a wife and children, prefer domestick enjoyments to those
which a tavern affords, I have heard him assert, that a tavern
chair was the throne of human felicity.--"As soon," said he, "as I
enter the door of a tavern, I experience an oblivion of care, and a
freedom from solicitude: when I am seated, I find the master
courteous, and the servants obsequious to my call; anxious to know
and ready to supply my wants: wine there exhilarates my spirits,
and prompts me to free conversation and an interchange of discourse
with those whom I most love: I dogmatise and am contradicted, and
in this conflict of opinions and sentiments I find delight."'--
BOSWELL.


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

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

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


    'Now, Muse, let's sing of rats.'


And what increased the ridicule was, that one of the company, who
slily overlooked the reader, perceived that the word had been
originally MICE, and had been altered to RATS, as more dignified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I saw here, for the first time, oat ale; and oat cakes not hard as
in Scotland, but soft like a Yorkshire cake, were served at
breakfast.  It was pleasant to me to find, that Oats, the food of
horses, were so much used as the food of the people in Dr.
Johnson's own town.  He expatiated in praise of Lichfield and its
inhabitants, who, he said, were 'the most sober, decent people in
England, the genteelest in proportion to their wealth, and spoke
the purest English.'  I doubted as to the last article of this
eulogy: for they had several provincial sounds; as THERE,
pronounced like FEAR, instead of like FAIR; ONCE pronounced WOONSE,
instead of WUNSE, or WONSE.  Johnson himself never got entirely
free of those provincial accents.  Garrick sometimes used to take
him off, squeezing a lemon into a punch-bowl, with uncouth
gesticulations, looking round the company, and calling out, 'Who's
for POONSH?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I returned to tea and coffee at Mr. Peter Garrick's, and then found
Dr. Johnson at the Reverend Mr. Seward's, Canon Residentiary, who
inhabited the Bishop's palace, in which Mr. Walmsley lived, and
which had been the scene of many happy hours in Johnson's early
life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Having left Ashbourne in the evening, we stopped to change horses
at Derby, and availed ourselves of a moment to enjoy the
conversation of my countryman, Dr. Butter, then physician there.
He was in great indignation because Lord Mountstuart's bill for a
Scotch militia had been lost.  Dr. Johnson was as violent against
it.  'I am glad, (said he,) that Parliament has had the spirit to
throw it out.  You wanted to take advantage of the timidity of our
scoundrels;' (meaning, I suppose, the ministry).  It may be
observed, that he used the epithet scoundrel very commonly not
quite in the sense in which it is generally understood, but as a
strong term of disapprobation; as when he abruptly answered Mrs.
Thrale, who had asked him how he did, 'Ready to become a scoundrel,
Madam; with a little more spoiling you will, I think, make me a
complete rascal:' he meant, easy to become a capricious and self-
indulgent valetudinarian; a character for which I have heard him
express great disgust.  We lay this night at Loughborough.

On Thursday, March 28, we pursued our journey.  He said, 'It is
commonly a weak man who marries for love.'  We then talked of
marrying women of fortune; and I mentioned a common remark, that a
man may be, upon the whole, richer by marrying a woman with a very
small portion, because a woman of fortune will be proportionally
expensive; whereas a woman who brings none will be very moderate in
expenses.  JOHNSON.  'Depend upon it, Sir, this is not true.  A
woman of fortune being used to the handling of money, spends it
judiciously: but a woman who gets the command of money for the
first time upon her marriage, has such a gust in spending it, that
she throws it away with great profusion.'

He praised the ladies of the present age, insisting that they were
more faithful to their husbands, and more virtuous in every
respect, than in former times, because their understandings were
better cultivated.

At Leicester we read in the news-paper that Dr. James was dead.  I
thought that the death of an old school-fellow, and one with whom
he had lived a good deal in London, would have affected my fellow-
traveller much: but he only said, Ah! poor Jamy.'  Afterwards,
however, when we were in the chaise, he said, with more tenderness,
'Since I set out on this jaunt, I have lost an old friend and a
young one;--Dr. James, and poor Harry.'  (Meaning Mr. Thrale's
son.)

I enjoyed the luxury of our approach to London, that metropolis
which we both loved so much, for the high and varied intellectual
pleasure which it furnishes.  I experienced immediate happiness
while whirled along with such a companion, and said to him, 'Sir,
you observed one day at General Oglethorpe's, that a man is never
happy for the present, but when he is drunk.  Will you not add,--or
when driving rapidly in a post-chaise?'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, you
are driving rapidly FROM something, or TO something.'

Talking of melancholy, he said, 'Some men, and very thinking men
too, have not those vexing thoughts.  Sir Joshua Reynolds is the
same all the year round.  Beauclerk, except when ill and in pain,
is the same.  But I believe most men have them in the degree in
which they are capable of having them.  If I were in the country,
and were distressed by that malady, I would force myself to take a
book; and every time I did it I should find it the easier.
Melancholy, indeed, should be diverted by every means but
drinking.'

We stopped at Messieurs Dillys, booksellers in the Poultry; from
whence he hurried away, in a hackney coach, to Mr. Thrale's, in the
Borough.  I called at his house in the evening, having promised to
acquaint Mrs. Williams of his safe return; when, to my surprize, I
found him sitting with her at tea, and, as I thought, not in a very
good humour: for, it seems, when he had got to Mr. Thrale's, he
found the coach was at the door waiting to carry Mrs. and Miss
Thrale, and Signor Baretti, their Italian master, to Bath.  This
was not shewing the attention which might have been expected to the
'Guide, Philosopher, and Friend,' the Imlac who had hastened from
the country to console a distressed mother, who he understood was
very anxious for his return.  They had, I found, without ceremony,
proceeded on their intended journey.  I was glad to understand from
him that it was still resolved that his tour to Italy with Mr. and
Mrs. Thrale should take place, of which he had entertained some
doubt, on account of the loss which they had suffered; and his
doubts afterwards proved to be well-founded.  He observed, indeed
very justly, that 'their loss was an additional reason for their
going abroad; and if it had not been fixed that he should have been
one of the party, he would force them out; but he would not advise
them unless his advice was asked, lest they might suspect that he
recommended what he wished on his own account.'  I was not pleased
that his intimacy with Mr. Thrale's family, though it no doubt
contributed much to his comfort and enjoyment, was not without some
degree of restraint: not, as has been grossly suggested, that it
was required of him as a task to talk for the entertainment of them
and their company; but that he was not quite at his ease; which,
however, might partly be owing to his own honest pride--that
dignity of mind which is always jealous of appearing too compliant.

On Sunday, March 31, I called on him, and shewed him as a curiosity
which I had discovered, his Translation of Lobo's Account of
Abyssinia, which Sir John Pringle had lent me, it being then little
known as one of his works.  He said, 'Take no notice of it,' or
'don't talk of it.'  He seemed to think it beneath him, though done
at six-and-twenty.  I said to him, 'Your style, Sir, is much
improved since you translated this.'  He answered with a sort of
triumphant smile, 'Sir, I hope it is.'

On Wednesday, April 3, in the morning I found him very busy putting
his books in order, and as they were generally very old ones,
clouds of dust were flying around him.  He had on a pair of large
gloves such as hedgers use.  His present appearance put me in mind
of my uncle, Dr. Boswell's description of him, 'A robust genius,
born to grapple with whole libraries.'

He had been in company with Omai, a native of one of the South Sea
Islands, after he had been some time in this country.  He was
struck with the elegance of his behaviour, and accounted for it
thus: 'Sir, he had passed his time, while in England, only in the
best company; so that all that he had acquired of our manners was
genteel.  As a proof of this, Sir, Lord Mulgrave and he dined one
day at Streatham; they sat with their backs to the light fronting
me, so that I could not see distinctly; and there was so little of
the savage in Omai, that I was afraid to speak to either, lest I
should mistake one for the other.'

We agreed to dine to-day at the Mitre-tavern after the rising of
the House of Lords, where a branch of the litigation concerning the
Douglas Estate, in which I was one of the counsel, was to come on.

I introduced the topick, which is often ignorantly urged, that the
Universities of England are too rich; so that learning does not
flourish in them as it would do, if those who teach had smaller
salaries, and depended on their assiduity for a great part of their
income.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, the very reverse of this is the truth; the
English Universities are not rich enough.  Our fellowships are only
sufficient to support a man during his studies to fit him for the
world, and accordingly in general they are held no longer than till
an opportunity offers of getting away.  Now and then, perhaps,
there is a fellow who grows old in his college; but this is against
his will, unless he be a man very indolent indeed.  A hundred a
year is reckoned a good fellowship, and that is no more than is
necessary to keep a man decently as a scholar.  We do not allow our
fellows to marry, because we consider academical institutions as
preparatory to a settlement in the world.  It is only by being
employed as a tutor, that a fellow can obtain any thing more than a
livelihood.  To be sure a man, who has enough without teaching,
will probably not teach; for we would all be idle if we could.  In
the same manner, a man who is to get nothing by teaching, will not
exert himself.  Gresham College was intended as a place of
instruction for London; able professors were to read lectures
gratis, they contrived to have no scholars; whereas, if they had
been allowed to receive but sixpence a lecture from each scholar,
they would have been emulous to have had many scholars.  Every body
will agree that it should be the interest of those who teach to
have scholars and this is the case in our Universities.  That they
are too rich is certainly not true; for they have nothing good
enough to keep a man of eminent learning with them for his life.
In the foreign Universities a professorship is a high thing.  It is
as much almost as a man can make by his learning; and therefore we
find the most learned men abroad are in the Universities.  It is
not so with us.  Our Universities are impoverished of learning, by
the penury of their provisions.  I wish there were many places of a
thousand a-year at Oxford, to keep first-rate men of learning from
quitting the University.'

I mentioned Mr. Maclaurin's uneasiness on account of a degree of
ridicule carelessly thrown on his deceased father, in Goldsmith's
History of Animated Nature, in which that celebrated mathematician
is represented as being subject to fits of yawning so violent as to
render him incapable of proceeding in his lecture; a story
altogether unfounded, but for the publication of which the law
would give no reparation.  This led us to agitate the question,
whether legal redress could be obtained, even when a man's deceased
relation was calumniated in a publication.

On Friday, April 5, being Good Friday, after having attended the
morning service at St. Clement's Church, I walked home with
Johnson.  We talked of the Roman Catholick religion.  JOHNSON.  'In
the barbarous ages, Sir, priests and people were equally deceived;
but afterwards there were gross corruptions introduced by the
clergy, such as indulgencies to priests to have concubines, and the
worship of images, not, indeed, inculcated, but knowingly
permitted.'  He strongly censured the licensed stews at Rome.
BOSWELL.  'So then, Sir, you would allow of no irregular
intercourse whatever between the sexes?'  JOHNSON.  'To be sure I
would not, Sir.  I would punish it much more than it is done, and
so restrain it.  In all countries there has been fornication, as in
all countries there has been theft; but there may be more or less
of the one, as well as of the other, in proportion to the force of
law.  All men will naturally commit fornication, as all men will
naturally steal.  And, Sir, it is very absurd to argue, as has been
often done, that prostitutes are necessary to prevent the violent
effects of appetite from violating the decent order of life; nay,
should be permitted, in order to preserve the chastity of our wives
and daughters.  Depend upon it, Sir, severe laws, steadily
enforced, would be sufficient against those evils, and would
promote marriage.'

Mr. Thrale called upon him, and appeared to bear the loss of his
son with a manly composure.  There was no affectation about him;
and he talked, as usual, upon indifferent subjects.  He seemed to
me to hesitate as to the intended Italian tour, on which, I
flattered myself, he and Mrs. Thrale and Dr. Johnson were soon to
set out; and, therefore, I pressed it as much as I could.  I
mentioned, that Mr. Beauclerk had said, that Baretti, whom they
were to carry with them, would keep them so long in the little
towns of his own district, that they would not have time to see
Rome.  I mentioned this, to put them on their guard.  JOHNSON.
'Sir, we do not thank Mr. Beauclerk for supposing that we are to be
directed by Baretti.  No, Sir; Mr. Thrale is to go, by my advice,
to Mr. Jackson, (the all-knowing) and get from him a plan for
seeing the most that can be seen in the time that we have to
travel.  We must, to be sure, see Rome, Naples, Florence, and
Venice, and as much more as we can.'  (Speaking with a tone of
animation.)

When I expressed an earnest wish for his remarks on Italy, he said,
'I do not see that I could make a book upon Italy; yet I should be
glad to get two hundred pounds, or five hundred pounds, by such a
work.'  This shewed both that a journal of his Tour upon the
Continent was not wholly out of his contemplation, and that he
uniformly adhered to that strange opinion, which his indolent
disposition made him utter: 'No man but a blockhead ever wrote,
except for money.'  Numerous instances to refute this will occur to
all who are versed in the history of literature.

He gave us one of the many sketches of character which were
treasured in his mind, and which he was wont to produce quite
unexpectedly in a very entertaining manner.  'I lately, (said he,)
received a letter from the East Indies, from a gentleman whom I
formerly knew very well; he had returned from that country with a
handsome fortune, as it was reckoned, before means were found to
acquire those immense sums which have been brought from thence of
late; he was a scholar, and an agreeable man, and lived very
prettily in London, till his wife died.  After her death, he took
to dissipation and gaming, and lost all he had.  One evening he
lost a thousand pounds to a gentleman whose name I am sorry I have
forgotten.  Next morning he sent the gentleman five hundred pounds,
with an apology that it was all he had in the world.  The gentleman
sent the money back to him, declaring he would not accept of it;
and adding, that if Mr. ------ had occasion for five hundred pounds
more, he would lend it to him.  He resolved to go out again to the
East Indies, and make his fortune anew.  He got a considerable
appointment, and I had some intention of accompanying him.  Had I
thought then as I do now, I should have gone: but, at that time, I
had objections to quitting England.'

It was a very remarkable circumstance about Johnson, whom shallow
observers have supposed to have been ignorant of the world, that
very few men had seen greater variety of characters; and none could
observe them better, as was evident from the strong, yet nice
portraits which he often drew.  I have frequently thought that if
he had made out what the French call une catalogue raisonnee of all
the people who had passed under his observation, it would have
afforded a very rich fund of instruction and entertainment.  The
suddenness with which his accounts of some of them started out in
conversation, was not less pleasing than surprizing.  I remember he
once observed to me, 'It is wonderful, Sir, what is to be found in
London.  The most literary conversation that I ever enjoyed, was at
the table of Jack Ellis, a money-scrivener behind the Royal
Exchange, with whom I at one period used to dine generally once a
week.'

Volumes would be required to contain a list of his numerous and
various acquaintance, none of whom he ever forgot; and could
describe and discriminate them all with precision and vivacity.  He
associated with persons the most widely different in manners,
abilities, rank, and accomplishments.  He was at once the companion
of the brilliant Colonel Forrester of the Guards, who wrote The
Polite Philosopher, and of the aukward and uncouth Robert Levet; of
Lord Thurlow, and Mr. Sastres, the Italian master; and has dined
one day with the beautiful, gay, and fascinating Lady Craven, and
the next with good Mrs. Gardiner, the tallow-chandler, on Snow-
hill.

On my expressing my wonder at his discovering so much of the
knowledge peculiar to different professions, he to]d me, 'I learnt
what I know of law, chiefly from Mr. Ballow, a very able man.  I
learnt some, too, from Chambers; but was not so teachable then.
One is not willing to be taught by a young man.'  When I expressed
a wish to know more about Mr. Ballow, Johnson said, 'Sir, I have
seen him but once these twenty years.  The tide of life has driven
us different ways.'  I was sorry at the time to hear this; but
whoever quits the creeks of private connections, and fairly gets
into the great ocean of London, will, by imperceptible degrees,
unavoidably experience such cessations of acquaintance.

'My knowledge of physick, (he added,) I learnt from Dr. James, whom
I helped in writing the proposals for his Dictionary and also a
little in the Dictionary itself.  I also learnt from Dr. Lawrence,
but was then grown more stubborn.'

A curious incident happened to-day, while Mr. Thrale and I sat with
him.  Francis announced that a large packet was brought to him from
the post-office, said to have come from Lisbon, and it was charged
SEVEN POUNDS TEN SHILLINGS.  He would not receive it, supposing it
to be some trick, nor did he even look at it.  But upon enquiry
afterwards he found that it was a real packet for him, from that
very friend in the East Indies of whom he had been speaking; and
the ship which carried it having come to Portugal, this packet,
with others, had been put into the post-office at Lisbon.

I mentioned a new gaming-club, of which Mr. Beauclerk had given me
an account, where the members played to a desperate extent.
JOHNSON.  'Depend upon it, Sir, this is mere talk.  WHO is ruined
by gaming?  You will not find six instances in an age.  There is a
strange rout made about deep play: whereas you have many more
people ruined by adventurous trade, and yet we do not hear such an
outcry against it.'  THRALE.  'There may be few people absolutely
ruined by deep play; but very many are much hurt in their
circumstances by it.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, and so are very many by
other kinds of expence.'  I had heard him talk once before in the
same manner; and at Oxford he said, 'he wished he had learnt to
play at cards.'  The truth, however, is, that he loved to display
his ingenuity in argument; and therefore would sometimes in
conversation maintain opinions which he was sensible were wrong,
but in supporting which, his reasoning and wit would be most
conspicuous.  He would begin thus: 'Why, Sir, as to the good or
evil of card-playing--'  'Now, (said Garrick,) he is thinking which
side he shall take.'  He appeared to have a pleasure in
contradiction, especially when any opinion whatever was delivered
with an air of confidence; so that there was hardly any topick, if
not one of the great truths of Religion and Morality, that he might
not have been incited to argue, either for or against.  Lord
Elibank had the highest admiration of his powers.  He once observed
to me, 'Whatever opinion Johnson maintains, I will not say that he
convinces me; but he never fails to shew me, that he has good
reasons for it.'  I have heard Johnson pay his Lordship this high
compliment: 'I never was in Lord Elibank's company without learning
something.'

We sat together till it was too late for the afternoon service.
Thrale said he had come with intention to go to church with us.  We
went at seven to evening prayers at St. Clement's church, after
having drank coffee; an indulgence, which I understood Johnson
yielded to on this occasion, in compliment to Thrale.

On Sunday, April 7, Easter-day, after having been at St. Paul's
Cathedral, I came to Dr. Johnson, according to my usual custom.  It
seemed to me, that there was always something peculiarly mild and
placid in his manner upon this holy festival, the commemoration of
the most joyful event in the history of our world, the resurrection
of our LORD and SAVIOUR, who, having triumphed over death and the
grave, proclaimed immortality to mankind.

I repeated to him an argument of a lady of my acquaintance, who
maintained, that her husband's having been guilty of numberless
infidelities, released her from conjugal obligations, because they
were reciprocal.  JOHNSON.  'This is miserable stuff, Sir.  To the
contract of marriage, besides the man and wife, there is a third
party--Society; and if it be considered as a vow--GOD: and,
therefore, it cannot be dissolved by their consent alone.  Laws are
not made for particular cases, but for men in general.  A woman may
be unhappy with her husband; but she cannot be freed from him
without the approbation of the civil and ecclesiastical power.  A
man may be unhappy, because he is not so rich as another; but he is
not to seize upon another's property with his own hand.'  BOSWELL.
'But, Sir, this lady does not want that the contract should be
dissolved; she only argues that she may indulge herself in
gallantries with equal freedom as her husband does, provided she
takes care not to introduce a spurious issue into his family.  You
know, Sir, what Macrobius has told us of Julia.'  JOHNSON.  'This
lady of yours, Sir, I think, is very fit for a brothel.'

Mr. Macbean, authour of the Dictionary of ancient Geography, came
in.  He mentioned that he had been forty years absent from
Scotland.  'Ah, Boswell! (said Johnson, smiling,) what would you
give to be forty years from Scotland?'  I said, 'I should not like
to be so long absent from the seat of my ancestors.'  This
gentleman, Mrs. Williams, and Mr. Levet, dined with us.

Mrs. Williams was very peevish; and I wondered at Johnson's
patience with her now, as I had often done on similar occasions.
The truth is, that his humane consideration of the forlorn and
indigent state in which this lady was left by her father, induced
him to treat her with the utmost tenderness, and even to be
desirous of procuring her amusement, so as sometimes to incommode
many of his friends, by carrying her with him to their houses,
where, from her manner of eating, in consequence of her blindness,
she could not but offend the delicacy of persons of nice
sensations.

After coffee, we went to afternoon service in St. Clement's church.
Observing some beggars in the street as we walked along, I said to
him I supposed there was no civilized country in the world, where
the misery of want in the lowest classes of the people was
prevented.  JOHNSON.  'I believe, Sir, there is not; but it is
better that some should be unhappy, than that none should be happy,
which would be the case in a general state of equality.'

When the service was ended, I went home with him, and we sat
quietly by ourselves.

Upon the question whether a man who had been guilty of vicious
actions would do well to force himself into solitude and sadness;
JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, unless it prevent him from being vicious again.
With some people, gloomy penitence is only madness turned upside
down.  A man may be gloomy, till, in order to be relieved from
gloom, he has recourse again to criminal indulgencies.'

On Wednesday, April 10, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale's, where
were Mr. Murphy and some other company.  Before dinner, Dr. Johnson
and I passed some time by ourselves.  I was sorry to find it was
now resolved that the proposed journey to Italy should not take
place this year.  He said, 'I am disappointed, to be sure; but it
is not a great disappointment.'  I wondered to see him bear, with a
philosophical calmness, what would have made most people peevish
and fretful.  I perceived, however, that he had so warmly cherished
the hope of enjoying classical scenes, that he could not easily
part with the scheme; for he said: 'I shall probably contrive to
get to Italy some other way.  But I won't mention it to Mr. and
Mrs. Thrale, as it might vex them.'  I suggested, that going to
Italy might have done Mr. and Mrs. Thrale good.  JOHNSON.  'I
rather believe not, Sir.  While grief is fresh, every attempt to
divert only irritates.  You must wait till grief be DIGESTED, and
then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.'

I said, I disliked the custom which some people had of bringing
their children into company, because it in a manner forced us to
pay foolish compliments to please their parents.  JOHNSON.  'You
are right, Sir.  We may be excused for not caring much about other
people's children, for there are many who care very little about
their own children.  It may be observed, that men, who from being
engaged in business, or from their course of life in whatever way,
seldom see their children, do not care much about them.  I myself
should not have had much fondness for a child of my own.'  MRS.
THRALE.  'Nay, Sir, how can you talk so?'  JOHNSON.  'At least, I
never wished to have a child.'

He talked of Lord Lyttelton's extreme anxiety as an authour;
observing, that 'he was thirty years in preparing his History, and
that he employed a man to point it for him; as if (laughing)
another man could point his sense better than himself.'  Mr. Murphy
said, he understood his history was kept back several years for
fear of Smollet.  JOHNSON.  'This seems strange to Murphy and me,
who never felt that anxiety, but sent what we wrote to the press,
and let it take its chance.'  MRS. THRALE.  'The time has been,
Sir, when you felt it.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, really, Madam, I do not
recollect a time when that was the case.'

On Thursday, April 11, I dined with him at General Paoli's, in
whose house I now resided, and where I had ever afterwards the
honour of being entertained with the kindest attention as his
constant guest, while I was in London, till I had a house of my own
there.  I mentioned my having that morning introduced to Mr.
Garrick, Count Neni, a Flemish Nobleman of great rank and fortune,
to whom Garrick talked of Abel Drugger as A SMALL PART; and
related, with pleasant vanity, that a Frenchman who had seen him in
one of his low characters, exclaimed, 'Comment! je ne le crois pas.
Ce n'est pas Monsieur Garrick, ce Grand Homme!'  Garrick added,
with an appearance of grave recollection, 'If I were to begin life
again, I think I should not play those low characters.'  Upon which
I observed, 'Sir, you would be in the wrong; for your great
excellence is your variety of playing, your representing so well,
characters so very different.'  JOHNSON.  'Garrick, Sir, was not in
earnest in what he said; for, to be sure, his peculiar excellence
is his variety; and, perhaps, there is not any one character which
has not been as well acted by somebody else, as he could do it.'
BOSWELL.  'Why then, Sir, did he talk so?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, to
make you answer as you did.'  BOSWELL.  'I don't know, Sir; he
seemed to dip deep into his mind for the reflection.'  JOHNSON.
'He had not far to dip, Sir: he said the same thing, probably,
twenty times before.'

Of a nobleman raised at a very early period to high office, he
said, 'His parts, Sir, are pretty well for a Lord; but would not be
distinguished in a man who had nothing else but his parts.'

A journey to Italy was still in his thoughts.  He said, 'A man who
has not been in Italy, is always conscious of an inferiority, from
his not having seen what it is expected a man should see.  The
grand object of travelling is to see the shores of the
Mediterranean.  On those shores were the four great Empires of the
world; the Assyrian, the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman.--All
our religion, almost all our law, almost all our arts, almost all
that sets us above savages, has come to us from the shores of the
Mediterranean.'  The General observed, that 'THE MEDITERRANEAN
would be a noble subject for a poem.'

We talked of translation.  I said, I could not define it, nor could
I think of a similitude to illustrate it; but that it appeared to
me the translation of poetry could be only imitation.  JOHNSON.
'You may translate books of science exactly.  You may also
translate history, in so far as it is not embellished with oratory,
which is poetical.  Poetry, indeed, cannot be translated; and,
therefore, it is the poets that preserve languages; for we would
not be at the trouble to learn a language, if we could have all
that is written in it just as well in a translation.  But as the
beauties of poetry cannot be preserved in any language except that
in which it was originally written, we learn the language.'

'Goldsmith (he said,) referred every thing to vanity; his virtues,
and his vices too, were from that motive.  He was not a social man.
He never exchanged mind with you.'

We spent the evening at Mr. Hoole's.  Mr. Mickle, the excellent
translator of The Lusiad, was there.  I have preserved little of
the conversation of this evening.  Dr. Johnson said, 'Thomson had a
true poetical genius, the power of viewing every thing in a
poetical light.  His fault is such a cloud of words sometimes, that
the sense can hardly peep through.  Shiels, who compiled Cibber's
Lives of the Poets, was one day sitting with me.  I took down
Thomson, and read aloud a large portion of him, and then asked,--Is
not this fine?  Shiels having expressed the highest admiration.
Well, Sir, (said I,) I have omitted every other line.'

I related a dispute between Goldsmith and Mr. Robert Dodsley, one
day when they and I were dining at Tom Davies's, in 1762.
Goldsmith asserted, that there was no poetry produced in this age.
Dodsley appealed to his own Collection, and maintained, that though
you could not find a palace like Dryden's Ode on St.  Cecilia's
Day, you had villages composed of very pretty houses; and he
mentioned particularly The Spleen.  JOHNSON.  'I think Dodsley gave
up the question.  He and Goldsmith said the same thing; only he
said it in a softer manner than Goldsmith did; for he acknowledged
that there was no poetry, nothing that towered above the common
mark.  You may find wit and humour in verse, and yet no poetry.
Hudibras has a profusion of these; yet it is not to be reckoned a
poem.  The Spleen, in Dodsley's Collection, on which you say he
chiefly rested, is not poetry.'  BOSWELL.  'Does not Gray's poetry,
Sir, tower above the common mark?'  JOHNSON.  Yes, Sir; but we must
attend to the difference between what men in general cannot do if
they would, and what every man may do if he would.  Sixteen-string
Jack* towered above the common mark.'  BOSWELL.  'Then, Sir, what
is poetry?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, it is much easier to say what it
is not.  We all KNOW what light is; but it is not easy to TELL what
it is.'


* A noted highwayman, who after having been several times tried and
acquitted, was at last hanged.  He was remarkable for foppery in
his dress, and particularly for wearing a bunch of sixteen strings
at the knees of his breeches.--BOSWELL.


On Friday, April 12, I dined with him at our friend Tom Davies's.
He reminded Dr. Johnson of Mr. Murphy's having paid him the highest
compliment that ever was paid to a layman, by asking his pardon for
repeating some oaths in the course of telling a story.

Johnson and I supt this evening at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in
company with Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Langton, Mr. Nairne, now one
of the Scotch Judges, with the title of Lord Dunsinan, and my very
worthy friend, Sir William Forbes, of Pitsligo.

We discussed the question whether drinking improved conversation
and benevolence.  Sir Joshua maintained it did.  JOHNSON.  'No,
Sir: before dinner men meet with great inequality of understanding;
and those who are conscious of their inferiority, have the modesty
not to talk.  When they have drunk wine, every man feels himself
happy, and loses that modesty, and grows impudent and vociferous:
but he is not improved; he is only not sensible of his defects.'
Sir Joshua said the Doctor was talking of the effects of excess in
wine; but that a moderate glass enlivened the mind, by giving a
proper circulation to the blood.  'I am (said he,) in very good
spirits, when I get up in the morning.  By dinner-time I am
exhausted; wine puts me in the same state as when I got up; and I
am sure that moderate drinking makes people talk better.'  JOHNSON.
'No, Sir; wine gives not light, gay, ideal hilarity; but
tumultuous, noisy, clamorous merriment.  I have heard none of those
drunken,--nay, drunken is a coarse word,--none of those VINOUS
flights.'  SIR JOSHUA.  'Because you have sat by, quite sober, and
felt an envy of the happiness of those who were drinking.'
JOHNSON.  'Perhaps, contempt.--And, Sir, it is not necessary to be
drunk one's self, to relish the wit of drunkenness.  Do we not
judge of the drunken wit, of the dialogue between Iago and Cassio,
the most excellent in its kind, when we are quite sober?  Wit is
wit, by whatever means it is produced; and, if good, will appear so
at all times.  I admit that the spirits are raised by drinking, as
by the common participation of any pleasure: cock-fighting, or
bear-baiting, will raise the spirits of a company, as drinking
does, though surely they will not improve conversation.  I also
admit, that there are some sluggish men who are improved by
drinking; as there are fruits which are not good till they are
rotten.  There are such men, but they are medlars.  I indeed allow
that there have been a very few men of talents who were improved by
drinking; but I maintain that I am right as to the effects of
drinking in general: and let it be considered, that there is no
position, however false in its universality, which is not true of
some particular man.'  Sir William Forbes said, 'Might not a man
warmed with wine be like a bottle of beer, which is made brisker by
being set before the fire?'--'Nay, (said Johnson, laughing,) I
cannot answer that: that is too much for me.'

I observed, that wine did some people harm, by inflaming,
confusing, and irritating their minds; but that the experience of
mankind had declared in favour of moderate drinking.  JOHNSON.
'Sir, I do not say it is wrong to produce self complacency by
drinking; I only deny that it improves the mind.  When I drank
wine, I scorned to drink it when in company.  I have drunk many a
bottle by myself; in the first place, because I had need of it to
raise my spirits; in the second place, because I would have nobody
to witness its effects upon me.'

He told us, 'almost all his Ramblers were written just as they were
wanted for the press; that he sent a certain portion of the copy of
an essay, and wrote the remainder, while the former part of it was
printing.  When it was wanted, and he had fairly sat down to it, he
was sure it would be done.'

He said, that for general improvement, a man should read whatever
his immediate inclination prompts him to; though, to be sure, if a
man has a science to learn, he must regularly and resolutely
advance.  He added, 'what we read with inclination makes a much
stronger impression.  If we read without inclination, half the mind
is employed in fixing the attention; so there is but one half to be
employed on what we read.'  He told us, he read Fielding's Amelia
through without stopping.  He said, 'if a man begins to read in the
middle of a book, and feels an inclination to go on, let him not
quit it, to go to the beginning.  He may perhaps not feel again the
inclination.'

Soon after this day, he went to Bath with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale.  I
had never seen that beautiful city, and wished to take the
opportunity of visiting it, while Johnson was there.

On the 26th of April, I went to Bath; and on my arrival at the
Pelican inn, found lying for me an obliging invitation from Mr. and
Mrs. Thrale, by whom I was agreeably entertained almost constantly
during my stay.  They were gone to the rooms; but there was a kind
note from Dr. Johnson, that he should sit at home all the evening.
I went to him directly, and before Mr. and Mrs. Thrale returned, we
had by ourselves some hours of tea-drinking and talk.

I shall group together such of his sayings as I preserved during
the few days that I was at Bath.

It having been mentioned, I know not with what truth, that a
certain female political writer, whose doctrines he disliked, had
of late become very fond of dress, sat hours together at her
toilet, and even put on rouge:--JohnsoN.  'She is better employed
at her toilet, than using her pen.  It is better she should be
reddening her own cheeks, than blackening other people's
characters.'

He would not allow me to praise a lady then at Bath; observing,
'She does not gain upon me, Sir; I think her empty-headed.'  He
was, indeed, a stern critick upon characters and manners.  Even
Mrs. Thrale did not escape his friendly animadversion at times.
When he and I were one day endeavouring to ascertain, article by
article, how one of our friends could possibly spend as much money
in his family as he told us he did, she interrupted us by a lively
extravagant sally, on the expence of clothing his children,
describing it in a very ludicrous and fanciful manner.  Johnson
looked a little angry, and said, 'Nay, Madam, when you are
declaiming, declaim; and when you are calculating, calculate.'  At
another time, when she said, perhaps affectedly, 'I don't like to
fly.'  JOHNSON.  'With YOUR wings, Madam, you MUST fly: but have a
care, there are CLIPPERS abroad.'

On Monday, April 29, he and I made an excursion to Bristol, where I
was entertained with seeing him enquire upon the spot, into the
authenticity of 'Rowley's Poetry,' as I had seen him enquire upon
the spot into the authenticity of 'Ossian's Poetry.'  George
Catcot, the pewterer, who was as zealous for Rowley, as Dr. Hugh
Blair was for Ossian, (I trust my Reverend friend will excuse the
comparison,) attended us at our inn, and with a triumphant air of
lively simplicity called out, 'I'll make Dr. Johnson a convert.'
Dr. Johnson, at his desire, read aloud some of Chatterton's
fabricated verses, while Catcot stood at the back of his chair, ,
moving himself like a pendulum, and beating time with his feet, and
now and then looking into Dr. Johnson's face, wondering that he was
not yet convinced.  We called on Mr. Barret, the surgeon, and saw
some of the ORIGINALS as they were called, which were executed very
artificially; but from a careful inspection of them, and a
consideration of the circumstances with which they were attended,
we were quite satisfied of the imposture, which, indeed, has been
clearly demonstrated from internal evidence, by several able
criticks.

Honest Catcot seemed to pay no attention whatever to any
objections, but insisted, as an end of all controversy, that we
should go with him to the tower of the church of St. Mary,
Redcliff, and VIEW WITH OUR OWN EYES the ancient chest in which the
manuscripts were found.  To this, Dr. Johnson good-naturedly
agreed; and though troubled with a shortness of breathing, laboured
up a long flight of steps, till we came to the place where the
wonderous chest stood.  'THERE, (said Cateot, with a bouncing
confident credulity,) THERE is the very chest itself.'  After this
OCULAR DEMONSTRATION, there was no more to be said.  He brought to
my recollection a Scotch Highlander, a man of learning too, and who
had seen the world, attesting, and at the same time giving his
reasons for the authenticity of Fingal:--'I have heard all that
poem when I was young.'--'Have you, Sir?  Pray what have you
heard?'--'I have heard Ossian, Oscar, and EVERY ONE OF THEM.'

Johnson said of Chatterton, 'This is the most extraordinary young
man that has encountered my knowledge.  It is wonderful how the
whelp has written such things.'

We were by no means pleased with our inn at Bristol.  'Let us see
now, (said I,) how we should describe it.'  Johnson was ready with
his raillery.  'Describe it, Sir?--Why, it was so bad that Boswell
wished to be in Scotland!'

After Dr. Johnson's return to London, I was several times with him
at his house, where I occasionally slept, in the room that had been
assigned to me.  I dined with him at Dr. Taylor's, at General
Oglethorpe's, and at General Paoli's.  To avoid a tedious
minuteness, I shall group together what I have preserved of his
conversation during this period also, without specifying each scene
where it passed, except one, which will be found so remarkable as
certainly to deserve a very particular relation.

'Garrick (he observed,) does not play the part of Archer in The
Beaux Stratagem well.  The gentleman should break out through the
footman, which is not the case as he does it.'

'That man is never happy for the present is so true, that all his
relief from unhappiness is only forgetting himself for a little
while.  Life is a progress from want to want, not from enjoyment to
enjoyment.'

'Lord Chesterfield's Letters to his Son, I think, might be made a
very pretty book.  Take out the immorality, and it should be put
into the hands of every young gentleman.  An elegant manner and
easiness of behaviour are acquired gradually and imperceptibly.  No
man can say "I'll be genteel."  There are ten genteel women for one
genteel man, because they are more restrained.  A man without some
degree of restraint is insufferable; but we are all less restrained
than women.  Were a woman sitting in company to put out her legs
before her as most men do, we should be tempted to kick them in.'

No man was a more attentive and nice observer of behaviour in those
in whose company he happened to be, than Johnson; or, however
strange it may seem to many, had a higher estimation of its
refinements.  Lord Eliot informs me, that one day when Johnson and
he were at dinner at a gentleman's house in London, upon Lord
Chesterfield's Letters being mentioned, Johnson surprized the
company by this sentence: 'Every man of any education would rather
be called a rascal, than accused of deficiency in THE GRACES.'  Mr.
Gibbon, who was present, turned to a lady who knew Johnson well,
and lived much with him, and in his quaint manner, tapping his box,
addressed her thus: 'Don't you think, Madam, (looking towards
Johnson,) that among ALL your acquaintance, you could find ONE
exception?'  The lady smiled, and seemed to acquiesce.

The uncommon vivacity of General Oglethorpe's mind, and variety of
knowledge, having sometimes made his conversation seem too
desultory, Johnson observed, 'Oglethorpe, Sir, never COMPLETES what
he has to say.'

He on the same account made a similar remark on Patrick Lord
Elibank: 'Sir, there is nothing CONCLUSIVE in his talk.'

When I complained of having dined at a splendid table without
hearing one sentence of conversation worthy of being remembered, he
said, 'Sir, there seldom is any such conversation.'  BOSWELL.  'Why
then meet at table?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, to eat and drink together,
and to promote kindness; and, Sir, this is better done when there
is no solid conversation; for when there is, people differ in
opinion, and get into bad humour, or some of the company who are
not capable of such conversation, are left out, and feel themselves
uneasy.  It was for this reason, Sir Robert Walpole said, he always
talked bawdy at his table, because in that all could join.'

Being irritated by hearing a gentleman* ask Mr. Levett a variety of
questions concerning him, when he was sitting by, he broke out,
'Sir, you have but two topicks, yourself and me.  I am sick of
both.'  'A man, (said he,) should not talk of himself, nor much of
any particular person.  He should take care not to be made a
proverb; and, therefore, should avoid having any one topick of
which people can say, "We shall hear him upon it."  There was a Dr.
Oldfield, who was always talking of the Duke of Marlborough.  He
came into a coffee-house one day, and told that his Grace had
spoken in the House of Lords for half an hour.  "Did he indeed
speak for half an hour?" (said Belehier, the surgeon,)--"Yes."--
"And what did he say of Dr. Oldfield?"--"Nothing"--"Why then, Sir,
he was very ungrateful; for Dr. Oldfield could not have spoken for
a quarter of an hour, without saying something of him."'


* Most likely Boswell himself.--HILL.


I am now to record a very curious incident in Dr. Johnson's Life,
which fell under my own observation; of which pars magna fui, and
which I am persuaded will, with the liberal-minded, be much to his
credit.

My desire of being acquainted with celebrated men of every
description, had made me, much about the same time, obtain an
introduction to Dr. Samuel Johnson and to John Wilkes, Esq.  Two
men more different could perhaps not be selected out of all
mankind.  They had even attacked one another with some asperity in
their writings; yet I lived in habits of friendship with both.  I
could fully relish the excellence of each; for I have ever
delighted in that intellectual chymistry, which can separate good
qualities from evil in the same person.

Sir John Pringle, 'mine own friend and my Father's friend,' between
whom and Dr. Johnson I in vain wished to establish an acquaintance,
as I respected and lived in intimacy with both of them, observed to
me once, very ingeniously, 'It is not in friendship as in
mathematicks, where two things, each equal to a third, are equal
between themselves.  You agree with Johnson as a middle quality,
and you agree with me as a middle quality; but Johnson and I should
not agree.'  Sir John was not sufficiently flexible; so I desisted;
knowing, indeed, that the repulsion was equally strong on the part
of Johnson; who, I know not from what cause, unless his being a
Scotchman, had formed a very erroneous opinion of Sir John.  But I
conceived an irresistible wish, if possible, to bring Dr. Johnson
and Mr. Wilkes together.  How to manage it, was a nice and
difficult matter.

My worthy booksellers and friends, Messieurs Dilly in the Poultry,
at whose hospitable and well-covered table I have seen a greater
number of literary men, than at any other, except that of Sir
Joshua Reynolds, had invited me to meet Mr. Wilkes and some more
gentlemen on Wednesday, May 15.  'Pray (said I,) let us have Dr.
Johnson.'--'What with Mr. Wilkes? not for the world, (said Mr.
Edward Dilly:) Dr. Johnson would never forgive me.'--'Come, (said
I,) if you'll let me negotiate for you, I will be answerable that
all shall go well.'  DILLY.  'Nay, if you will take it upon you, I
am sure I shall be very happy to see them both here.'

Notwithstanding the high veneration which I entertained for Dr.
Johnson, I was sensible that he was sometimes a little actuated by
the spirit of contradiction, and by means of that I hoped I should
gain my point.  I was persuaded that if I had come upon him with a
direct proposal, 'Sir, will you dine in company with Jack Wilkes?'
he would have flown into a passion, and would probably have
answered, 'Dine with Jack Wilkes, Sir!  I'd as soon dine with Jack
Ketch.'  I therefore, while we were sitting quietly by ourselves at
his house in an evening, took occasion to open my plan thus:--'Mr.
Dilly, Sir, sends his respectful compliments to you, and would be
happy if you would do him the honour to dine with him on Wednesday
next along with me, as I must soon go to Scotland.'  JOHNSON.
'Sir, I am obliged to Mr. Dilly.  I will wait upon him--'  BOSWELL.
'Provided, Sir, I suppose, that the company which he is to have, is
agreeable to you.'  JOHNSON.  'What do you mean, Sir?  What do you
take me for?  Do you think I am so ignorant of the world as to
imagine that I am to prescribe to a gentleman what company he is to
have at his table?'  BOSWELL.  'I beg your pardon, Sir, for wishing
to prevent you from meeting people whom you might not like.
Perhaps he may have some of what he calls his patriotick friends
with him.'  Johnson.  'Well, Sir, and what then?  What care I for
his PATRIOTICK FRIENDS?  Poh!'  BOSWELL.  'I should not be
surprized to find Jack Wilkes there.'  Johnson.  'And if Jack
Wilkes SHOULD be there, what is that to ME, Sir?  My dear friend,
let us have no more of this.  I am sorry to be angry with you; but
really it is treating me strangely to talk to me as if I could not
meet any company whatever, occasionally.'  BOSWELL.  'Pray forgive
me, Sir: I meant well.  But you shall meet whoever comes, for me.'
Thus I secured him, and told Dilly that he would find him very well
pleased to be one of his guests on the day appointed.

Upon the much-expected Wednesday, I called on him about half an
hour before dinner, as I often did when we were to dine out
together, to see that he was ready in time, and to accompany him.
I found him buffeting his books, as upon a former occasion, covered
with dust, and making no preparation for going abroad.  'How is
this, Sir? (said I.)  Don't you recollect that you are to dine at
Mr. Dilly's?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I did not think of going to Dilly's:
it went out of my head.  I have ordered dinner at home with Mrs.
Williams.'  BOSWELL.  'But, my dear Sir, you know you were engaged
to Mr. Dilly, and I told him so.  He will expect you, and will be
much disappointed if you don't come.'  JOHNSON.  'You must talk to
Mrs. Williams about this.'

Here was a sad dilemma.  I feared that what I was so confident I
had secured would yet be frustrated.  He had accustomed himself to
shew Mrs. Williams such a degree of humane attention, as frequently
imposed some restraint upon him; and I knew that if she should be
obstinate, he would not stir.  I hastened down stairs to the blind
lady's room, and told her I was in great uneasiness, for Dr.
Johnson had engaged to me to dine this day at Mr. Dilly's, but that
he had told me he had forgotten his engagement, and had ordered
dinner at home.  'Yes, Sir, (said she, pretty peevishly,) Dr.
Johnson is to dine at home.'--'Madam, (said I,) his respect for you
is such, that I know he will not leave you unless you absolutely
desire it.  But as you have so much of his company, I hope you will
be good enough to forego it for a day; as Mr. Dilly is a very
worthy man, has frequently had agreeable parties at his house for
Dr. Johnson, and will be vexed if the Doctor neglects him to-day.
And then, Madam, be pleased to consider my situation; I carried the
message, and I assured Mr. Dilly that Dr. Johnson was to come, and
no doubt he has made a dinner, and invited a company, and boasted
of the honour he expected to have.  I shall be quite disgraced if
the Doctor is not there.'  She gradually softened to my
solicitations, which were certainly as earnest as most entreaties
to ladies upon any occasion, and was graciously pleased to empower
me to tell Dr. Johnson, 'That all things considered, she thought he
should certainly go.'  I flew back to him, still in dust, and
careless of what should be the event, 'indifferent in his choice to
go or stay;' but as soon as I had announced to him Mrs. Williams'
consent, he roared, 'Frank, a clean shirt,' and was very soon
drest.  When I had him fairly seated in a hackney-coach with me, I
exulted as much as a fortune-hunter who has got an heiress into a
post-chaise with him to set out for Gretna-Green.

When we entered Mr. Dilly's drawing room, he found himself in the
midst of a company he did not know.  I kept myself snug and silent,
watching how he would conduct himself.  I observed him whispering
to Mr. Dilly, 'Who is that gentleman, Sir?'--'Mr. Arthur Lee.'--
JOHNSON.  'Too, too, too,' (under his breath,) which was one of his
habitual mutterings.  Mr. Arthur Lee could not but be very
obnoxious to Johnson, for he was not only a PATRIOT but an
AMERICAN.  He was afterwards minister from the United States at the
court of Madrid.  'And who is the gentleman in lace?'--'Mr. Wilkes,
Sir.'  This information confounded him still more; he had some
difficulty to restrain himself, and taking up a book, sat down upon
a window-seat and read, or at least kept his eye upon it intently
for some time, till he composed himself.  His feelings, I dare say,
were aukward enough.  But he no doubt recollected his having rated
me for supposing that he could be at all disconcerted by any
company, and he, therefore, resolutely set himself to behave quite
as an easy man of the world, who could adapt himself at once to the
disposition and manners of those whom he might chance to meet.

The cheering sound of 'Dinner is upon the table,' dissolved his
reverie, and we ALL sat down without any symptom of ill humour.
There were present, beside Mr. Wilkes, and Mr. Arthur Lee, who was
an old companion of mine when he studied physick at Edinburgh, Mr.
(now Sir John) Miller, Dr. Lettsom, and Mr. Slater the druggist.
Mr. Wilkes placed himself next to Dr. Johnson, and behaved to him
with so much attention and politeness, that he gained upon him
insensibly.  No man eat more heartily than Johnson, or loved better
what was nice and delicate.  Mr. Wilkes was very assiduous in
helping him to some fine veal.  'Pray give me leave, Sir:--It is
better here--A little of the brown--Some fat, Sir--A little of the
stuffing--Some gravy--Let me have the pleasure of giving you some
butter--Allow me to recommend a squeeze of this orange;--or the
lemon, perhaps, may have more zest.'--'Sir, Sir, I am obliged to
you, Sir,' cried Johnson, bowing, and turning his head to him with
a look for some time of 'surly virtue,' but, in a short while, of
complacency.

Foote being mentioned, Johnson said, 'He is not a good mimick.'
One of the company added, 'A merry Andrew, a buffoon.'  JOHNSON.
'But he has wit too, and is not deficient in ideas, or in fertility
and variety of imagery, and not empty of reading; he has knowledge
enough to fill up his part.  One species of wit he has in an
eminent degree, that of escape.  You drive him into a corner with
both hands; but he's gone, Sir, when you think you have got him--
like an animal that jumps over your head.  Then he has a great
range for wit; he never lets truth stand between him and a jest,
and he is sometimes mighty coarse.  Garrick is under many
restraints from which Foote is free.'  WILKES.  'Garrick's wit is
more like Lord Chesterfield's.'  JOHNSON.  'The first time I was in
company with Foote was at Fitzherbert's.  Having no good opinion of
the fellow, I was resolved not to be pleased; and it is very
difficult to please a man against his will.  I went on eating my
dinner pretty sullenly, affecting not to mind him.  But the dog was
so very comical, that I was obliged to lay down my knife and fork,
throw myself back upon my chair, and fairly laugh it out.  No, Sir,
he was irresistible.  He upon one occasion experienced, in an
extraordinary degree, the efficacy of his powers of entertaining.
Amongst the many and various modes which he tried of getting money,
he became a partner with a small-beer brewer, and he was to have a
share of the profits for procuring customers amongst his numerous
acquaintance.  Fitzherbert was one who took his small-beer; but it
was so bad that the servants resolved not to drink it.  They were
at some loss how to notify their resolution, being afraid of
offending their master, who they knew liked Foote much as a
companion.  At last they fixed upon a little black boy, who was
rather a favourite, to be their deputy, and deliver their
remonstrance; and having invested him with the whole authority of
the kitchen, he was to inform Mr. Fitzherbert, in all their names,
upon a certain day, that they would drink Foote's small-beer no
longer.  On that day Foote happened to dine at Fitzherbert's, and
this boy served at table; he was so delighted with Foote's stories,
and merriment, and grimace, that when he went down stairs, he told
them, "This is the finest man I have ever seen.  I will not deliver
your message.  I will drink his small-beer."'

Somebody observed that Garrick could not have done this.  WILKES.
'Garrick would have made the small-beer still smaller.  He is now
leaving the stage; but he will play Scrub all his life.'  I knew
that Johnson would let nobody attack Garrick but himself, as
Garrick once said to me, and I had heard him praise his liberality;
so to bring out his commendation of his celebrated pupil, I said,
loudly, 'I have heard Garrick is liberal.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, I
know that Garrick has given away more money than any man in England
that I am acquainted with, and that not from ostentatious views.
Garrick was very poor when he began life; so when he came to have
money, he probably was very unskilful in giving away, and saved
when he should not.  But Garrick began to be liberal as soon as he
could; and I am of opinion, the reputation of avarice which he has
had, has been very lucky for him, and prevented his having many
enemies.  You despise a man for avarice, but do not hate him.
Garrick might have been much better attacked for living with more
splendour than is suitable to a player: if they had had the wit to
have assaulted him in that quarter, they might have galled him
more.  But they have kept clamouring about his avarice, which has
rescued him from much obloquy and envy.'

Talking of the great difficulty of obtaining authentick information
for biography, Johnson told us, 'When I was a young fellow I wanted
to write the Life of Dryden, and in order to get materials, I
applied to the only two persons then alive who had seen him; these
were old Swinney, and old Cibber.  Swinney's information was no
more than this, "That at Will's coffee-house Dryden had a
particular chair for himself, which was set by the fire in winter,
and was then called his winter-chair; and that it was carried out
for him to the balcony in summer, and was then called his summer-
chair."  Cibber could tell no more but "That he remembered him a
decent old man, arbiter of critical disputes at Will's."  You are
to consider that Cibber was then at a great distance from Dryden,
had perhaps one leg only in the room, and durst not draw in the
other.'  BOSWELL.  'Yet Cibber was a man of observation?'  JOHNSON.
'I think not.'  BOSWELL.  'You will allow his Apology to be well
done.'  JOHNSON.  'Very well done, to be sure, Sir.  That book is a
striking proof of the justice of Pope's remark:


    "Each might his several province well command,
     Would all but stoop to what they understand."'


BOSWELL.  'And his plays are good.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes; but that was
his trade; l'esprit du corps: he had been all his life among
players and play-writers.  I wondered that he had so little to say
in conversation, for he had kept the best company, and learnt all
that can be got by the ear.  He abused Pindar to me, and then
shewed me an Ode of his own, with an absurd couplet, making a
linnet soar on an eagle's wing.  I told him that when the ancients
made a simile, they always made it like something real.'

Mr. Wilkes remarked, that 'among all the bold flights of
Shakspeare's imagination, the boldest was making Birnamwood march
to Dunsinane; creating a wood where there never was a shrub; a wood
in Scotland! ha! ha! ha!'  And he also observed, that 'the clannish
slavery of the Highlands of Scotland was the single exception to
Milton's remark of "The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty," being
worshipped in all hilly countries.'--'When I was at Inverary (said
he,) on a visit to my old friend, Archibald, Duke of Argyle, his
dependents congratulated me on being such a favourite of his Grace.
I said, "It is then, gentlemen, truely lucky for me; for if I had
displeased the Duke, and he had wished it, there is not a Campbell
among you but would have been ready to bring John Wilkes's head to
him in a charger.  It would have been only


    "Off with his head!  So much for Aylesbury."


I was then member for Aylesbury.'

Mr. Arthur Lee mentioned some Scotch who had taken possession of a
barren part of America, and wondered why they should choose it.
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, all barrenness is comparative.  The SCOTCH
would not know it to be barren.'  BOSWELL.  'Come, come, he is
flattering the English.  You have now been in Scotland, Sir, and
say if you did not see meat and drink enough there.'  JOHNSON.
'Why yes, Sir; meat and drink enough to give the enhabitants
sufficient strength to run away from home.'  All these quick and
lively sallies were said sportively, quite in jest, and with a
smile, which showed that he meant only wit.  Upon this topick he
and Mr. Wilkes could perfectly assimilate; here was a bond of union
between them, and I was conscious that as both of them had visited
Caledonia, both were fully satisfied of the strange narrow
ignorance of those who imagine that it is a land of famine.  But
they amused themselves with persevering in the old jokes.  When I
claimed a superiority for Scotland over England in one respect,
that no man can be arrested there for a debt merely because another
swears it against him; but there must first be the judgement of a
court of law ascertaining its justice; and that a seizure of the
person, before judgement is obtained, can take place only, if his
creditor should swear that he is about to fly from the country, or,
as it is technically expressed, is in meditatione fugoe:  WILKES.
'That, I should think, may be safely sworn of all the Scotch
nation.'  JOHNSON. (to Mr. Wilkes,) 'You must know, Sir, I lately
took my friend Boswell and shewed him genuine civilised life in an
English provincial town.  I turned him loose at Lichfield, my
native city, that he might see for once real civility: for you know
he lives among savages in Scotland, and among rakes in London.'
WILKES.  'Except when he is with grave, sober, decent people like
you and me.'  JOHNSON. (smiling,) 'And we ashamed of him.'

They were quite frank and easy.  Johnson told the story of his
asking Mrs. Macaulay to allow her footman to sit down with them, to
prove the ridiculousness of the argument for the equality of
mankind; and he said to me afterwards, with a nod of satisfaction,
'You saw Mr. Wilkes acquiesced.'  Wilkes talked with all imaginable
freedom of the ludicrous title given to the Attorney-General,
Diabolus Regis; adding, 'I have reason to know something about that
officer; for I was prosecuted for a libel.'  Johnson, who many
people would have supposed must have been furiously angry at
hearing this talked of so lightly, said not a word.  He was now,
INDEED, 'a good-humoured fellow.'

After dinner we had an accession of Mrs. Knowles, the Quaker lady,
well known for her various talents, and of Mr. Alderman Lee.
Amidst some patriotick groans, somebody (I think the Alderman)
said, 'Poor old England is lost.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, it is not so
much to be lamented that Old England is lost, as that the Scotch
have found it.'  WILKES.  'Had Lord Bute governed Scotland only, I
should not have taken the trouble to write his eulogy, and dedicate
Mortimer to him.'

Mr. Wilkes held a candle to shew a fine print of a beautiful female
figure which hung in the room, and pointed out the elegant contour
of the bosom with the finger of an arch connoisseur.  He
afterwards, in a conversation with me, waggishly insisted, that all
the time Johnson shewed visible signs of a fervent admiration of
the corresponding charms of the fair Quaker.

This record, though by no means so perfect as I could wish, will
serve to give a notion of a very curious interview, which was not
only pleasing at the time, but had the agreeable and benignant
effect of reconciling any animosity, and sweetening any acidity,
which in the various bustle of political contest, had been produced
in the minds of two men, who though widely different, had so many
things in common--classical learning, modern literature, wit, and
humour, and ready repartee--that it would have been much to be
regretted if they had been for ever at a distance from each other.

Mr. Burke gave me much credit for this successful NEGOCIATION; and
pleasantly said, that 'there was nothing to equal it in the whole
history of the Corps Diplomatique.'

I attended Dr. Johnson home, and had the satisfaction to hear him
tell Mrs. Williams how much he had been pleased with Mr. Wilkes's
company, and what an agreeable day he had passed.

I talked a good deal to him of the celebrated Margaret Caroline
Rudd, whom I had visited, induced by the fame of her talents,
address, and irresistible power of fascination.  To a lady who
disapproved of my visiting her, he said on a former occasion, 'Nay,
Madam, Boswell is in the right; I should have visited her myself,
were it not that they have now a trick of putting every thing into
the news-papers.'  This evening he exclaimed, 'I envy him his
acquaintance with Mrs. Rudd.'

On the evening of the next day I took leave of him, being to set
out for Scotland.  I thanked him with great warmth for all his
kindness.  'Sir, (said he,) you are very welcome.  Nobody repays it
with more.

The following letters concerning an Epitaph which he wrote for the
monument of Dr. Goldsmith, in Westminster-Abbey, afford at once a
proof of his unaffected modesty, his carelessness as to his own
writings, and of the great respect which he entertained for the
taste and judgement of the excellent and eminent person to whom
they are addressed:


TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

DEAR SIR,--I have been kept away from you, I know not well how, and
of these vexatious hindrances I know not when there will be an end.
I therefore send you the poor dear Doctor's epitaph.  Read it first
yourself; and if you then think it right, shew it to the Club.  I
am, you know, willing to be corrected.  If you think any thing much
amiss, keep it to yourself, till we come together.  I have sent two
copies, but prefer the card.  The dates must be settled by Dr.
Percy.  I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'May 16, 1776.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


It was, I think, after I had left London this year, that this
Epitaph gave occasion to a Remonstrance to the MONARCH OF
LITERATURE, for an account of which I am indebted to Sir William
Forbes, of Pitsligo.

That my readers may have the subject more fully and clearly before
them, I shall first insert the Epitaph.


            OLIVARII GOLDSMITH,

        Poetae, Physici, Historici,
       Qui nullum fere scribendi genus
               Non tetigit,
       Nullum quod tetiqit non ornavit:
          Sive risus essent movendi,
               Sive lacrymae,
     Affectuum potens at lenis dominator:
    Ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis,
     Oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus:
       Hoc monumento memoriam coluit
               Sodalium amor,
               Amicorum fides,
             Lectorum veneratio.
    Natus in Hibernia Forniae Longfordiensis,
          In loco cui nomen Pallas,
            Nov. XXIX. MDCCXXXI;
         Eblanae literis institutus;
               Obiit Londini,
            April IV, MDCCLXXIV.'


Sir William Forbes writes to me thus:--

'I enclose the Round Robin.  This jeu d'esprit took its rise one
day at dinner at our friend Sir Joshua Reynolds's.  All the company
present, except myself, were friends and acquaintance of Dr.
Goldsmith.  The Epitaph, written for him by Dr. Johnson, became the
subject of conversation, and various emendations were suggested,
which it was agreed should be submitted to the Doctor's
consideration.  But the question was, who should have the courage
to propose them to him?  At last it was hinted, that there could be
no way so good as that of a Round Robin, as the sailors call it,
which they make use of when they enter into a conspiracy, so as not
to let it be known who puts his name first or last to the paper.
This proposition was instantly assented to; and Dr. Barnard, Dean
of Derry, now Bishop of Killaloe, drew up an address to Dr. Johnson
on the occasion, replete with wit and humour, but which it was
feared the Doctor might think treated the subject with too much
levity.  Mr. Burke then proposed the address as it stands in the
paper in writing, to which I had the honour to officiate as clerk.

'Sir Joshua agreed to carry it to Dr. Johnson, who received it with
much good humour,* and desired Sir Joshua to tell the gentlemen,
that he would alter the Epitaph in any manner they pleased, as to
the sense of it; but he would never consent to disgrace the walls
of Westminster Abbey with an English inscription.


* He however, upon seeing Dr. Warton's name to the suggestion, that
the Epitaph should be in English, observed to Sir Joshua, 'I wonder
that Joe Warton, a scholar by profession, should be such a fool.'
He said too, 'I should have thought Mund Burke would have had more
sense.'  Mr. Langton, who was one of the company at Sir Joshua's,
like a sturdy scholar, resolutely refused to sign the Round Robin.
The Epitaph is engraved upon Dr. Goldsmith's monument without any
alteration.  At another time, when somebody endeavoured to argue in
favour of its being in English, Johnson said, 'The language of the
country of which a learned man was a native, is not the language
fit for his epitaph, which should be in ancient and permanent
language.  Consider, Sir; how you should feel, were you to find at
Rotterdam an epitaph upon Erasmus IN DUTCH!'--BOSWELL.


'I consider this Round Robin as a species of literary curiosity
worth preserving, as it marks, in a certain degree, Dr. Johnson's
character.'

Sir William Forbes's observation is very just.  The anecdote now
related proves, in the strongest manner, the reverence and awe with
which Johnson was regarded, by some of the most eminent men of his
time, in various departments, and even by such of them as lived
most with him; while it also confirms what I have again and again
inculcated, that he was by no means of that ferocious and irascible
character which has been ignorantly imagined.

This hasty composition is also to be remarked as one of a thousand
instances which evince the extraordinary promptitude of Mr. Burke;
who while he is equal to the greatest things, can adorn the least;
can, with equal facility, embrace the vast and complicated
speculations of politicks, or the ingenious topicks of literary
investigation.


'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL.

'MADAM,--You must not think me uncivil in omitting to answer the
letter with which you favoured me some time ago.  I imagined it to
have been written without Mr. Boswell's knowledge, and therefore
supposed the answer to require, what I could not find, a private
conveyance.

'The difference with Lord Auchinleck is now over; and since young
Alexander has appeared, I hope no more difficulties will arise
among you; for I sincerely wish you all happy.  Do not teach the
young ones to dislike me, as you dislike me yourself; but let me at
least have Veronica's kindness, because she is my acquaintance.

'You will now have Mr. Boswell home; it is well that you have him;
he has led a wild life.  I have taken him to Lichfield, and he has
followed Mr. Thrale to Bath.  Pray take care of him, and tame him.
The only thing in which I have the honour to agree with you is, in
loving him; and while we are so much of a mind in a matter of so
much importance, our other quarrels will, I hope, produce no great
bitterness.  I am, Madam, your most humble servant,

'May 16, 1776.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


I select from his private register the following passage:

'July 25, 1776.  O God, who hast ordained that whatever is to be
desired should be sought by labour, and who, by thy blessing,
bringest honest labour to good effect, look with mercy upon my
studies and endeavours.  Grant me, O LORD, to design only what is
lawful and right; and afford me calmness of mind, and steadiness of
purpose, that I may so do thy will in this short life, as to obtain
happiness in the world to come, for the sake of JESUS CHRIST our
Lord.  Amen.'

It appears from a note subjoined, that this was composed when he
'purposed to apply vigorously to study, particularly of the Greek
and Italian tongues.'

Such a purpose, so expressed, at the age of sixty-seven, is
admirable and encouraging; and it must impress all the thinking
part of my readers with a consolatory confidence in habitual
devotion, when they see a man of such enlarged intellectual powers
as Johnson, thus in the genuine earnestness of secrecy, imploring
the aid of that Supreme Being, 'from whom cometh down every good
and every perfect gift.'


1777: AETAT. 68.]--In 1777, it appears from his Prayers and
Meditations, that Johnson suffered much from a state of mind
'unsettled and perplexed,' and from that constitutional gloom,
which, together with his extreme humility and anxiety with regard
to his religious state, made him contemplate himself through too
dark and unfavourable a medium.  It may be said of him, that he
'saw GOD in clouds.'  Certain we may be of his injustice to himself
in the following lamentable paragraph, which it is painful to think
came from the contrite heart of this great man, to whose labours
the world is so much indebted: 'When I survey my past life, I
discover nothing but a barren waste of time with some disorders of
body, and disturbances of the mind, very near to madness, which I
hope He that made me will suffer to extenuate many faults, and
excuse many deficiencies.'  But we find his devotions in this year
eminently fervent; and we are comforted by observing intervals of
quiet, composure, and gladness.

On Easter-day we find the following emphatick prayer:

'Almighty and most merciful Father, who seest all our miseries, and
knowest all our necessities, look down upon me, and pity me.
Defend me from the violent incursion [incursions] of evil thoughts,
and enable me to form and keep such resolutions as may conduce to
the discharge of the duties which thy providence shall appoint me;
and so help me, by thy Holy Spirit, that my heart may surely there
be fixed, where true joys are to be found, and that I may serve
thee with pure affection and a cheerful mind.  Have mercy upon me,
O GOD, have mercy upon me; years and infirmities oppress me,
terrour and anxiety beset me.  Have mercy upon me, my Creator and
my Judge.  [In all dangers protect me.]  In all perplexities
relieve and free me; and so help me by thy Holy Spirit, that I may
now so commemorate the death of thy Son our Saviour JESUS CHRIST,
as that when this short and painful life shall have an end, I may,
for his sake, be received to everlasting happiness.  Amen.'


'SIR ALEXANDER DICK TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

'Prestonfield, Feb. 17, 1777.

'SIR, I had yesterday the honour of receiving your book of your
Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland, which you was so good
as to send me, by the hands of our mutual friend, Mr. Boswell, of
Auchinleck; for which I return you my most hearty thanks; and after
carefully reading it over again, shall deposit in my little
collection of choice books, next our worthy friend's Journey to
Corsica.  As there are many things to admire in both performances,
I have often wished that no Travels or Journeys should be published
but those undertaken by persons of integrity and capacity to judge
well, and describe faithfully, and in good language, the situation,
condition, and manners of the countries past through.  Indeed our
country of Scotland, in spite of the union of the crowns, is still
in most places so devoid of clothing, or cover from hedges and
plantations, that it was well you gave your readers a sound
Monitoire with respect to that circumstance.  The truths you have
told, and the purity of the language in which they are expressed,
as your Journey is universally read, may, and already appear to
have a very good effect.  For a man of my acquaintance, who has the
largest nursery for trees and hedges in this country, tells me,
that of late the demand upon him for these articles is doubled, and
sometimes tripled.  I have, therefore, listed Dr. Samuel Johnson in
some of my memorandums of the principal planters and favourers of
the enclosures, under a name which I took the liberty to invent
from the Greek, Papadendrion.  Lord Auchinleck and some few more
are of the list.  I am told that one gentleman in the shire of
Aberdeen, viz. Sir Archibald Grant, has planted above fifty
millions of trees on a piece of very wild ground at Monimusk: I
must enquire if he has fenced them well, before he enters my list;
for, that is the soul of enclosing.  I began myself to plant a
little, our ground being too valuable for much, and that is now
fifty years ago; and the trees, now in my seventy-fourth year, I
look up to with reverence, and shew them to my eldest son now in
his fifteenth year, and they are full the height of my country-
house here, where I had the pleasure of receiving you, and hope
again to have that satisfaction with our mutual friend, Mr.
Boswell.  I shall always continue, with the truest esteem, dear
Doctor, your much obliged, and obedient humble servant,

'ALEXANDER DICK.'


'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--It is so long since I heard any thing from you, that I
am not easy about it; write something to me next post.  When you
sent your last letter, every thing seemed to be mending; I hope
nothing has lately grown worse.  I suppose young Alexander
continues to thrive, and Veronica is now very pretty company.  I do
not suppose the lady is yet reconciled to me, yet let her know that
I love her very well, and value her very much. . . .

'Poor Beauclerk still continues very ill.  Langton lives on as he
used to do.  His children are very pretty, and, I think, his lady
loses her Scotch.  Paoli I never see.

'I have been so distressed by difficulty of breathing, that I lost,
as was computed, six-and-thirty ounces of blood in a few days.  I
am better, but not well. . . .

'Mrs. Williams sends her compliments, and promises that when you
come hither, she will accommodate you as well as ever she can in
the old room.  She wishes to know whether you sent her book to Sir
Alexander Gordon.

'My dear Boswell, do not neglect to write to me; for your kindness
is one of the pleasures of my life, which I should be sorry to
lose.  I am, Sir, your humble servant,

'February 18, 1777.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


'To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

'Glasgow, April 24, 1777.

'MY DEAR SIR, . . .  My wife has made marmalade of oranges for you.
I left her and my daughters and Alexander all well yesterday.  I
have taught Veronica to speak of you thus;--Dr. JohnSON, not
JohnSTON.  I remain, my dear Sir, your most affectionate, and
obliged humble servant,

'JAMES BOSWELL.'


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR, . . .  Tell Mrs. Boswell that I shall taste her
marmalade cautiously at first.  Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.
Beware, says the Italian proverb, of a reconciled enemy.  But when
I find it does me no harm, I shall then receive it and be thankful
for it, as a pledge of firm, and, I hope, of unalterable kindness.
She is, after all, a dear, dear lady. . . .

'I am, dear Sir, your most affectionate humble servant,

'May 3, 1777.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'Southill, Sept. 26, 1777.

'DEAR SIR, You will find by this letter, that I am still in the
same calm retreat, from the noise and bustle of London, as when I
wrote to you last.  I am happy to find you had such an agreeable
meeting with your old friend Dr. Johnson; I have no doubt your
stock is much increased by the interview; few men, nay I may say,
scarcely any man, has got that fund of knowledge and entertainment
as Dr. Johnson in conversation.  When he opens freely, every one is
attentive to what he says, and cannot fail of improvement as well
as pleasure.

'The edition of The Poets, now printing, will do honour to the
English press; and a concise account of the life of each authour,
by Dr. Johnson, will be a very valuable addition, and stamp the
reputation of this edition superiour to any thing that is gone
before.  The first cause that gave rise to this undertaking, I
believe, was owing to the little trifling edition of The Poets,
printing by the Martins, at Edinburgh, and to be sold by Bell, in
London.  Upon examining the volumes which were printed, the type
was found so extremely small, that many persons could not read
them; not only this inconvenience attended it, but the inaccuracy
of the press was very conspicuous.  These reasons, as well as the
idea of an invasion of what we call our Literary Property, induced
the London Booksellers to print an elegant and accurate edition of
all the English Poets of reputation, from Chaucer to the present
time.

'Accordingly a select number of the most respectable booksellers
met on the occasion; and, on consulting together, agreed, that all
the proprietors of copy-right in the various Poets should be
summoned together; and when their opinions were given, to proceed
immediately on the business.  Accordingly a meeting was held,
consisting of about forty of the most respectable booksellers of
London, when it was agreed that an elegant and uniform edition of
The English Poets should be immediately printed, with a concise
account of the life of each authour, by Dr. Samuel Johnson; and
that three persons should be deputed to wait upon Dr. Johnson, to
solicit him to undertake the Lives, viz., T. Davies, Strahan, and
Cadell.  The Doctor very politely undertook it, and seemed
exceedingly pleased with the proposal.  As to the terms, it was
left entirely to the Doctor to name his own: he mentioned two
hundred guineas:* it was immediately agreed to; and a farther
compliment, I believe, will be made him.  A committee was likewise
appointed to engage the best engravers, viz., Bartolozzi, Sherwin,
Hall, etc.  Likewise another committee for giving directions about
the paper, printing, etc., so that the whole will be conducted with
spirit, and in the best manner, with respect to authourship,
editorship, engravings, etc., etc.  My brother will give you a list
of the Poets we mean to give, many of which are within the time of
the Act of Queen Anne, which Martin and Bell cannot give, as they
have no property in them; the proprietors are almost all the
booksellers in London, of consequence.  I am, dear Sir, ever
your's,

'EDWARD DILLY.'


* Johnson's moderation in demanding so small a sum is
extraordinary.  Had he asked one thousand, or even fifteen hundred
guineas, the booksellers, who knew the value of his name, would
doubtless have readily given it.  They have probably got five
thousand guineas by this work in the course of twenty-five years.--
MALONE.


A circumstance which could not fail to be very pleasing to Johnson
occurred this year.  The Tragedy of Sir Thomas Overbury, written by
his early companion in London, Richard Savage, was brought out with
alterations at Drury-lane theatre.  The Prologue to it was written
by Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan; in which, after describing very
pathetically the wretchedness of


    'Ill-fated Savage, at whose birth was giv'n
     No parent but the Muse, no friend but Heav'n:'


he introduced an elegant compliment to Johnson on his Dictionary,
that wonderful performance which cannot be too often or too highly
praised; of which Mr. Harris, in his Philological Inquiries, justly
and liberally observes: 'Such is its merit, that our language does
not possess a more copious, learned, and valuable work.'  The
concluding lines of this Prologue were these:--


    'So pleads the tale that gives to future times
     The son's misfortunes and the parent's crimes;
     There shall his fame (if own'd to-night) survive,
     Fix'd by THE HAND THAT BIDS OUR LANGUAGE LIVE.'


Mr. Sheridan here at once did honour to his taste and to his
liberality of sentiment, by shewing that he was not prejudiced from
the unlucky difference which had taken place between his worthy
father and Dr. Johnson.  I have already mentioned, that Johnson was
very desirous of reconciliation with old Mr. Sheridan.  It will,
therefore, not seem at all surprizing that he was zealous in
acknowledging the brilliant merit of his son.  While it had as yet
been displayed only in the drama, Johnson proposed him as a member
of THE LITERARY CLUB, observing, that 'He who has written the two
best comedies of his age, is surely a considerable man.'  And he
had, accordingly, the honour to be elected; for an honour it
undoubtedly must be allowed to be, when it is considered of whom
that society consists, and that a single black ball excludes a
candidate.

On the 23rd of June, I again wrote to Dr. Johnson, enclosing a
ship-master's receipt for a jar of orange-marmalade, and a large
packet of Lord Hailes's Annals of Scotland.


'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL.

'MADAM,--Though I am well enough pleased with the taste of
sweetmeats, very little of the pleasure which I received at the
arrival of your jar of marmalade arose from eating it.  I received
it as a token of friendship, as a proof of reconciliation, things
much sweeter than sweetmeats, and upon this consideration I return
you, dear Madam, my sincerest thanks.  By having your kindness I
think I have a double security for the continuance of Mr.
Boswell's, which it is not to be expected that any man can long
keep, when the influence of a lady so highly and so justly valued
operates against him.  Mr. Boswell will tell you that I was always
faithful to your interest, and always endeavoured to exalt you in
his estimation.  You must now do the same for me.  We must all help
one another, and you must now consider me, as, dear Madam, your
most obliged, and most humble servant,

'July 22, 1777.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--I am this day come to Ashbourne, and have only to tell
you, that Dr. Taylor says you shall be welcome to him, and you know
how welcome you will be to me.  Make haste to let me know when you
may be expected.

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, and tell her, I hope we shall
be at variance no more.  I am, dear Sir, your most humble servant,

'August 30, 1777.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


On Sunday evening, Sept. 14, I arrived at Ashbourne, and drove
directly up to Dr. Taylor's door.  Dr. Johnson and he appeared
before I had got out of the post-chaise, and welcomed me cordially.

I told them that I had travelled all the preceding night, and gone
to bed at Leek in Staffordshire; and that when I rose to go to
church in the afternoon, I was informed there had been an
earthquake, of which, it seems, the shock had been felt in some
degree at Ashbourne.  JOHNSON.  'Sir it will be much exaggerated in
popular talk: for, in the first place, the common people do not
accurately adapt their thoughts to the objects; nor, secondly, do
they accurately adapt their words to their thoughts: they do not
mean to lie; but, taking no pains to be exact, they give you very
false accounts.  A great part of their language is proverbial.  If
anything rocks at all, they say it rocks like a cradle; and in this
way they go on.

The subject of grief for the loss of relations and friends being
introduced, I observed that it was strange to consider how soon it
in general wears away.  Dr. Taylor mentioned a gentleman of the
neighbourhood as the only instance he had ever known of a person
who had endeavoured to RETAIN grief.  He told Dr. Taylor, that
after his Lady's death, which affected him deeply, he RESOLVED that
the grief, which he cherished with a kind of sacred fondness,
should be lasting; but that he found he could not keep it long.
JOHNSON.  'All grief for what cannot in the course of nature be
helped, soon wears away; in some sooner, indeed, in some later; but
it never continues very long, unless where there is madness, such
as will make a man have pride so fixed in his mind, as to imagine
himself a King; or any other passion in an unreasonable way: for
all unnecessary grief is unwise, and therefore will not be long
retained by a sound mind.  If, indeed, the cause of our grief is
occasioned by our own misconduct, if grief is mingled with remorse
of conscience, it should be lasting.'  BOSWELL.  'But, Sir, we do
not approve of a man who very soon forgets the loss of a wife or a
friend.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, we disapprove of him, not because he soon
forgets his grief, for the sooner it is forgotten the better, but
because we suppose, that if he forgets his wife or his friend soon,
he has not had much affection for them.'

I was somewhat disappointed in finding that the edition of The
English Poets, for which he was to write Prefaces and Lives, was
not an undertaking directed by him: but that he was to furnish a
Preface and Life to any poet the booksellers pleased.  I asked him
if he would do this to any dunce's works, if they should ask him.
JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, and SAY he was a dunce.'  My friend seemed now
not much to relish talking of this edition.

After breakfast,* Johnson carried me to see the garden belonging to
the school of Ashbourne, which is very prettily formed upon a bank,
rising gradually behind the house.  The Reverend Mr. Langley, the
head-master, accompanied us.


* Next morning.--ED.


We had with us at dinner several of Dr. Taylor's neighbours, good
civil gentlemen, who seemed to understand Dr. Johnson very well,
and not to consider him in the light that a certain person did, who
being struck, or rather stunned by his voice and manner, when he
was afterwards asked what he thought of him, answered.  'He's a
tremendous companion.'

Johnson told me, that 'Taylor was a very sensible acute man, and
had a strong mind; that he had great activity in some respects, and
yet such a sort of indolence, that if you should put a pebble upon
his chimney-piece, you would find it there, in the same state, a
year afterwards.'

And here is the proper place to give an account of Johnson's humane
and zealous interference in behalf of the Reverend Dr. William
Dodd, formerly Prebendary of Brecon, and chaplain in ordinary to
his Majesty; celebrated as a very popular preacher, an encourager
of charitable institutions, and authour of a variety of works,
chiefly theological.  Having unhappily contracted expensive habits
of living, partly occasioned by licentiousness of manners, he in an
evil hour, when pressed by want of money, and dreading an exposure
of his circumstances, forged a bond of which he attempted to avail
himself to support his credit, flattering himself with hopes that
he might be able to repay its amount without being detected.  The
person, whose name he thus rashly and criminally presumed to
falsify, was the Earl of Chesterfield, to whom he had been tutor,
and who, he perhaps, in the warmth of his feelings, flattered
himself would have generously paid the money in case of an alarm
being taken, rather than suffer him to fall a victim to the
dreadful consequences of violating the law against forgery, the
most dangerous crime in a commercial country; but the unfortunate
divine had the mortification to find that he was mistaken.  His
noble pupil appeared against him, and he was capitally convicted.

Johnson told me that Dr. Dodd was very little acquainted with him,
having been but once in his company, many years previous to this
period (which was precisely the state of my own acquaintance with
Dodd); but in his distress he bethought himself of Johnson's
persuasive power of writing, if haply it might avail to obtain for
him the Royal Mercy.  He did not apply to him directly, but,
extraordinary as it may seem, through the late Countess of
Harrington, who wrote a letter to Johnson, asking him to employ his
pen in favour of Dodd.  Mr. Allen, the printer, who was Johnson's
landlord and next neighbour in Bolt-court, and for whom he had much
kindness, was one of Dodd's friends, of whom to the credit of
humanity be it recorded, that he had many who did not desert him,
even after his infringement of the law had reduced him to the state
of a man under sentence of death.  Mr. Allen told me that he
carried Lady Harrington's letter to Johnson, that Johnson read it
walking up and down his chamber, and seemed much agitated, after
which he said, 'I will do what I can;'--and certainly he did make
extraordinary exertions.

He this evening, as he had obligingly promised in one of his
letters, put into my hands the whole series of his writings upon
this melancholy occasion.

Dr. Johnson wrote in the first place, Dr. Dodd's Speech to the
Recorder of London, at the Old-Bailey, when sentence of death was
about to be pronounced upon him.

He wrote also The Convict's Address to his unhappy Brethren, a
sermon delivered by Dr. Dodd, in the chapel of Newgate.

The other pieces mentioned by Johnson in the above-mentioned
collection, are two letters, one to the Lord Chancellor Bathurst,
(not Lord North, as is erroneously supposed,) and one to Lord
Mansfield;--A Petition from Dr. Dodd to the King;--A Petition from
Mrs. Dodd to the Queen;--Observations of some length inserted in
the news-papers, on occasion of Earl Percy's having presented to
his Majesty a petition for mercy to Dodd, signed by twenty thousand
people, but all in vain.  He told me that he had also written a
petition from the city of London; 'but (said he, with a significant
smile) they MENDED it.'

The last of these articles which Johnson wrote is Dr. Dodd's last
solemn Declaration, which he left with the sheriff at the place of
execution.

I found a letter to Dr. Johnson from Dr. Dodd, May 23, 1777, in
which The Convict's Address seems clearly to be meant.

'I am so penetrated, my ever dear Sir, with a sense of your extreme
benevolence towards me, that I cannot find words equal to the
sentiments of my heart. . . .'

On Sunday, June 22, he writes, begging Dr. Johnson's assistance in
framing a supplicatory letter to his Majesty.

This letter was brought to Dr. Johnson when in church.  He stooped
down and read it, and wrote, when he went home, the following
letter for Dr. Dodd to the King:

'SIR,--May it not offend your Majesty, that the most miserable of
men applies himself to your clemency, as his last hope and his last
refuge; that your mercy is most earnestly and humbly implored by a
clergyman, whom your Laws and Judges have condemned to the horrour
and ignominy of a publick execution. . . .'

Subjoined to it was written as follows:--


'TO DR. DODD.

'SIR,--I most seriously enjoin you not to let it be at all known
that I have written this letter, and to return the copy to Mr.
Allen in a cover to me.  I hope I need not tell you, that I wish it
success.--But do not indulge hope.--Tell nobody.'

It happened luckily that Mr. Allen was pitched on to assist in this
melancholy office, for he was a great friend of Mr. Akerman, the
keeper of Newgate.  Dr. Johnson never went to see Dr. Dodd.  He
said to me, 'it would have done HIM more harm, than good to Dodd,
who once expressed a desire to see him, but not earnestly.'

All applications for the Royal Mercy having failed, Dr. Dodd
prepared himself for death; and, with a warmth of gratitude, wrote
to Dr. Johnson as follows:--

'June 25, Midnight.

'Accept, thou GREAT and GOOD heart, my earnest and fervent thanks
and prayers for all thy benevolent and kind efforts in my behalf--
Oh! Dr. Johnson! as I sought your knowledge at an early hour in
life, would to heaven I had cultivated the love and acquaintance of
so excellent a man!--I pray GOD most sincerely to bless you with
the highest transports--the infelt satisfaction of HUMANE and
benevolent exertions!--And admitted, as I trust I shall be, to the
realms of bliss before you, I shall hail YOUR arrival there with
transports, and rejoice to acknowledge that you was my Comforter,
my Advocate and my FRIEND!  GOD BE EVER WITH YOU!'


Dr. Johnson lastly wrote to Dr. Dodd this solemn and soothing
letter:--


'TO THE REVEREND DR. DODD.

'DEAR SIR,--That which is appointed to all men is now coming upon
you.  Outward circumstances, the eyes and the thoughts of men, are
below the notice of an immortal being about to stand the trial for
eternity, before the Supreme Judge of heaven and earth.  Be
comforted: your crime, morally or religiously considered, has no
very deep dye of turpitude.  It corrupted no man's principles; it
attacked no man's life.  It involved only a temporary and reparable
injury.  Of this, and of all other sins, you are earnestly to
repent; and may GOD, who knoweth our frailty, and desireth not our
death, accept your repentance, for the sake of his SON JESUS CHRIST
our Lord.

'In requital of those well-intended offices which you are pleased
so emphatically to acknowledge, let me beg that you make in your
devotions one petition for my eternal welfare.  I am, dear Sir,
your affectionate servant,

'June 26, 1777.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Under the copy of this letter I found written, in Johnson's own
hand, 'Next day, June 27, he was executed.'

Tuesday, September 16, Dr. Johnson having mentioned to me the
extraordinary size and price of some cattle reared by Dr. Taylor, I
rode out with our host, surveyed his farm, and was shown one cow
which he had sold for a hundred and twenty guineas, and another for
which he had been offered a hundred and thirty.  Taylor thus
described to me his old schoolfellow and friend, Johnson: 'He is a
man of a very clear head, great power of words, and a very gay
imagination; but there is no disputing with him.  He will not hear
you, and having a louder voice than you, must roar you down.'

In the evening, the Reverend Mr. Seward, of Lichfield, who was
passing through Ashbourne in his way home, drank tea with us.
Johnson described him thus:--'Sir, his ambition is to be a fine
talker; so he goes to Buxton, and such places, where he may find
companies to listen to him.  And, Sir, he is a valetudinarian, one
of those who are always mending themselves.  I do not know a more
disagreeable character than a valetudinarian, who thinks he may do
any thing that is for his ease, and indulges himself in the
grossest freedoms: Sir, he brings himself to the state of a hog in
a stye.'

Dr. Taylor's nose happening to bleed, he said, it was because he
had omitted to have himself blooded four days after a quarter of a
year's interval.  Dr. Johnson, who was a great dabbler in physick,
disapproved much of periodical bleeding.  'For (said he,) you
accustom yourself to an evacuation which Nature cannot perform of
herself, and therefore she cannot help you, should you, from
forgetfulness or any other cause, omit it; so you may be suddenly
suffocated.  You may accustom yourself to other periodical
evacuations, because should you omit them, Nature can supply the
omission; but Nature cannot open a vein to blood you.'--'I do not
like to take an emetick, (said Taylor,) for fear of breaking some
small vessels.'--'Poh! (said Johnson,) if you have so many things
that will break, you had better break your neck at once, and
there's an end on't.  You will break no small vessels:' (blowing
with high derision.)

The horrour of death which I had always observed in Dr. Johnson,
appeared strong to-night.  I ventured to tell him, that I had been,
for moments in my life, not afraid of death; therefore I could
suppose another man in that state of mind for a considerable space
of time.  He said, 'he never had a moment in which death was not
terrible to him.'  He added, that it had been observed, that scarce
any man dies in publick, but with apparent resolution; from that
desire of praise which never quits us.  I said, Dr. Dodd seemed to
be willing to die, and full of hopes of happiness.  'Sir, (said
he,) Dr. Dodd would have given both his hands and both his legs to
have lived.  The better a man is, the more afraid he is of death,
having a clearer view of infinite purity.'  He owned, that our
being in an unhappy uncertainty as to our salvation, was
mysterious; and said, 'Ah! we must wait till we are in another
state of being, to have many things explained to us.'  Even the
powerful mind of Johnson seemed foiled by futurity.

On Wednesday, September 17, Dr. Butter, physician at Derby, drank
tea with us; and it was settled that Dr. Johnson and I should go on
Friday and dine with him.  Johnson said, 'I'm glad of this.'  He
seemed weary of the uniformity of life at Dr. Taylor's.

Talking of biography, I said, in writing a life, a man's
peculiarities should be mentioned, because they mark his character.
JOHNSON.  'Sir, there is no doubt as to peculiarities: the question
is, whether a man's vices should be mentioned; for instance,
whether it should be mentioned that Addison and Parnell drank too
freely: for people will probably more easily indulge in drinking
from knowing this; so that more ill may be done by the example,
than good by telling the whole truth.'  Here was an instance of his
varying from himself in talk; for when Lord Hailes and he sat one
morning calmly conversing in my house at Edinburgh, I well remember
that Dr. Johnson maintained, that 'If a man is to write A
Panegyrick, he may keep vices out of sight; but if he professes to
write A Life, he must represent it really as it was:' and when I
objected to the danger of telling that Parnell drank to excess, he
said, that 'it would produce an instructive caution to avoid
drinking, when it was seen, that even the learning and genius of
Parnell could be debased by it.'  And in the Hebrides he
maintained, as appears from my Journal, that a man's intimate
friend should mention his faults, if he writes his life.

Thursday, September 18.  Last night Dr. Johnson had proposed that
the crystal lustre, or chandelier, in Dr. Taylor's large room,
should be lighted up some time or other.  Taylor said, it should be
lighted up next night.  'That will do very well, (said I,) for it
is Dr. Johnson's birth-day.'  When we were in the Isle of Sky,
Johnson had desired me not to mention his birth-day.  He did not
seem pleased at this time that I mentioned it, and said (somewhat
sternly,) 'he would not have the lustre lighted the next day.'

Some ladies, who had been present yesterday when I mentioned his
birth-day, came to dinner to-day, and plagued him unintentionally,
by wishing him joy.  I know not why he disliked having his birth-
day mentioned, unless it were that it reminded him of his
approaching nearer to death, of which he had a constant dread.

I mentioned to him a friend of mine who was formerly gloomy from
low spirits, and much distressed by the fear of death, but was now
uniformly placid, and contemplated his dissolution without any
perturbation.  'Sir, (said Johnson,) this is only a disordered
imagination taking a different turn.'

He observed, that a gentleman of eminence in literature had got
into a bad style of poetry of late.  'He puts (said he,) a very
common thing in a strange dress till he does not know it himself,
and thinks other people do not know it.'  BOSWELL.  'That is owing
to his being so much versant in old English poetry.'  JOHNSON.
'What is that to the purpose, Sir?  If I say a man is drunk, and
you tell me it is owing to his taking much drink, the matter is not
mended.  No, Sir, ------ has taken to an odd mode.  For example,
he'd write thus:


    "Hermit hoar, in solemn cell,
       Wearing out life's evening gray."


Gray evening is common enough; but evening gray he'd think fine.--
Stay;--we'll make out the stanza:


    "Hermit hoar, in solemn cell,
       Wearing out life's evening gray;
     Smite thy bosom, sage, and tell,
       What is bliss? and which the way?"'


BOSWELL.  'But why smite his bosom, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, to shew
he was in earnest,' (smiling.)--He at an after period added the
following stanza:


    'Thus I spoke; and speaking sigh'd;
       --Scarce repress'd the starting tear;--
     When the smiling sage reply'd--
       --Come, my lad, and drink some beer.'


I cannot help thinking the first stanza very good solemn poetry, as
also the three first lines of the second.  Its last line is an
excellent burlesque surprise on gloomy sentimental enquirers.  And,
perhaps, the advice is as good as can be given to a low-spirited
dissatisfied being:--'Don't trouble your head with sickly thinking:
take a cup, and be merry.'

Friday, September 19, after breakfast Dr. Johnson and I set out in
Dr. Taylor's chaise to go to Derby.  The day was fine, and we
resolved to go by Keddlestone, the seat of Lord Scarsdale, that I
might see his Lordship's fine house.  I was struck with the
magnificence of the building; and the extensive park, with the
finest verdure, covered with deer, and cattle, and sheep, delighted
me.  The number of old oaks, of an immense size, filled me with a
sort of respectful admiration: for one of them sixty pounds was
offered.  The excellent smooth gravel roads; the large piece of
water formed by his Lordship from some small brooks, with a
handsome barge upon it; the venerable Gothick church, now the
family chapel, just by the house; in short, the grand group of
objects agitated and distended my mind in a most agreeable manner.
'One should think (said I,) that the proprietor of all this MUST be
happy.'--'Nay, Sir, (said Johnson,) all this excludes but one evil--
poverty.'

Our names were sent up, and a well-drest elderly housekeeper, a
most distinct articulator, shewed us the house; which I need not
describe, as there is an account of it published in Adam's Works in
Architecture.  Dr. Johnson thought better of it to-day than when he
saw it before; for he had lately attacked it violently, saying, 'It
would do excellently for a town-hall.  The large room with the
pillars (said he,) would do for the Judges to sit in at the
assizes; the circular room for a jury-chamber; and the room above
for prisoners.'  Still he thought the large room ill lighted, and
of no use but for dancing in; and the bed-chambers but indifferent
rooms; and that the immense sum which it cost was injudiciously
laid out.  Dr. Taylor had put him in mind of his APPEARING pleased
with the house.  'But (said he,) that was when Lord Scarsdale was
present.  Politeness obliges us to appear pleased with a man's
works when he is present.  No man will be so ill bred as to
question you.  You may therefore pay compliments without saying
what is not true.  I should say to Lord Scarsdale of his large
room, "My Lord, this is the most COSTLY room that I ever saw;"
which is true.'

Dr. Manningham, physician in London, who was visiting at Lord
Scarsdale's, accompanyed us through many of the rooms, and soon
afterwards my Lord himself, to whom Dr. Johnson was known,
appeared, and did the honours of the house.  We talked of Mr.
Langton.  Johnson, with a warm vehemence of affectionate regard,
exclaimed, 'The earth does not bear a worthier man than Bennet
Langton.'  We saw a good many fine pictures, which I think are
described in one of Young's Tours.  There is a printed catalogue of
them which the housekeeper put into my hand; I should like to view
them at leisure.  I was much struck with Daniel interpreting
Nebuchadnezzar's dream by Rembrandt.  We were shown a pretty large
library.  In his Lordship's dressing-room lay Johnson's small
Dictionary: he shewed it to me, with some eagerness, saying,
'Look'ye!  Quae terra nostri non plena laboris.'  He observed,
also, Goldsmith's Animated Nature; and said, 'Here's our friend!
The poor Doctor would have been happy to hear of this.'

In our way, Johnson strongly expressed his love of driving fast in
a post-chaise.  'If (said he,) I had no duties, and no reference to
futurity, I would spend my life in driving briskly in a post-chaise
with a pretty woman; but she should be one who could understand me,
and would add something to the conversation.'  I observed, that we
were this day to stop just where the Highland army did in 1745.
JOHNSON.  'It was a noble attempt.'  BOSWELL.  'I wish we could
have an authentick history of it.'  JOHNSON.  'If you were not an
idle dog you might write it, by collecting from every body what
they can tell, and putting down your authorities.'  BOSWELL.  'But
I could not have the advantage of it in my life-time.'  JOHNSON.
'You might have the satisfaction of its fame, by printing it in
Holland; and as to profit, consider how long it was before writing
came to be considered in a pecuniary view.  Baretti says, he is the
first man that ever received copy-money in Italy.'  I said that I
would endeavour to do what Dr. Johnson suggested and I thought that
I might write so as to venture to publish my History of the Civil
War in Great-Britain in 1745 and 1746, without being obliged to go
to a foreign press.

When we arrived at Derby, Dr. Butter accompanied us to see the
manufactory of china there.  I admired the ingenuity and delicate
art with which a man fashioned clay into a cup, a saucer, or a tea-
pot, while a boy turned round a wheel to give the mass rotundity.
I thought this as excellent in its species of power, as making good
verses in ITS species.  Yet I had no respect for this potter.
Neither, indeed, has a man of any extent of thinking for a mere
verse-maker, in whose numbers, however perfect, there is no poetry,
no mind.  The china was beautiful, but Dr. Johnson justly observed
it was too dear; for that he could have vessels of silver, of the
same size, as cheap as what were here made of porcelain.

I felt a pleasure in walking about Derby such as I always have in
walking about any town to which I am not accustomed.  There is an
immediate sensation of novelty; and one speculates on the way in
which life is passed in it, which, although there is a sameness
every where upon the whole, is yet minutely diversified.  The
minute diversities in every thing are wonderful.  Talking of
shaving the other night at Dr. Taylor's, Dr. Johnson said, 'Sir, of
a thousand shavers, two do not shave so much alike as not to be
distinguished.'  I thought this not possible, till he specified so
many of the varieties in shaving;--holding the razor more or less
perpendicular;--drawing long or short strokes;--beginning at the
upper part of the face, or the under;--at the right side or the
left side.  Indeed, when one considers what variety of sounds can
be uttered by the windpipe, in the compass of a very small
aperture, we may he convinced how many degrees of difference there
may be in the application of a razor.

We dined with Dr. Butter, whose lady is daughter of my cousin Sir
John Douglas, whose grandson is now presumptive heir of the noble
family of Queensberry.  Johnson and he had a good deal of medical
conversation.  Johnson said, he had somewhere or other given an
account of Dr. Nichols's discourse De Animia Medica.  He told us
'that whatever a man's distemper was, Dr. Nichols would not attend
him as a physician, if his mind was not at ease; for he believed
that no medicines would have any influence.  He once attended a man
in trade, upon whom he found none of the medicines he prescribed
had any effect: he asked the man's wife privately whether his
affairs were not in a bad way?  She said no.  He continued his
attendance some time, still without success.  At length the man's
wife told him, she had discovered that her husband's affairs WERE
in a bad way.  When Goldsmith was dying, Dr. Turton said to him,
"Your pulse is in greater disorder than it should be, from the
degree of fever which you have: is your mind at ease?"  Goldsmith
answered it was not.'

Dr. Johnson told us at tea, that when some of Dr. Dodd's pious
friends were trying to console him by saying that he was going to
leave 'a wretched world,' he had honesty enough not to join in the
cant:--'No, no, (said he,) it has been a very agreeable world to
me.'  Johnson added, 'I respect Dodd for thus speaking the truth;
for, to be sure, he had for several years enjoyed a life of great
voluptuousness.

He told us, that Dodd's city friends stood by him so, that a
thousand pounds were ready to be given to the gaoler, if he would
let him escape.  He added, that he knew a friend of Dodd's, who
walked about Newgate for some time on the evening before the day of
his execution, with five hundred pounds in his pocket, ready to be
paid to any of the turnkeys who could get him out: but it was too
late; for he was watched with much circumspection.  He said, Dodd's
friends had an image of him made of wax, which was to have been
left in his place; and he believed it was carried into the prison.

Johnson disapproved of Dr. Dodd's leaving the world persuaded that
The Convict's Address to his unhappy Brethren was of his own
writing.  'But, Sir, (said I,) you contributed to the deception;
for when Mr. Seward expressed a doubt to you that it was not Dodd's
own, because it had a great deal more force of mind in it than any
thing known to be his, you answered,--"Why should you think so?
Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a
fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully."'  JOHNSON.  Sir,
as Dodd got it from me to pass as his own, while that could do him
any good, there was an IMPLIED PROMISE that I should not own it.
To own it, therefore, would have been telling a lie, with the
addition of breach of promise, which was worse than simply telling
a lie to make it be believed it was Dodd's.  Besides, Sir, I did
not DIRECTLY tell a lie: I left the matter uncertain.  Perhaps I
thought that Seward would not believe it the less to be mine for
what I said; but I would not put it in his power to say I had owned
it.'

He said, 'Goldsmith was a plant that flowered late.  There appeared
nothing remarkable about him when he was young; though when he had
got high in fame, one of his friends began to recollect something
of his being distinguished at College.  Goldsmith in the same
manner recollected more of that friend's early years, as he grew a
greater man.'

I mentioned that Lord Monboddo told me, he awaked every morning at
four, and then for his health got up and walked in his room naked,
with the window open, which he called taking an air bath; after
which he went to bed again, and slept two hours more.  Johnson, who
was always ready to beat down any thing that seemed to be exhibited
with disproportionate importance, thus observed: 'I suppose, Sir,
there is no more in it than this, he awakes at four, and cannot
sleep till he chills himself, and makes the warmth of the bed a
grateful sensation.'

I talked of the difficulty of rising in the morning.  Dr. Johnson
told me, 'that the learned Mrs. Carter, at that period when she was
eager in study, did not awake as early as she wished, and she
therefore had a contrivance, that, at a certain hour, her chamber-
light should burn a string to which a heavy weight was suspended,
which then fell with a strong sudden noise: this roused her from
sleep, and then she had no difficulty in getting up.'  But I said
THAT was my difficulty; and wished there could be some medicine
invented which would make one rise without pain, which I never did,
unless after lying in bed a very long time.

Johnson advised me to-night not to REFINE in the education of my
children.  'Life (said he,) will not bear refinement: you must do
as other people do.'

As we drove back to Ashbourne, Dr. Johnson recommended to me, as he
had often done, to drink water only: 'For (said he,) you are then
sure not to get drunk; whereas if you drink wine you are never
sure.'  I said, drinking wine was a pleasure which I was unwilling
to give up, 'Why, Sir, (said he,) there is no doubt that not to
drink wine is a great deduction from life; but it may be
necessary.'  He however owned, that in his opinion a free use of
wine did not shorten life; and said, he would not give less for the
life of a certain Scotch Lord (whom he named) celebrated for hard
drinking, than for that of a sober man.  'But stay, (said he, with
his usual intelligence, and accuracy of enquiry,) does it take much
wine to make him drunk?'  I answered, 'a great deal either of wine
or strong punch.'--'Then (said he,) that is the worse.'  I presume
to illustrate my friend's observation thus: 'A fortress which soon
surrenders has its walls less shattered than when a long and
obstinate resistance is made.'

I ventured to mention a person who was as violent a Scotsman as he
was an Englishman; and literally had the same contempt for an
Englishman compared with a Scotsman, that he had for a Scotsman
compared with an Englishman; and that he would say of Dr. Johnson,
'Damned rascal! to talk as he does of the Scotch.'  This seemed,
for a moment, 'to give him pause.'  It, perhaps, presented his
extreme prejudice against the Scotch in a point of view somewhat
new to him, by the effect of CONTRAST.

By the time when we returned to Ashbourne, Dr. Taylor was gone to
bed.  Johnson and I sat up a long time by ourselves.

On Saturday, September 20, after breakfast, when Taylor was gone
out to his farm, Dr. Johnson and I had a serious conversation by
ourselves on melancholy and madness.

We entered seriously upon a question of much importance to me,
which Johnson was pleased to consider with friendly attention.  I
had long complained to him that I felt myself discontented in
Scotland, as too narrow a sphere, and that I wished to make my
chief residence in London, the great scene of ambition,
instruction, and amusement: a scene, which was to me, comparatively
speaking, a heaven upon earth.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I never knew
any one who had such a GUST for London as you have: and I cannot
blame you for your wish to live there: yet, Sir, were I in your
father's place, I should not consent to your settling there; for I
have the old feudal notions, and I should be afraid that Auchinleck
would be deserted, as you would soon find it more desirable to have
a country-seat in a better climate.'

I suggested a doubt, that if I were to reside in London, the
exquisite zest with which I relished it in occasional visits might
go off, and I might grow tired of it.  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, you
find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London.
No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for
there is in London all that life can afford.'

He said, 'A country gentleman should bring his lady to visit London
as soon as he can, that they may have agreeable topicks for
conversation when they are by themselves.'

We talked of employment being absolutely necessary to preserve the
mind from wearying and growing fretful, especially in those who
have a tendency to melancholy; and I mentioned to him a saying
which somebody had related of an American savage, who, when an
European was expatiating on all the advantages of money, put this
question: 'Will it purchase OCCUPATION?'  JOHNSON.  'Depend upon
it, Sir, this saying is too refined for a savage.  And, Sir, money
WILL purchase occupation; it will purchase all the conveniences of
life; it will purchase variety of company; it will purchase all
sorts of entertainment.'

I talked to him of Forster's Voyage to the South Seas, which
pleased me; but I found he did not like it.  'Sir, (said he,) there
is a great affectation of fine writing in it.'  BOSWELL.  'But he
carries you along with him.'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; he does not carry
ME along with him: he leaves me behind him: or rather, indeed, he
sets me before him; for he makes me turn over many leaves at a
time.'

On Sunday, September 21, we went to the church of Ashbourne, which
is one of the largest and most luminous that I have seen in any
town of the same size.  I felt great satisfaction in considering
that I was supported in my fondness for solemn publick worship by
the general concurrence and munificence of mankind.

Johnson and Taylor were so different from each other, that I
wondered at their preserving an intimacy.  Their having been at
school and college together, might, in some degree, account for
this; but Sir Joshua Reynolds has furnished me with a stronger
reason; for Johnson mentioned to him, that he had been told by
Taylor he was to be his heir.  I shall not take upon me to
animadvert upon this; but certain it is, that Johnson paid great
attention to Taylor.  He now, however, said to me, 'Sir, I love
him; but I do not love him more; my regard for him does not
increase.  As it is said in the Apocrypha, "his talk is of
bullocks:" I do not suppose he is very fond of my company.  His
habits are by no means sufficiently clerical: this he knows that I
see; and no man likes to live under the eye of perpetual
disapprobation.'

I have no doubt that a good many sermons were composed for Taylor
by Johnson.  At this time I found, upon his table, a part of one
which he had newly begun to write: and Concio pro Tayloro appears
in one of his diaries.  When to these circumstances we add the
internal evidence from the power of thinking and style, in the
collection which the Reverend Mr. Hayes has published, with the
SIGNIFICANT title of 'Sermons LEFT FOR PUBLICATION by the Reverend
John Taylor, LL.D.,' our conviction will be complete.

I, however, would not have it thought, that Dr. Taylor, though he
could not write like Johnson, (as, indeed, who could?) did not
sometimes compose sermons as good as those which we generally have
from very respectable divines.  He shewed me one with notes on the
margin in Johnson's handwriting; and I was present when he read
another to Johnson, that he might have his opinion of it, and
Johnson said it was 'very well.'  These, we may be sure, were not
Johnson's; for he was above little arts, or tricks of deception.

I mentioned to Johnson a respectable person of a very strong mind,
who had little of that tenderness which is common to human nature;
as an instance of which, when I suggested to him that he should
invite his son, who had been settled ten years in foreign parts, to
come home and pay him a visit, his answer was, 'No, no, let him
mind his business.  JOHNSON.  'I do not agree with him, Sir, in
this.  Getting money is not all a man's business: to cultivate
kindness is a valuable part of the business of life.'

In the evening, Johnson, being in very good spirits, entertained us
with several characteristical portraits.  I regret that any of them
escaped my retention and diligence.  I found, from experience, that
to collect my friend's conversation so as to exhibit it with any
degree of its original flavour, it was necessary to write it down
without delay.  To record his sayings, after some distance of time,
was like preserving or pickling long-kept and faded fruits, or
other vegetables, which, when in that state, have little or nothing
of their taste when fresh.

I shall present my readers with a series of what I gathered this
evening from the Johnsonian garden.

'Did we not hear so much said of Jack Wilkes, we should think more
highly of his conversation.  Jack has great variety of talk, Jack
is a scholar, and Jack has the manners of a gentleman.  But after
hearing his name sounded from pole to pole, as the phoenix of
convivial felicity, we are disappointed in his company.  He has
always been AT ME: but I would do Jack a kindness, rather than not.
The contest is now over.'

'Colley Cibber once consulted me as to one of his birthday Odes, a
long time before it was wanted.  I objected very freely to several
passages.  Cibber lost patience, and would not read his Ode to an
end.  When we had done with criticism, we walked over to
Richardson's, the authour of Clarissa and I wondered to find
Richardson displeased that I "did not treat Cibber with more
RESPECT."  Now, Sir, to talk of RESPECT for a PLAYER!' (smiling
disdainfully.)  BOSWELL.  'There, Sir, you are always heretical:
you never will allow merit to a player.'  JOHNSON.  'Merit, Sir!
what merit?  Do you respect a rope-dancer, or a ballad-singer?'
BOSWELL.  'No, Sir: but we respect a great player, as a man who can
conceive lofty sentiments, and can express them gracefully.'
JOHNSON.  'What, Sir, a fellow who claps a hump on his back, and a
lump on his leg, and cries "I am Richard the Third"?  Nay, Sir, a
ballad-singer is a higher man, for he does two things; he repeats
and he sings: there is both recitation and musick in his
performance: the player only recites.'  BOSWELL.  'My dear Sir! you
may turn anything into ridicule.  I allow, that a player of farce
is not entitled to respect; he does a little thing: but he who can
represent exalted characters, and touch the noblest passions, has
very respectable powers; and mankind have agreed in admiring great
talents for the stage.  We must consider, too, that a great player
does what very few are capable to do: his art is a very rare
faculty.  WHO can repeat Hamlet's soliloquy, "To be, or not to be,"
as Garrick does it?'  JOHNSON.  'Any body may.  Jemmy, there (a boy
about eight years old, who was in the room,) will do it as well in
a week.'  BOSWELL.  'No, no, Sir: and as a proof of the merit of
great acting, and of the value which mankind set upon it, Garrick
has got a hundred thousand pounds.'  JOHNSON.  'Is getting a
hundred thousand pounds a proof of excellence?  That has been done
by a scoundrel commissary.'

This was most fallacious reasoning.  I was SURE, for once, that I
had the best side of the argument.  I boldly maintained the just
distinction between a tragedian and a mere theatrical droll;
between those who rouse our terrour and pity, and those who only
make us laugh.  'If (said I,) Betterton and Foote were to walk into
this room, you would respect Betterton much more than Foote.'
JOHNSON.  'If Betterton were to walk into this room with Foote,
Foote would soon drive him out of it.  Foote, Sir, quatenus Foote,
has powers superiour to them all.'

On Monday, September 22, when at breakfast, I unguardedly said to
Dr. Johnson, 'I wish I saw you and Mrs. Macaulay together.'  He
grew very angry; and, after a pause, while a cloud gathered on his
brow, he burst out, 'No, Sir; you would not see us quarrel, to make
you sport.  Don't you know that it is very uncivil to PIT two
people against one another?'  Then, checking himself, and wishing
to be more gentle, he added, 'I do not say you should be hanged or
drowned for this; but it IS very uncivil.'  Dr. Taylor thought him
in the wrong, and spoke to him privately of it; but I afterwards
acknowledged to Johnson that I was to blame, for I candidly owned,
that I meant to express a desire to see a contest between Mrs.
Macaulay and him; but then I knew how the contest would end; so
that I was to see him triumph.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you cannot be sure
how a contest will end; and no man has a right to engage two people
in a dispute by which their passions may be inflamed, and they may
part with bitter resentment against each other.  I would sooner
keep company with a man from whom I must guard my pockets, than
with a man who contrives to bring me into a dispute with somebody
that he may hear it.  This is the great fault of ------,(naming one
of our friends,) endeavouring to introduce a subject upon which he
knows two people in the company differ.'  BOSWELL.  'But he told
me, Sir, he does it for instruction.'  JOHNSON.  'Whatever the
motive be, Sir, the man who does so, does very wrong.  He has no
more right to instruct himself at such risk, than he has to make
two people fight a duel, that he may learn how to defend himself.'

He found great fault with a gentleman of our acquaintance for
keeping a bad table.  'Sir, (said he,) when a man is invited to
dinner, he is disappointed if he does not get something good.  I
advised Mrs. Thrale, who has no card-parties at her house, to give
sweet-meats, and such good things, in an evening, as are not
commonly given, and she would find company enough come to her; for
every body loves to have things which please the palate put in
their way, without trouble or preparation.'  Such was his attention
to the minutiae of life and manners.

Mr. Burke's Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol, on the affairs of
America, being mentioned, Johnson censured the composition much,
and he ridiculed the definition of a free government, viz. 'For any
practical purpose, it is what the people think so.'--'I will let
the King of France govern me on those conditions, (said he,) for it
is to be governed just as I please.'  And when Dr. Taylor talked of
a girl being sent to a parish workhouse, and asked how much she
could be obliged to work, 'Why, (said Johnson,) as much as is
reasonable: and what is that? as much as SHE THINKS reasonable.'

Dr. Johnson obligingly proposed to carry me to see Islam, a
romantick scene, now belonging to a family of the name of Port, but
formerly the seat of the Congreves.  I suppose it is well described
in some of the Tours.  Johnson described it distinctly and vividly,
at which I could not but express to him my wonder; because, though
my eyes, as he observed, were better than his, I could not by any
means equal him in representing visible objects.  I said, the
difference between us in this respect was as that between a man who
has a bad instrument, but plays well on it, and a man who has a
good instrument, on which he can play very imperfectly.

I recollect a very fine amphitheatre, surrounded with hills covered
with woods, and walks neatly formed along the side of a rocky
steep, on the quarter next the house with recesses under
projections of rock, overshadowed with trees; in one of which
recesses, we were told, Congreve wrote his Old Bachelor.  We viewed
a remarkable natural curiosity at Islam; two rivers bursting near
each other from the rock, not from immediate springs, but after
having run for many miles under ground.  Plott, in his History of
Staffordshire, gives an account of this curiosity; but Johnson
would not believe it, though we had the attestation of the
gardener, who said, he had put in corks, where the river Manyfold
sinks into the ground, and had catched them in a net, placed before
one of the openings where the water bursts out.  Indeed, such
subterraneous courses of water are found in various parts of our
globe.

Talking of Dr. Johnson's unwillingness to believe extraordinary
things I ventured to say, 'Sir, you come near Hume's argument
against miracles, "That it is more probable witnesses should lie,
or be mistaken, than that they should happen."  JOHNSON.  'Why,
Sir, Hume, taking the proposition simply, is right.  But the
Christian revelation is not proved by the miracles alone, but as
connected with prophecies, and with the doctrines in confirmation
of which the miracles were wrought.'

In the evening, a gentleman-farmer, who was on a visit at Dr.
Taylor's, attempted to dispute with Johnson in favour of Mungo
Campbell, who shot Alexander, Earl of Eglintoune, upon his having
fallen, when retreating from his Lordship, who he believed was
about to seize his gun, as he had threatened to do.  He said, he
should have done just as Campbell did.  JOHNSON.  'Whoever would do
as Campbell did, deserves to be hanged; not that I could, as a
juryman, have found him legally guilty of murder; but I am glad
they found means to convict him.'  The gentleman-farmer said, 'A
poor man has as much honour as a rich man; and Campbell had THAT to
defend.'  Johnson exclaimed, 'A poor man has no honour.'  The
English yeoman, not dismayed, proceeded: 'Lord Eglintoune was a
damned fool to run on upon Campbell, after being warned that
Campbell would shoot him if he did.'  Johnson, who could not bear
any thing like swearing, angrily replied, "He was NOT a DAMNED
fool: he only thought too well of Campbell.  He did not believe
Campbell would be such a DAMNED scoundrel, as to do so DAMNED a
thing.'  His emphasis on DAMNED, accompanied with frowning looks,
reproved his opponent's want of decorum in HIS presence.

During this interview at Ashbourne, Johnson seemed to be more
uniformly social, cheerful, and alert, than I had almost ever seen
him.  He was prompt on great occasions and on small.  Taylor, who
praised every thing of his own to excess; in short, 'whose geese
were all swans,' as the proverb says, expatiated on the excellence
of his bull-dog, which, he told us, was 'perfectly well shaped.'
Johnson, after examining the animal attentively, thus repressed the
vain-glory of our host:--'No, Sir, he is NOT well shaped; for there
is not the quick transition from the thickness of the fore-part, to
the TENUITY--the thin part--behind,--which a bull-dog ought to
have.'  This TENUITY was the only HARD WORD that I heard him use
during this interview, and it will be observed, he instantly put
another expression in its place.  Taylor said, a small bull-dog was
as good as a large one.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; for, in proportion to
his size, he has strength: and your argument would prove, that a
good bull-dog may be as small as a mouse.'  It was amazing how he
entered with perspicuity and keenness upon every thing that
occurred in conversation.  Most men, whom I know, would no more
think of discussing a question about a bull-dog, than of attacking
a bull.

I cannot allow any fragment whatever that floats in my memory
concerning the great subject of this work to be lost.  Though a
small particular may appear trifling to some, it will be relished
by others; while every little spark adds something to the general
blaze: and to please the true, candid, warm admirers of Johnson,
and in any degree increase the splendour of his reputation, I bid
defiance to the shafts of ridicule, or even of malignity.  Showers
of them have been discharged at my Journal of a Tour to the
Hebrides; yet it still sails unhurt along the stream of time, and,
as an attendant upon Johnson,


    'Pursues the triumph, and partakes the gale.'


One morning after breakfast, when the sun shone bright, we walked
out together, and 'pored' for some time with placid indolence upon
an artificial water-fall, which Dr. Taylor had made by building a
strong dyke of stone across the river behind the garden.  It was
now somewhat obstructed by branches of trees and other rubbish,
which had come down the river, and settled close to it.  Johnson,
partly from a desire to see it play more freely, and partly from
that inclination to activity which will animate, at times, the most
inert and sluggish mortal, took a long pole which was lying on a
bank, and pushed down several parcels of this wreck with painful
assiduity, while I stood quietly by, wondering to behold the sage
thus curiously employed, and smiling with an humorous satisfaction
each time when he carried his point.  He worked till he was quite
out of breath; and having found a large dead cat so heavy that he
could not move it after several efforts, 'Come,' said he, (throwing
down the pole,) 'YOU shall take it now;' which I accordingly did,
and being a fresh man, soon made the cat tumble over the cascade.
This may be laughed at as too trifling to record; but it is a small
characteristick trait in the Flemish picture which I give of my
friend, and in which, therefore I mark the most minute particulars.
And let it be remembered, that Aesop at play is one of the
instructive apologues of antiquity.

Talking of Rochester's Poems, he said, he had given them to Mr.
Steevens to castrate for the edition of the poets, to which he was
to write Prefaces.  Dr. Taylor (the only time I ever heard him say
any thing witty) observed, that if Rochester had been castrated
himself, his exceptionable poems would not have been written.'  I
asked if Burnet had not given a good Life of Rochester.  JOHNSON.
'We have a good Death: there is not much Life.'  I asked whether
Prior's Poems were to be printed entire: Johnson said they were.  I
mentioned Lord Hailes's censure of Prior, in his Preface to a
collection of Sacred Poems, by various hands, published by him at
Edinburgh a great many years ago, where he mentions, 'those impure
tales which will be the eternal opprobrium of their ingenious
authour.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, Lord Hailes has forgot.  There is
nothing in Prior that will excite to lewdness.  If Lord Hailes
thinks there is, he must be more combustible than other people.'  I
instanced the tale of Paulo Purganti and his Wife.  JOHNSON.  Sir,
there is nothing there, but that his wife wanted to be kissed when
poor Paulo was out of pocket.  No, Sir, Prior is a lady's book.  No
lady is ashamed to have it standing in her library.'

The hypochondriack disorder being mentioned, Dr. Johnson did not
think it so common as I supposed.  'Dr. Taylor (said he,) is the
same one day as another.  Burke and Reynolds are the same;
Beauclerk, except when in pain, is the same.  I am not so myself;
but this I do not mention commonly.'

Dr. Johnson advised me to-day, to have as many books about me as I
could; that I might read upon any subject upon which I had a desire
for instruction at the time.  'What you read THEN (said he,) you
will remember; but if you have not a book immediately ready, and
the subject moulds in your mind, it is a chance if you again have a
desire to study it.'  He added, 'If a man never has an eager desire
for instruction, he should prescribe a task for himself.  But it is
better when a man reads from immediate inclination.'

He repeated a good many lines of Horace's Odes, while we were in
the chaise.  I remember particularly the Ode Eheu fugaces.

He told me that Bacon was a favourite authour with him; but he had
never read his works till he was compiling the English Dictionary,
in which, he said, I might see Bacon very often quoted.  Mr. Seward
recollects his having mentioned, that a Dictionary of the English
Language might be compiled from Bacon's writings alone, and that he
had once an intention of giving an edition of Bacon, at least of
his English works, and writing the Life of that great man.  Had he
executed this intention, there can be no doubt that he would have
done it in a most masterly manner.

Wishing to be satisfied what degree of truth there was in a story
which a friend of Johnson's and mine had told me to his
disadvantage, I mentioned it to him in direct terms; and it was to
this effect: that a gentleman who had lived in great intimacy with
him, shewn him much kindness, and even relieved him from a
spunging-house, having afterwards fallen into bad circumstances,
was one day, when Johnson was at dinner with him, seized for debt,
and carried to prison; that Johnson sat still undisturbed, and went
on eating and drinking; upon which the gentleman's sister, who was
present, could not suppress her indignation: 'What, Sir, (said
she,) are you so unfeeling, as not even to offer to go to my
brother in his distress; you who have been so much obliged to him?'
And that Johnson answered, 'Madam, I owe him no obligation; what he
did for me he would have done for a dog.'

Johnson assured me, that the story was absolutely false: but like a
man conscious of being in the right, and desirous of completely
vindicating himself from such a charge, he did not arrogantly rest
on a mere denial, and on his general character, but proceeded
thus:--'Sir, I was very intimate with that gentleman, and was once
relieved by him from an arrest; but I never was present when he was
arrested, never knew that he was arrested, and I believe he never
was in difficulties after the time when he relieved me.  I loved
him much; yet, in talking of his general character, I may have
said, though I do not remember that I ever did say so, that as his
generosity proceeded from no principle, but was a part of his
profusion, he would do for a dog what he would do for a friend: but
I never applied this remark to any particular instance, and
certainly not to his kindness to me.  If a profuse man, who does
not value his money, and gives a large sum to a whore, gives half
as much, or an equally large sum to relieve a friend, it cannot be
esteemed as virtue.  This was all that I could say of that
gentleman; and, if said at all, it must have been said after his
death.  Sir, I would have gone to the world's end to relieve him.
The remark about the dog, if made by me, was such a sally as might
escape one when painting a man highly.'

On Tuesday, September 23, Johnson was remarkably cordial to me.  It
being necessary for me to return to Scotland soon, I had fixed on
the next day for my setting out, and I felt a tender concern at the
thought of parting with him.  He had, at this time, frankly
communicated to me many particulars, which are inserted in this
work in their proper places; and once, when I happened to mention
that the expence of my jaunt would come to much more than I had
computed, he said, 'Why, Sir, if the expence were to be an
inconvenience, you would have reason to regret it: but, if you have
had the money to spend, I know not that you could have purchased as
much pleasure with it in any other way.'

I perceived that he pronounced the word heard, as if spelt with a
double e, heerd, instead of sounding it herd, as is most usually
done.  He said, his reason was, that if it was pronounced herd,
there would be a single exception from the English pronunciation of
the syllable ear, and he thought it better not to have that
exception.

In the evening our gentleman-farmer, and two others, entertained
themselves and the company with a great number of tunes on the
fiddle.  Johnson desired to have 'Let ambition fire thy mind,'
played over again, and appeared to give a patient attention to it;
though he owned to me that he was very insensible to the power of
musick.  I told him, that it affected me to such a degree, as often
to agitate my nerves painfully, producing in my mind alternate
sensations of pathetick dejection, so that I was ready to shed
tears; and of daring resolution, so that I was inclined to rush
into the thickest part of the battle.  'Sir, (said he,) I should
never hear it, if it made me such a fool.'

This evening, while some of the tunes of ordinary composition were
played with no great skill, my frame was agitated, and I was
conscious of a generous attachment to Dr. Johnson, as my preceptor
and friend, mixed with an affectionate regret that he was an old
man, whom I should probably lose in a short time.  I thought I
could defend him at the point of my sword.  My reverence and
affection for him were in full glow.  I said to him, 'My dear Sir,
we must meet every year, if you don't quarrel with me.'  JOHNSON.
'Nay, Sir, you are more likely to quarrel with me, than I with you.
My regard for you is greater almost than I have words to express;
but I do not choose to be always repeating it; write it down in the
first leaf of your pocket-book, and never doubt of it again.'

I talked to him of misery being 'the doom of man' in this life, as
displayed in his Vanity of Human Wishes.  Yet I observed that
things were done upon the supposition of happiness; grand houses
were built, fine gardens were made, splendid places of publick
amusement were contrived, and crowded with company.  JOHNSON.
'Alas, Sir, these are all only struggles for happiness.  When I
first entered Ranelagh, it gave an expansion and gay sensation to
my mind, such as I never experienced any where else.  But, as
Xerxes wept when he viewed his immense army, and considered that
not one of that great multitude would be alive a hundred years
afterwards, so it went to my heart to consider that there was not
one in all that brilliant circle, that was not afraid to go home
and think; but that the thoughts of each individual there, would be
distressing when alone.'

I suggested, that being in love, and flattered with hopes of
success; or having some favourite scheme in view for the next day,
might prevent that wretchedness of which we had been talking.
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, it may sometimes be so as you suppose; but my
conclusion is in general but too true.'

While Johnson and I stood in calm conference by ourselves in Dr.
Taylor's garden, at a pretty late hour in a serene autumn night,
looking up to the heavens, I directed the discourse to the subject
of a future state.  My friend was in a placid and most benignant
frame.  'Sir, (said he,) I do not imagine that all things will be
made clear to us immediately after death, but that the ways of
Providence will be explained to us very gradually.'  He talked to
me upon this aweful and delicate question in a gentle tone, and as
if afraid to be decisive.

After supper I accompanied him to his apartment, and at my request
he dictated to me an argument in favour of the negro who was then
claiming his liberty, in an action in the Court of Session in
Scotland.  He had always been very zealous against slavery in every
form, in which I, with all deference, thought that he discovered 'a
zeal without knowledge.'  Upon one occasion, when in company with
some very grave men at Oxford, his toast was, 'Here's to the next
insurrection of the negroes in the West Indies.'  His violent
prejudice against our West Indian and American settlers appeared
whenever there was an opportunity.  Towards the conclusion of his
Taxation no Tyranny, he says, 'how is it that we hear the loudest
YELPS for liberty among the drivers of negroes?'

When I said now to Johnson, that I was afraid I kept him too late
up.  'No, Sir, (said he,) I don't care though I sit all night with
you.'  This was an animated speech from a man in his sixty-ninth
year.

Had I been as attentive not to displease him as I ought to have
been, I know not but this vigil might have been fulfilled; but I
unluckily entered upon the controversy concerning the right of
Great-Britain to tax America, and attempted to argue in favour of
our fellow-subjects on the other side of the Atlantick.  I insisted
that America might be very well governed, and made to yield
sufficient revenue by the means of INFLUENCE, as exemplified in
Ireland, while the people might be pleased with the imagination of
their participating of the British constitution, by having a body
of representatives, without whose consent money could not be
exacted from them.  Johnson could not bear my thus opposing his
avowed opinion, which he had exerted himself with an extreme degree
of heat to enforce; and the violent agitation into which he was
thrown, while answering, or rather reprimanding me, alarmed me so,
that I heartily repented of my having unthinkingly introduced the
subject.  I myself, however, grew warm, and the change was great,
from the calm state of philosophical discussion in which we had a
little before been pleasingly employed.

We were fatigued by the contest, which was produced by my want of
caution; and he was not then in the humour to slide into easy and
cheerful talk.  It therefore so happened, that we were after an
hour or two very willing to separate and go to bed.

On Wednesday, September 24, I went into Dr. Johnson's room before
he got up, and finding that the storm of the preceding night was
quite laid, I sat down upon his bed-side, and he talked with as
much readiness and good-humour as ever.  He recommended to me to
plant a considerable part of a large moorish farm which I had
purchased, and he made several calculations of the expence and
profit: for he delighted in exercising his mind on the science of
numbers.  He pressed upon me the importance of planting at the
first in a very sufficient manner, quoting the saying 'In bello non
licet bis errare:' and adding, 'this is equally true in planting.'

I spoke with gratitude of Dr. Taylor's hospitality; and, as
evidence that it was not on account of his good table alone that
Johnson visited him often, I mentioned a little anecdote which had
escaped my friend's recollection, and at hearing which repeated, he
smiled.  One evening, when I was sitting with him, Frank delivered
this message: 'Sir, Dr. Taylor sends his compliments to you, and
begs you will dine with him to-morrow.  He has got a hare.'--'My
compliments (said Johnson,) and I'll dine with him--hare or
rabbit.'

After breakfast I departed, and pursued my journey northwards.  I
took my post-chaise from the Green Man, a very good inn at
Ashbourne, the mistress of which, a mighty civil gentlewoman,
courtseying very low, presented me with an engraving of the sign of
her house; to which she had subjoined, in her own hand-writing, an
address in such singular simplicity of style, that I have preserved
it pasted upon one of the boards of my original Journal at this
time, and shall here insert it for the amusement of my readers:--

'M. KILLINGLEY's duty waits upon Mr. Boswell, is exceedingly
obliged to him for this favour; whenever he comes this way, hopes
for a continuance of the same.  Would Mr. Boswell name the house to
his extensive acquaintance, it would be a singular favour conferr'd
on one who has it not in her power to make any other return but her
most grateful thanks, and sincerest prayers for his happiness in
time, and in a blessed eternity.--Tuesday morn.'

I cannot omit a curious circumstance which occurred at Edensor-inn,
close by Chatsworth, to survey the magnificence of which I had gone
a considerable way out of my road to Scotland.  The inn was then
kept by a very jolly landlord, whose name, I think, was Malton.  He
happened to mention that 'the celebrated Dr. Johnson had been in
his house.'  I inquired WHO this Dr. Johnson was, that I might hear
mine host's notion of him.  'Sir, (said he,) Johnson, the great
writer; ODDITY, as they call him.  He's the greatest writer in
England; he writes for the ministry; he has a correspondence
abroad, and lets them know what's going on.'

My friend, who had a thorough dependance upon the authenticity of
my relation without any EMBELLISHMENT, as FALSEHOOD or FICTION is
too gently called, laughed a good deal at this representation of
himself.

On Wednesday, March 18,* I arrived in London, and was informed by
good Mr. Francis that his master was better, and was gone to Mr.
Thrale's at Streatham, to which place I wrote to him, begging to
know when he would be in town.  He was not expected for some time;
but next day having called on Dr. Taylor, in Dean's-yard,
Westminster, I found him there, and was told he had come to town
for a few hours.  He met me with his usual kindness, but instantly
returned to the writing of something on which he was employed when
I came in, and on which he seemed much intent.  Finding him thus
engaged, I made my visit very short.


* 1778.


On Friday, March 20, I found him at his own house, sitting with
Mrs. Williams, and was informed that the room formerly allotted to
me was now appropriated to a charitable purpose; Mrs. Desmoulins,
and I think her daughter, and a Miss Carmichael, being all lodged
in it.  Such was his humanity, and such his generosity, that Mrs.
Desmoulins herself told me, he allowed her half-a-guinea a week.
Let it be remembered, that this was above a twelfth part of his
pension.

His liberality, indeed, was at all periods of his life very
remarkable.  Mr. Howard, of Lichfield, at whose father's house
Johnson had in his early years been kindly received, told me, that
when he was a boy at the Charter-House, his father wrote to him to
go and pay a visit to Mr. Samuel Johnson, which he accordingly did,
and found him in an upper room, of poor appearance.  Johnson
received him with much courteousness, and talked a great deal to
him, as to a school-boy, of the course of his education, and other
particulars.  When he afterwards came to know and understand the
high character of this great man, he recollected his condescension
with wonder.  He added, that when he was going away, Mr. Johnson
presented him with half-a-guinea; and this, said Mr. Howard, was at
a time when he probably had not another.

We retired from Mrs. Williams to another room.  Tom Davies soon
after joined us.  He had now unfortunately failed in his
circumstances, and was much indebted to Dr. Johnson's kindness for
obtaining for him many alleviations of his distress.  After he went
away, Johnson blamed his folly in quitting the stage, by which he
and his wife got five hundred pounds a year.  I said, I believed it
was owing to Churchill's attack upon him,


    'He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.'


JOHNSON.  'I believe so too, Sir.  But what a man is he, who is to
be driven from the stage by a line?  Another line would have driven
him from his shop.'

He returned next day to Streatham, to Mr. Thrale's; where, as Mr.
Strahan once complained to me, 'he was in a great measure absorbed
from the society of his old friends.'  I was kept in London by
business, and wrote to him on the 27th, that a separation from him
for a week, when we were so near, was equal to a separation for a
year, when we were at four hundred miles distance.  I went to
Streatham on Monday, March 30.  Before he appeared, Mrs. Thrale
made a very characteristical remark:--'I do not know for certain
what will please Dr. Johnson: but I know for certain that it will
displease him to praise any thing, even what he likes,
extravagantly.'

At dinner he laughed at querulous declamations against the age, on
account of luxury,--increase of London,--scarcity of provisions,--
and other such topicks.  'Houses (said he,) will be built till
rents fall: and corn is more plentiful now than ever it was.'

I had before dinner repeated a ridiculous story told me by an old
man who had been a passenger with me in the stage-coach to-day.
Mrs. Thrale, having taken occasion to allude to it in talking to
me, called it 'The story told you by the old WOMAN.'--'Now, Madam,
(said I,) give me leave to catch you in the fact; it was not an old
WOMAN, but an old MAN, whom I mentioned as having told me this.'  I
presumed to take an opportunity, in presence of Johnson, of shewing
this lively lady how ready she was, unintentionally, to deviate
from exact authenticity of narration.

Next morning, while we were at breakfast, Johnson gave a very
earnest recommendation of what he himself practised with the utmost
conscientiousness: I mean a strict attention to truth, even in the
most minute particulars.  'Accustom your children (said he,)
constantly to this; if a thing happened at one window, and they,
when relating it, say that it happened at another, do not let it
pass, but instantly check them; you do not know where deviation
from truth will end.'  BOSWELL.  'It may come to the door: and when
once an account is at all varied in one circumstance, it may by
degrees be varied so as to be totally different from what really
happened.'  Our lively hostess, whose fancy was impatient of the
rein, fidgeted at this, and ventured to say, 'Nay, this is too
much.  If Mr. Johnson should forbid me to drink tea, I would
comply, as I should feel the restraint only twice a day; but little
variations in narrative must happen a thousand times a day, if one
is not perpetually watching.'  JOHNSON.  'Well, Madam, and you
OUGHT to be perpetually watching.  It is more from carelessness
about truth than from intentional lying, that there is so much
falsehood in the world.'

He was indeed so much impressed with the prevalence of falsehood,
voluntary or unintentional, that I never knew any person who upon
hearing an extraordinary circumstance told, discovered more of the
incredulus odi.  He would say, with a significant look and decisive
tone, 'It is not so.  Do not tell this again.'  He inculcated upon
all his friends the importance of perpetual vigilance against the
slightest degrees of falsehood; the effect of which, as Sir Joshua
Reynolds observed to me, has been, that all who were of his SCHOOL
are distinguished for a love of truth and accuracy, which they
would not have possessed in the same degree, if they had not been
acquainted with Johnson.

Talking of ghosts, he said, 'It is wonderful that five thousand
years have now elapsed since the creation of the world, and still
it is undecided whether or not there has ever been an instance of
the spirit of any person appearing after death.  All argument is
against it; but all belief is for it.'

He said, 'John Wesley's conversation is good, but he is never at
leisure.  He is always obliged to go at a certain hour.  This is
very disagreeable to a man who loves to fold his legs and have out
his talk, as I do.'

On Friday, April 3, I dined with him in London, in a company* where
were present several eminent men, whom I shall not name, but
distinguish their parts in the conversation by different letters.


* The Club.  Hill identifies E. as Burke and J. as Sir Joshua
Reynolds.--ED.


E.  'We hear prodigious complaints at present of emigration.  I am
convinced that emigration makes a country more populous.'  J.
'That sounds very much like a paradox.'  E.  'Exportation of men,
like exportation of all other commodities, makes more be produced.'
JOHNSON.  'But there would be more people were there not
emigration, provided there were food for more.'  E.  'No; leave a
few breeders, and you'll have more people than if there were no
emigration.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, it is plain there will be more
people, if there are more breeders.  Thirty cows in good pasture
will produce more calves than ten cows, provided they have good
bulls.'  E.  'There are bulls enough in Ireland.'  JOHNSON.
(smiling,) 'So, Sir, I should think from your argument.'

E.  'I believe, in any body of men in England, I should have been
in the Minority; I have always been in the Minority.'  P.  'The
House of Commons resembles a private company.  How seldom is any
man convinced by another's argument; passion and pride rise against
it.'  R.  'What would be the consequence, if a Minister, sure of a
majority in the House of Commons, should resolve that there should
be no speaking at all upon his side.'  E.  'He must soon go out.
That has been tried; but it was found it would not do.' . . . .

JOHNSON.  'I have been reading Thicknesse's Travels, which I think
are entertaining.'  BOSWELL.  'What, Sir, a good book?'  JOHNSON.
'Yes, Sir, to read once; I do not say you are to make a study of
it, and digest it; and I believe it to be a true book in his
intention.'

E.  'From the experience which I have had,--and I have had a great
deal,--I have learnt to think BETTER of mankind.'  JOHNSON.  'From
my experience I have found them worse in commercial dealings, more
disposed to cheat, than I had any notion of; but more disposed to
do one another good than I had conceived.'  J.  'Less just and more
beneficent.'  JOHNSON.  'And really it is wonderful, considering
how much attention is necessary for men to take care of themselves,
and ward off immediate evils which press upon them, it is wonderful
how much they do for others.  As it is said of the greatest liar,
that he tells more truth than falsehood; so it may be said of the
worst man, that he does more good than evil.'  BOSWELL.  'Perhaps
from experience men may be found HAPPIER than we suppose.'
JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; the more we enquire, we shall find men the less
happy.'

E.  'I understand the hogshead of claret, which this society was
favoured with by our friend the Dean, is nearly out; I think he
should be written to, to send another of the same kind.  Let the
request be made with a happy ambiguity of expression, so that we
may have the chance of his sending IT also as a present.'  JOHNSON.
'I am willing to offer my services as secretary on this occasion.'
P.  'As many as are for Dr. Johnson being secretary hold up your
hands.--Carried unanimously.'  BOSWELL.  'He will be our Dictator.'
JOHNSON.  'No, the company is to dictate to me.  I am only to write
for wine; and I am quite disinterested, as I drink none; I shall
not be suspected of having forged the application.  I am no more
than humble SCRIBE.'  E.  'Then you shall PREscribe.'  BOSWELL.
'Very well.  The first play of words to-day.'  J.  'No, no; the
BULLS in Ireland.'  JOHNSON.  'Were I your Dictator you should have
no wine.  It would be my business cavere ne quid detrimenti
Respublica caperet, and wine is dangerous.  Rome was ruined by
luxury,' (smiling.)  E.  'If you allow no wine as Dictator, you
shall not have me for your master of horse.'

On Saturday, April 4, I drank tea with Johnson at Dr. Taylor's,
where he had dined.

He was very silent this evening; and read in a variety of books:
suddenly throwing down one, and taking up another.

He talked of going to Streatham that night.  TAYLOR.  'You'll be
robbed if you do: or you must shoot a highwayman.  Now I would
rather be robbed than do that; I would not shoot a highwayman.'
JOHNSON.  'But I would rather shoot him in the instant when he is
attempting to rob me, than afterwards swear against him at the Old-
Bailey, to take away his life, after he has robbed me.  I am surer
I am right in the one case than in the other.  I may be mistaken as
to the man, when I swear: I cannot be mistaken, if I shoot him in
the act.  Besides, we feel less reluctance to take away a man's
life, when we are heated by the injury, than to do it at a distance
of time by an oath, after we have cooled.'  BOSWELL.  'So, Sir, you
would rather act from the motive of private passion, than that of
publick advantage.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, when I shoot the
highwayman I act from both.'  BOSWELL.  'Very well, very well--
There is no catching him.'  JOHNSON.  'At the same time one does
not know what to say.  For perhaps one may, a year after, hang
himself from uneasiness for having shot a man.  Few minds are fit
to be trusted with so great a thing.'  BOSWELL.  'Then, Sir, you
would not shoot him?'  JOHNSON.  'But I might be vexed afterwards
for that too.'

Thrale's carriage not having come for him, as he expected, I
accompanied him some part of the way home to his own house.  I told
him, that I had talked of him to Mr. Dunning a few days before, and
had said, that in his company we did not so much interchange
conversation, as listen to him; and that Dunning observed, upon
this, 'One is always willing to listen to Dr. Johnson:' to which I
answered, 'That is a great deal from you, Sir.'--'Yes, Sir, (said
Johnson,) a great deal indeed.  Here is a man willing to listen, to
whom the world is listening all the rest of the year.'  BOSWELL.
'I think, Sir, it is right to tell one man of such a handsome
thing, which has been said of him by another.  It tends to increase
benevolence.'  JOHNSON.  'Undoubtedly it is right, Sir.'

On Tuesday, April 7, I breakfasted with him at his house.  He said,
'nobody was content.'  I mentioned to him a respectable person in
Scotland whom he knew; and I asserted, that I really believed he
was always content.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, he is not content with the
present; he has always some new scheme, some new plantation,
something which is future.  You know he was not content as a
widower; for he married again.'  BOSWELL.  'But he is not
restless.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, he is only locally at rest.  A chymist
is locally at rest; but his mind is hard at work.  This gentleman
has done with external exertions.  It is too late for him to engage
in distant projects.'  BOSWELL.  'He seems to amuse himself quite
well; to have his attention fixed, and his tranquillity preserved
by very small matters.  I have tried this; but it would not do with
me.'  JOHNSON.  (laughing,) 'No, Sir; it must be born with a man to
be contented to take up with little things.  Women have a great
advantage that they may take up with little things, without
disgracing themselves: a man cannot, except with fiddling.  Had I
learnt to fiddle, I should have done nothing else.'  BOSWELL.
'Pray, Sir, did you ever play on any musical instrument?'  JOHNSON.
'No, Sir.  I once bought me a flagelet; but I never made out a
tune.'  BOSWELL.  'A flagelet, Sir!--so small an instrument?  I
should have liked to hear you play on the violoncello.  THAT should
have been YOUR instrument.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I might as well have
played on the violoncello as another; but I should have done
nothing else.  No, Sir; a man would never undertake great things,
could he be amused with small.  I once tried knotting.  Dempster's
sister undertook to teach me; but I could not learn it.'  BOSWELL.
'So, Sir; it will be related in pompous narrative, "Once for his
amusement he tried knotting; nor did this Hercules disdain the
distaff."'  JOHNSON.  'Knitting of stockings is a good amusement.
As a freeman of Aberdeen I should be a knitter of stockings.'  He
asked me to go down with him and dine at Mr. Thrale's at Streatham,
to which I agreed.  I had lent him An Account of Scotland, in 1702,
written by a man of various enquiry, an English chaplain to a
regiment stationed there.  JOHNSON.  'It is sad stuff, Sir,
miserably written, as books in general then were.  There is now an
elegance of style universally diffused.  No man now writes so ill
as Martin's Account of the Hebrides is written.  A man could not
write so ill, if he should try.  Set a merchant's clerk now to
write, and he'll do better.'

He talked to me with serious concern of a certain female friend's
'laxity of narration, and inattention to truth.'--'I am as much
vexed (said he,) at the ease with which she hears it mentioned to
her, as at the thing itself.  I told her, "Madam, you are contented
to hear every day said to you, what the highest of mankind have
died for, rather than bear."--You know, Sir, the highest of mankind
have died rather than bear to be told they had uttered a falsehood.
Do talk to her of it: I am weary.'

BOSWELL.  'Was not Dr. John Campbell a very inaccurate man in his
narrative, Sir?  He once told me, that he drank thirteen bottles of
port at a sitting.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, I do not know that
Campbell ever lied with pen and ink; but you could not entirely
depend on any thing he told you in conversation: if there was fact
mixed with it.  However, I loved Campbell: he was a solid orthodox
man: he had a reverence for religion.  Though defective in
practice, he was religious in principle; and he did nothing grossly
wrong that I have heard.'

Talking of drinking wine, he said, 'I did not leave off wine,
because I could not bear it; I have drunk three bottles of port
without being the worse for it.  University College has witnessed
this.'  BOSWELL.  'Why, then, Sir, did you leave it off?'  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, because it is so much better for a man to be sure that
he is never to be intoxicated, never to lose the power over
himself.  I shall not begin to drink wine again, till I grow old,
and want it.'  BOSWELL.  'I think, Sir, you once said to me, that
not to drink wine was a great deduction from life.'  JOHNSON.  'It
is a diminution of pleasure, to be sure; but I do not say a
diminution of happiness.  There is more happiness in being
rational.'  BOSWELL.  'But if we could have pleasure always, should
not we be happy?  The greatest part of men would compound for
pleasure.'  JOHNSON.  'Supposing we could have pleasure always, an
intellectual man would not compound for it.  The greatest part of
men would compound, because the greatest part of men are gross.'

I mentioned to him that I had become very weary in a company where
I heard not a single intellectual sentence, except that 'a man who
had been settled ten years in Minorca was become a much inferiour
man to what he was in London, because a man's mind grows narrow in
a narrow place.'  JOHNSON.  'A man's mind grows narrow in a narrow
place, whose mind is enlarged only because he has lived in a large
place: but what is got by books and thinking is preserved in a
narrow place as well as in a large place.  A man cannot know modes
of life as well in Minorca as in London; but he may study
mathematicks as well in Minorca.'  BOSWELL.  'I don't know, Sir: if
you had remained ten years in the Isle of Col, you would not have
been the man that you now are.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, if I had been
there from fifteen to twenty-five; but not if from twenty-five to
thirty-five.'  BOSWELL.  'I own, Sir, the spirits which I have in
London make me do every thing with more readiness and vigour.  I
can talk twice as much in London as any where else.'

Of Goldsmith he said, 'He was not an agreeable companion, for he
talked always for fame.  A man who does so never can be pleasing.
The man who talks to unburthen his mind is the man to delight you.
An eminent friend of ours is not so agreeable as the variety of his
knowledge would otherwise make him, because he talks partly from
ostentation.'

Soon after our arrival at Thrale's, I heard one of the maids
calling eagerly on another, to go to Dr. Johnson.  I wondered what
this could mean.  I afterwards learnt, that it was to give her a
Bible, which he had brought from London as a present to her.

He was for a considerable time occupied in reading Memoires de
Fontenelle, leaning and swinging upon the low gate into the court,
without his hat.

At dinner, Mrs. Thrale expressed a wish to go and see Scotland.
JOHNSON.  'Seeing Scotland, Madam, is only seeing a worse England.
It is seeing the flower gradually fade away to the naked stalk.
Seeing the Hebrides, indeed, is seeing quite a different scene.'

On Thursday, April 9, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds's,
with the Bishop of St. Asaph, (Dr. Shipley,) Mr. Allan Ramsay, Mr.
Gibbon, Mr. Cambridge, and Mr. Langton.

Goldsmith being mentioned, Johnson observed, that it was long
before his merit came to be acknowledged.  That he once complained
to him, in ludicrous terms of distress, 'Whenever I write any
thing, the publick MAKE A POINT to know nothing about it:' but that
his Traveller brought him into high reputation.  LANGTON.  'There
is not one bad line in that poem; not one of Dryden's careless
verses.  SIR JOSHUA.  'I was glad to hear Charles Fox say, it was
one of the finest poems in the English language.'  LANGTON.  'Why
was you glad?  You surely had no doubt of this before.'  JOHNSON.
'No; the merit of The Traveller is so well established, that Mr.
Fox's praise cannot augment it, nor his censure diminish it.'  SIR
JOSHUA.  'But his friends may suspect they had too great a
partiality for him.'  JOHNSON.  Nay, Sir, the partiality of his
friends was always against him.  It was with difficulty we could
give him a hearing.  Goldsmith had no settled notions upon any
subject; so he talked always at random.  It seemed to be his
intention to blurt out whatever was in his mind, and see what would
become of it.  He was angry too, when catched in an absurdity; but
it did not prevent him from falling into another the next minute.
I remember Chamier, after talking with him for some time, said,
"Well, I do believe he wrote this poem himself: and, let me tell
you, that is believing a great deal."  Chamier once asked him, what
he meant by slow, the last word in the first line of The Traveller,


    "Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow."


Did he mean tardiness of locomotion?  Goldsmith, who would say
something without consideration, answered, "Yes."  I was sitting
by, and said, "No, Sir; you do not mean tardiness of locomotion;
you mean, that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in
solitude."  Chamier believed then that I had written the line as
much as if he had seen me write it.  Goldsmith, however, was a man,
who, whatever he wrote, did it better than any other man could do.
He deserved a place in Westminster-Abbey, and every year he lived,
would have deserved it better.  He had, indeed, been at no pains to
fill his mind with knowledge.  He transplanted it from one place to
another; and it did not settle in his mind; so he could not tell
what was in his own books.'

We talked of living in the country.  JOHNSON.  'No wise man will go
to live in the country, unless he has something to do which can be
better done in the country.  For instance: if he is to shut himself
up for a year to study a science, it is better to look out to the
fields, than to an opposite wall.  Then, if a man walks out in the
country, there is nobody to keep him from walking in again: but if
a man walks out in London, he is not sure when he shall walk in
again.  A great city is, to be sure, the school for studying life;
and "The proper study of mankind is man," as Pope observes.'
BOSWELL.  'I fancy London is the best place for society; though I
have heard that the very first society of Paris is still beyond any
thing that we have here.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I question if in Paris
such a company as is sitting round this table could be got together
in less than half a year.  They talk in France of the felicity of
men and women living together: the truth is, that there the men are
not higher than the women, they know no more than the women do, and
they are not held down in their conversation by the presence of
women.'

We talked of old age.  Johnson (now in his seventieth year,) said,
'It is a man's own fault, it is from want of use, if his mind grows
torpid in old age.'  The Bishop asked, if an old man does not lose
faster than he gets.  JOHNSON.  'I think not, my Lord, if he exerts
himself.'  One of the company rashly observed, that he thought it
was happy for an old man that insensibility comes upon him.
JOHNSON.  (with a noble elevation and disdain,) 'No, Sir, I should
never be happy by being less rational.'  BISHOP OF ST. ASAPH.
'Your wish then, Sir, is [Greek text omitted].'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, my
Lord.'

This season there was a whimsical fashion in the newspapers of
applying Shakspeare's words to describe living persons well known
in the world; which was done under the title of Modern Characters
from Shakspeare; many of which were admirably adapted.  The fancy
took so much, that they were afterwards collected into a pamphlet.
Somebody said to Johnson, across the table, that he had not been in
those characters.  'Yes (said he,) I have.  I should have been
sorry to be left out.'  He then repeated what had been applied to
him,


    'I must borrow GARAGANTUA'S mouth.'


Miss Reynolds not perceiving at once the meaning of this, he was
obliged to explain it to her, which had something of an aukward and
ludicrous effect.  'Why, Madam, it has a reference to me, as using
big words, which require the mouth of a giant to pronounce them.
Garagantua is the name of a giant in Rabelais.'  BOSWELL.  'But,
Sir, there is another amongst them for you:


    "He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
     Or Jove for his power to thunder."'


JOHNSON.  'There is nothing marked in that.  No, Sir, Garagantua is
the best.'  Notwithstanding this ease and good humour, when I, a
little while afterwards, repeated his sarcasm on Kenrick, which was
received with applause, he asked, 'WHO said that?' and on my
suddenly answering, Garagantua, he looked serious, which was a
sufficient indication that he did not wish it to be kept up.

When we went to the drawing-room there was a rich assemblage.
Besides the company who had been at dinner, there were Mr. Garrick,
Mr. Harris of Salisbury, Dr. Percy, Dr. Burney, Honourable Mrs.
Cholmondeley, Miss Hannah More, &c. &c.

After wandering about in a kind of pleasing distraction for some
time, I got into a corner, with Johnson, Garrick, and Harris.
GARRICK.  (to Harris,) 'Pray, Sir, have you read Potter's
Aeschylus?'  HARRIS.  'Yes; and think it pretty.'  GARRICK.  (to
Johnson,) 'And what think you, Sir, of it?'  JOHNSON.  'I thought
what I read of it VERBIAGE: but upon Mr. Harris's recommendation, I
will read a play.  (To Mr. Harris,) Don't prescribe two.'  Mr.
Harris suggested one, I do not remember which.  JOHNSON.  'We must
try its effect as an English poem; that is the way to judge of the
merit of a translation.  Translations are, in general, for people
who cannot read the original.'  I mentioned the vulgar saying, that
Pope's Homer was not a good representation of the original.
JOHNSON.  'Sir, it is the greatest work of the kind that has ever
been produced.'  BOSWELL.  'The truth is, it is impossible
perfectly to translate poetry.  In a different language it may be
the same tune, but it has not the same tone.  Homer plays it on a
bassoon; Pope on a flagelet.'  HARRIS.  'I think Heroick poetry is
best in blank verse; yet it appears that rhyme is essential to
English poetry, from our deficiency in metrical quantities.  In my
opinion, the chief excellence of our language is numerous prose.'
JOHNSON.  'Sir William Temple was the first writer who gave cadence
to English prose.  Before his time they were careless of
arrangement, and did not mind whether a sentence ended with an
important word or an insignificant word, or with what part of
speech it was concluded.'

GARRICK.  'Of all the translations that ever were attempted, I
think Elphinston's Martial the most extraordinary.  He consulted me
upon it, who am a little of an epigrammatist myself, you know.  I
told him freely, "You don't seem to have that turn."  I asked him
if he was serious; and finding he was, I advised him against
publishing.  Why, his translation is more difficult to understand
than the original.  I thought him a man of some talents; but he
seems crazy in this.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you have done what I had not
courage to do.  But he did not ask my advice, and I did not force
it upon him, to make him angry with me.'  GARRICK.  'But as a
friend, Sir--.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, such a friend as I am with him--
no.'  GARRICK.  'But if you see a friend going to tumble over a
precipice?'  JOHNSON.  'That is an extravagant case, Sir.  You are
sure a friend will thank you for hindering him from tumbling over a
precipice; but, in the other case, I should hurt his vanity, and do
him no good.  He would not take my advice.  His brother-in-law,
Strahan, sent him a subscription of fifty pounds, and said he would
send him fifty more, if he would not publish.'  GARRICK.  'What!
eh! is Strahan a good judge of an Epigram?  Is not he rather an
OBTUSE man, eh?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, he may not be a judge of an
Epigram: but you see he is a judge of what is not an Epigram.'
BOSWELL.  'It is easy for you, Mr. Garrick, to talk to an authour
as you talked to Elphinston; you, who have been so long the manager
of a theatre, rejecting the plays of poor authours.  You are an old
Judge, who have often pronounced sentence of death.  You are a
practiced surgeon, who have often amputated limbs; and though this
may have been for the good of your patients, they cannot like you.
Those who have undergone a dreadful operation, are not very fond of
seeing the operator again.'  GARRICK.  'Yes, I know enough of that.
There was a reverend gentleman, (Mr. Hawkins,) who wrote a tragedy,
the SIEGE of something, which I refused.'  HARRIS.  'So, the siege
was raised.'  JOHNSON.  'Ay, he came to me and complained; and told
me, that Garrick said his play was wrong in the CONCOCTION.  Now,
what is the concoction of a play?'  (Here Garrick started, and
twisted himself, and seemed sorely vexed; for Johnson told me, he
believed the story was true.)  GARRICK.  'I--I--I--said FIRST
concoction.'  JOHNSON.  (smiling,) 'Well, he left out FIRST.  And
Rich, he said, refused him IN FALSE ENGLISH: he could shew it under
his hand.'  GARRICK.  'He wrote to me in violent wrath, for having
refused his play: "Sir, this is growing a very serious and terrible
affair.  I am resolved to publish my play.  I will appeal to the
world; and how will your judgement appear?"  I answered, "Sir,
notwithstanding all the seriousness, and all the terrours, I have
no objection to your publishing your play; and as you live at a
great distance, (Devonshire, I believe,) if you will send it to me,
I will convey it to the press."  I never heard more of it, ha! ha!
ha!'

On Friday, April 10, I found Johnson at home in the morning.  We
resumed the conversation of yesterday.  He put me in mind of some
of it which had escaped my memory, and enabled me to record it more
perfectly than I otherwise could have done.  He was much pleased
with my paying so great attention to his recommendation in 1763,
the period when our acquaintance began, that I should keep a
journal; and I could perceive he was secretly pleased to find so
much of the fruit of his mind preserved; and as he had been used to
imagine and say that he always laboured when he said a good thing--
it delighted him, on a review, to find that his conversation teemed
with point and imagery.

I said to him, 'You were yesterday, Sir, in remarkably good humour:
but there was nothing to offend you, nothing to produce irritation
or violence.  There was no bold offender.  There was not one
capital conviction.  It was a maiden assize.  You had on your white
gloves.'

He found fault with our friend Langton for having been too silent.
'Sir, (said I,) you will recollect, that he very properly took up
Sir Joshua for being glad that Charles Fox had praised Goldsmith's
Traveller, and you joined him.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, I knocked Fox
on the head, without ceremony.  Reynolds is too much under Fox and
Burke at present.  He is under the Fox star and the Irish
constellation.  He is always under some planet.'  BOSWELL.  'There
is no Fox star.'  JOHNSON.  'But there is a dog star.'  BOSWELL.
'They say, indeed, a fox and a dog are the same animal.'

We dined together with Mr. Scott (now Sir William Scott his
Majesty's Advocate General,) at his chambers in the Temple, nobody
else there.  The company being small, Johnson was not in such
spirits as he had been the preceding day, and for a considerable
time little was said.

Talking of fame, for which there is so great a desire, I observed
how little there is of it in reality, compared with the other
objects of human attention.  'Let every man recollect, and he will
be sensible how small a part of his time is employed in talking or
thinking of Shakspeare, Voltaire, or any of the most celebrated men
that have ever lived, or are now supposed to occupy the attention
and admiration of the world.  Let this be extracted and compressed;
into what a narrow space will it go!'  I then slily introduced Mr.
Garrick's fame, and his assuming the airs of a great man.  JOHNSON.
'Sir, it is wonderful how LITTLE Garrick assumes.  No, Sir, Garrick
fortunam reverenter habet.  Consider, Sir: celebrated men, such as
you have mentioned, have had their applause at a distance; but
Garrick had it dashed in his face, sounded in his ears, and went
home every night with the plaudits of a thousand in his CRANIUM.
Then, Sir, Garrick did not FIND, but MADE his way to the tables,
the levees, and almost the bed-chambers of the great.  Then, Sir,
Garrick had under him a numerous body of people; who, from fear of
his power, and hopes of his favour, and admiration of his talents,
were constantly submissive to him.  And here is a man who has
advanced the dignity of his profession.  Garrick has made a player
a higher character.'  SCOTT.  'And he is a very sprightly writer
too.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir; and all this supported by great wealth
of his own acquisition.  If all this had happened to me, I should
have had a couple of fellows with long poles walking before me, to
knock down every body that stood in the way.  Consider, if all this
had happened to Cibber or Quin, they'd have jumped over the moon--
Yet Garrick speaks to US.' (smiling.)  BOSWELL.  'And Garrick is a
very good man, a charitable man.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, a liberal man.
He has given away more money than any man in England.  There may be
a little vanity mixed; but he has shewn, that money is not his
first object.'  BOSWELL.  'Yet Foote used to say of him, that he
walked out with an intention to do a generous action; but, turning
the corner of a street, he met with the ghost of a half-penny,
which frightened him.'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, that is very true,
too; for I never knew a man of whom it could be said with less
certainty to-day, what he will do to-morrow, than Garrick; it
depends so much on his humour at the time.'  SCOTT.  'I am glad to
hear of his liberality.  He has been represented as very saving.'
JOHNSON.  'With his domestick saving we have nothing to do.  I
remember drinking tea with him long ago, when Peg Woffington made
it, and he grumbled at her for making it too strong.*  He had then
begun to feel money in his purse, and did not know when he should
have enough of it.'


* When Johnson told this little anecdote to Sir Joshua Reynolds, he
mentioned a circumstance which he omitted to-day:--'Why, (said
Garrick,) it is as red as blood.'--BOSWELL.


We talked of war.  JOHNSON.  'Every man thinks meanly of himself
for not having been a soldier, or not having been at sea.'
BOSWELL.  'Lord Mansfield does not.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, if Lord
Mansfield were in a company of General Officers and Admirals who
have been in service, he would shrink; he'd wish to creep under the
table.'  BOSWELL.  'No; he'd think he could TRY them all.'
JOHNSON.  'Yes, if he could catch them: but they'd try him much
sooner.  No, Sir; were Socrates and Charles the Twelfth of Sweden
both present in any company, and Socrates to say, "Follow me, and
hear a lecture on philosophy;" and Charles, laying his hand on his
sword, to say, "Follow me, and dethrone the Czar;" a man would be
ashamed to follow Socrates.  Sir, the impression is universal; yet
it is strange.'

He talked of Mr. Charles Fox, of whose abilities he thought highly,
but observed, that he did not talk much at our CLUB.  I have heard
Mr. Gibbon remark, 'that Mr. Fox could not be afraid of Dr.
Johnson; yet he certainly was very shy of saying any thing in Dr.
Johnson's presence.'

He expressed great indignation at the imposture of the Cock-lane
Ghost, and related, with much satisfaction, how he had assisted in
detecting the cheat, and had published an account of it in the
news-papers.  Upon this subject I incautiously offended him, by
pressing him with too many questions, and he shewed his
displeasure.  I apologised, saying that 'I asked questions in order
to be instructed and entertained; I repaired eagerly to the
fountain; but that the moment he gave me a hint, the moment he put
a lock upon the well, I desisted.'--'But, Sir, (said he), that is
forcing one to do a disagreeable thing:' and he continued to rate
me.  'Nay, Sir, (said I,) when you have put a lock upon the well,
so that I can no longer drink, do not make the fountain of your wit
play upon me and wet me.'

He sometimes could not bear being teazed with questions.  I was
once present when a gentleman asked so many as, 'What did you do,
Sir?'  'What did you say, Sir?' that he at last grew enraged, and
said, 'I will not be put to the QUESTION.  Don't you consider, Sir,
that these are not the manners of a gentleman?  I will not be
baited with WHAT, and WHY; what is this? what is that? why is a
cow's tail long? why is a fox's tail bushy?'  The gentleman, who
was a good deal out of countenance, said, 'Why, Sir, you are so
good, that I venture to trouble you.'  Johnson.  'Sir, my being so
GOOD is no reason why you should be so ILL.'

He talked with an uncommon animation of travelling into distant
countries; that the mind was enlarged by it, and that an
acquisition of dignity of character was derived from it.  He
expressed a particular enthusiasm with respect to visiting the wall
of China.  I catched it for the moment, and said I really believed
I should go and see the wall of China had I not children, of whom
it was my duty to take care.  'Sir, (said he,) by doing so, you
would do what would be of importance in raising your children to
eminence.  There would be a lustre reflected upon them from your
spirit and curiosity.  They would be at all times regarded as the
children of a man who had gone to view the wall of China.  I am
serious, Sir.'

When we had left Mr. Scott's, he said 'Will you go home with me?'
'Sir, (said I,) it is late; but I'll go with you for three
minutes.'  JOHNSON.  'Or four.'  We went to Mrs. Williams's room,
where we found Mr. Allen the printer, who was the landlord of his
house in Bolt-court, a worthy, obliging man, and his very old
acquaintance; and what was exceedingly amusing, though he was of a
very diminutive size, he used, even in Johnson's presence, to
imitate the stately periods and slow and solemn utterance of the
great man.--I this evening boasted, that although I did not write
what is called stenography, or short-hand, in appropriated
characters devised for the purpose, I had a method of my own of
writing half words, and leaving out some altogether so as yet to
keep the substance and language of any discourse which I had heard
so much in view, that I could give it very completely soon after I
had taken it down.

On Sunday, April 12, I found him at home before dinner.  He and I,
and Mrs. Williams, went to dine with the Reverend Dr. Percy.

And here I shall record a scene of too much heat between Dr.
Johnson and Dr. Percy, which I should have suppressed, were it not
that it gave occasion to display the truely tender and benevolent
heart of Johnson, who, as soon as he found a friend was at all hurt
by any thing which he had 'said in his wrath,' was not only prompt
and desirous to be reconciled, but exerted himself to make ample
reparation.

Books of Travels having been mentioned, Johnson praised Pennant
very highly, as he did at Dunvegan, in the Isle of Sky.  Dr. Percy,
knowing himself to be the heir male of the ancient Percies, and
having the warmest and most dutiful attachment to the noble House
of Northumberland, could not sit quietly and hear a man praised,
who had spoken disrespectfully of Alnwick-Castle and the Duke's
pleasure grounds, especially as he thought meanly of his travels.
He therefore opposed Johnson eagerly.  JOHNSON.  'Pennant in what
he has said of Alnwick, has done what he intended; he has made you
very angry.'  PERCY.  'He has said the garden is TRIM, which is
representing it like a citizen's parterre, when the truth is, there
is a very large extent of fine turf and gravel walks.'  JOHNSON.
'According to your own account, Sir, Pennant is right.  It IS trim.
Here is grass cut close, and gravel rolled smooth.  Is not that
trim?  The extent is nothing against that; a mile may be as trim as
a square yard.  Your extent puts me in mind of the citizen's
enlarged dinner, two pieces of roast-beef, and two puddings.  There
is no variety, no mind exerted in laying out the ground, no trees.'
PERCY.  'He pretends to give the natural history of Northumberland,
and yet takes no notice of the immense number of trees planted
there of late.'  JOHNSON.  'That, Sir, has nothing to do with the
NATURAL history; that is CIVIL history.  A man who gives the
natural history of the oak, is not to tell how many oaks have been
planted in this place or that.  A man who gives the natural history
of the cow, is not to tell how many cows are milked at Islington.
The animal is the same, whether milked in the Park or at
Islington.'  PERCY.  'Pennant does not describe well; a carrier who
goes along the side of Loch-lomond would describe it better.'
JOHNSON.  'I think he describes very well.'  PERCY.  'I travelled
after him.'  JOHNSON.  'And I travelled after him.'  PERCY.  'But,
my good friend, you are short-sighted, and do not see so well as I
do.'  I wondered at Dr. Percy's venturing thus.  Dr. Johnson said
nothing at the time; but inflammable particles were collecting for
a cloud to burst.  In a little while Dr. Percy said something more
in disparagement of Pennant.  JOHNSON.  (pointedly,) 'This is the
resentment of a narrow mind, because he did not find every thing in
Northumberland.'  PERCY.  (feeling the stroke,) 'Sir, you may be as
rude as you please.'  JOHNSON.  'Hold, Sir!  Don't talk of
rudeness; remember, Sir, you told me (puffing hard with passion
struggling for a vent,) I was shortsighted.  We have done with
civility.  We are to be as rude as we please.'  PERCY.  'Upon my
honour, Sir, I did not mean to be uncivil.'  JOHNSON.  'I cannot
say so, Sir; for I DID mean to be uncivil, thinking YOU had been
uncivil.'  Dr. Percy rose, ran up to him, and taking him by the
hand, assured him affectionately that his meaning had been
misunderstood; upon which a reconciliation instantly took place.
JOHNSON.  'My dear Sir, I am willing you shall HANG Pennant.'
PERCY.  (resuming the former subject,) 'Pennant complains that the
helmet is not hung out to invite to the hall of hospitality.  Now I
never heard that it was a custom to hang out a HELMET.'  JOHNSON.
'Hang him up, hang him up.'  BOSWELL.  (humouring the joke,) 'Hang
out his skull instead of a helmet, and you may drink ale out of it
in your hall of Odin, as he is your enemy; that will be truly
ancient.  THERE will be Northern Antiquities.'  JOHNSON.  'He's a
WHIG, Sir; a SAD DOG.  (smiling at his own violent expressions,
merely for political difference of opinion.)  But he's the best
traveller I ever read; he observes more things than any one else
does.'

On Monday, April 13, I dined with Johnson at Mr. Langton's, where
were Dr. Porteus, then Bishop of Chester, now of London, and Dr.
Stinton.  He was at first in a very silent mood.  Before dinner he
said nothing but 'Pretty baby,' to one of the children.  Langton
said very well to me afterwards, that he could repeat Johnson's
conversation before dinner, as Johnson had said that he could
repeat a complete chapter of The Natural History of Iceland, from
the Danish of Horrebow, the whole of which was exactly thus:--


'CHAP. LXXII.  Concerning snakes.

'There are no snakes to be met with throughout the whole island.'


Mr. Topham Beauclerk came in the evening, and he and Dr. Johnson
and I staid to supper.  It was mentioned that Dr. Dodd had once
wished to be a member of THE LITERARY CLUB.  JOHNSON.  'I should be
sorry if any of our Club were hanged.  I will not say but some of
them deserve it.'  BEAUCLERK.  (supposing this to be aimed at
persons for whom he had at that time a wonderful fancy, which,
however, did not last long,) was irritated, and eagerly said, 'You,
Sir, have a friend, (naming him) who deserves to be hanged; for he
speaks behind their backs against those with whom he lives on the
best terms, and attacks them in the newspapers.  HE certainly ought
to be KICKED.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, we all do this in some degree,
"Veniam petimus damusque vicissim."  To be sure it may be done so
much, that a man may deserve to be kicked.'  BEAUCLERK.  'He is
very malignant.'  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; he is not malignant.  He is
mischievous, if you will.  He would do no man an essential injury;
he may, indeed, love to make sport of people by vexing their
vanity.  I, however, once knew an old gentleman who was absolutely
malignant.  He really wished evil to others, and rejoiced at it.'
BOSWELL.  'The gentleman, Mr. Beauclerk, against whom you are so
violent, is, I know, a man of good principles.'  BEAUCLERK.  'Then
he does not wear them out in practice.'

Dr. Johnson, who, as I have observed before, delighted in
discrimination of character, and having a masterly knowledge of
human nature, was willing to take men as they are, imperfect and
with a mixture of good and bad qualities, I suppose though he had
said enough in defence of his friend, of whose merits,
notwithstanding his exceptional points, he had a just value; and
added no more on the subject.

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, the ingenious Quaker lady,
Miss Seward, the poetess of Lichfield, the Reverend Dr. Mayo, 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, 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,
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 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.'

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,
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."'  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.'

Dr. Mayo having asked Johnson's opinion of Soame Jenyns's View of
the Internal Evidence of the Christian Religion;--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; 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.'  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.'  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, 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."'
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."'  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, 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;' 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.

Talking of Miss ------, 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.  Why should
she flatter ME?  I can do nothing for her.  Let her carry her
praise to a better market.  (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.'

Somebody mentioned the Reverend Mr. Mason's prosecution of Mr.
Murray, 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.  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.'

Of John Wesley, he said, 'He can talk well on any subject.'
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 attorneys would do
nothing, which proved to be the fact.  "This (says John,) is a
proof that a ghost knows our thoughts."  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.'

Mrs. Knowles mentioned, as a proselyte to Quakerism, Miss ------, 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.'  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.

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, 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 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.  The world is
now not contented to be merely entertained by a traveller's
narrative; they want to learn something.  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 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, I
again remarked that Fleet-street was the most cheerful scene in the
world.  '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, 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 ale-house between us.  My purpose is to continue our
acquaintance.'

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.'  JOHNSON.  (who never
liked to think of being old,) 'Don't let us discourage one
another.'  EDWARDS.  'Why, Doctor, you look stout and hearty, I am
happy to see you so; for the news-papers told us you were very
ill.'  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.  For even then, Sir,
(turning to me,) he was delicate in language, and we all feared
him.'*  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, 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?
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,"


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."'


* Johnson said to me afterwards, 'Sir, they respected me for my
literature: and yet it was not great but by comparison.  Sir, it is
amazing how little literature there is in the world.'--BOSWELL


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.'--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 hogs-heads, I warrant you.'  JOHNSON.  'I
then had a severe illness, and left it off, 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.  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.  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.'

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 next birth-day.
Come, Sir, drink water, and put in for a hundred.'

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."'


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."'

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; and, though
last, not least, good eating and drinking for those who choose to
purchase that regale.  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.  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.  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.
You might have been Lord Chancellor of Great Britain, and attained
to the dignity of the peerage; and now that the title of Lichfleld,
your native city, is extinct, you might have had it.'  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?'

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.'*


* I am not entirely without suspicion that Johnson may have felt a
little momentary envy; for no man loved the good things of this
life better than he did and he could not but be conscious that he
deserved a much larger share of them, than he ever had.--BOSWELL.


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 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,
Gentlemen, (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.'

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, 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.

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."'  BOSWELL.  'The hope that we
shall see our departed friends 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 *****.  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.'  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, 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.

On Saturday, April 14, I drank tea with him.  He praised the late
Mr. Duncombe, 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, I suppose.'  JOHNSON.
'No, Sir; I never went to him but when he sent for me.'  BOSWELL.
'Richardson?'  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.'

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, 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 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.'

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 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.  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.  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 Monday, April 20, I found him at home in the morning.  We talked
of a gentleman 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, Counsellor Leland of Ireland, son to
the historian, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and some more ladies.

'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.  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.'

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 shown 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.'  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 judgements; 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, his second by Colman, who was prevailed on at last by much
solicitation, nay, a kind of force, to bring it on.  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.'  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; 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.

The conversation having turned on Bon-Mots, be 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.'  He admitted that Mr. Burke's
classical pun upon Mr. Wilkes's being carried on the shoulders of
the mob,--


    '-------------Numerisque fertur
     Lege solutus,'


was admirable; and though he was strangely unwilling to allow to
that extraordinary man the talent of wit, 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;"


that is to say, a modus as to the tithes and certain fines.'

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.'

On Tuesday, April 28, he was engaged to dine at General Paoli's,
where, as I have already observed, I was still entertained in
elegant hospitality, and with all the ease and comfort of a home.
I called on him, and accompanied him in a hackney-coach.  We
stopped first at the bottom of Hedgelane, into which he went to
leave a letter, 'with good news for a poor man in distress,' as he
told me.  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.'  He would
say, 'I dine to-day in Grosvenor-square;' this might be with a
Duke: or, perhaps, 'I dine to-day at the other end of the town:'
or, 'A gentleman of great eminence called on me yesterday.'  He
loved thus to keep things floating in conjecture: Omne ignotum pro
magnifico est.  I believe I ventured to dissipate the cloud, to
unveil the mystery, more freely and frequently than any of his
friends.  We stopped again at Wirgman's, the well-known toy-shop,
in St. James's-street, at the corner of St. James's-place, to which
he had been directed, but not 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.  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.  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 has sold very much.'  JOHNSON.  'Yet
the Journey to the Hebrides has not had a great sale.'  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, 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.'  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."'


At General Paoli's were Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Langton, Marchese
Gherardi of Lombardy, and Mr. John Spottiswoode the younger, of
Spottiswoode, the solicitor.

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.'
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.  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 had repressed.
It only puts in motion what has been locked up in frost.  But this
may be good, or it may be bad.'  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."'


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;


    "Si patriae volumus, si Nobis vivere cari."'


I was at this time myself a water-drinker, upon trial, by Johnson's
recommendation.  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.'  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, 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.  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.'

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, 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, he is very liberal in his way of thinking.'  ROBERTSON.
'He and I have been always very gracious; the first time I met him
was one evening at Strahan's, when he had just had an unlucky
altercation with Adam Smith, 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; 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.'  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.  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.

Dr. Robertson expatiated on the character of a certain nobleman;
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, he talked of one whom he did not know; but
I DOWNED him with the King of Prussia.'  'Yes, Sir, (said I,) you
threw a BOTTLE at his head.'

An ingenious gentleman was mentioned, concerning whom both
Robertson and Ramsay agreed that he had a constant firmness of
mind; for after a laborious day, and amidst a multiplicity of cares
and anxieties, he would sit down with his sisters and he 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.

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.'  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.'

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.

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, '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 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.  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.'

When Mr. Langton returned to us, the 'flow of talk' went on.  An
eminent authour 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;'--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.  '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 her choice of a chicken, a
sweetbread, or any other little nice thing, which was carefully
sent to her from the tavern, ready-drest.

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.  And what do you think of his definition of Excise?  Do
you know the history of his aversion to the word transpire?'  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."  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.'  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 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.'

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; 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; and this very
afternoon he soon forgot any fretfulness, and fell into
conversation as usual.

JOHNSON.  '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.  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.'

Amongst the numerous prints pasted on the walls of the dining-room
at Streatham, was Hogarth's 'Modern Midnight Conversation.'  I
asked him what he knew of Parson Ford, 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, 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.'

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


* Wednesday, May 13.--ED.


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.'

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.  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.  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.'

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.'  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.'

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; '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.  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.'

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.  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?' alluding
to his imitation of it,--


    'And bid him go to Hell, to Hell he goes.'


We had a quiet comfortable meeting at Mr. Dilly's; nobody there but
ourselves.  My illustrious friend and I parted with assurances of
affectionate regard.

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.  I shall give them in his own words in a
letter to me.

'It was in the summer of the year 1778, that he complied with my
invitation to come down to the Camp at Warley, and he staid with me
about a week; the scene 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, as to gun-powder; which he
spoke of to the same effect, in part, that you relate.

'On one occasion, when the regiment were going through their
exercise, he went quite close to the men at one of the extremities
of it, and watched all their practices attentively; and, when he
came away, his remark was, "The men indeed do load their muskets
and fire with wonderful celerity."  He was likewise particular in
requiring to know what was the weight of the musquet balls in use,
and within what distance they might be expected to take effect when
fired off.

'In walking among the tents, and observing the difference between
those of the officers and private men, he said that the superiority
of accommodation of the better conditions of life, to that of the
inferiour ones, was never exhibited to him in so distinct a view.
The civilities paid to him in the camp were, from the gentlemen of
the Lincolnshire regiment, one of the officers of which
accommodated him with a tent in which he slept; and from General
Hall, who very courteously invited him to dine with him, where he
appeared to be very well pleased with his entertainment, and the
civilities he received on the part of the General; the attention
likewise, of the General's aide-de-camp, Captain Smith, seemed to
be very welcome to him, as appeared by their engaging in a great
deal of discourse together.'

We surely cannot but admire the benevolent exertions of this great
and good man, especially when we consider how grievously he was
afflicted with bad health, and how uncomfortable his home was made
by the perpetual jarring of those whom he charitably accommodated
under his roof.  He has sometimes suffered me to talk jocularly of
his group of females, and call them his Seraglio.  He thus mentions
them, together with honest Levett, in one of his letters to Mrs.
Thrale: 'Williams hates every body; Levett hates Desmoulins, and
does not love Williams; Desmoulins hates them both; Poll* loves
none of them.'**


* Miss Carmichael.

** A year later he wrote: At Bolt-court there is much malignity,
but of late little hostility.'--ED.


In 1779, Johnson gave the world a luminous proof that the vigour of
his mind in all its faculties, whether memory, judgement, or
imagination, was not in the least abated; for this year came out
the first four volumes of his Prefaces, biographical and critical,
to the most eminent of the English Poets, published by the
booksellers of London.  The remaining volumes came out in the year
1780.  The Poets were selected by the several booksellers who had
the honorary copy right, which is still preserved among them by
mutual compact, notwithstanding the decision of the House of Lords
against the perpetuity of Literary Property.  We have his own
authority, that by his recommendation the poems of Blackmore,
Watts, Pomfret, and Yalden, were added to the collection.

On the 22nd of January, I wrote to him on several topicks, and
mentioned that as he had been so good as to permit me to have the
proof sheets of his Lives of the Poets, I had written to his
servant, Francis, to take care of them for me.

On the 23rd of February I wrote to him again, complaining of his
silence, as I had heard he was ill, and had written to Mr. Thrale,
for information concerning him; and I announced my intention of
soon being again in London.


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--Why should you take such delight to make a bustle, to
write to Mr. Thrale that I am negligent, and to Francis to do what
is so very unnecessary.  Thrale, you may be sure, cared not about
it; and I shall spare Francis the trouble, by ordering a set both
of the Lives and Poets to dear Mrs. Boswell,* in acknowledgement of
her marmalade.  Persuade her to accept them, and accept them
kindly.  If I thought she would receive them scornfully, I would
send them to Miss Boswell, who, I hope, has yet none of her mamma's
ill-will to me. . . .

'Mrs. Thrale waits in the coach.  I am, dear Sir, &c.,

'March 13, 1779.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


* He sent a set elegantly bound and gilt, which was received as a
very handsome present.--BOSWELL


This letter crossed me on the road to London, where I arrived on
Monday, March 15, and next morning at a late hour, found Dr.
Johnson sitting over his tea, attended by Mrs. Desmoulins, Mr.
Levett, and a clergyman, who had come to submit some poetical
pieces to his revision.  It is wonderful what a number and variety
of writers, some of them even unknown to him, prevailed on his
good-nature to look over their works, and suggest corrections and
improvements.  My arrival interrupted for a little while the
important business of this true representative of Bayes; upon its
being resumed, I found that the subject under immediate
consideration was a tanslation, yet in manuscript, of the Carmen
Seculare of Horace, which had this year been set to musick, and
performed as a publick entertainment in London, for the joint
benefit of monsieur Philidor and Signor Baretti.  When Johnson had
done reading, the authour asked him bluntly, 'If upon the whole it
was a good translation?'  Johnson, whose regard for truth was
uncommonly strict, seemed to be puzzled for a moment, what answer
to make; as he certainly could not honestly commend the
performance: with exquisite address he evaded the question thus,
'Sir, I do not say that it may not be made a very good
translation.'  Here nothing whatever in favour of the performance
was affirmed, and yet the writer was not shocked.  A printed Ode to
the Warlike Genius of Britain, came next in review; the bard was a
lank bony figure, with short black hair; he was writhing himself in
agitation, while Johnson read, and shewing his teeth in a grin of
earnestness, exclaimed in broken sentences, and in a keen sharp
tone, 'Is that poetry, Sir?--Is it Pindar?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir,
there is here a great deal of what is called poetry.'  Then,
turning to me, the poet cried, 'My muse has not been long upon the
town, and (pointing to the Ode) it trembles under the hand of the
great critick.'  Johnson, in a tone of displeasure, asked him, 'Why
do you praise Anson?'  I did not trouble him by asking his reason
for this question.  He proceeded, 'Here is an errour, Sir; you have
made Genius feminine.'  'Palpable, Sir; (cried the enthusiast,) I
know it.  But (in a lower tone,) it was to pay a compliment to the
Duchess of Devonshire, with which her Grace was pleased.  She is
walking across Coxheath, in the military uniform, and I suppose her
to be the Genius of Britain.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you are giving a
reason for it; but that will not make it right.  You may have a
reason why two and two should make five; but they will still make
but four.'

Although I was several times with him in the course of the
following days, such it seems were my occupations, or such my
negligence, that I have preserved no memorial of his conversation
till Friday, March 26, when I visited him.  He said he expected to
be attacked on account of his Lives of the Poets.  'However (said
he,) I would rather be attacked than unnoticed.  For the worst
thing you can do to an authour is to be silent as to his works.  An
assault upon a town is a bad thing; but starving it is still worse;
an assault may be unsuccessful; you may have more men killed than
you kill; but if you starve the town, you are sure of victory.'

Talking of a friend of ours associating with persons of very
discordant principles and characters; I said he was a very
universal man, quite a man of the world.  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir; but
one may be so much a man of the world as to be nothing in the
world.  I remember a passage in Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield,
which he was afterwards fool enough to expunge: "I do not love a
man who is zealous for nothing."'  BOSWELL.  'That was a fine
passage.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir: there was another fine passage too,
which be struck out: "When I was a young man, being anxious to
distinguish myself, I was perpetually starting new propositions.
But I soon gave this over; for, I found that generally what was new
was false."'  I said I did not like to sit with people of whom I
had not a good opinion.  JOHNSON.  'But you must not indulge your
delicacy too much; or you will be a tete-a-tete man all your life.'

During my stay in London this spring, I find I was unaccountably
negligent in preserving Johnson's sayings, more so than at any time
when I was happy enough to have an opportunity of hearing his
wisdom and wit.  There is no help for it now.  I must content
myself with presenting such scraps as I have.  But I am
nevertheless ashamed and vexed to think how much has been lost.  It
is not that there was a bad crop this year; but that I was not
sufficiently careful in gathering it in.  I, therefore, in some
instances can only exhibit a few detached fragments.

Talking of the wonderful concealment of the authour of the
celebrated letters signed Junius; he said, 'I should have believed
Burke to be Junius, because I know no man but Burke who is capable
of writing these letters; but Burke spontaneously denied it to me.
The case would have been different had I asked him if he was the
authour; a man so questioned, as to an anonymous publication, may
think he has a right to deny it.'

On Wednesday, March 31, when I visited him, and confessed an excess
of which I had very seldom been guilty; that I had spent a whole
night in playing at cards, and that I could not look back on it
with satisfaction; instead of a harsh animadversion, he mildly
said, 'Alas, Sir, on how few things can we look back with
satisfaction.'

On Friday, April 2, being Good-Friday, I visited him in the morning
as usual; and finding that we insensibly fell into a train of
ridicule upon the foibles of one of our friends, a very worthy man,
I, by way of a check, quoted some good admonition from The
Government of the Tongue, that very pious book.  It happened also
remarkably enough, that the subject of the sermon preached to us
to-day by Dr. Burrows, the rector of St. Clement Danes, was the
certainty that at the last day we must give an account of 'the
deeds done in the body;' and, amongst various acts of culpability
he mentioned evil-speaking.  As we were moving slowly along in the
crowd from church, Johnson jogged my elbow, and said, 'Did you
attend to the sermon?'  'Yes, Sir, (said I,) it was very applicable
to US.'  He, however, stood upon the defensive.  'Why, Sir, the
sense of ridicule is given us, and may be lawfully used.  The
authour of The Government of the Tongue would have us treat all men
alike.'

In the interval between morning and evening service, he endeavoured
to employ himself earnestly in devotional exercises; and as he has
mentioned in his Prayers and Meditations, gave me Les Pensees de
Paschal, that I might not interrupt him.  I preserve the book with
reverence.  His presenting it to me is marked upon it with his own
hand, and I have found in it a truly divine unction.  We went to
church again in the afternoon.

On Wednesday, April 7, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds's.
I have not marked what company was there.  Johnson harangued upon
the qualities of different liquors; and spoke with great contempt
of claret, as so weak, that a man would be drowned by it before it
made him drunk.'  He was persuaded to drink one glass of it, that
he might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from
immediate sensation.  He shook his head, and said, 'Poor stuff!
No, Sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who
aspires to be a hero (smiling), must drink brandy.  In the first
place, the flavour of brandy is most grateful to the palate; and
then brandy will do soonest for a man what drinking CAN do for him.
There are, indeed, few who are able to drink brandy.  That is a
power rather to be wished for than attained.  And yet, (proceeded
he,) as in all pleasure hope is a considerable part, I know not but
fruition comes too quick by brandy.  Florence wine I think the
worst; it is wine only to the eye; it is wine neither while you are
drinking it, nor after you have drunk it; it neither pleases the
taste, nor exhilarates the spirits.'  I reminded him how heartily
he and I used to drink wine together, when we were first
acquainted; and how I used to have a head-ache after sitting up
with him.  He did not like to have this recalled, or, perhaps,
thinking that I boasted improperly, resolved to have a witty stroke
at me: 'Nay, Sir, it was not the WINE that made your head ache, but
the SENSE that I put into it.'  BOSWELL.  'What, Sir! will sense
make the head ache?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, (with a smile,) when it
is not used to it.'--No man who has a true relish of pleasantry
could be offended at this; especially if Johnson in a long intimacy
had given him repeated proofs of his regard and good estimation.  I
used to say, that as he had given me a thousand pounds in praise,
he had a good right now and then to take a guinea from me.

On Thursday, April 8, I dined with him at Mr. Allan Ramsay's, with
Lord Graham and some other company.  We talked of Shakspeare's
witches.  JOHNSON.  'They are beings of his own creation; they are
a compound of malignity and meanness, without any abilities; and
are quite different from the Italian magician.  King James says in
his Daemonology, 'Magicians command the devils: witches are their
servants.  The Italian magicians are elegant beings.'  RAMSAY.
'Opera witches, not Drury-lane witches.'  Johnson observed, that
abilities might be employed in a narrow sphere, as in getting
money, which he said he believed no man could do, without vigorous
parts, though concentrated to a point.  RAMSAY.  'Yes, like a
strong horse in a mill; he pulls better.'

Lord Graham, while he praised the beauty of Lochlomond, on the
banks of which is his family seat, complained of the climate, and
said he could not bear it.  JOHNSON.  'Nay, my Lord, don't talk so:
you may bear it well enough.  Your ancestors have borne it more
years than I can tell.'  This was a handsome compliment to the
antiquity of the House of Montrose.  His Lordship told me
afterwards, that he had only affected to complain of the climate;
lest, if he had spoken as favourably of his country as he really
thought, Dr. Johnson might have attacked it.  Johnson was very
courteous to Lady Margaret Macdonald.  'Madam, (said he,) when I
was in the Isle of Sky, I heard of the people running to take the
stones off the road, lest Lady Margaret's horse should stumble.'

Lord Graham commended Dr. Drummond at Naples, as a man of
extraordinary talents; and added, that he had a great love of
liberty.  JOHNSON.  'He is YOUNG, my Lord; (looking to his Lordship
with an arch smile,) all BOYS love liberty, till experience
convinces them they are not so fit to govern themselves as they
imagined.  We are all agreed as to our own liberty; we would have
as much of it as we can get; but we are not agreed as to the
liberty of others: for in proportion as we take, others must lose.
I believe we hardly wish that the mob should have liberty to govern
us.  When that was the case some time ago, no man was at liberty
not to have candles in his windows.'  RAMSAY.  'The result is, that
order is better than confusion.'  JOHNSON.  'The result is, that
order cannot be had but by subordination.'

On Friday, April 16, I had been present at the trial of the
unfortunate Mr. Hackman, who, in a fit of frantick jealous love,
had shot Miss Ray, the favourite of a nobleman.  Johnson, in whose
company I dined to-day with some other friends, was much interested
by my account of what passed, and particularly with his prayer for
the mercy of heaven.  He said, in a solemn fervid tone, 'I hope he
SHALL find mercy.'

This day a violent altercation arose between Johnson and Beauclerk,
which having made much noise at the time, I think it proper, in
order to prevent any future misrepresentation, to give a minute
account of it.

In talking of Hackman, Johnson argued, as Judge Blackstone had
done, that his being furnished with two pistols was a proof that he
meant to shoot two persons.  Mr. Beauclerk said, 'No; for that
every wise man who intended to shoot himself, took two pistols,
that he might be sure of doing it at once.  Lord ------ ------'
cook shot himself with one pistol, and lived ten days in great
agony.  Mr. ------, who loved buttered muffins, but durst not eat
them because they disagreed with his stomach, resolved to shoot
himself; and then he eat three buttered muffins for breakfast,
before shooting himself, knowing that he should not be troubled
with indigestion: HE had two charged pistols; one was found lying
charged upon the table by him, after he had shot himself with the
other.'  'Well, (said Johnson, with an air of triumph,) you see
here one pistol was sufficient.'  Beauclerk replied smartly,
'Because it happened to kill him.'  And either then or a very
little afterwards, being piqued at Johnson's triumphant remark,
added, 'This is what you don't know, and I do.'  There was then a
cessation of the dispute; and some minutes intervened, during
which, dinner and the glass went on cheerfully; when Johnson
suddenly and abruptly exclaimed, 'Mr. Beauclerk, how came you to
talk so petulantly to me, as "This is what you don't know, but what
I know"?  One thing I know, which YOU don't seem to know, that you
are very uncivil.'  BEAUCLERK.  'Because YOU began by being
uncivil, (which you always are.)'  The words in parenthesis were, I
believe, not heard by Dr. Johnson.  Here again there was a
cessation of arms.  Johnson told me, that the reason why he waited
at first some time without taking any notice of what Mr. Beauclerk
said, was because he was thinking whether he should resent it.  But
when he considered that there were present a young Lord and an
eminent traveller, two men of the world with whom he had never
dined before, he was apprehensive that they might think they had a
right to take such liberties with him as Beauclerk did, and
therefore resolved he would not let it pass; adding, that 'he would
not appear a coward.'  A little while after this, the conversation
turned on the violence of Hackman's temper.  Johnson then said, 'It
was his business to COMMAND his temper, as my friend, Mr.
Beauclerk, should have done some time ago.'  BEAUCLERK.  'I should
learn of YOU, Sir.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you have given ME
opportunities enough of learning, when I have been in YOUR company.
No man loves to be treated with contempt.'  BEAUCLERK.  (with a
polite inclination towards Johnson,) 'Sir, you have known me twenty
years, and however I may have treated others, you may be sure I
could never treat you with contempt.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, you have
said more than was necessary.'  Thus it ended; and Beauclerk's
coach not having come for him till very late, Dr. Johnson and
another gentleman sat with him a long time after the rest of the
company were gone; and he and I dined at Beauclerk's on the
Saturday se'nnight following.

After this tempest had subsided, I recollect the following
particulars of his conversation:--

'I am always for getting a boy forward in his learning; for that is
a sure good.  I would let him at first read ANY English book which
happens to engage his attention; because you have done a great deal
when you have brought him to have entertainment from a book.  He'll
get better books afterwards.'

'To be contradicted, in order to force you to talk, is mighty
unpleasing.  You SHINE, indeed; but it is by being GROUND.'

On Saturday, April 24, I dined with him at Mr. Beauclerk's, with
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Jones, (afterwards Sir William,) Mr.
Langton, Mr. Steevens, Mr. Paradise, and Dr. Higgins.  I mentioned
that Mr. Wilkes had attacked Garrick to me, as a man who had no
friend.  'I believe he is right, Sir.  [Greek text omitted]--He had
friends, but no friend.  Garrick was so diffused, he had no man to
whom he wished to unbosom himself.  He found people always ready to
applaud him, and that always for the same thing: so he saw life
with great uniformity.'  I took upon me, for once, to fight with
Goliath's weapons, and play the sophist.--Garrick did not need a
friend, as he got from every body all he wanted.  What is a friend?
One who supports you and comforts you, while others do not.
Friendship, you know, Sir, is the cordial drop, "to make the
nauseous draught of life go down:" but if the draught be not
nauseous, if it be all sweet, there is no occasion for that drop.'
JOHNSON.  'Many men would not be content to live so.  I hope I
should not.  They would wish to have an intimate friend, with whom
they might compare minds, and cherish private virtues.  One of the
company mentioned Lord Chesterfield, as a man who had no friend.
JOHNSON.  'There were more materials to make friendship in Garrick,
had he not been so diffused.'  BOSWELL.  'Garrick was pure gold,
but beat out to thin leaf.  Lord Chesterfield was tinsel.'
JOHNSON.  'Garrick was a very good man, the cheerfullest man of his
age; a decent liver in a profession which is supposed to give
indulgence to licentiousness; and a man who gave away, freely,
money acquired by himself.  He began the world with a great hunger
for money; the son of a half-pay officer, bred in a family, whose
study was to make four-pence do as much as others made four-pence
halfpenny do.  But, when he had got money, he was very liberal.'  I
presumed to animadvert on his eulogy on Garrick, in his Lives of
the Poets.  'You say, Sir, his death eclipsed the gaiety of
nations.'  JOHNSON.  'I could not have said more nor less.  It is
the truth; ECLIPSED, not EXTINGUISHED; and his death DID eclipse;
it was like a storm.'  BOSWELL.  'But why nations?  Did his gaiety
extend farther than his own nation?'  JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, some
exaggeration must be allowed.  Besides, nations may be said--if we
allow the Scotch to be a nation, and to have gaiety,--which they
have not.  YOU are an exception, though.  Come, gentlemen, let us
candidly admit that there is one Scotchman who is cheerful.'
BEAUCLERK.  'But he is a very unnatural Scotchman.'  I, however,
continued to think the compliment to Garrick hyperbolically untrue.
His acting had ceased some time before his death; at any rate he
had acted in Ireland but a short time, at an early period of his
life, and never in Scotland.  I objected also to what appears an
anticlimax of praise, when contrasted with the preceding
panegyrick,--'and diminished the public stock of harmless
pleasure!'--'Is not HARMLESS PLEASURE very tame?'  JOHNSON.  'Nay,
Sir, harmless pleasure is the highest praise.  Pleasure is a word
of dubious import; pleasure is in general dangerous, and pernicious
to virtue; to be able therefore to furnish pleasure that is
harmless, pleasure pure and unalloyed, is as great a power as man
can possess.'  This was, perhaps, as ingenious a defence as could
be made; still, however, I was not satisfied.

Talking of celebrated and successful irregular practisers in
physick; he said, 'Taylor was the most ignorant man I ever knew;
but sprightly.  Ward the dullest.  Taylor challenged me once to
talk Latin with him; (laughing).  I quoted some of Horace, which he
took to be a part of my own speech.  He said a few words well
enough.'  BEAUCLERK.  'I remember, Sir, you said that Taylor was an
instance how far impudence could carry ignorance.'  Mr. Beauclerk
was very entertaining this day, and told us a number of short
stories in a lively elegant manner, and with that air of THE WORLD
which has I know not what impressive effect, as if there were
something more than is expressed, or than perhaps we could
perfectly understand.  As Johnson and I accompanied Sir Joshua
Reynolds in his coach, Johnson said, 'There is in Beauclerk a
predominance over his company, that one does not like.  But he is a
man who has lived so much in the world, that he has a short story
on every occasion; he is always ready to talk, and is never
exhausted.'

Soon after this time a little incident occurred, which I will not
suppress, because I am desirous that my work should be, as much as
is consistent with the strictest truth, an antidote to the false
and injurious notions of his character, which have been given by
others, and therefore I infuse every drop of genuine sweetness into
my biographical cup.


'TO DR. JOHNSON.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I am in great pain with an inflamed foot, and
obliged to keep my bed, so am prevented from having the pleasure to
dine at Mr. Ramsay's to-day, which is very hard; and my spirits are
sadly sunk.  Will you be so friendly as to come and sit an hour
with me in the evening.  I am ever your most faithful, and
affectionate humble servant,

'South Audley-street,
Monday, April 26.'

'JAMES BOSWELL.'


'TO MR. BOSWELL.

'Mr. Johnson laments the absence of Mr. Boswell, and will come to
him.--Harley-street.'


He came to me in the evening, and brought Sir Joshua Reynolds.  I
need scarcely say, that their conversation, while they sate by my
bedside, was the most pleasing opiate to pain that could have been
administered.

Johnson being now better disposed to obtain information concerning
Pope than he was last year, sent by me to my Lord Marchmont a
present of those volumes of his Lives of the Poets which were at
this time published, with a request to have permission to wait on
him; and his Lordship, who had called on him twice, obligingly
appointed Saturday, the first of May, for receiving us.

On that morning Johnson came to me from Streatham, and after
drinking chocolate at General Paoli's, in South-Audley-street, we
proceeded to Lord Marchmont's in Curzon-street.  His Lordship met
us at the door of his library, and with great politeness said to
Johnson, 'I am not going to make an encomium upon MYSELF, by
telling you the high respect I have for YOU, Sir.'  Johnson was
exceedingly courteous; and the interview, which lasted about two
hours, during which the Earl communicated his anecdotes of Pope,
was as agreeable as I could have wished.  When we came out, I said
to Johnson, that considering his Lordship's civility, I should have
been vexed if he had again failed to come.  'Sir, (said he,) I
would rather have given twenty pounds than not have come.'  I
accompanied him to Streatham, where we dined, and returned to town
in the evening.

He had, before I left London, resumed the conversation concerning
the appearance of a ghost at Newcastle upon Tyne, which Mr. John
Wesley believed, but to which Johnson did not give credit.  I was,
however, desirous to examine the question closely, and at the same
time wished to be made acquainted with Mr. John Wesley; for though
I differed from him in some points, I admired his various talents,
and loved his pious zeal.  At my request, therefore, Dr. Johnson
gave me a letter of introduction to him.


'TO THE REVEREND MR. JOHN WESLEY.

'SIR,--Mr. Boswell, a gentleman who has been long known to me, is
desirous of being known to you, and has asked this recommendation,
which I give him with great willingness, because I think it very
much to be wished that worthy and religious men should be
acquainted with each other.  I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'May 3, 1779.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Mr. Wesley being in the course of his ministry at Edinburgh, I
presented this letter to him, and was very politely received.  I
begged to have it returned to me, which was accordingly done.  His
state of the evidence as to the ghost did not satisfy me.

My readers will not be displeased at being told every slight
circumstance of the manner in which Dr. Johnson contrived to amuse
his solitary hours.  He sometimes employed himself in chymistry,
sometimes in watering and pruning a vine, sometimes in small
experiments, at which those who may smile, should recollect that
there are moments which admit of being soothed only by trifles.*


* In one of his manuscript Diaries, there is the following entry,
which marks his curious minute attention: 'July 26, 1768.  I shaved
my nail by accident in whetting the knife, about an eighth of an
inch from the bottom, and about a fourth from the top.  This I
measure that I may know the growth of nails; the whole is about
five eighths of an inch.'

Another of the same kind appears, 'Aug. 7, 1779, Partem brachii
dextri carpo proximum et cutem pectoris circa mamillam dextram
rasi, ut notum fieret quanto temporis pili renovarentur.'

And, 'Aug. 15, 1773.  I cut from the vine 41 leaves, which weighed
five oz. and a half, and eight scruples:--I lay them upon my
bookcase, to see what weight they will lose by drying.'--BOSWELL.


My friend Colonel James Stuart, second son of the Earl of Bute, who
had distinguished himself as a good officer of the Bedfordshire
militia, had taken a publick-spirited resolution to serve his
country in its difficulties, by raising a regular regiment, and
taking the command of it himself.  This, in the heir of the immense
property of Wortley, was highly honourable.  Having been in
Scotland recruiting, he obligingly asked me to accompany him to
Leeds, then the head-quarters of his corps; from thence to London
for a short time, and afterwards to other places to which the
regiment might be ordered.  Such an offer, at a time of the year
when I had full leisure, was very pleasing; especially as I was to
accompany a man of sterling good sense, information, discernment,
and conviviality; and was to have a second crop in one year of
London and Johnson.  Of this I informed my illustrious friend, in
characteristical warm terms, in a letter dated the 30th of
September, from Leeds.

On Monday, October 4, I called at his house before he was up.  He
sent for me to his bedside, and expressed his satisfaction at this
incidental meeting, with as much vivacity as if he had been in the
gaiety of youth.  He called briskly, 'Frank, go and get coffee, and
let us breakfast IN SPLENDOUR.'

On Sunday, October 10, we dined together at Mr. Strahan's.  The
conversation having turned on the prevailing practice of going to
the East-Indies in quest of wealth;--JOHNSON.  'A man had better
have ten thousand pounds at the end of ten years passed in England,
than twenty thousand pounds at the end of ten years passed in
India, because you must compute what you GIVE for money; and a man
who has lived ten years in India, has given up ten years of social
comfort and all those advantages which arise from living in
England.  The ingenious Mr. Brown, distinguished by the name of
Capability Brown, told me, that he was once at the seat of Lord
Clive, who had returned from India with great wealth; and that he
shewed him at the door of his bed-chamber a large chest, which he
said he had once had full of gold; upon which Brown observed, "I am
glad you can bear it so near your bed-chamber."'

We talked of the state of the poor in London.--JOHNSON.  'Saunders
Welch, the Justice, who was once High-Constable of Holborn, and had
the best opportunities of knowing the state of the poor, told me,
that I under-rated the number, when I computed that twenty a week,
that is, above a thousand a year, died of hunger; not absolutely of
immediate hunger; but of the wasting and other diseases which are
the consequences of hunger.  This happens only in so large a place
as London, where people are not known.  What we are told about the
great sums got by begging is not true: the trade is overstocked.
And, you may depend upon it, there are many who cannot get work.  A
particular kind of manufacture fails: those who have been used to
work at it, can, for some time, work at nothing else.  You meet a
man begging; you charge him with idleness: he says, "I am willing
to labour.  Will you give me work?"--"I cannot."--"Why, then you
have no right to charge me with idleness."'  We left Mr. Strahan's
at seven, as Johnson had said he intended to go to evening prayers.
As we walked along, he complained of a little gout in his toe, and
said, 'I shan't go to prayers to-night; I shall go to-morrow:
Whenever I miss church on a Sunday, I resolve to go another day.
But I do not always do it.'  This was a fair exhibition of that
vibration between pious resolutions and indolence, which many of us
have too often experienced.

I went home with him, and we had a long quiet conversation.

BOSWELL.  'Why, Sir, do people play this trick which I observe now,
when I look at your grate, putting the shovel against it to make
the fire burn?'  JOHNSON.  'They play the trick, but it does not
make the fire burn.  THERE is a better; (setting the poker
perpendicularly up at right angles with the grate.)  In days of
superstition they thought, as it made a cross with the bars, it
would drive away the witch.'

BOSWELL.  'By associating with you, Sir, I am always getting an
accession of wisdom.  But perhaps a man, after knowing his own
character--the limited strength of his own mind, should not be
desirous of having too much wisdom, considering, quid valeant
humeri, how little he can carry.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, be as wise as
you can; let a man be aliis laetus, sapiens sibi:


    "Though pleas'd to see the dolphins play,
     I mind my compass and my way."


You may be wise in your study in the morning, and gay in company at
a tavern in the evening.  Every man is to take care of his own
wisdom and his own virtue, without minding too much what others
think.'

He said, 'Dodsley first mentioned to me the scheme of an English
Dictionary; but I had long thought of it.'  BOSWELL.  'You did not
know what you were undertaking.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir, I knew very
well what I was undertaking,--and very well how to do it,--and have
done it very well.'  BOSWELL.  'An excellent climax! and it HAS
availed you.  In your Preface you say, "What would it avail me in
this gloom of solitude?"  You have been agreeably mistaken.'

In his Life of Milton he observes, 'I cannot but remark a kind of
respect, perhaps unconsciously, paid to this great man by his
biographers: every house in which he resided is historically
mentioned, as if it were an injury to neglect naming any place that
he honoured by his presence.'  I had, before I read this
observation, been desirous of shewing that respect to Johnson, by
various inquiries.  Finding him this evening in a very good humour,
I prevailed on him to give me an exact list of his places of
residence, since he entered the metropolis as an authour, which I
subjoin in a note.*


* 1.  Exeter-street, off Catherine-street, Strand.  2.  Greenwich.
3.  Woodstock-street, near Hanover-square.  4.  Castle-street,
Cavendish-square, No. 6.  5.  Strand.  6.  Boswell-Court.  7.
Strand, again.  8.  Bow-street.  9.  Holborn.  10.  Fetter-lane.
11.  Holborn, again.  12.  Gough-square.  13.  Staple Inn.  14.
Gray's Inn.  15.  Inner Temple-lane, No. 1.  16.  Johnson's-court,
No. 7.  17.  Bolt-court.  No. 8.--BOSWELL.


On Tuesday, October 12, I dined with him at Mr. Ramsay's, with Lord
Newhaven, and some other company, none of whom I recollect, but a
beautiful Miss Graham, a relation of his Lordship's, who asked Dr.
Johnson to hob or nob with her.  He was flattered by such pleasing
attention, and politely told her, he never drank wine; but if she
would drink a glass of water, he was much at her service.  She
accepted.  'Oho, Sir! (said Lord Newhaven,) you are caught.'
JOHNSON.  'Nay, I do not see HOW I am CAUGHT; but if I am caught, I
don't want to get free again.  If I am caught, I hope to be kept.'
Then when the two glasses of water were brought, smiling placidly
to the young lady, he said, 'Madam, let us RECIPROCATE.'

Lord Newhaven and Johnson carried on an argument for some time,
concerning the Middlesex election.  Johnson said, 'Parliament may
be considered as bound by law as a man is bound where there is
nobody to tie the knot.  As it is clear that the House of Commons
may expel and expel again and again, why not allow of the power to
incapacitate for that parliament, rather than have a perpetual
contest kept up between parliament and the people.'  Lord Newhaven
took the opposite side; but respectfully said, 'I speak with great
deference to you, Dr. Johnson; I speak to be instructed.'  This had
its full effect on my friend.  He bowed his head almost as low as
the table, to a complimenting nobleman; and called out, 'My Lord,
my Lord, I do not desire all this ceremony; let us tell our minds
to one another quietly.'  After the debate was over, he said, 'I
have got lights on the subject to-day, which I had not before.'
This was a great deal from him, especially as he had written a
pamphlet upon it.

Of his fellow-collegian, the celebrated Mr. George Whitefield, he
said, 'Whitefield never drew as much attention as a mountebank
does; he did not draw attention by doing better than others, but by
doing what was strange.  Were Astley to preach a sermon standing
upon his head on a horse's back, he would collect a multitude to
hear him; but no wise man would say he had made a better sermon for
that.  I never treated Whitefield's ministry with contempt; I
believe he did good.  He had devoted himself to the lower classes
of mankind, and among them he was of use.  But when familiarity and
noise claim the praise due to knowledge, art, and elegance, we must
beat down such pretensions.'

What I have preserved of his conversation during the remainder of
my stay in London at this time, is only what follows: I told him
that when I objected to keeping company with a notorious infidel, a
celebrated friend of ours said to me, 'I do not think that men who
live laxly in the world, as you and I do, can with propriety assume
such an authority.  Dr. Johnson may, who is uniformly exemplary in
his conduct.  But it is not very consistent to shun an infidel to-
day, and get drunk to-morrow.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, this is sad
reasoning.  Because a man cannot be right in all things, is he to
be right in nothing?  Because a man sometimes gets drunk, is he
therefore to steal?  This doctrine would very soon bring a man to
the gallows.'

He, I know not why, shewed upon all occasions an aversion to go to
Ireland, where I proposed to him that we should make a tour.
JOHNSON.  'It is the last place where I should wish to travel.'
BOSWELL.  'Should you not like to see Dublin, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'No,
Sir!  Dublin is only a worse capital.'  BOSWELL.  'Is not the
Giant's-Causeway worth seeing?'  JOHNSON.  'Worth seeing? yes; but
not worth going to see.'

Yet he had a kindness for the Irish nation, and thus generously
expressed himself to a gentleman from that country, on the subject
of an UNION which artful Politicians have often had in view--'Do
not make an union with us, Sir.  We should unite with you, only to
rob you.  We should have robbed the Scotch, if they had had any
thing of which we could have robbed them.'

Of an acquaintance of ours, whose manners and every thing about
him, though expensive, were coarse, he said, 'Sir, you see in him
vulgar prosperity.'

A foreign minister of no very high talents, who had been in his
company for a considerable time quite overlooked, happened luckily
to mention that he had read some of his Rambler in Italian, and
admired it much.  This pleased him greatly; he observed that the
title had been translated, Il Genio errante, though I have been
told it was rendered more ludicrously, Il Vagabondo; and finding
that this minister gave such a proof of his taste, he was all
attention to him, and on the first remark which he made, however
simple, exclaimed, 'The Ambassadour says well--His Excellency
observes--'  And then he expanded and enriched the little that had
been said, in so strong a manner, that it appeared something of
consequence.  This was exceedingly entertaining to the company who
were present, and many a time afterwards it furnished a pleasant
topick of merriment: 'The Ambassadour says well,' became a
laughable term of applause, when no mighty matter had been
expressed.

I left London on Monday, October 15, and accompanied Colonel Stuart
to Chester, where his regiment was to lye for some time.

1780: AETAT. 71.]--In 1780, the world was kept in impatience for
the completion of his Lives of the Poets, upon which he was
employed so far as his indolence allowed him to labour.

His friend Dr. Lawrence having now suffered the greatest affliction
to which a man is liable, and which Johnson himself had felt in the
most severe manner; Johnson wrote to him in an admirable strain of
sympathy and pious consolation.


'TO DR. LAWRENCE.

'DEAR SIR,--At a time when all your friends ought to shew their
kindness, and with a character which ought to make all that know
you your friends, you may wonder that you have yet heard nothing
from me.

'I have been hindered by a vexatious and incessant cough, for which
within these ten days I have been bled once, fasted four or five
times, taken physick five times, and opiates, I think, six.  This
day it seems to remit.

'The loss, dear Sir, which you have lately suffered, I felt many
years ago, and know therefore how much has been taken from you, and
how little help can be had from consolation.  He that outlives a
wife whom he has long loved, sees himself disjoined from the only
mind that has the same hopes, and fears, and interest; from the
only companion with whom he has shared much good or evil; and with
whom he could set his mind at liberty, to retrace the past or
anticipate the future.  The continuity of being is lacerated; the
settled course of sentiment and action is stopped; and life stands
suspended and motionless, till it is driven by external causes into
a new channel.  But the time of suspense is dreadful.

'Our first recourse in this distressed solitude, is, perhaps for
want of habitual piety, to a gloomy acquiescence in necessity.  Of
two mortal beings, one must lose the other; but surely there is a
higher and better comfort to be drawn from the consideration of
that Providence which watches over all, and a belief that the
living and the dead are equally in the hands of God, who will
reunite those whom he has separated; or who sees that it is best
not to reunite.  I am, dear Sir, your most affectionate, and most
humble servant,

'January 20, 1780.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


On the 2nd of May I wrote to him, and requested that we might have
another meeting somewhere in the North of England, in the autumn of
this year.

From Mr. Langton I received soon after this time a letter, of which
I extract a passage, relative both to Mr. Beauclerk and Dr.
Johnson.

'The melancholy information you have received concerning Mr.
Beauclerk's death is true.  Had his talents been directed in any
sufficient degree as they ought, I have always been strongly of
opinion that they were calculated to make an illustrious figure;
and that opinion, as it had been in part formed upon Dr. Johnson's
judgment, receives more and more confirmation by hearing what,
since his death, Dr. Johnson has said concerning them; a few
evenings ago, he was at Mr. Vesey's, where Lord Althorpe, who was
one of a numerous company there, addressed Dr. Johnson on the
subject of Mr. Beauclerk's death, saying, "Our CLUB has had a great
loss since we met last."  He replied, "A loss, that perhaps the
whole nation could not repair!"  The Doctor then went on to speak
of his endowments, and particularly extolled the wonderful ease
with which he uttered what was highly excellent.  He said, that "no
man ever was so free when he was going to say a good thing, from a
LOOK that expressed that it was coming; or, when he had said it,
from a look that expressed that it had come."  At Mr. Thrale's,
some days before when we were talking on the same subject, he said,
referring to the same idea of his wonderful facility, "That
Beauclerk's talents were those which he had felt himself more
disposed to envy, than those of any whom he had known."

'On the evening I have spoken of above, at Mr. Vesey's, you would
have been much gratified, as it exhibited an instance of the high
importance in which Dr. Johnson's character is held, I think even
beyond any I ever before was witness to.  The company consisted
chiefly of ladies, among whom were the Duchess Dowager of Portland,
the Duchess of Beaufort, whom I suppose from her rank I must name
before her mother Mrs. Boscawen, and her elder sister Mrs. Lewson,
who was likewise there; Lady Lucan, Lady Clermont, and others of
note both for their station and understandings.  Among the
gentlemen were Lord Althorpe, whom I have before named, Lord
Macartney, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Lord Lucan, Mr. Wraxal, whose book
you have probably seen, The Tour to the Northern Parts of Europe; a
very agreeable ingenious man; Dr. Warren, Mr. Pepys, the Master in
Chancery, whom I believe you know, and Dr. Barnard, the Provost of
Eton.  As soon as Dr. Johnson was come in and had taken a chair,
the company began to collect round him, till they became not less
than four, if not five, deep; those behind standing, and listening
over the heads of those that were sitting near him.  The
conversation for some time was chiefly between Dr. Johnson and the
Provost of Eton, while the others contributed occasionally their
remarks.'

On his birth-day, Johnson has this note: 'I am now beginning the
seventy-second year of my life, with more strength of body, and
greater vigour of mind, than I think is common at that age.'  But
still he complains of sleepless nights and idle days, and
forgetfulness, or neglect of resolutions.  He thus pathetically
expresses himself,--'Surely I shall not spend my whole life with my
own total disapprobation.'

Mr. Macbean, whom I have mentioned more than once, as one of
Johnson's humble friends, a deserving but unfortunate man, being
now oppressed by age and poverty, Johnson solicited the Lord
Chancellor Thurlow, to have him admitted into the Charterhouse.  I
take the liberty to insert his Lordship's answer, as I am eager to
embrace every occasion of augmenting the respectable notion which
should ever be entertained of my illustrious friend:--


'TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

'London, October 24, 1780.

'SIR,

'I have this moment received your letter, dated the 19th, and
returned from Bath.

'In the beginning of the summer I placed one in the Chartreux,
without the sanction of a recommendation so distinct and so
authoritative as yours of Macbean; and I am afraid, that according
to the establishment of the House, the opportunity of making the
charity so good amends will not soon recur.  But whenever a vacancy
shall happen, if you'll favour me with notice of it, I will try to
recommend him to the place, even though it should not be my turn to
nominate.  I am, Sir, with great regard, your most faithful and
obedient servant,

'THURLOW.'


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'He repeated to Mr. Langton, with great energy, in the Greek, our
SAVIOUR'S gracious expression concerning the forgiveness of Mary
Magdalen, '[Greek text omitted].  "Thy faith hath saved thee; go in
peace."  He said, "the manner of this dismission is exceedingly
affecting."'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Johnson was well acquainted with Mr. Dossie, authour of a treatise
on Agriculture; and said of him, "Sir, of the objects which the
Society of Arts have chiefly in view, the chymical effects of
bodies operating upon other bodies, he knows more than almost any
man."  Johnson, in order to give Mr. Dossie his vote to be a member
of this Society, paid up an arrear which had run on for two years.
On this occasion he mentioned a circumstance as characteristick of
the Scotch.  "One of that nation, (said he,) who had been a
candidate, against whom I had voted, came up to me with a civil
salutation.  Now, Sir, this is their way.  An Englishman would have
stomached it, and been sulky, and never have taken further notice
of you; but a Scotchman, Sir, though you vote nineteen times
against him, will accost you with equal complaisance after each
time, and the twentieth time, Sir, he will get your vote."'

'Talking on the subject of toleration, one day when some friends
were with him in his study, he made his usual remark, that the
State has a right to regulate the religion of the people, who are
the children of the State.  A clergyman having readily acquiesced
in this, Johnson, who loved discussion, observed, "But, Sir, you
must go round to other States than your own.  You do not know what
a Bramin has to say for himself.  In short, Sir, I have got no
further than this: Every man has a right to utter what he thinks
truth, and every other man has a right to knock him down for it.
Martyrdom is the test."'

'Goldsmith one day brought to THE CLUB a printed Ode, which he,
with others, had been hearing read by its authour in a publick room
at the rate of five shillings each for admission.  One of the
company having read it aloud, Dr. Johnson said, "Bolder words and
more timorous meaning, I think never were brought together."

'Talking of Gray's Odes, he said, "They are forced plants raised in
a hot-bed; and they are poor plants; they are but cucumbers after
all."  A gentleman present, who had been running down Ode-writing
in general, as a bad species of poetry, unluckily said, "Had they
been literally cucumbers, they had been better things than Odes."--
"Yes, Sir, (said Johnson,) for a HOG."'

'It is very remarkable, that he retained in his memory very slight
and trivial, as well as important things.  As an instance of this,
it seems that an inferiour domestick of the Duke of Leeds had
attempted to celebrate his Grace's marriage in such homely rhimes
as he could make; and this curious composition having been sung to
Dr. Johnson he got it by heart, and used to repeat it in a very
pleasant manner.  Two of the stanzas were these:--


    "When the Duke of Leeds shall married be
     To a fine young lady of high quality,
     How happy will that gentlewoman be
     In his Grace of Leeds's good company.

     She shall have all that's fine and fair,
     And the best of silk and satin shall wear;
     And ride in a coach to take the air,
     And have a house in St. James's-square."


To hear a man, of the weight and dignity of Johnson, repeating such
humble attempts at poetry, had a very amusing effect.  He, however,
seriously observed of the last stanza repeated by him, that it
nearly comprized all the advantages that wealth can give.

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

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

'He said, that once, when he had a violent tooth-ache, a Frenchman
accosted him thus:--"Ah, Monsieur vous etudiez trop."'

'Colman, in a note on his translation of Terence, talking of
Shakspeare's learning, asks, "What says Farmer to this?  What says
Johnson?"  Upon this he observed, "Sir, let Farmer answer for
himself: I never engaged in this controversy.  I always said,
Shakspeare had Latin enough to grammaticise his English."'

'A clergyman, whom he characterised as one who loved to say little
oddities, was affecting one day, at a Bishop's table, a sort of
slyness and freedom not in character, and repeated, as if part of
The Old Man's Wish, a song by Dr. Walter Pope, a verse bordering on
licentiousness.  Johnson rebuked him in the finest manner, by first
shewing him that he did not know the passage he was aiming at, and
thus humbling him:

"Sir, that is not the song: it is thus."  And he gave it right.
Then looking stedfastly on him, "Sir, there is a part of that song
which I should wish to exemplify in my own life:--


    "May I govern my passions with absolute sway!"'


'He used frequently to observe, that men might be very eminent in a
profession, without our perceiving any particular power of mind in
them in conversation.  "It seems strange (said he,) that a man
should see so far to the right, who sees so short a way to the
left.  Burke is the only man whose common conversation corresponds
with the general fame which he has in the world.  Take up whatever
topick you please, he is ready to meet you."'

'Mr. Langton, when a very young man, read Dodsley's Cleone, a
Tragedy, to him, not aware of his extreme impatience to be read to.
As it went on he turned his face to the back of his chair, and put
himself into various attitudes, which marked his uneasiness.  At
the end of an act, however, he said, "Come let's have some more,
let's go into the slaughter-house again, Lanky.  But I am afraid
there is more blood than brains."

'Snatches of reading (said he,) will not make a Bentley or a
Clarke.  They are, however, in a certain degree advantageous.  I
would put a child into a library (where no unfit books are) and let
him read at his choice.  A child should not be discouraged from
reading any thing that he takes a liking to, from a notion that it
is above his reach.  If that be the ease, the child will soon find
it out and desist; if not, he of course gains the instruction;
which is so much the more likely to come, from the inclination with
which he takes up the study.'

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

'In the latter part of his life, in order to satisfy himself
whether his mental faculties were impaired, he resolved that he
would try to learn a new language, and fixed upon the Low Dutch,
for that purpose, and this he continued till he had read about one
half of Thomas a Kempis; and finding that there appeared no
abatement of his power of acquisition, he then desisted, as
thinking the experiment had been duly tried.'

'Mr. Langton and he having gone to see a Freemason's funeral
procession, when they were at Rochester, and some solemn musick
being played on French horns, he said, "This is the first time that
I have ever been affected by musical sounds;" adding, "that the
impression made upon him was of a melancholy kind."  Mr. Langton
saying, that this effect was a fine one,--JOHNSON.  "Yes, if it
softens the mind, so as to prepare it for the reception of salutary
feelings, it may be good: but inasmuch as it is melancholy per se,
it is bad."'

'Goldsmith had long a visionary project, that some time or other
when his circumstances should be easier, he would go to Aleppo, in
order to acquire a knowledge as far as might be of any arts
peculiar to the East, and introduce them into Britain.  When this
was talked of in Dr. Johnson's company, he said, "Of all men
Goldsmith is the most unfit to go out upon such an inquiry; for he
is utterly ignorant of such arts as we already possess, and
consequently could not know what would be accessions to our present
stock of mechanical knowledge.  Sir, he would bring home a grinding
barrow, which you see in every street in London, and think that he
had furnished a wonderful improvement."'

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

'Johnson one day gave high praise to Dr. Bentley's verses in
Dodsley's Collection, which he recited with his usual energy.  Dr.
Adam Smith, who was present, observed in his decisive professorial
manner, "Very well--Very well."  Johnson however added, "Yes, they
ARE very well, Sir; but you may observe in what manner they are
well.  They are the forcible verses of a man of a strong mind, but
not accustomed to write verse; for there is some uncouthness in the
expression."'

'Drinking tea one day at Garrick's with Mr. Langton, he was
questioned if he was not somewhat of a heretick as to Shakspeare;
said Garrick, "I doubt he is a little of an infidel."--"Sir, (said
Johnson,) I will stand by the lines I have written on Shakspeare in
my Prologue at the opening of your Theatre."  Mr. Langton
suggested, that in the line


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


Johnson might have had in his eye the passage in The Tempest, where
Prospero says of Miranda,


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


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

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

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

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

'Goldsmith, upon being visited by Johnson one day in the Temple,
said to him with a little jealousy of the appearance of his
accommodation, "I shall soon be in better chambers than these."
Johnson at the same time checked him and paid him a handsome
compliment, implying that a man of his talents should be above
attention to such distinctions,--"Nay, Sir, never mind that.  Nil
te quaesiveris extra."'

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

'The late Mr. Fitzherbert told Mr. Langton that Johnson said to
him, "Sir, a man has no more right to SAY an uncivil thing, than to
ACT one; no more right to say a rude thing to another than to knock
him down"'

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

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

'Of Dr. Goldsmith he said, "No man was more foolish when he had not
a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had."'

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

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

The booksellers, justly sensible of the great additional value of
the copy-right, presented him with another hundred pounds, over and
above two hundred, for which his agreement was to furnish such
prefaces as he thought fit.

As he was so good as to make me a present of the greatest part of
the original and indeed only manuscript of this admirable work, I
have an opportunity of observing with wonder, the correctness with
which he rapidly struck off such glowing composition.

The Life of COWLEY he himself considered as the best of the whole,
on account of the dissertation which it contains on the
Metaphysical Poets.

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

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


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

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

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

'March 14, 1781.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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

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

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

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

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

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


* The passages considered, according to Boswell's note, were the
portrait of Hamlet's father (Ham. 3. 4. 55-62), and the portrait of
Adam (P. L. 4. 300-303).--ED.


I told him of one of Mr. Burke's playful sallies upon Dean Marlay:
'I don't like the Deanery of Ferns, it sounds so like a BARREN
title.'--'Dr. HEATH should have it;' said I.  Johnson laughed, and
condescending to trifle in the same mode of conceit, suggested Dr.
MOSS.

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

His notion of the duty of a member of Parliament, sitting upon an
election-committee, was very high; and when he was told of a
gentleman upon one of those committees, who read the newspapers
part of the time, and slept the rest, while the merits of a vote
were examined by the counsel; and as an excuse, when challenged by
the chairman for such behaviour, bluntly answered, 'I had made up
my mind upon that case.'--Johnson, with an indignant contempt,
said, 'If he was such a rogue as to make up his mind upon a case
without hearing it, he should not have been such a fool as to tell
it.'  'I think (said Mr. Dudley Long, now North,) the Doctor has
pretty plainly made him out to be both rogue and fool.'

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

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

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

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

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

I ventured to mention a ludicrous paragraph in the newspapers, that
Dr. Johnson was learning to dance of Vestris.  Lord Charlemont,
wishing to excite him to talk, proposed in a whisper, that he
should be asked, whether it was true.  'Shall I ask him?' said his
Lordship.  We were, by a great majority, clear for the experiment.
Upon which his Lordship very gravely, and with a courteous air
said, 'Pray, Sir, is it true that you are taking lessons of
Vestris?'  This was risking a good deal, and required the boldness
of a General of Irish Volunteers to make the attempt.  Johnson was
at first startled, and in some heat answered, 'How can your
Lordship ask so simple a question?'  But immediately recovering
himself, whether from unwillingness to be deceived, or to appear
deceived, or whether from real good humour, he kept up the joke:
'Nay, but if any body were to answer the paragraph, and contradict
it, I'd have a reply, and would say, that he who contradicted it
was no friend either to Vestris or me.  For why should not Dr.
Johnson add to his other powers a little corporeal agility?
Socrates learnt to dance at an advanced age, and Cato learnt Greek
at an advanced age.  Then it might proceed to say, that this
Johnson, not content with dancing on the ground, might dance on the
rope; and they might introduce the elephant dancing on the rope.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Friday, April 6, he carried me to dine at a club, which, at his
desire, had been lately formed at the Queen's Arms, in St. Paul's
Church-yard.  He told Mr. Hoole, that he wished to have a City
Club, and asked him to collect one; but, said he, 'Don't let them
be PATRIOTS.'  The company were to-day very sensible, well-behaved
men.

On Friday, April 13, being Good-Friday, I went to St. Clement's
church with him as usual.  There I saw again his old fellow-
collegian, Edwards, to whom I said, 'I think, Sir, Dr. Johnson and
you meet only at Church.'--'Sir, (said he,) it is the best place we
can meet in, except Heaven, and I hope we shall meet there too.'
Dr. Johnson told me, that there was very little communication
between Edwards and him, after their unexpected renewal of
acquaintance.  'But, (said he, smiling), he met me once, and said,
"I am told you have written a very pretty book called The Rambler."
I was unwilling that he should leave the world in total darkness,
and sent him a set.'

Mr. Berrenger visited him to-day, and was very pleasing. We talked
of an evening society for conversation at a house in town, of which
we were all members, but of which Johnson said, 'It will never do,
Sir.  There is nothing served about there, neither tea, nor coffee,
nor lemonade, nor any thing whatever; and depend upon it, Sir, a
man does not love to go to a place from whence he comes out exactly
as he went in.'  I endeavoured, for argument's sake, to maintain
that men of learning and talents might have very good intellectual
society, without the aid of any little gratifications of the
senses.  Berrenger joined with Johnson, and said, that without
these any meeting would be dull and insipid.  He would therefore
have all the slight refreshments; nay, it would not be amiss to
have some cold meat, and a bottle of wine upon a side-board.  'Sir,
(said Johnson to me, with an air of triumph,) Mr. Berrenger knows
the world.  Every body loves to have good things furnished to them
without any trouble.  I told Mrs. Thrale once, that as she did not
choose to have card tables, she should have a profusion of the best
sweetmeats, and she would be sure to have company enough come to
her.'

On Sunday, April 15, being Easter-day, after solemn worship in St.
Paul's church, I found him alone; Dr. Scott of the Commons came in.

We talked of the difference between the mode of education at
Oxford, and that in those Colleges where instruction is chiefly
conveyed by lectures.  JOHNSON.  'Lectures were once useful; but
now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are
unnecessary.  If your attention fails, and you miss a part of a
lecture, it is lost; you cannot go back as you do upon a book.'
Dr. Scott agreed with him.  'But yet (said I), Dr. Scott, you
yourself gave lectures at Oxford.'  He smiled.  'You laughed (then
said I,) at those who came to you.'

Dr. Scott left us, and soon afterwards we went to dinner.  Our
company consisted of Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins, Mr. Levett,
Mr. Allen, the printer, and Mrs. Hall, sister of the Reverend Mr.
John Wesley, and resembling him, as I thought, both in figure and
manner.  Johnson produced now, for the first time, some handsome
silver salvers, which he told me he had bought fourteen years ago;
so it was a great day.  I was not a little amused by observing
Allen perpetually struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like
the little frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the
stately ox.

He mentioned a thing as not unfrequent, of which I had never heard
before,--being CALLED, that is, hearing one's name pronounced by
the voice of a known person at a great distance, far beyond the
possibility of being reached by any sound uttered by human organs.
'An acquaintance, on whose veracity I can depend, told me, that
walking home one evening to Kilmarnock, he heard himself called
from a wood, by the voice of a brother who had gone to America; and
the next packet brought accounts of that brother's death.'  Macbean
asserted that this inexplicable CALLING was a thing very well
known.  Dr. Johnson said, that one day at Oxford, as he was turning
the key of his chamber, he heard his mother distinctly call SAM.
She was then at Lichfleld; but nothing ensued.  This phaenomenon
is, I think, as wonderful as any other mysterious fact, which many
people are very slow to believe, or rather, indeed, reject with an
obstinate contempt.

Some time after this, upon his making a remark which escaped my
attention, Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Hall were both together striving
to answer him.  He grew angry, and called out loudly, 'Nay, when
you both speak at once, it is intolerable.'  But checking himself,
and softening, he said, 'This one may say, though you ARE ladies.'
Then he brightened into gay humour, and addressed them in the words
of one of the songs in The Beggar's Opera:--


    'But two at a time there's no mortal can bear.'


'What, Sir, (said I,) are you going to turn Captain Macheath?'
There was something as pleasantly ludicrous in this scene as can be
imagined.  The contrast between Macheath, Polly, and Lucy--and Dr.
Samuel Johnson, blind, peevish Mrs. Williams, and lean, lank,
preaching Mrs. Hall, was exquisite.

On Friday, April 20, I spent with him one of the happiest days that
I remember to have enjoyed in the whole course of my life.  Mrs.
Garrick, whose grief for the loss of her husband was, I believe, as
sincere as wounded affection and admiration could produce, had this
day, for the first time since his death, a select party of his
friends to dine with her.  The company was Miss Hannah More, who
lived with her, and whom she called her Chaplain; Mrs. Boscawen,
Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, Dr.
Johnson, and myself.  We found ourselves very elegantly entertained
at her house in the Adelphi, where I have passed many a pleasing
hour with him 'who gladdened life.'  She looked well, talked of her
husband with complacency, and while she cast her eyes on his
portrait, which hung over the chimney-piece, said, that 'death was
now the most agreeable object to her.'  The very semblance of David
Garrick was cheering.

We were all in fine spirits; and I whispered to Mrs. Boscawen, 'I
believe this is as much as can be made of life.'  In addition to a
splendid entertainment, we were regaled with Lichfield ale, which
had a peculiar appropriated value.  Sir Joshua, and Dr. Burney, and
I, drank cordially of it to Dr. Johnson's health; and though he
would not join us, he as cordially answered, 'Gentlemen, I wish you
all as well as you do me.'

The general effect of this day dwells upon my mind in fond
remembrance; but I do not find much conversation recorded.  What I
have preserved shall be faithfully given.

One of the company mentioned Mr. Thomas Hollis, the strenuous Whig,
who used to send over Europe presents of democratical books, with
their boards stamped with daggers and caps of liberty.  Mrs. Carter
said, 'He was a bad man.  He used to talk uncharitably.'  JOHNSON.
'Poh! poh!  Madam; who is the worse for being talked of
uncharitably?  Besides, he was a dull poor creature as ever lived:
and I believe he would not have done harm to a man whom he knew to
be of very opposite principles to his own.  I remember once at the
Society of Arts, when an advertisement was to be drawn up, he
pointed me out as the man who could do it best.  This, you will
observe, was kindness to me.  I however slipt away, and escaped
it.'

Mrs. Carter having said of the same person, 'I doubt he was an
Atheist.'  JOHNSON.  'I don't know that.  He might perhaps have
become one, if he had had time to ripen, (smiling.)  He might have
EXUBERATED into an Atheist.'

Sir Joshua Reynolds praised Mudge's Sermons.  JOHNSON.  'Mudge's
Sermons are good, but not practical.  He grasps more sense than he
can hold; he takes more corn than he can make into meal; he opens a
wide prospect, but it is so distant, it is indistinct.  I love
Blair's Sermons.  Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a
Presbyterian, and every thing he should not be, I was the first to
praise them.  Such was my candour,' (smiling.)  MRS. BOSCAWEN.
'Such his great merit to get the better of all your prejudices.'
JOHNSON.  'Why, Madam, let us compound the matter; let us ascribe
it to my candour, and his merit.'

In the evening we had a large company in the drawing-room, several
ladies, the Bishop of Killaloe, Dr. Percy, Mr. Chamberlayne, of the
Treasury, &c. &c.

Talking of a very respectable authour, he told us a curious
circumstance in his life, which was, that he had married a
printer's devil.  REYNOLDS.  'A printer's devil, Sir!  Why, I
thought a printer's devil was a creature with a black face and in
rags.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir.  But I suppose, he had her face
washed, and put clean clothes on her.  (Then looking very serious,
and very earnest.)  And she did not disgrace him; the woman had a
bottom of good sense.'  The word bottom thus introduced, was so
ludicrous when contrasted with his gravity, that most of us could
not forbear tittering and laughing; though I recollect that the
Bishop of Killaloe kept his countenance with perfect steadiness,
while Miss Hannah More slyly hid her face behind a lady's back who
sat on the same settee with her.  His pride could not bear that any
expression of his should excite ridicule, when he did not intend
it; he therefore resolved to assume and exercise despotick power,
glanced sternly around, and called out in a strong tone, 'Where's
the merriment?'  Then collecting himself, and looking aweful, to
make us feel how he could impose restraint, and as it were
searching his mind for a still more ludicrous word, he slowly
pronounced, 'I say the WOMAN was FUNDAMENTALLY sensible;' as if he
had said, hear this now, and laugh if you dare.  We all sat
composed as at a funeral.

He and I walked away together; we stopped a little while by the
rails of the Adelphi, looking on the Thames, and I said to him with
some emotion that I was now thinking of two friends we had lost,
who once lived in the buildings behind us, Beauclerk and Garrick.
'Ay, Sir, (said he, tenderly,) and two such friends as cannot be
supplied.'

For some time after this day I did not see him very often, and of
the conversation which I did enjoy, I am sorry to find I have
preserved but little.  I was at this time engaged in a variety of
other matters, which required exertion and assiduity, and
necessarily occupied almost all my time.

On Tuesday, May 8, I had the pleasure of again dining with him and
Mr. Wilkes, at Mr. Dilly's.  No NEGOCIATION was now required to
bring them together; for Johnson was so well satisfied with the
former interview, that he was very glad to meet Wilkes again, who
was this day seated between Dr. Beattie and Dr. Johnson; (between
Truth and Reason, as General Paoli said, when I told him of it.)
WILKES.  'I have been thinking, Dr. Johnson, that there should be a
bill brought into parliament that the controverted elections for
Scotland should be tried in that country, at their own Abbey of
Holy-Rood House, and not here; for the consequence of trying them
here is, that we have an inundation of Scotchmen, who come up and
never go back again.  Now here is Boswell, who is come up upon the
election for his own county, which will not last a fortnight.'
JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, I see no reason why they should be tried at
all; for, you know, one Scotchman is as good as another.'  WILKES.
'Pray, Boswell, how much may be got in a year by an Advocate at the
Scotch bar?'  BOSWELL.  'I believe two thousand pounds.'  WILKES.
'How can it be possible to spend that money in Scotland?'  JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, the money may be spent in England: but there is a harder
question.  If one man in Scotland gets possession of two thousand
pounds, what remains for all the rest of the nation?'  WILKES.
'You know, in the last war, the immense booty which Thurot carried
off by the complete plunder of seven Scotch isles; he re-embarked
with THREE AND SIX-PENCE.'  Here again Johnson and Wilkes joined in
extravagant sportive raillery upon the supposed poverty of
Scotland, which Dr. Beattie and I did not think it worth our while
to dispute.

The subject of quotation being introduced, Mr. Wilkes censured it
as pedantry.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir, it is a good thing; there is a
community of mind in it.  Classical quotation is the parole of
literary men all over the world.'

He gave us an entertaining account of Bet Flint, a woman of the
town, who, with some eccentrick talents and much effrontery, forced
herself upon his acquaintance.  'Bet (said he,) wrote her own Life
in verse, which she brought to me, wishing that I would furnish her
with a Preface to it, (laughing.)  I used to say of her that she
was generally slut and drunkard; occasionally, whore and thief.
She had, however, genteel lodgings, a spinnet on which she played,
and a boy that walked before her chair.  Poor Bet was taken up on a
charge of stealing a counterpane, and tried at the Old Bailey.
Chief Justice ------, who loved a wench, summed up favourably, and
she was acquitted.  After which Bet said, with a gay and satisfied
air, "Now that the counterpane is MY OWN, I shall make a petticoat
of it."'

Talking of oratory, Mr. Wilkes described it as accompanied with all
the charms of poetical expression.  JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; oratory is
the power of beating down your adversary's arguments, and putting
better in their place.'  WILKES.  'But this does not move the
passions.'  JOHNSON.  'He must be a weak man, who is to be so
moved.'  WILKES.  (naming a celebrated orator,) 'Amidst all the
brilliancy of ------'s imagination, and the exuberance of his wit,
there is a strange want of TASTE.  It was observed of Apelles's
Venus, that her flesh seemed as if she had been nourished by roses:
his oratory would sometimes make one suspect that he eats potatoes
and drinks whisky.'

Mr. Wilkes said to me, loud enough for Dr. Johnson to hear, 'Dr.
Johnson should make me a present of his Lives of the Poets, as I am
a poor patriot, who cannot afford to buy them.'  Johnson seemed to
take no notice of this hint; but in a little while, he called to
Mr. Dilly, 'Pray, Sir, be so good as to send a set of my Lives to
Mr. Wilkes, with my compliments.'  This was accordingly done; and
Mr. Wilkes paid Dr. Johnson a visit, was courteously received, and
sat with him a long time.

The company gradually dropped away.  Mr. Dilly himself was called
down stairs upon business; I left the room for some time; when I
returned, I was struck with observing Dr. Samuel Johnson and John
Wilkes, Esq., literally tete-a-tete; for they were reclined upon
their chairs, with their heads leaning almost close to each other,
and talking earnestly, in a kind of confidential whisper, of the
personal quarrel between George the Second and the King of Prussia.
Such a scene of perfectly easy sociality between two such opponents
in the war of political controversy, as that which I now beheld,
would have been an excellent subject for a picture.  It presented
to my mind the happy days which are foretold in Scripture, when the
lion shall lie down with the kid.

After this day there was another pretty long interval, during which
Dr. Johnson and I did not meet.  When I mentioned it to him with
regret, he was pleased to say, 'Then, Sir, let us live double.'

About this time it was much the fashion for several ladies to have
evening assemblies, where the fair sex might participate in
conversation with literary and ingenious men, animated by a desire
to please.  These societies were denominated Blue-stocking Clubs,
the origin of which title being little known, it may be worth while
to relate it.  One of the most eminent members of those societies,
when they first commenced, was Mr. Stillingfleet, whose dress was
remarkably grave, and in particular it was observed, that he wore
blue stockings.  Such was the excellence of his conversation, that
his absence was felt as so great a loss, that it used to be said,
'We can do nothing without the blue stockings;' and thus by degrees
the title was established.  Miss Hannah More has admirably
described a Blue-stocking Club, in her Bas Bleu, a poem in which
many of the persons who were most conspicuous there are mentioned.

Johnson was prevailed with to come sometimes into these circles,
and did not think himself too grave even for the lively Miss
Monckton (now Countess of Corke), who used to have the finest BIT
OF BLUE at the house of her mother, Lady Galway.  Her vivacity
enchanted the Sage, and they used to talk together with all
imaginable ease.  A singular instance happened one evening, when
she insisted that some of Sterne's writings were very pathetick.
Johnson bluntly denied it.  'I am sure (said she,) they have
affected ME.'  'Why, (said Johnson, smiling, and rolling himself
about,) that is, because, dearest, you're a dunce.'  When she some
time afterwards mentioned this to him, he said with equal truth and
politeness; 'Madam, if I had thought so, I certainly should not
have said it.'

Another evening Johnson's kind indulgence towards me had a pretty
difficult trial.  I had dined at the Duke of Montrose's with a very
agreeable party, and his Grace, according to his usual custom, had
circulated the bottle very freely.  Lord Graham and I went together
to Miss Monckton's, where I certainly was in extraordinary spirits,
and above all fear or awe.  In the midst of a great number of
persons of the first rank, amongst whom I recollect with confusion,
a noble lady of the most stately decorum, I placed myself next to
Johnson, and thinking myself now fully his match, talked to him in
a loud and boisterous manner, desirous to let the company know how
I could contend with Ajax.  I particularly remember pressing him
upon the value of the pleasures of the imagination, and as an
illustration of my argument, asking him, 'What, Sir, supposing I
were to fancy that the ----- (naming the most charming Duchess in
his Majesty's dominions) were in love with me, should I not be very
happy?'  My friend with much address evaded my interrogatories, and
kept me as quiet as possible; but it may easily be conceived how he
must have felt.  However, when a few days afterwards I waited upon
him and made an apology, he behaved with the most friendly
gentleness.

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

His disorderly habits, when 'making provision for the day that was
passing over him,' appear from the following anecdote, communicated
to me by Mr. John Nichols:--'In the year 1763, a young bookseller,
who was an apprentice to Mr. Whiston, waited on him with a
subscription to his Shakspeare: and observing that the Doctor made
no entry in any book of the subscriber's name, ventured diffidently
to ask, whether he would please to have the gentleman's address,
that it might be properly inserted in the printed list of
subscribers.  "I shall print no list of subscribers;" said Johnson,
with great abruptness: but almost immediately recollecting himself,
added, very complacently, "Sir, I have two very cogent reasons for
not printing any list of subscribers;--one, that I have lost all
the names,--the other, that I have spent all the money."

Johnson could not brook appearing to be worsted in argument, even
when he had taken the wrong side, to shew the force and dexterity
of his talents.  When, therefore, he perceived that his opponent
gained ground, he had recourse to some sudden mode of robust
sophistry.  Once when I was pressing upon him with visible
advantage, he stopped me thus:--'My dear Boswell, let's have no
more of this; you'll make nothing of it.  I'd rather have you
whistle a Scotch tune.'

Care, however, must be taken to distinguish between Johnson when he
'talked for victory,' and Johnson when he had no desire but to
inform and illustrate.  'One of Johnson s principal talents (says
an eminent friend of his) was shewn in maintaining the wrong side
of an argument, and in a splendid perversion of the truth.  If you
could contrive to have his fair opinion on a subject, and without
any bias from personal prejudice, or from a wish to be victorious
in argument, it was wisdom itself, not only convincing, but
overpowering.'

He had, however, all his life habituated himself to consider
conversation as a trial of intellectual vigour and skill; and to
this, I think, we may venture to ascribe that unexampled richness
and brilliancy which appeared in his own.  As a proof at once of
his eagerness for colloquial distinction, and his high notion of
this eminent friend, he once addressed him thus:-- '-----, we now
have been several hours together; and you have said but one thing
for which I envied you.'

Goldsmith could sometimes take adventurous liberties with him, and
escape unpunished.  Beauclerk told me that when Goldsmith talked of
a project for having a third Theatre in London, solely for the
exhibition of new plays, in order to deliver authours from the
supposed tyranny of managers, Johnson treated it slightingly; upon
which Goldsmith said, 'Ay, ay, this may be nothing to you, who can
now shelter yourself behind the corner of a pension;' and that
Johnson bore this with good-humour.

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

I asked him if he was not dissatisfied with having so small a share
of wealth, and none of those distinctions in the state which are
the objects of ambition.  He had only a pension of three hundred a
year.  Why was he not in such circumstances as to keep his coach?
Why had he not some considerable office?  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I have
never complained of the world; nor do I think that I have reason to
complain.  It is rather to be wondered at that I have so much.  My
pension is more out of the usual course of things than any instance
that I have known.  Here, Sir, was a man avowedly no friend to
Government at the time, who got a pension without asking for it.  I
never courted the great; they sent for me; but I think they now
give me up.  They are satisfied; they have seen enough of me.'

Strange, however, it is, to consider how few of the great sought
his society; so that if one were disposed to take occasion for
satire on that account, very conspicuous objects present
themselves.  His noble friend, Lord Elibank, well observed, that if
a great man procured an interview with Johnson, and did not wish to
see him more, it shewed a mere idle curiosity, and a wretched want
of relish for extraordinary powers of mind.  Mrs. Thrale justly and
wittily accounted for such conduct by saying, that Johnson's
conversation was by much too strong for a person accustomed to
obsequiousness and flattery; it was mustard in a young child's
mouth!

On Saturday, June 2, I set out for Scotland, and had promised to
pay a visit in my way, as I sometimes did, at Southill, in
Bedfordshire, at the hospitable mansion of 'Squire Dilly, the elder
brother of my worthy friends, the booksellers, in the Poultry.  Dr.
Johnson agreed to be of the party this year, with Mr. Charles Dilly
and me, and to go and see Lord Bute's seat at Luton Hoe.  He talked
little to us in the carriage, being chiefly occupied in reading Dr.
Watson's second volume of Chemical Essays, which he liked very
well, and his own Prince of Abyssinia, on which he seemed to be
intensely fixed; having told us, that he had not looked at it since
it was first published.  I happened to take it out of my pocket
this day, and he seized upon it with avidity.

We stopped at Welwyn, where I wished much to see, in company with
Dr. Johnson, the residence of the authour of Night Thoughts, which
was then possessed by his son, Mr. Young.  Here some address was
requisite, for I was not acquainted with Mr. Young, and had I
proposed to Dr. Johnson that we should send to him, he would have
checked my wish, and perhaps been offended.  I therefore concerted
with Mr. Dilly, that I should steal away from Dr. Johnson and him,
and try what reception I could procure from Mr. Young; if
unfavourable, nothing was to be said; but if agreeable, I should
return and notify it to them.  I hastened to Mr. Young's, found he
was at home, sent in word that a gentleman desired to wait upon
him, and was shewn into a parlour, where he and a young lady, his
daughter, were sitting.  He appeared to be a plain, civil, country
gentleman; and when I begged pardon for presuming to trouble him,
but that I wished much to see his place, if he would give me leave;
he behaved very courteously, and answered, 'By all means, Sir; we
are just going to drink tea; will you sit down?'  I thanked him,
but said, that Dr. Johnson had come with me from London, and I must
return to the inn and drink tea with him; that my name was Boswell,
I had travelled with him in the Hebrides.  'Sir, (said he,) I
should think it a great honour to see Dr. Johnson here.  Will you
allow me to send for him?'  Availing myself of this opening, I said
that 'I would go myself and bring him, when he had drunk tea; he
knew nothing of my calling here.'  Having been thus successful, I
hastened back to the inn, and informed Dr. Johnson that 'Mr. Young,
son of Dr. Young, the authour of Night Thoughts, whom I had just
left, desired to have the honour of seeing him at the house where
his father lived.'  Dr. Johnson luckily made no inquiry how this
invitation had arisen, but agreed to go, and when we entered Mr.
Young's parlour, he addressed him with a very polite bow, 'Sir, I
had a curiosity to come and see this place.  I had the honour to
know that great man, your father.'  We went into the garden, where
we found a gravel walk, on each side of which was a row of trees,
planted by Dr. Young, which formed a handsome Gothick arch; Dr.
Johnson called it a fine grove.  I beheld it with reverence.

We sat some time in the summer-house, on the outside wall of which
was inscribed, 'Ambulantes in horto audiebant vocem Dei;' and in
reference to a brook by which it is situated, 'Vivendi recte qui
prorogat horam,' &c.  I said to Mr. Young, that I had been told his
father was cheerful.  'Sir, (said he,) he was too well-bred a man
not to be cheerful in company; but he was gloomy when alone.  He
never was cheerful after my mother's death, and he had met with
many disappointments.'  Dr. Johnson observed to me afterwards,
'That this was no favourable account of Dr. Young; for it is not
becoming in a man to have so little acquiescence in the ways of
Providence, as to be gloomy because he has not obtained as much
preferment as he expected; nor to continue gloomy for the loss of
his wife.  Grief has its time.'  The last part of this censure was
theoretically made.  Practically, we know that grief for the loss
of a wife may be continued very long, in proportion as affection
has been sincere.  No man knew this better than Dr. Johnson.

Upon the road we talked of the uncertainty of profit with which
authours and booksellers engage in the publication of literary
works.  JOHNSON.  'My judgement I have found is no certain rule as
to the sale of a book.'  BOSWELL.  'Pray, Sir, have you been much
plagued with authours sending you their works to revise?'  JOHNSON.
'No, Sir; I have been thought a sour, surly fellow.'  BOSWELL.
'Very lucky.  for you, Sir,--in that respect.'  I must however
observe, that notwithstanding what he now said, which he no doubt
imagined at the time to be the fact, there was, perhaps, no man who
more frequently yielded to the solicitations even of very obscure
authours, to read their manuscripts, or more liberally assisted
them with advice and correction.

He found himself very happy at 'Squire Dilly's, where there is
always abundance of excellent fare, and hearty welcome.

On Sunday, June 3, we all went to Southill church, which is very
near to Mr. Dilly's house.  It being the first Sunday of the month,
the holy sacrament was administered, and I staid to partake of it.
When I came afterwards into Dr. Johnson's room, he said, 'You did
right to stay and receive the communion; I had not thought of it.'
This seemed to imply that he did not choose to approach the altar
without a previous preparation, as to which good men entertain
different opinions, some holding that it is irreverent to partake
of that ordinance without considerable premeditation.

Although upon most occasions I never heard a more strenuous
advocate for the advantages of wealth, than Dr. Johnson: he this
day, I know not from what caprice, took the other side.  'I have
not observed (said he,) that men of very large fortunes enjoy any
thing extraordinary that makes happiness.  What has the Duke of
Bedford?  What has the Duke of Devonshire?  The only great instance
that I have ever known of the enjoyment of wealth was, that of
Jamaica Dawkins, who, going to visit Palmyra, and hearing that the
way was infested by robbers, hired a troop of Turkish horse to
guard him.'

Dr. Gibbons, the Dissenting minister, being mentioned, he said, 'I
took to Dr. Gibbons.'  And addressing himself to Mr. Charles Dilly,
added, 'I shall be glad to see him.  Tell him, if he'll call on me,
and dawdle over a dish of tea in an afternoon, I shall take it
kind.'

The Reverend Mr. Smith, Vicar of Southill, a very respectable man,
with a very agreeable family, sent an invitation to us to drink
tea.  I remarked Dr. Johnson's very respectful politeness.  Though
always fond of changing the scene, he said, 'We must have Mr.
Dilly's leave.  We cannot go from your house, Sir, without your
permission.'  We all went, and were well satisfied with our visit.

When I observed that a housebreaker was in general very timorous;
JOHNSON.  'No wonder, Sir; he is afraid of being shot getting INTO
a house, or hanged when he has got OUT of it.'

He told us, that he had in one day written six sheets of a
translation from the French, adding, 'I should be glad to see it
now.  I wish that I had copies of all the pamphlets written against
me, as it is said Pope had.  Had I known that I should make so much
noise in the world, I should have been at pains to collect them.  I
believe there is hardly a day in which there is not something about
me in the newspapers.'

On Monday, June 4, we all went to Luton-Hoe, to see Lord Bute's
magnificent seat, for which I had obtained a ticket.  As we entered
the park, I talked in a high style of my old friendship with Lord
Mountstuart, and said, 'I shall probably be much at this place.'
The Sage, aware of human vicissitudes, gently checked me: 'Don't
you be too sure of that.'  He made two or three peculiar
observations; as when shewn the botanical garden, 'Is not EVERY
garden a botanical garden?'  When told that there was a shrubbery
to the extent of several miles: 'That is making a very foolish use
of the ground; a little of it is very well.'  When it was proposed
that we should walk on the pleasure-ground; 'Don't let us fatigue
ourselves.  Why should we walk there?  Here's a fine tree, let's
get to the top of it.'  But upon the whole, he was very much
pleased.  He said, 'This is one of the places I do not regret
having come to see.  It is a very stately place, indeed; in the
house magnificence is not sacrificed to convenience, nor
convenience to magnificence.  The library is very splendid: the
dignity of the rooms is very great; and the quantity of pictures is
beyond expectation, beyond hope.'

It happened without any previous concert, that we visited the seat
of Lord Bute upon the King's birthday; we dined and drank his
Majesty's health at an inn, in the village of Luton.

In the evening I put him in mind of his promise to favour me with a
copy of his celebrated Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield, and he
was at last pleased to comply with this earnest request, by
dictating it to me from his memory; for he believed that he himself
had no copy.  There was an animated glow in his countenance while
he thus recalled his high-minded indignation.

On Tuesday, June 5, Johnson was to return to London.  He was very
pleasant at breakfast; I mentioned a friend of mine having resolved
never to marry a pretty woman.  JOHNSON.  'Sir it is a very foolish
resolution to resolve not to marry a pretty woman.  Beauty is of
itself very estimable.  No, Sir, I would prefer a pretty woman,
unless there are objections to her.  A pretty woman may be foolish;
a pretty woman may be wicked; a pretty woman may not like me.  But
there is no such danger in marrying a pretty woman as is
apprehended: she will not be persecuted if she does not invite
persecution.  A pretty woman, if she has a mind to be wicked, can
find a readier way than another; and that is all.'

At Shefford I had another affectionate parting from my revered
friend, who was taken up by the Bedford coach and carried to the
metropolis.  I went with Messieurs Dilly, to see some friends at
Bedford; dined with the officers of the militia of the county, and
next day proceeded on my journey.

Johnson's charity to the poor was uniform and extensive, both from
inclination and principle.  He not only bestowed liberally out of
his own purse, but what is more difficult as well as rare, would
beg from others, when he had proper objects in view.  This he did
judiciously as well as humanely.  Mr. Philip Metcalfe tells me,
that when he has asked him for some money for persons in distress,
and Mr. Metcalfe has offered what Johnson thought too much, he
insisted on taking less, saying, 'No, no, Sir; we must not PAMPER
them.'

I am indebted to Mr. Malone, one of Sir Joshua Reynolds's
executors, for the following note, which was found among his papers
after his death, and which, we may presume, his unaffected modesty
prevented him from communicating to me with the other letters from
Dr. Johnson with which he was pleased to furnish me.  However
slight in itself, as it does honour to that illustrious painter,
and most amiable man, I am happy to introduce it.


'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'DEAR SIR,--It was not before yesterday that I received your
splendid benefaction.  To a hand so liberal in distributing, I hope
nobody will envy the power of acquiring.  I am, dear Sir, your
obliged and most humble servant,

'June 23, 1781.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


The following curious anecdote I insert in Dr. Burney's own words:--

'Dr. Burney related to Dr. Johnson the partiality which his
writings had excited in a friend of Dr. Burney's, the late Mr.
Bewley, well known in Norfolk by the name of the Philosopher of
Massingham: who, from the Ramblers and Plan of his Dictionary, and
long before the authour's fame was established by the Dictionary
itself, or any other work, had conceived such a reverence for him,
that he urgently begged Dr. Burney to give him the cover of the
first letter he had received from him, as a relick of so estimable
a writer.  This was in 1755.  In 1760, when Dr. Burney visited Dr.
Johnson at the Temple in London, where he had then chambers, he
happened to arrive there before he was up; and being shewn into the
room where he was to breakfast, finding himself alone, he examined
the contents of the apartment, to try whether he could undiscovered
steal anything to send to his friend Bewley, as another relick of
the admirable Dr. Johnson.  But finding nothing better to his
purpose, he cut some bristles off his hearth-broom, and enclosed
them in a letter to his country enthusiast, who received them with
due reverence.  The Doctor was so sensible of the honour done him
by a man of genius and science, to whom he was an utter stranger,
that he said to Dr. Burney, "Sir, there is no man possessed of the
smallest portion of modesty, but must be flattered with the
admiration of such a man.  I'll give him a set of my Lives, if he
will do me the honour to accept of them."  In this he kept his
word; and Dr. Burney had not only the pleasure of gratifying his
friend with a present more worthy of his acceptance than the
segment from the hearth-broom, but soon after of introducing him to
Dr. Johnson himself in Bolt-court, with whom he had the
satisfaction of conversing a considerable time, not a fortnight
before his death; which happened in St. Martin's-street, during his
visit to Dr. Burney, in the house where the great Sir Isaac Newton
had lived and died before.'


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

'August 9, 3 P.M., aetat. 72, in the summer-house at Streatham.

'After innumerable resolutions formed and neglected, I have retired
hither, to plan a life of greater diligence, in hope that I may yet
be useful, and be daily better prepared to appear before my Creator
and my Judge, from whose infinite mercy I humbly call for
assistance and support.

'My purpose is,

'To pass eight hours every day in some serious employment.

'Having prayed, I purpose to employ the next six weeks upon the
Italian language, for my settled study.'

In autumn he went to Oxford, Birmingham, Lichfield, and Ashbourne,
for which very good reasons might be given in the conjectural yet
positive manner of writers, who are proud to account for every
event which they relate.  He himself, however, says, 'The motives
of my journey I hardly know; I omitted it last year, and am not
willing to miss it again.'

But some good considerations arise, amongst which is the kindly
recollection of Mr. Hector, surgeon at Birmingham: 'Hector is
likewise an old friend, the only companion of my childhood that
passed through the school with me.  We have always loved one
another; perhaps we may be made better by some serious
conversation, of which however I have no distinct hope.'  He says
too, 'At Lichfield, my native place, I hope to shew a good example
by frequent attendance on publick worship.'

1782: AETAT. 73.]--In 1782, his complaints increased, and the
history of his life this year, is little more than a mournful
recital of the variations of his illness, in the midst of which,
however, it will appear from his letters, that the powers of his
mind were in no degree impaired.

At a time when he was less able than he had once been to sustain a
shock, he was suddenly deprived of Mr. Levett, which event he thus
communicated to Dr. Lawrence:--


'SIR,--Our old friend, Mr. Levett, who was last night eminently
cheerful, died this morning.  The man who lay in the same room,
hearing an uncommon noise, got up and tried to make him speak, but
without effect, he then called Mr. Holder, the apothecary, who,
though when he came he thought him dead, opened a vein, but could
draw no blood.  So has ended the long life of a very useful and
very blameless man.  I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'Jan. 17, 1782.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


In one of his memorandum-books in my possession, is the following
entry:--'January 20, Sunday.  Robert Levett was buried in the
church-yard of Bridewell, between one and two in the afternoon.  He
died on Thursday 17, about seven in the morning, by an
instantaneous death.  He was an old and faithful friend; I have
known him from about 46.  Commendavi.  May GOD have mercy on him.
May he have mercy on me.'

On the 30th of August, I informed him that my honoured father had
died that morning; a complaint under which he had long laboured
having suddenly come to a crisis, while I was upon a visit at the
seat of Sir Charles Preston, from whence I had hastened the day
before, upon receiving a letter by express.

In answer to my next letter, I received one from him, dissuading me
from hastening to him as I had proposed; what is proper for
publication is the following paragraph, equally just and tender:--
'One expence, however, I would not have you to spare: let nothing
be omitted that can preserve Mrs. Boswell, though it should be
necessary to transplant her for a time into a softer climate.  She
is the prop and stay of your life.  How much must your children
suffer by losing her.'

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


'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL.

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

'London, Sept. 7, 1782.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


The death of Mr. Thrale had made a very material alteration with
respect to Johnson's reception in that family.  The manly authority
of the husband no longer curbed the lively exuberance of the lady;
and as her vanity had been fully gratified, by having the Colossus
of Literature attached to her for many years, she gradually became
less assiduous to please him.  Whether her attachment to him was
already divided by another object, I am unable to ascertain; but it
is plain that Johnson's penetration was alive to her neglect or
forced attention; for on the 6th of October this year, we find him
making a 'parting use of the library' at Streatham, and pronouncing
a prayer, which he composed on leaving Mr. Thrale's family:--

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

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

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

In one of his memorandum-books I find, 'Sunday, went to church at
Streatham.  Templo valedixi cam osculo.'

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


'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

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

'Brighthelmston, Nov. 14, 1782.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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

On Friday, March 21, having arrived in London the night before, I
was glad to find him at Mrs. Thrale's house, in Argyll-street,
appearances of friendship between them being still kept up.  I was
shewn into his room, and after the first salutation he said, 'I am
glad you are come.  I am very ill.'  He looked pale, and was
distressed with a difficulty of breathing; but after the common
inquiries he assumed his usual strong animated style of
conversation.  Seeing me now for the first time as a Laird, or
proprietor of land, he began thus: 'Sir, the superiority of a
country-gentleman over the people upon his estate is very
agreeable; and he who says he does not feel it to be agreeable,
lies; for it must be agreeable to have a casual superiority over
those who are by nature equal with us.'  BOSWELL.  'Yet, Sir, we
see great proprietors of land who prefer living in London.'
JOHNSON.  'Why, Sir, the pleasure of living in London, the
intellectual superiority that is enjoyed there, may counterbalance
the other.  Besides, Sir, a man may prefer the state of the
country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a
moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for
it.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


* March 22.--Ed.


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

I was glad when General Oglethorpe's arrival was announced, and we
left the ladies.  Dr. Johnson attended him in the parlour, and was
as courteous as ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Sunday, March 30, I found him at home in the evening, and had
the pleasure to meet with Dr. Brocklesby, whose reading, and
knowledge of life, and good spirits, supply him with a never-
failing source of conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


    "Nec sufferre queat majoris pondera gemmae."'


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

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

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


           '-------- Ingenium ingens
     Inculto latet hoc sub corpore.'


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

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

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

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

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

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


* I am happy, however, to mention a pleasing instance of his
enduring with great gentleness to hear one of his most striking
particularities pointed out:--Miss Hunter, a niece of his friend
Christopher Smart, when a very young girl, struck by his
extraordinary motions, said to him, Pray, Dr. Johnson, why do you
make such strange gestures?'  From bad habit, he replied.  'Do you,
my dear, take care to guard against bad habits.'  This I was told
by the young lady's brother at Margate.--Boswell.


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

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

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

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

Johnson's dexterity in retort, when he seemed to be driven to an
extremity by his adversary, was very remarkable.  Of his power in
this respect, our common friend, Mr. Windham of Norfolk, has been
pleased to furnish me with an eminent instance.  However
unfavourable to Scotland, he uniformly gave liberal praise to
George Buchanan, as a writer.  In a conversation concerning the
literary merits of the two countries, in which Buchanan was
introduced, a Scotchman, imagining that on this ground he should
have an undoubted triumph over him, exclaimed, 'Ah, Dr. Johnson,
what would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an Englishman?'
'Why, Sir, (said Johnson, after a little pause,) I should NOT have
said of Buchanan, had he been an ENGLISHMAN, what I will now say of
him as a SCOTCHMAN,--that he was the only man of genius his country
ever produced.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


* Author of the Essay on the Character of Falstaff.--ED.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On April 18, (being Good-Friday,) I found him at breakfast, in his
usual manner upon that day, drinking tea without milk, and eating a
cross-bun to prevent faintness; we went to St. Clement's church, as
formerly.  When we came home from church, he placed himself on one
of the stone-seats at his garden-door, and I took the other, and
thus in the open air and in a placid frame of mind, he talked away
very easily.  JOHNSON.  'Were I a country gentleman, I should not
be very hospitable, I should not have crowds in my house.'
BOSWELL.  'Sir Alexander Dick tells me, that he remembers having a
thousand people in a year to dine at his house: that is, reckoning
each person as one, each time that he dined there.'  JOHNSON.
'That, Sir, is about three a day.'  BOSWELL.  'How your statement
lessens the idea.'  JOHNSON.  'That, Sir, is the good of counting.
It brings every thing to a certainty, which before floated in the
mind indefinitely.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


* I think it necessary to caution my readers against concluding
that in this or any other conversation of Dr. Johnson, they have
his serious and deliberate opinion on the subject of duelling.  In
my Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, 3rd edit. p. 386 [p. 366,
Oct. 24], it appears that he made this frank confession:--'Nobody
at times, talks more laxly than I do;' and, ib., p. 231 [Sept. 19,
1773], 'He fairly owned he could not explain the rationality of
duelling.'  We may, therefore, infer, that he could not think that
justifiable, which seems so inconsistent with the spirit of the
Gospel.--BOSWELL.


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

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

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

'How false (said he,) is all this, to say that in ancient times
learning was not a disgrace to a Peer as it is now.  In ancient
times a Peer was as ignorant as any one else.  He would have been
angry to have it thought he could write his name.  Men in ancient
times dared to stand forth with a degree of ignorance with which
nobody would dare now to stand forth.  I am always angry when I
hear ancient times praised at the expence of modern times.  There
is now a great deal more learning in the world than there was
formerly; for it is universally diffused.  You have, perhaps, no
man who knows as much Greek and Latin as Bentley; no man who knows
as much mathematicks as Newton: but you have many more men who know
Greek and Latin, and who know mathematicks.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


'TO MR. EDMUND ALLEN.

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

'June 17, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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

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

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

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

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


'TO MR. THOMAS DAVIES.

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

'June 18, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His fortitude and patience met with severe trials during this year.
The stroke of the palsy has been related circumstantially; but he
was also afflicted with the gout, and was besides troubled with a
complaint which not only was attended with immediate inconvenience,
but threatened him with a chirurgical operation, from which most
men would shrink.  The complaint was a sarcocele, which Johnson
bore with uncommon firmness, and was not at all frightened while he
looked forward to amputation.  He was attended by Mr. Pott and Mr.
Cruikshank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I find in this, as in former years, notices of his kind attention
to Mrs. Gardiner, who, though in the humble station of a tallow-
chandler upon Snow-hill, was a woman of excellent good sense,
pious, and charitable.  She told me, she had been introduced to him
by Mrs. Masters, the poetess, whose volumes he revised, and, it is
said, illuminated here and there with a ray of his own genius.
Mrs. Gardiner was very zealous for the support of the Ladies'
charity-school, in the parish of St. Sepulchre.  It is confined to
females; and, I am told, it afforded a hint for the story of Betty
Broom in The Idler.

The late ingenious Mr. Mickle, some time before his death, wrote me
a letter concerning Dr. Johnson, in which he mentions,--'I was
upwards of twelve years acquainted with him, was frequently in his
company, always talked with ease to him, and can truly say, that I
never received from him one rough word.'

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

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


'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

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

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

'Dec. 4, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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


* I was in Scotland when this Club was founded, and during all the
winter.  Johnson, however, declared I should be a member, and
invented a word upon the occasion: Boswell (said he,) is a very
CLUBABLE man.'  When I came to town I was proposed by Mr.
Barrington, and chosen.  I believe there are few societies where
there is better conversation or more decorum, several of us
resolved to continue it after our great founder was removed by
death.  Other members were added; and now, above eight years since
that loss, we go on happily.--BOSWELL.


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


'TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

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

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

'London, Nov. 29, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


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

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

I also applied to three of the eminent physicians who had chairs in
our celebrated school of medicine at Edinburgh, Doctors Cullen,
Hope, and Monro.

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


'TO THE REVEREND DR. TAYLOR, ASHBOURNE, DERBYSHIRE.

'DEAR SIR,--What can be the reason that I hear nothing from you?  I 
hope nothing disables you from writing.  What I have seen, and what
I have felt, gives me reason to fear every thing.  Do not omit
giving me the comfort of knowing, that after all my losses I have
yet a friend left.

'I want every comfort.  My life is very solitary and very
cheerless.  Though it has pleased GOD wonderfully to deliver me
from the dropsy, I am yet very weak, and have not passed the door
since the 13th of December.  I hope for some help from warm
weather, which will surely come in time.

'I could not have the consent of the physicians to go to church
yesterday; I therefore received the holy sacrament at home, in the
room where I communicated with dear Mrs. Williams, a little before
her death.  O! my friend, the approach of death is very dreadful.
I am afraid to think on that which I know I cannot avoid.  It is
vain to look round and round for that help which cannot be had.
Yet we hope and hope, and fancy that he who has lived to-day may
live to-morrow.  But let us learn to derive our hope only from GOD.

'In the mean time, let us be kind to one another.  I have no friend
now living but you and Mr. Hector, that was the friend of my youth.
Do not neglect, dear Sir, yours affectionately,

'London, Easter-Monday,
April 12, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


What follows is a beautiful specimen of his gentleness and
complacency to a young lady his god-child, one of the daughters of
his friend Mr. Langton, then I think in her seventh year.  He took
the trouble to write it in a large round hand, nearly resembling
printed characters, that she might have the satisfaction of reading
it herself.  The original lies before me, but shall be faithfully
restored to her; and I dare say will be preserved by her as a jewel
as long as she lives.


'TO MISS JANE LANGTON, IN ROCHESTER, KENT.

'MY DEAREST MISS JENNY,--I am sorry that your pretty letter has
been so long without being answered; but, when I am not pretty
well, I do not always write plain enough for young ladies.  I am
glad, my dear, to see that you write so well, and hope that you
mind your pen, your book, and your needle, for they are all
necessary.  Your books will give you knowledge, and make you
respected; and your needle will find you useful employment when you
do not care to read.  When you are a little older, I hope you will
be very diligent in learning arithmetick, and, above all, that
through your whole life you will carefully say your prayers, and
read your Bible.  I am, my dear, your most humble servant,

'May 10, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


On Wednesday, May 5, I arrived in London, and next morning had the
pleasure to find Dr. Johnson greatly recovered.  I but just saw
him; for a coach was waiting to carry him to Islington, to the
house of his friend the Reverend Mr. Strahan, where he went
sometimes for the benefit of good air, which, notwithstanding his
having formerly laughed at the general opinion upon the subject, he
now acknowledged was conducive to health.

One morning afterwards, when I found him alone, he communicated to
me, with solemn earnestness, a very remarkable circumstance which
had happened in the course of his illness, when he was much
distressed by the dropsy.  He had shut himself up, and employed a
day in particular exercises of religion--fasting, humiliation, and
prayer.  On a sudden he obtained extraordinary relief, for which he
looked up to Heaven with grateful devotion.  He made no direct
inference from this fact; but from his manner of telling it, I
could perceive that it appeared to him as something more than an
incident in the common course of events.  For my own part, I have
no difficulty to avow that cast of thinking, which by many modern
pretenders to wisdom is called SUPERSTITIOUS.  But here I think
even men of dry rationality may believe, that there was an
intermediate interposition of Divine Providence, and that 'the
fervent prayer of this righteous man' availed.

On Saturday, May 15, I dined with him at Dr. Brocklesby's, where
were Colonel Vallancy, Mr. Murphy, and that ever-cheerful companion
Mr. Devaynes, apothecary to his Majesty.  Of these days, and others
on which I saw him, I have no memorials, except the general
recollection of his being able and animated in conversation, and
appearing to relish society as much as the youngest man.  I find
only these three small particulars:--When a person was mentioned,
who said, 'I have lived fifty-one years in this world without
having had ten minutes of uneasiness;' he exclaimed, 'The man who
says so, lies: he attempts to impose on human credulity.'  The
Bishop of Exeter in vain observed, that men were very different.
His Lordship's manner was not impressive, and I learnt afterwards
that Johnson did not find out that the person who talked to him was
a Prelate; if he had, I doubt not that he would have treated him
with more respect; for once talking of George Psalmanazar, whom he
reverenced for his piety, he said, 'I should as soon think of
contradicting a BISHOP.'  One of the company* provoked him greatly
by doing what he could least of all bear, which was quoting
something of his own writing, against what he then maintained.
'What, Sir, (cried the gentleman,) do you say to


    "The busy day, the peaceful night,
       Unfelt, uncounted, glided by?"'--


Johnson finding himself thus presented as giving an instance of a
man who had lived without uneasiness, was much offended, for he
looked upon such a quotation as unfair.  His anger burst out in an
unjustifiable retort, insinuating that the gentleman's remark was a
sally of ebriety; 'Sir, there is one passion I would advise you to
command: when you have drunk out that glass, don't drink another.'
Here was exemplified what Goldsmith said of him, with the aid of a
very witty image from one of Cibber's Comedies: 'There is no
arguing with Johnson; for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you
down with the butt end of it.'  Another was this: when a gentleman
of eminence in the literary world was violently censured for
attacking people by anonymous paragraphs in news-papers; he, from
the spirit of contradiction as I thought, took up his defence, and
said, 'Come, come, this is not so terrible a crime; he means only
to vex them a little.  I do not say that I should do it; but there
is a great difference between him and me; what is fit for
Hephaestion is not fit for Alexander.'  Another, when I told him
that a young and handsome Countess had said to me, 'I should think
that to be praised by Dr. Johnson would make one a fool all one's
life;' and that I answered, 'Madam, I shall make him a fool to-day,
by repeating this to him,' he said, 'I am too old to be made a
fool; but if you say I am made a fool, I shall not deny it.  I am
much pleased with a compliment, especially from a pretty woman.'


* Boswell himself, likely enough.--HILL.


On the evening of Saturday, May 15, he was in fine spirits, at our
Essex-Head Club.  He told us, 'I dined yesterday at Mrs. Garrick's,
with Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah More, and Miss Fanny Burney.  Three
such women are not to be found: I know not where I could find a
fourth, except Mrs. Lennox, who is superiour to them all.'
BOSWELL.  'What! had you them all to yourself, Sir?'  JOHNSON.  'I
had them all as much as they were had; but it might have been
better had there been more company there.'  BOSWELL.  'Might not
Mrs. Montagu have been a fourth?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, Mrs. Montagu
does not make a trade of her wit; but Mrs. Montagu is a very
extraordinary woman; she has a constant stream of conversation, and
it is always impregnated; it has always meaning.'  BOSWELL.  'Mr.
Burke has a constant stream of conversation.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir;
if a man were to go by chance at the same time with Burke under a
shed, to shun a shower, he would say--"this is an extraordinary
man."  If Burke should go into a stable to see his horse drest, the
ostler would say--"we have had an extraordinary man here."'
BOSWELL.  'Foote was a man who never failed in conversation.  If he
had gone into a stable--'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, if he had gone into a
stable, the ostler would have said, "here has been a comical
fellow"; but he would not have respected him.'  BOSWELL.  'And,
Sir, the ostler would have answered him, would have given him as
good as he brought, as the common saying is.'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir;
and Foote would have answered the ostler.--When Burke does not
descend to be merry, his conversation is very superiour indeed.
There is no proportion between the powers which he shews in serious
talk and in jocularity.  When he lets himself down to that, he is
in the kennel.'  I have in another place opposed, and I hope with
success, Dr. Johnson's very singular and erroneous notion as to Mr.
Burke's pleasantry.  Mr. Windham now said low to me, that he
differed from our great friend in this observation; for that Mr.
Burke was often very happy in his merriment.  It would not have
been right for either of us to have contradicted Johnson at this
time, in a Society all of whom did not know and value Mr. Burke as
much as we did.  It might have occasioned something more rough, and
at any rate would probably have checked the flow of Johnson's good-
humour.  He called to us with a sudden air of exultation, as the
thought started into his mind, 'O! Gentlemen, I must tell you a
very great thing.  The Empress of Russia has ordered the Rambler to
be translated into the Russian language: so I shall be read on the
banks of the Wolga.  Horace boasts that his fame would extend as
far as the banks of the Rhone; now the Wolga is farther from me
than the Rhone was from Horace.'  BOSWELL.  'You must certainly be
pleased with this, Sir.'  JOHNSON.  'I am pleased, Sir, to be sure.
A man is pleased to find he has succeeded in that which he has
endeavoured to do.'

One of the company mentioned his having seen a noble person driving
in his carriage, and looking exceedingly well, notwithstanding his
great age.  JOHNSON.  'Ah, Sir; that is nothing.  Bacon observes,
that a stout healthy old man is like a tower undermined.'

On Sunday, May 16, I found him alone; he talked of Mrs. Thrale with
much concern, saying, 'Sir, she has done every thing wrong, since
Thrale's bridle was off her neck;' and was proceeding to mention
some circumstances which have since been the subject of publick
discussion, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Douglas,
now Bishop of Salisbury.

In one of his little manuscript diaries, about this time, I find a
short notice, which marks his amiable disposition more certainly
than a thousand studied declarations.--'Afternoon spent cheerfully
and elegantly, I hope without offence to GOD or man; though in no
holy duty, yet in the general exercise and cultivation of
benevolence.'

On Monday, May 17, I dined with him at Mr. Dilly's, where were
Colonel Vallancy, the Reverend Dr. Gibbons, and Mr. Capel Lofft,
who, though a most zealous Whig, has a mind so full of learning and
knowledge, and so much exercised in various departments, and withal
so much liberality, that the stupendous powers of the literary
Goliath, though they did not frighten this little David of popular
spirit, could not but excite his admiration.  There was also Mr.
Braithwaite of the Post-office, that amiable and friendly man, who,
with modest and unassuming manners, has associated with many of the
wits of the age.  Johnson was very quiescent to-day.  Perhaps too I
was indolent.  I find nothing more of him in my notes, but that
when I mentioned that I had seen in the King's library sixty-three
editions of my favourite Thomas a Kempis, amongst which it was in
eight languages, Latin, German, French, Italian, Spanish, English,
Arabick, and Armenian, he said, he thought it unnecessary to
collect many editions of a book, which were all the same, except as
to the paper and print; he would have the original, and all the
translations, and all the editions which had any variations in the
text.  He approved of the famous collection of editions of Horace
by Douglas, mentioned by Pope, who is said to have had a closet
filled with them; and he added, every man should try to collect one
book in that manner, and present it to a publick library.'

On Wednesday, May 19, I sat a part of the evening with him, by
ourselves.  I observed, that the death of our friends might be a
consolation against the fear of our own dissolution, because we
might have more friends in the other world than in this.  He
perhaps felt this as a reflection upon his apprehension as to
death; and said, with heat, 'How can a man know WHERE his departed
friends are, or whether they will be his friends in the other
world?  How many friendships have you known formed upon principles
of virtue?  Most friendships are formed by caprice or by chance,
mere confederacies in vice or leagues in folly.'

We talked of our worthy friend Mr. Langton.  He said, 'I know not
who will go to Heaven if Langton does not.  Sir, I could almost
say, Sit anima mea cum Langtono.'  I mentioned a very eminent
friend as a virtuous man.  JOHNSON.  'Yes, Sir; but ------ has not
the evangelical virtue of Langton.  ------, I am afraid, would not
scruple to pick up a wench.'

He however charged Mr. Langton with what he thought want of
judgment upon an interesting occasion.  'When I was ill, (said he,)
I desired he would tell me sincerely in what he thought my life was
faulty.  Sir, he brought me a sheet of paper, on which he had
written down several texts of Scripture, recommending christian
charity.  And when I questioned him what occasion I had given for
such an animadversion, all that he could say amounted to this,--
that I sometimes contradicted people in conversation.  Now what
harm does it do to any man to be contradicted?'  BOSWELL.  'I
suppose he meant the MANNER of doing it; roughly,--and harshly.'
JOHNSON.  'And who is the worse for that?'  BOSWELL.  'It hurts
people of weak nerves.'  JOHNSON.  'I know no such weak-nerved
people.'  Mr. Burke, to whom I related this conference, said, 'It
is well, if when a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon
his conscience than having been a little rough in conversation.'

Johnson, at the time when the paper was presented to him, though at
first pleased with the attention of his friend, whom he thanked in
an earnest manner, soon exclaimed, in a loud and angry tone, 'What
is your drift, Sir?'  Sir Joshua Reynolds pleasantly observed, that
it was a scene for a comedy, to see a penitent get into a violent
passion and belabour his confessor.

He had dined that day at Mr. Hoole's, and Miss Helen Maria Williams
being expected in the evening, Mr. Hoole put into his hands her
beautiful Ode on the Peace: Johnson read it over, and when this
elegant and accomplished young lady was presented to him, he took
her by the hand in the most courteous manner, and repeated the
finest stanza of her poem; this was the most delicate and pleasing
compliment he could pay.  Her respectable friend, Dr. Kippis, from
whom I had this anecdote, was standing by, and was not a little
gratified.

Miss Williams told me, that the only other time she was fortunate
enough to be in Dr. Johnson's company, he asked her to sit down by
him, which she did, and upon her inquiring how he was, he answered,
'I am very ill indeed, Madam.  I am very ill even when you are near
me; what should I be were you at a distance?'

He had now a great desire to go to Oxford, as his first jaunt after
his illness; we talked of it for some days, and I had promised to
accompany him.  He was impatient and fretful to-night, because I
did not at once agree to go with him on Thursday.  When I
considered how ill he had been, and what allowance should be made
for the influence of sickness upon his temper, I resolved to
indulge him, though with some inconvenience to myself, as I wished
to attend the musical meeting in honour of Handel, in Westminster-
Abbey, on the following Saturday.

In the midst of his own diseases and pains, he was ever
compassionate to the distresses of others, and actively earnest in
procuring them aid, as appears from a note to Sir Joshua Reynolds,
of June, in these words:--'I am ashamed to ask for some relief for
a poor man, to whom, I hope, I have given what I can be expected to
spare.  The man importunes me, and the blow goes round.  I am going
to try another air on Thursday.'

On Thursday, June 3, the Oxford post-coach took us up in the
morning at Bolt-court.  The other two passengers were Mrs.
Beresford and her daughter, two very agreeable ladies from America;
they were going to Worcestershire, where they then resided.  Frank
had been sent by his master the day before to take places for us;
and I found, from the waybill, that Dr. Johnson had made our names
be put down.  Mrs. Beresford, who had read it, whispered me, 'Is
this the great Dr. Johnson?'  I told her it was; so she was then
prepared to listen.  As she soon happened to mention in a voice so
low that Johnson did not hear it, that her husband had been a
member of the American Congress, I cautioned her to beware of
introducing that subject, as she must know how very violent Johnson
was against the people of that country.  He talked a great deal,
but I am sorry I have preserved little of the conversation.  Miss
Beresford was so much charmed, that she said to me aside, 'How he
does talk!  Every sentence is an essay.'  She amused herself in the
coach with knotting; he would scarcely allow this species of
employment any merit.  'Next to mere idleness (said he,) I think
knotting is to be reckoned in the scale of insignificance; though I
once attempted to learn knotting.  Dempster's sister (looking to
me,) endeavoured to teach me it; but I made no progress.'

I was surprised at his talking without reserve in the publick post-
coach of the state of his affairs; 'I have (said he,) about the
world I think above a thousand pounds, which I intend shall afford
Frank an annuity of seventy pounds a year.'  Indeed his openness
with people at a first interview was remarkable.  He said once to
Mr. Langton, 'I think I am like Squire Richard in The Journey to
London, "I'm never strange in a strange place."'  He was truly
SOCIAL.  He strongly censured what is much too common in England
among persons of condition,--maintaining an absolute silence, when
unknown to each other; as for instance, when occasionally brought
together in a room before the master or mistress of the house has
appeared.  'Sir, that is being so uncivilised as not to understand
the common rights of humanity.'

At the inn where we stopped he was exceedingly dissatisfied with
some roast mutton which we had for dinner.  The ladies I saw
wondered to see the great philosopher, whose wisdom and wit they
had been admiring all the way, get into ill-humour from such a
cause.  He scolded the waiter, saying, 'It is as bad as bad can be:
it is ill-fed, ill-killed, ill-kept, and ill-drest.'

He bore the journey very well, and seemed to feel himself elevated
as he approached Oxford, that magnificent and venerable seat of
learning, Orthodoxy, and Toryism.  Frank came in the heavy coach,
in readiness to attend him; and we were received with the most
polite hospitality at the house of his old friend Dr. Adams, Master
of Pembroke College, who had given us a kind invitation.  Before we
were set down, I communicated to Johnson, my having engaged to
return to London directly, for the reason I have mentioned, but
that I would hasten back to him again.  He was pleased that I had
made this journey merely to keep him company.  He was easy and
placid with Dr. Adams, Mrs. and Miss Adams, and Mrs. Kennicot,
widow of the learned Hebraean, who was here on a visit.  He soon
dispatched the inquiries which were made about his illness and
recovery, by a short and distinct narrative; and then assuming a
gay air, repeated from Swift,--


    'Nor think on our approaching ills,
     And talk of spectacles and pills.'


I fulfilled my intention by going to London, and returned to Oxford
on Wednesday the 9th of June, when I was happy to find myself again
in the same agreeable circle at Pembroke College, with the
comfortable prospect of making some stay.  Johnson welcomed my
return with more than ordinary glee.

Next morning at breakfast, he pointed out a passage in Savage's
Wanderer, saying, 'These are fine verses.'  'If (said he,) I had
written with hostility of Warburton in my Shahspeare, I should have
quoted this couplet:--


    "Here Learning, blinded first and then beguil'd,
     Looks dark as Ignorance, as Fancy wild."


You see they'd have fitted him to a T,' (smiling.) Dr. ADAMS.  'But
you did not write against Warburton.'  JOHNSON.  No, Sir, I treated
him with great respect both in my Preface and in my Notes.'

After dinner, when one of us talked of there being a great enmity
between Whig and Tory;--Johnson.  'Why not so much, I think, unless
when they come into competition with each other.  There is none
when they are only common acquaintance, none when they are of
different sexes.  A Tory will marry into a Whig family, and a Whig
into a Tory family, without any reluctance.  But indeed, in a
matter of much more concern than political tenets, and that is
religion, men and women do not concern themselves much about
difference of opinion; and ladies set no value on the moral
character of men who pay their addresses to them; the greatest
profligate will be as well received as the man of the greatest
virtue, and this by a very good woman, by a woman who says her
prayers three times a day.'  Our ladies endeavoured to defend their
sex from this charge; but he roared them down!  'No, no, a lady
will take Jonathan Wild as readily as St. Austin, if he has
threepence more; and, what is worse, her parents will give her to
him.  Women have a perpetual envy of our vices; they are less
vicious than we, not from choice, but because we restrict them;
they are the slaves of order and fashion; their virtue is of more
consequence to us than our own, so far as concerns this world.'

Miss Adams mentioned a gentleman of licentious character, and said,
'Suppose I had a mind to marry that gentleman, would my parents
consent?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes, they'd consent, and you'd go.  You'd go
though they did not consent.'  Miss ADAMS.  'Perhaps their opposing
might make me go.'  JOHNSON.  'O, very well; you'd take one whom
you think a bad man, to have the pleasure of vexing your parents.
You put me in mind of Dr. Barrowby, the physician, who was very
fond of swine's flesh.  One day, when he was eating it, he said, "I
wish I was a Jew."  "Why so? (said somebody;) the Jews are not
allowed to eat your favourite meat."  "Because, (said he,) I should
then have the gust of eating it, with the pleasure of sinning."'
Johnson then proceeded in his declamation.

Miss Adams soon afterwards made an observation that I do not
recollect, which pleased him much: he said with a good-humoured
smile, 'That there should be so much excellence united with so much
DEPRAVITY, is strange.'

Indeed, this lady's good qualities, merit, and accomplishments, and
her constant attention to Dr. Johnson, were not lost upon him.  She
happened to tell him that a little coffeepot, in which she had made
his coffee, was the only thing she could call her own.  He turned
to her with a complacent gallantry, 'Don't say so, my dear; I hope
you don't reckon my heart as nothing.'

On Friday, June 11, we talked at breakfast, of forms of prayer.
JOHNSON.  'I know of no good prayers but those in the Book of
Common Prayer.'  DR. ADAMS.  (in a very earnest manner:) 'I wish,
Sir, you would compose some family prayers.'  JOHNSON.  'I will not
compose prayers for you, Sir, because you can do it for yourself.
But I have thought of getting together all the books of prayers
which I could, selecting those which should appear to me the best,
putting out some, inserting others, adding some prayers of my own,
and prefixing a discourse on prayer.'  We all now gathered about
him, and two or three of us at a time joined in pressing him to
execute this plan.  He seemed to be a little displeased at the
manner of our importunity, and in great agitation called out, 'Do
not talk thus of what is so aweful.  I know not what time GOD will
allow me in this world.  There are many things which I wish to do.'
Some of us persisted, and Dr. Adams said, 'I never was more serious
about any thing in my life.'  JOHNSON.  'Let me alone, let me
alone; I am overpowered.'  And then he put his hands before his
face, and reclined for some time upon the table.

Dr. Johnson and I went in Dr. Adams's coach to dine with Dr.
Nowell, Principal of St. Mary Hall, at his beautiful villa at
Iffley, on the banks of the Isis, about two miles from Oxford.
While we were upon the road, I had the resolution to ask Johnson
whether he thought that the roughness of his manner had been an
advantage or not, and if he would not have done more good if he had
been more gentle.  I proceeded to answer myself thus: 'Perhaps it
has been of advantage, as it has given weight to what you said: you
could not, perhaps, have talked with such authority without it.'
JOHNSON.  'No, Sir; I have done more good as I am.  Obscenity and
Impiety have always been repressed in my company.'  BOSWELL.
'True, Sir; and that is more than can be said of every Bishop.
Greater liberties have been taken in the presence of a Bishop,
though a very good man, from his being milder, and therefore not
commanding such awe.  Yet, Sir, many people who might have been
benefited by your conversation, have been frightened away.  A
worthy friend of ours has told me, that he has often been afraid to
talk to you.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he
had any thing rational to say.  If he had not, it was better he did
not talk.'

We talked of a certain clergyman of extraordinary character, who by
exerting his talents in writing on temporary topicks, and
displaying uncommon intrepidity, had raised himself to affluence.
I maintained that we ought not to be indignant at his success; for
merit of every sort was entitled to reward.  JOHNSON.  'Sir, I will
not allow this man to have merit.  No, Sir; what he has is rather
the contrary; I will, indeed, allow him courage, and on this
account we so far give him credit.  We have more respect for a man
who robs boldly on the highway, than for a fellow who jumps out of
a ditch, and knocks you down behind your back.  Courage is a
quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is always
respected, even when it is associated with vice.'

Mr. Henderson, with whom I had sauntered in the venerable walks of
Merton College, and found him a very learned and pious man, supped
with us.  Dr. Johnson surprised him not a little, by acknowledging
with a look of horrour, that he was much oppressed by the fear of
death.  The amiable Dr. Adams suggested that GOD was infinitely
good.  JOHNSON.  'That he is infinitely good, as far as the
perfection of his nature will allow, I certainly believe; but it is
necessary for good upon the whole, that individuals should be
punished.  As to an INDIVIDUAL, therefore, he is not infinitely
good; and as I cannot be SURE that I have fulfilled the conditions
on which salvation is granted, I am afraid I may be one of those
who shall be damned.' (looking dismally).  DR. ADAMS.  'What do you
mean by damned?'  JOHNSON.  (passionately and loudly,) 'Sent to
Hell, Sir, and punished everlastingly!'  DR. ADAMS.  'I don't
believe that doctrine.'  JOHNSON.  'Hold, Sir, do you believe that
some will be punished at all?'  DR. ADAMS.  'Being excluded from
Heaven will be a punishment; yet there may be no great positive
suffering.'  JOHNSON.  Well, Sir; but, if you admit any degree of
punishment, there is an end of your argument for infinite goodness
simply considered; for, infinite goodness would inflict no
punishment whatever.  There is not infinite goodness physically
considered; morally there is.'  BOSWELL.  'But may not a man attain
to such a degree of hope as not to be uneasy from the fear of
death?'  JOHNSON.  'A man may have such a degree of hope as to keep
him quiet.  You see I am not quiet, from the vehemence with which I
talk; but I do not despair.'  MRS. ADAMS.  'You seem, Sir, to
forget the merits of our Redeemer.'  JOHNSON.  'Madam, I do not
forget the merits of my Redeemer; but my Redeemer has said that he
will set some on his right hand and some on his left.'  He was in
gloomy agitation, and said, 'I'll have no more on't.'  If what has
now been stated should be urged by the enemies of Christianity, as
if its influence on the mind were not benignant, let it be
remembered, that Johnson's temperament was melancholy, of which
such direful apprehensions of futurity are often a common effect.
We shall presently see that when he approached nearer to his aweful
change, his mind became tranquil, and he exhibited as much
fortitude as becomes a thinking man in that situation.

From the subject of death we passed to discourse of life, whether
it was upon the whole more happy or miserable.  Johnson was
decidedly for the balance of misery: in confirmation of which I
maintained, that no man would choose to lead over again the life
which he had experienced.  Johnson acceded to that opinion in the
strongest terms.

On Sunday, June 13, our philosopher was calm at breakfast.  There
was something exceedingly pleasing in our leading a College life,
without restraint, and with superiour elegance, in consequence of
our living in the Master's house, and having the company of ladies.
Mrs. Kennicot related, in his presence, a lively saying of Dr.
Johnson to Miss Hannah More, who had expressed a wonder that the
poet who had written Paradise Lost should write such poor Sonnets:--
'Milton, Madam, was a genius that could cut a Colossus from a
rock; but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones.'

On Monday, June 14, and Tuesday, 15, Dr. Johnson and I dined, on
one of them, I forget which, with Mr. Mickle, translator of the
Lusiad, at Wheatley, a very pretty country place a few miles from
Oxford; and on the other with Dr. Wetherell, Master of University
College.  From Dr. Wetherell's he went to visit Mr. Sackville
Parker, the bookseller; and when he returned to us, gave the
following account of his visit, saying, 'I have been to see my old
friend, Sack Parker; I find he has married his maid; he has done
right.  She had lived with him many years in great confidence, and
they had mingled minds; I do not think he could have found any wife
that would have made him so happy.  The woman was very attentive
and civil to me; she pressed me to fix a day for dining with them,
and to say what I liked, and she would be sure to get it for me.
Poor Sack!  He is very ill, indeed.  We parted as never to meet
again.  It has quite broke me down.'  This pathetic narrative was
strangely diversified with the grave and earnest defence of a man's
having married his maid.  I could not but feel it as in some degree
ludicrous.

In the morning of Tuesday, June 15, while we sat at Dr. Adams's, we
talked of a printed letter from the Reverend Herbert Croft, to a
young gentleman who had been his pupil, in which he advised him to
read to the end of whatever books he should begin to read.
JOHNSON.  'This is surely a strange advice; you may as well resolve
that whatever men you happen to get acquainted with, you are to
keep to them for life.  A book may be good for nothing; or there
may be only one thing in it worth knowing; are we to read it all
through?  These Voyages, (pointing to the three large volumes of
Voyages to the South Sea, which were just come out) WHO will read
them through?  A man had better work his way before the mast, than
read them through; they will be eaten by rats and mice, before they
are read through.  There can be little entertainment in such books;
one set of Savages is like another.'  BOSWELL.  'I do not think the
people of Otaheite can be reckoned Savages.'  JOHNSON.  'Don't cant
in defence of Savages.'  BOSWELL.  'They have the art of
navigation.'  JOHNSON.  'A dog or a cat can swim.'  BOSWELL.  'They
carve very ingeniously.'  JOHNSON.  'A cat can scratch, and a child
with a nail can scratch.'  I perceived this was none of the mollia
tempora fandi; so desisted.

Upon his mentioning that when he came to College he wrote his first
exercise twice over; but never did so afterwards; MISS ADAMS.  'I
suppose, Sir, you could not make them better?'  JOHNSON.  'Yes,
Madam, to be sure, I could make them better.  Thought is better
than no thought.'  MISS ADAMS.  'Do you think, Sir, you could make
your Ramblers better?'  JOHNSON.  'Certainly I could.'  BOSWELL.
'I'll lay a bet, Sir, you cannot.'  JOHNSON.  'But I will, Sir, if
I choose.  I shall make the best of them you shall pick out,
better.'  BOSWELL.  'But you may add to them.  I will not allow of
that.'  JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir, there are three ways of making them
better;--putting out,-- adding,--or correcting.'

During our visit at Oxford, the following conversation passed
between him and me on the subject of my trying my fortune at the
English bar: Having asked whether a very extensive acquaintance in
London, which was very valuable, and of great advantage to a man at
large, might not be prejudicial to a lawyer, by preventing him from
giving sufficient attention to his business;--JOHNSON.  'Sir, you
will attend to business, as business lays hold of you.  When not
actually employed, you may see your friends as much as you do now.
You may dine at a Club every day, and sup with one of the members
every night; and you may be as much at publick places as one who
has seen them all would wish to be.  But you must take care to
attend constantly in Westminster-Hall; both to mind your business,
as it is almost all learnt there, (for nobody reads now;) and to
shew that you want to have business.  And you must not be too often
seen at publick places, that competitors may not have it to say,
"He is always at the Playhouse or at Ranelagh, and never to be
found at his chambers."  And, Sir, there must be a kind of
solemnity in the manner of a professional man.  I have nothing
particular to say to you on the subject.  All this I should say to
any one; I should have said it to Lord Thurlow twenty years ago.'

On Wednesday, June 19, Dr. Johnson and I returned to London; he was
not well to-day, and said very little, employing himself chiefly in
reading Euripides.  He expressed some displeasure at me, for not
observing sufficiently the various objects upon the road.  'If I
had your eyes, Sir, (said he,) I should count the passengers.'  It
was wonderful how accurate his observation of visual objects was,
notwithstanding his imperfect eyesight, owing to a habit of
attention.  That he was much satisfied with the respect paid to him
at Dr. Adams's is thus attested by himself: 'I returned last night
from Oxford, after a fortnight's abode with Dr. Adams, who treated
me as well as I could expect or wish; and he that contents a sick
man, a man whom it is impossible to please, has surely done his
part well.'

After his return to London from this excursion, I saw him
frequently, but have few memorandums: I shall therefore here insert
some particulars which I collected at various times.

It having been mentioned to Dr. Johnson that a gentleman who had a
son whom he imagined to have an extreme degree of timidity,
resolved to send him to a publick school, that he might acquire
confidence;--'Sir, (said Johnson,) this is a preposterous expedient
for removing his infirmity; such a disposition should be cultivated
in the shade.  Placing him at a publick school is forcing an owl
upon day.'

Speaking of a gentleman whose house was much frequented by low
company; 'Rags, Sir, (said he,) will always make their appearance
where they have a right to do it.'

Of the same gentleman's mode of living, he said, 'Sir, the
servants, instead of doing what they are bid, stand round the table
in idle clusters, gaping upon the guests; and seem as unfit to
attend a company, as to steer a man of war.'

A dull country magistrate gave Johnson a long tedious account of
his exercising his criminal jurisdiction, the result of which was
his having sentenced four convicts to transportation.  Johnson, in
an agony of impatience to get rid of such a companion, exclaimed,
'I heartily wish, Sir, that I were a fifth.'

Johnson was present when a tragedy was read, in which there
occurred this line:--


    'Who rules o'er freemen should himself be free.'


The company having admired it much, 'I cannot agree with you (said
Johnson).  It might as well be said,--


    'Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.'


Johnson having argued for some time with a pertinacious gentleman;
his opponent, who had talked in a very puzzling manner, happened to
say, 'I don't understand you, Sir:' upon which Johnson observed,
'Sir, I have found you an argument; but I am not obliged to find
you an understanding.'

Talking to me of Horry Walpole, (as Horace late Earl of Orford was
often called,) Johnson allowed that he got together a great many
curious little things, and told them in an elegant manner.  Mr.
Walpole thought Johnson a more amiable character after reading his
Letters to Mrs. Thrale: but never was one of the true admirers of
that great man.  We may suppose a prejudice conceived, if he ever
heard Johnson's account to Sir George Staunton, that when he made
the speeches in parliament for the Gentleman's Magazine, 'he always
took care to put Sir Robert Walpole in the wrong, and to say every
thing he could against the electorate of Hanover.'  The celebrated
Heroick Epistle, in which Johnson is satyrically introduced, has
been ascribed both to Mr. Walpole and Mr. Mason.  One day at Mr.
Courtenay's, when a gentleman expressed his opinion that there was
more energy in that poem than could be expected from Mr. Walpole;
Mr. Warton, the late Laureat, observed, 'It may have been written
by Walpole, and BUCKRAM'D by Mason.'

Sir Joshua Reynolds having said that he took the altitude of a
man's taste by his stories and his wit, and of his understanding by
the remarks which he repeated; being always sure that he must be a
weak man who quotes common things with an emphasis as if they were
oracles; Johnson agreed with him; and Sir Joshua having also
observed that the real character of a man was found out by his
amusements,--Johnson added, 'Yes, Sir; no man is a hypocrite in his
pleasures.'

I have mentioned Johnson's general aversion to a pun.  He once,
however, endured one of mine.  When we were talking of a numerous
company in which he had distinguished himself highly, I said, 'Sir,
you were a COD surrounded by smelts.  Is not this enough for you?
at a time too when you were not FISHING for a compliment?'  He
laughed at this with a complacent approbation.  Old Mr. Sheridan
observed, upon my mentioning it to him, 'He liked your compliment
so well, he was willing to take it with PUN SAUCE.'  For my own
part, I think no innocent species of wit or pleasantry should be
suppressed; and that a good pun may be admitted among the smaller
excellencies of lively conversation.

Mr. Burke uniformly shewed Johnson the greatest respect; and when
Mr. Townshend, now Lord Sydney, at a period when he was conspicuous
in opposition, threw out some reflection in parliament upon the
grant of a pension to a man of such political principles as
Johnson; Mr. Burke, though then of the same party with Mr.
Townshend, stood warmly forth in defence of his friend, to whom, he
justly observed, the pension was granted solely on account of his
eminent literary merit.  I am well assured, that Mr. Townshend's
attack upon Johnson was the occasion of his 'hitching in a rhyme;'
for, that in the original copy of Goldsmith's character of Mr.
Burke, in his Retaliation, another person's name stood in the
couplet where Mr. Townshend is now introduced:--


    'Though fraught with all learning kept straining his throat,
     To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote.'


It may be worth remarking, among the minutiae of my collection,
that Johnson was once drawn to serve in the militia, the Trained
Bands of the City of London, and that Mr. Rackstrow, of the Museum
in Fleet-street, was his Colonel.  It may be believed he did not
serve in person; but the idea, with all its circumstances, is
certainly laughable.  He upon that occasion provided himself with a
musket, and with a sword and belt, which I have seen hanging in his
closet.

An authour of most anxious and restless vanity being mentioned,
'Sir, (said he,) there is not a young sapling upon Parnassus more
severely blown about by every wind of criticism than that poor
fellow.'

The difference, he observed, between a well-bred and an ill-bred
man is this: 'One immediately attracts your liking, the other your
aversion.  You love the one till you find reason to hate him; you
hate the other till you find reason to love him.'

A foppish physician once reminded Johnson of his having been in
company with him on a former occasion; 'I do not remember it, Sir.'
The physician still insisted; adding that he that day wore so fine
a coat that it must have attracted his notice.  'Sir, (said
Johnson,) had you been dipt in Pactolus I should not have noticed
you.'

He seemed to take a pleasure in speaking in his own style; for when
he had carelessly missed it, he would repeat the thought translated
into it.  Talking of the Comedy of The Rehearsal, he said, 'It has
not wit enough to keep it sweet.'  This was easy; he therefore
caught himself, and pronounced a more round sentence; 'It has not
vitality enough to preserve it from putrefaction.'

Though he had no taste for painting, he admired much the manner in
which Sir Joshua Reynolds treated of his art, in his Discourses to
the Royal Academy.  He observed one day of a passage in them, 'I
think I might as well have said this myself:' and once when Mr.
Langton was sitting by him, he read one of them very eagerly, and
expressed himself thus:--'Very well, Master Reynolds; very well,
indeed.  But it will not be understood.'

When I observed to him that Painting was so far inferiour to
Poetry, that the story or even emblem which it communicates must be
previously known, and mentioned as a natural and laughable instance
of this, that a little Miss on seeing a picture of Justice with the
scales, had exclaimed to me, 'See, there's a woman selling
sweetmeats;' he said, 'Painting, Sir, can illustrate, but cannot
inform.'

No man was more ready to make an apology when he had censured
unjustly, than Johnson.  When a proof-sheet of one of his works was
brought to him, he found fault with the mode in which a part of it
was arranged, refused to read it, and in a passion desired that the
compositor might be sent to him.  The compositor was Mr. Manning, a
decent sensible man, who had composed about one half of his
Dictionary, when in Mr. Strahan's printing-house; and a great part
of his Lives of the Poets, when in that of Mr. Nichols; and who (in
his seventy-seventh year), when in Mr. Baldwin's printing-house,
composed a part of the first edition of this work concerning him.
By producing the manuscript, he at once satisfied Dr. Johnson that
he was not to blame.  Upon which Johnson candidly and earnestly
said to him, 'Mr. Compositor, I ask your pardon.  Mr. Compositor, I
ask your pardon, again and again.'

His generous humanity to the miserable was almost beyond example.
The following instance is well attested:--Coming home late one
night, he found a poor woman lying in the street, so much exhausted
that she could not walk; he took her upon his back, and carried her
to his house, where he discovered that she was one of those
wretched females who had fallen into the lowest state of vice,
poverty, and disease.  Instead of harshly upbraiding her, he had
her taken care of with all tenderness for a long time, at
considerable expence, till she was restored to health, and
endeavoured to put her into a virtuous way of living.

He once in his life was known to have uttered what is called a
BULL: Sir Joshua Reynolds, when they were riding together in
Devonshire, complained that he had a very bad horse, for that even
when going down hill he moved slowly step by step.  'Ay (said
Johnson,) and when he goes up hill, he STANDS STILL.'

He had a great aversion to gesticulating in company.  He called
once to a gentleman who offended him in that point, 'Don't
ATTITUDENISE.'  And when another gentleman thought he was giving
additional force to what he uttered, by expressive movements of his
hands, Johnson fairly seized them, and held them down.

Mr. Steevens, who passed many a social hour with him during their
long acquaintance, which commenced when they both lived in the
Temple, has preserved a good number of particulars concerning him,
most of which are to be found in the department of Apothegms, &c.
in the Collection of Johnson's Works.  But he has been pleased to
favour me with the following, which are original:--

'Dr. Johnson once assumed a character in which perhaps even Mr.
Boswell never saw him.  His curiosity having been excited by the
praises bestowed on the celebrated Torre's fireworks at Marybone-
Gardens, he desired Mr. Steevens to accompany him thither.  The
evening had proved showery; and soon after the few people present
were assembled, publick notice was given, that the conductors to
the wheels, suns, stars, &c., were so thoroughly water-soaked, that
it was impossible any part of the exhibition should be made.  "This
is a mere excuse, (says the Doctor,) to save their crackers for a
more profitable company.  Let us but hold up our sticks, and
threaten to break those coloured lamps that surround the Orchestra,
and we shall soon have our wishes gratified.  The core of the
fireworks cannot be injured; let the different pieces be touched in
their respective centers, and they will do their offices as well as
ever."  Some young men who overheard him, immediately began the
violence he had recommended, and an attempt was speedily made to
fire some of the wheels which appeared to have received the
smallest damage; but to little purpose were they lighted, for most
of them completely failed.  The authour of The Rambler, however,
may be considered, on this occasion, as the ringleader of a
successful riot, though not as a skilful pyrotechnist.'

'It has been supposed that Dr. Johnson, so far as fashion was
concerned, was careless of his appearance in publick.  But this is
not altogether true, as the following slight instance may show:--
Goldsmith's last Comedy was to be represented during some court-
mourning: and Mr. Steevens appointed to call on Dr. Johnson, and
carry him to the tavern where he was to dine with others of the
Poet's friends.  The Doctor was ready dressed, but in coloured
cloaths; yet being told that he would find every one else in black,
received the intelligence with a profusion of thanks, hastened to
change his attire, all the while repeating his gratitude for the
information that had saved him from an appearance so improper in
the front row of a front box.  "I would not (added he,) for ten
pounds, have seemed so retrograde to any general observance."

'He would sometimes found his dislikes on very slender
circumstances.  Happening one day to mention Mr. Flexman, a
Dissenting Minister, with some compliment to his exact memory in
chronological matters; the Doctor replied, "Let me hear no more of
him, Sir.  That is the fellow who made the Index to my Ramblers,
and set down the name of Milton thus: Milton, MR. John."'

In the course of this work a numerous variety of names has been
mentioned, to which many might be added.  I cannot omit Lord and
Lady Lucan, at whose house he often enjoyed all that an elegant
table and the best company can contribute to happiness; he found
hospitality united with extraordinary accomplishments, and
embellished with charms of which no man could be insensible.

On Tuesday, June 22, I dined with him at THE LITERARY CLUB, the
last time of his being in that respectable society.  The other
members present were the Bishop of St. Asaph, Lord Eliot, Lord
Palmerston, Dr. Fordyce, and Mr. Malone.  He looked ill; but had
such a manly fortitude, that he did not trouble the company with
melancholy complaints.  They all shewed evident marks of kind
concern about him, with which he was much pleased, and he exerted
himself to be as entertaining as his indisposition allowed him.

The anxiety of his friends to preserve so estimable a life, as long
as human means might be supposed to have influence, made them plan
for him a retreat from the severity of a British winter, to the
mild climate of Italy.  This scheme was at last brought to a
serious resolution at General Paoli's, where I had often talked of
it.  One essential matter, however, I understood was necessary to
be previously settled, which was obtaining such an addition to his
income, as would be sufficient to enable him to defray the expence
in a manner becoming the first literary character of a great
nation, and independent of all his other merits, the Authour of THE
DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.  The person to whom I above all
others thought I should apply to negociate this business, was the
Lord Chancellor, because I knew that he highly valued Johnson, and
that Johnson highly valued his Lordship; so that it was no
degradation of my illustrious friend to solicit for him the favour
of such a man.  I have mentioned what Johnson said of him to me
when he was at the bar; and after his Lordship was advanced to the
seals, he said of him, 'I would prepare myself for no man in
England but Lord Thurlow.  When I am to meet with him I should wish
to know a day before.'  How he would have prepared himself I cannot
conjecture.  Would he have selected certain topicks, and considered
them in every view so as to be in readiness to argue them at all
points? and what may we suppose those topicks to have been?  I once
started the curious inquiry to the great man who was the subject of
this compliment: he smiled, but did not pursue it.

I first consulted with Sir Joshua Reynolds, who perfectly coincided
in opinion with me; and I therefore, though personally very little
known to his Lordship, wrote to him, stating the case, and
requesting his good offices for Dr. Johnson.  I mentioned that I
was obliged to set out for Scotland early in the following week, so
that if his Lordship should have any commands for me as to this
pious negociation, he would be pleased to send them before that
time; otherwise Sir Joshua Reynolds would give all attention to it.

This application was made not only without any suggestion on the
part of Johnson himself, but was utterly unknown to him, nor had he
the smallest suspicion of it.  Any insinuations, therefore, which
since his death have been thrown out, as if he had stooped to ask
what was superfluous, are without any foundation.  But, had he
asked it, it would not have been superfluous; for though the money
he had saved proved to be more than his friends imagined, or than I
believe he himself, in his carelessness concerning worldly matters,
knew it to be, had he travelled upon the Continent, an augmentation
of his income would by no means have been unnecessary.

On Thursday, June 24, I dined with him at Mr. Dilly's, where were
the Rev. Mr. (now Dr.) Knox, master of Tunbridge-school, Mr. Smith,
Vicar of Southill, Dr. Beattie, Mr. Pinkerton, authour of various
literary performances, and the Rev. Dr. Mayo.  At my desire old Mr.
Sheridan was invited, as I was earnest to have Johnson and him
brought together again by chance, that a reconciliation might be
effected.  Mr. Sheridan happened to come early, and having learned
that Dr. Johnson was to be there, went away; so I found, with
sincere regret, that my friendly intentions were hopeless.  I
recollect nothing that passed this day, except Johnson's quickness,
who, when Dr. Beattie observed, as something remarkable which had
happened to him, that he had chanced to see both No. 1, and No.
1000, of the hackney-coaches, the first and the last; 'Why, Sir,
(said Johnson,) there is an equal chance for one's seeing those two
numbers as any other two.'

On Friday, June 25, I dined with him at General Paoli's, where, he
says in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale, 'I love to dine.'  There
was a variety of dishes much to his taste, of all which he seemed
to me to eat so much, that I was afraid he might be hurt by it; and
I whispered to the General my fear, and begged he might not press
him.  'Alas! (said the General,) see how very ill he looks; he can
live but a very short time.  Would you refuse any slight
gratifications to a man under sentence of death?  There is a humane
custom in Italy, by which persons in that melancholy situation are
indulged with having whatever they like best to eat and drink, even
with expensive delicacies.'

On Sunday, June 27, I found him rather better.  I mentioned to him
a young man who was going to Jamaica with his wife and children, in
expectation of being provided for by two of her brothers settled in
that island, one a clergyman, and the other a physician.  JOHNSON.
'It is a wild scheme, Sir, unless he has a positive and deliberate
invitation.  There was a poor girl, who used to come about me, who
had a cousin in Barbadoes, that, in a letter to her, expressed a
wish she should come out to that Island, and expatiated on the
comforts and happiness of her situation.  The poor girl went out:
her cousin was much surprised, and asked her how she could think of
coming.  "Because, (said she,) you invited me."  "Not I," answered
the cousin.  The letter was then produced.  "I see it is true,
(said she,) that I did invite you: but I did not think you would
come."  They lodged her in an out-house, where she passed her time
miserably; and as soon as she had an opportunity she returned to
England.  Always tell this, when you hear of people going abroad to
relations, upon a notion of being well received.  In the case which
you mention, it is probable the clergyman spends all he gets, and
the physician does not know how much he is to get.'

We this day dined at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, with General Paoli,
Lord Eliot, (formerly Mr. Eliot, of Port Eliot,) Dr. Beattie, and
some other company.  Talking of Lord Chesterfield;--JOHNSON.  'His
manner was exquisitely elegant, and he had more knowledge than I
expected.'  BOSWELL.  'Did you find, Sir, his conversation to be of
a superiour style?'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, in the conversation which I
had with him I had the best right to superiority, for it was upon
philology and literature.'  Lord Eliot, who had travelled at the
same time with Mr. Stanhope, Lord Chesterfield's natural son,
justly observed, that it was strange that a man who shewed he had
so much affection for his son as Lord Chesterfield did, by writing
so many long and anxious letters to him, almost all of them when he
was Secretary of State, which certainly was a proof of great
goodness of disposition, should endeavour to make his son a rascal.
His Lordship told us, that Foote had intended to bring on the stage
a father who had thus tutored his son, and to shew the son an
honest man to every one else, but practising his father's maxims
upon him, and cheating him.  JOHNSON.  'I am much pleased with this
design; but I think there was no occasion to make the son honest at
all.  No; he should be a consummate rogue: the contrast between
honesty and knavery would be the stronger.  It should be contrived
so that the father should be the only sufferer by the son's
villainy, and thus there would be poetical justice.'

A young gentleman present took up the argument against him, and
maintained that no man ever thinks of the NOSE OF THE MIND, not
adverting that though that figurative sense seems strange to us, as
very unusual, it is truly not more forced than Hamlet's 'In my
MIND'S EYE, Horatio.'  He persisted much too long, and appeared to
Johnson as putting himself forward as his antagonist with too much
presumption; upon which he called to him in a loud tone, 'What is
it you are contending for, if you BE contending?'  And afterwards
imagining that the gentleman retorted upon him with a kind of smart
drollery, he said, 'Mr. ***** it does not become you to talk so to
me.  Besides, ridicule is not your talent; you have THERE neither
intuition nor sagacity.'  The gentleman protested that he had
intended no improper freedom, but had the greatest respect for Dr.
Johnson.  After a short pause, during which we were somewhat
uneasy,--JOHNSON.  'Give me your hand, Sir.  You were too tedious,
and I was too short.'  Mr. *****.  'Sir, I am honoured by your
attention in any way.'  JOHNSON.  'Come, Sir, let's have no more of
it.  We offended one another by our contention; let us not offend
the company by our compliments.'

He now said, 'He wished much to go to Italy, and that he dreaded
passing the winter in England.'  I said nothing; but enjoyed a
secret satisfaction in thinking that I had taken the most effectual
measures to make such a scheme practicable.

On Monday, June 28, I had the honour to receive from the Lord
Chancellor the following letter:--


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'SIR,--I should have answered your letter immediately, if (being
much engaged when I received it) I had not put it in my pocket, and
forgot to open it till this morning.

'I am much obliged to you for the suggestion; and I will adopt and
press it as far as I can.  The best argument, I am sure, and I hope
it is not likely to fail, is Dr. Johnson's merit.  But it will be
necessary, if I should be so unfortunate as to miss seeing you, to
converse with Sir Joshua on the sum it will be proper to ask,--in
short, upon the means of setting him out.  It would be a reflection
on us all, if such a man should perish for want of the means to
take care of his health.  Yours, &c.

'THURLOW.'


This letter gave me a very high satisfaction; I next day went and
shewed it to Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was exceedingly pleased with
it.  He thought that I should now communicate the negociation to
Dr. Johnson, who might afterwards complain if the attention with
which he had been honoured, should be too long concealed from him.
I intended to set out for Scotland next morning; but Sir Joshua
cordially insisted that I should stay another day, that Johnson and
I might dine with him, that we three might talk of his Italian
Tour, and, as Sir Joshua expressed himself, 'have it all out.'  I
hastened to Johnson, and was told by him that he was rather better
to-day.  BOSWELL.  'I am very anxious about you, Sir, and
particularly that you should go to Italy for the winter, which I
believe is your own wish.'  JOHNSON.  'It is, Sir.'  BOSWELL.  'You
have no objection, I presume, but the money it would require.'
JOHNSON.  'Why, no, Sir.'  Upon which I gave him a particular
account of what had been done, and read to him the Lord
Chancellor's letter.  He listened with much attention; then warmly
said, 'This is taking prodigious pains about a man.'  'O! Sir,
(said I, with most sincere affection,) your friends would do every
thing for you.'  He paused, grew more and more agitated, till tears
started into his eyes, and he exclaimed with fervent emotion, 'GOD
bless you all.'  I was so affected that I also shed tears.  After a
short silence, he renewed and extended his grateful benediction,
'GOD bless you all, for JESUS CHRIST'S sake.'  We both remained for
some time unable to speak.  He rose suddenly and quitted the room,
quite melted in tenderness.  He staid but a short time, till he had
recovered his firmness; soon after he returned I left him, having
first engaged him to dine at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, next day.  I
never was again under that roof which I had so long reverenced.

On Wednesday, June 30, the friendly confidential dinner with Sir
Joshua Reynolds took place, no other company being present.  Had I
known that this was the last time that I should enjoy in this
world, the conversation of a friend whom I so much respected, and
from whom I derived so much instruction and entertainment, I should
have been deeply affected.  When I now look back to it, I am vexed
that a single word should have been forgotten.

Both Sir Joshua and I were so sanguine in our expectations, that we
expatiated with confidence on the liberal provision which we were
sure would be made for him, conjecturing whether munificence would
be displayed in one large donation, or in an ample increase of his
pension.  He himself catched so much of our enthusiasm, as to allow
himself to suppose it not impossible that our hopes might in one
way or other be realised.  He said that he would rather have his
pension doubled than a grant of a thousand pounds; 'For, (said he,)
though probably I may not live to receive as much as a thousand
pounds, a man would have the consciousness that he should pass the
remainder of his life in splendour, how long soever it might be.'
Considering what a moderate proportion an income of six hundred
pounds a year bears to innumerable fortunes in this country, it is
worthy of remark, that a man so truly great should think it
splendour.

As an instance of extraordinary liberality of friendship, he told
us, that Dr. Brocklesby had upon this occasion offered him a
hundred a year for his life.  A grateful tear started into his eye,
as he spoke this in a faultering tone.

Sir Joshua and I endeavoured to flatter his imagination with
agreeable prospects of happiness in Italy.  'Nay, (said he,) I must
not expect much of that; when a man goes to Italy merely to feel
how he breathes the air, he can enjoy very little.'

Our conversation turned upon living in the country, which Johnson,
whose melancholy mind required the dissipation of quick successive
variety, had habituated himself to consider as a kind of mental
imprisonment.  'Yet, Sir, (said I,) there are many people who are
content to live in the country.'  JOHNSON.  'Sir, it is in the
intellectual world as in the physical world; we are told by natural
philosophers that a body is at rest in the place that is fit for
it; they who are content to live in the country, are FIT for the
country.'

Talking of various enjoyments, I argued that a refinement of taste
was a disadvantage, as they who have attained to it must be
seldomer pleased than those who have no nice discrimination, and
are therefore satisfied with every thing that comes in their way.
JOHNSON.  'Nay, Sir; that is a paltry notion.  Endeavour to be as
perfect as you can in every respect.'

I accompanied him in Sir Joshua Reynolds's coach, to the entry of
Bolt-court.  He asked me whether I would not go with him to his
house; I declined it, from an apprehension that my spirits would
sink.  We bade adieu to each other affectionately in the carriage.
When he had got down upon the foot-pavement, he called out, 'Fare
you well;' and without looking back, sprung away with a kind of
pathetick briskness, if I may use that expression, which seemed to
indicate a struggle to conceal uneasiness, and impressed me with a
foreboding of our long, long separation.

I remained one day more in town, to have the chance of talking over
my negociation with the Lord Chancellor; but the multiplicity of
his Lordship's important engagements did not allow of it; so I left
the management of the business in the hands of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

Soon after this time Dr. Johnson had the mortification of being
informed by Mrs. Thrale, that, 'what she supposed he never
believed,' was true; namely, that she was actually going to marry
Signor Piozzi, an Italian musick-master.  He endeavoured to prevent
it; but in vain.  If she would publish the whole of the
correspondence that passed between Dr. Johnson and her on the
subject, we should have a full view of his real sentiments.  As it
is, our judgement must be biassed by that characteristick specimen
which Sir John Hawkins has given us: 'Poor Thrale!  I thought that
either her virtue or her vice would have restrained her from such a
marriage.  She is now become a subject for her enemies to exult
over; and for her friends, if she has any left, to forget, or
pity.'

It must be admitted that Johnson derived a considerable portion of
happiness from the comforts and elegancies which he enjoyed in Mr.
Thrale's family; but Mrs. Thrale assures us he was indebted for
these to her husband alone, who certainly respected him sincerely.

Having left the PIOUS NEGOCIATION, as I called it, in the best
hands, I shall here insert what relates to it.  Johnson wrote to
Sir Joshua Reynolds on July 6, as follows:--

'I am going, I hope, in a few days, to try the air of Derbyshire,
but hope to see you before I go.  Let me, however, mention to you
what I have much at heart.  If the Chancellor should continue his
attention to Mr. Boswell's request, and confer with you on the
means of relieving my languid state, I am very desirous to avoid
the appearance of asking money upon false pretences.  I desire you
to represent to his Lordship, what, as soon as it is suggested, he
will perceive to be reasonable,--That, if I grow much worse, I
shall be afraid to leave my physicians, to suffer the
inconveniences of travel, and pine in the solitude of a foreign
country; That, if I grow much better, of which indeed there is now
little appearance, I shall not wish to leave my friends and my
domestick comforts; for I do not travel, for pleasure or curiosity;
yet if I should recover, curiosity would revive.  In my present
state, I am desirous to make a struggle for a little longer life,
and hope to obtain some help from a softer climate.  Do for me what
you can.'

By a letter from Sir Joshua Reynolds I was informed, that the Lord
Chancellor had called on him, and acquainted him that the
application had not been successful; but that his Lordship, after
speaking highly in praise of Johnson, as a man who was an honour to
his country, desired Sir Joshua to let him know, that on granting a
mortgage of his pension, he should draw on his Lordship to the
amount of five or six hundred pounds; and that his Lordship
explained the meaning of the mortgage to be, that he wished the
business to be conducted in such a manner, that Dr. Johnson should
appear to be under the least possible obligation.  Sir Joshua
mentioned, that he had by the same post communicated all this to
Dr. Johnson.

How Johnson was affected upon the occasion will appear from what he
wrote to Sir Joshua Reynolds:--

'Ashbourne, Sept. 9.  Many words I hope are not necessary between
you and me, to convince you what gratitude is excited in my heart
by the Chancellor's liberality, and your kind offices. . . .

'I have enclosed a letter to the Chancellor, which, when you have
read it, you will be pleased to seal with a head, or any other
general seal, and convey it to him: had I sent it directly to him,
I should have seemed to overlook the favour of your intervention.'


'TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR.

'MY LORD,--After a long and not inattentive observation of mankind,
the generosity of your Lordship's offer raises in me not less
wonder than gratitude.  Bounty, so liberally bestowed, I should
gladly receive, if my condition made it necessary; for, to such a
mind, who would not be proud to own his obligations?  But it has
pleased GOD to restore me to so great a measure of health, that if
I should now appropriate so much of a fortune destined to do good,
I could not escape from myself the charge of advancing a false
claim.  My journey to the continent, though I once thought it
necessary, was never much encouraged by my physicians; and I was
very desirous that your Lordship should be told of it by Sir Joshua
Reynolds, as an event very uncertain; for if I grew much better, I
should not be willing, if much worse, not able, to migrate.  Your
Lordship was first solicited without my knowledge; but, when I was
told that you were pleased to honour me with your patronage, I did
not expect to hear of a refusal; yet, as I have had no long time to
brood hope, and have not rioted in imaginary opulence, this cold
reception has been scarce a disappointment; and, from your
Lordship's kindness, I have received a benefit, which only men like
you are able to bestow.  I shall now live mihi carior, with a
higher opinion of my own merit.  I am, my Lord, your Lordship's
most obliged, most grateful, and most humble servant,

'September, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Upon this unexpected failure I abstain from presuming to make any
remarks, or to offer any conjectures.

Let us now contemplate Johnson thirty years after the death of his
wife, still retaining for her all the tenderness of affection.


'TO THE REVEREND MR. BAGSHAW, AT BROMLEY.

'SIR,--Perhaps you may remember, that in the year 1753, you
committed to the ground my dear wife.  I now entreat your
permission to lay a stone upon her; and have sent the inscription,
that, if you find it proper, you may signify your allowance.

'You will do me a great favour by showing the place where she lies,
that the stone may protect her remains.

'Mr. Ryland will wait on you for the inscription, and procure it to
be engraved.  You will easily believe that I shrink from this
mournful office.  When it is done, if I have strength remaining, I
will visit Bromley once again, and pay you part of the respect to
which you have a right from, Reverend Sir, your most humble
servant,

'July 12, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Next day he set out on a jaunt to Staffordshire and Derbyshire,
flattering himself that he might be in some degree relieved.

During his absence from London he kept up a correspondence with
several of his friends, from which I shall select what appears to
me proper for publication, without attending nicely to
chronological order.


TO DR. BROCKLESBY, he writes, Ashbourne, Sept. 9:--

'Do you know the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire?  And have you ever
seen Chatsworth?  I was at Chatsworth on Monday: I had indeed seen
it before, but never when its owners were at home; I was very
kindly received, and honestly pressed to stay: but I told them that
a sick man is not a fit inmate of a great house.  But I hope to go
again some time.'

Sept. 11.  'I think nothing grows worse, but all rather better,
except sleep, and that of late has been at its old pranks.  Last
evening, I felt what I had not known for a long time, an
inclination to walk for amusement; I took a short walk, and came
back again neither breathless nor fatigued.  This has been a
gloomy, frigid, ungenial summer, but of late it seems to mend; I
hear the heat sometimes mentioned, but I do not feel it:


    "Praeterea minimus gelido jam in corpore sanguis
      Febre calet sola.--"


I hope, however, with good help, to find means of supporting a
winter at home, and to hear and tell at the Club what is doing, and
what ought to be doing in the world.  I have no company here, and
shall naturally come home hungry for conversation.  To wish you,
dear Sir, more leisure, would not be kind; but what leisure you
have, you must bestow upon me.'

Lichfield, Sept. 29.  'On one day I had three letters about the
air-balloon: yours was far the best, and has enabled me to impart
to my friends in the country an idea of this species of amusement.
In amusement, mere amusement, I am afraid it must end, for I do not
find that its course can be directed so as that it should serve any
purposes of communication; and it can give no new intelligence of
the state of the air at different heights, till they have ascended
above the height of mountains, which they seem never likely to do.
I came hither on the 27th.  How long I shall stay I have not
determined.  My dropsy is gone, and my asthma much remitted, but I
have felt myself a little declining these two days, or at least to-
day; but such vicissitudes must be expected.  One day may be worse
than another; but this last month is far better than the former; if
the next should be as much better than this, I shall run about the
town on my own legs.'

October 25.  'You write to me with a zeal that animates, and a
tenderness that melts me.  I am not afraid either of a journey to
London, or a residence in it.  I came down with little fatigue, and
am now not weaker.  In the smoky atmosphere I was delivered from
the dropsy, which I consider as the original and radical disease.
The town is my element*; there are my friends, there are my books,
to which I have not yet bid farewell, and there are my amusements.
Sir Joshua told me long ago that my vocation was to publick life,
and I hope still to keep my station, till God shall bid me Go in
peace.'


* His love of London continually appears.  In a letter from him to
Mrs. Smart, wife of his friend the Poet, which is published in a
well-written life of him, prefixed to an edition of his Poems, in
1791, there is the following sentence:--'To one that has passed so
many years in the pleasures and opulence of London, there are few
places that can give much delight.'

Once, upon reading that line in the curious epitaph quoted in The
Spectator,

    'Born in New-England, did in London die;'

he laughed and said, 'I do not wonder at this.  It would have been
strange, if born in London, he had died in New-England.'--BOSWELL.


TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS:--

Ashbourne, Sept. 2.  '. . . I still continue by God's mercy to
mend.  My breath is easier, my nights are quieter, and my legs are
less in bulk, and stronger in use.  I have, however, yet a great
deal to overcome, before I can yet attain even an old man's health.
Write, do write to me now and then; we are now old acquaintance,
and perhaps few people have lived so much and so long together,
with less cause of complaint on either side.  The retrospection of
this is very pleasant, and I hope we shall never think on each
other with less kindness.'

Sept. 9.  'I could not answer your letter before this day, because
I went on the sixth to Chatsworth, and did not come back till the
post was gone.  Many words, I hope, are not necessary between you
and me, to convince you what gratitude is excited in my heart, by
the Chancellor's liberality and your kind offices.  I did not
indeed expect that what was asked by the Chancellor would have been
refused, but since it has, we will not tell that any thing has been
asked.  I have enclosed a letter to the Chancellor which, when you
have read it, you will be pleased to seal with a head, or other
general seal, and convey it to him; had I sent it directly to him,
I should have seemed to overlook the favour of your intervention.
I do not despair of supporting an English winter.  At Chatsworth, I
met young Mr. Burke, who led me very commodiously into conversation
with the Duke and Duchess.  We had a very good morning.  The dinner
was publick.'

Sept. 18.  'I have three letters this day, all about the balloon, I
could have been content with one.  Do not write about the balloon,
whatever else you may think proper to say.'

It may be observed, that his writing in every way, whether for the
publick, or privately to his friends, was by fits and starts; for
we see frequently, that many letters are written on the same day.
When he had once overcome his aversion to begin, he was, I suppose,
desirous to go on, in order to relieve his mind from the uneasy
reflection of delaying what he ought to do.

We now behold Johnson for the last time, in his native city, for
which he ever retained a warm affection, and which, by a sudden
apostrophe, under the word Lich, he introduces with reverence, into
his immortal Work, THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY:--Salve, magna parens!
While here, he felt a revival of all the tenderness of filial
affection, an instance of which appeared in his ordering the grave-
stone and inscription over Elizabeth Blaney* to be substantially
and carefully renewed.


* His mother.--ED.


To Mr. Henry White, a young clergyman, with whom he now formed an
intimacy, so as to talk to him with great freedom, he mentioned
that he could not in general accuse himself of having been an
undutiful son.  'Once, indeed, (said he,) I was disobedient; I
refused to attend my father to Uttoxeter-market.  Pride was the
source of that refusal, and the remembrance of it was painful.  A
few years ago, I desired to atone for this fault; I went to
Uttoxeter in very bad weather, and stood for a considerable time
bareheaded in the rain, on the spot where my father's stall used to
stand.  In contrition I stood, and I hope the penance was
expiatory.'

'I told him (says Miss Seward) in one of my latest visits to him,
of a wonderful learned pig, which I had seen at Nottingham; and
which did all that we have observed exhibited by dogs and horses.
The subject amused him.  "Then, (said he,) the pigs are a race
unjustly calumniated.  PIG has, it seems, not been wanting to MAN,
but MAN to PIG.  We do not allow TIME for his education, we kill
him at a year old."  Mr. Henry White, who was present, observed
that if this instance had happened in or before Pope's time, he
would not have been justified in instancing the swine as the lowest
degree of groveling instinct.  Dr. Johnson seemed pleased with the
observation, while the person who made it proceeded to remark, that
great torture must have been employed, ere the indocility of the
animal could have been subdued.  "Certainly, (said the Doctor;)
but, (turning to me,) how old is your pig?"  I told him, three
years old.  "Then, (said he,) the pig has no cause to complain; he
would have been killed the first year if he had not been EDUCATED,
and protracted existence is a good recompence for very considerable
degrees of torture."'

As Johnson had now very faint hopes of recovery, and as Mrs. Thrale
was no longer devoted to him, it might have been supposed that he
would naturally have chosen to remain in the comfortable house of
his beloved wife's daughter, and end his life where he began it.
But there was in him an animated and lofty spirit, and however
complicated diseases might depress ordinary mortals, all who saw
him, beheld and acknowledged the invictum animum Catonis.  Such was
his intellectual ardour even at this time, that he said to one
friend, 'Sir, I look upon every day to be lost, in which I do not
make a new acquaintance;' and to another, when talking of his
illness, 'I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.'  And such
was his love of London, so high a relish had he of its magnificent
extent, and variety of intellectual entertainment, that he
languished when absent from it, his mind having become quite
luxurious from the long habit of enjoying the metropolis; and,
therefore, although at Lichfield, surrounded with friends, who
loved and revered him, and for whom he had a very sincere
affection, he still found that such conversation as London affords,
could be found no where else.  These feelings, joined, probably, to
some flattering hopes of aid from the eminent physicians and
surgeons in London, who kindly and generously attended him without
accepting fees, made him resolve to return to the capital.

From Lichfield he came to Birmingham, where he passed a few days
with his worthy old schoolfellow, Mr. Hector, who thus writes to
me:--'He was very solicitous with me to recollect some of our most
early transactions, and transmit them to him, for I perceive
nothing gave him greater pleasure than calling to mind those days
of our innocence.  I complied with his request, and he only
received them a few days before his death.  I have transcribed for
your inspection, exactly the minutes I wrote to him.'  This paper
having been found in his repositories after his death, Sir John
Hawkins has inserted it entire, and I have made occasional use of
it and other communications from Mr. Hector, in the course of this
Work.  I have both visited and corresponded with him since Dr.
Johnson's death, and by my inquiries concerning a great variety of
particulars have obtained additional information.  I followed the
same mode with the Reverend Dr. Taylor, in whose presence I wrote
down a good deal of what he could tell; and he, at my request,
signed his name, to give it authenticity.  It is very rare to find
any person who is able to give a distinct account of the life even
of one whom he has known intimately, without questions being put to
them.  My friend Dr. Kippis has told me, that on this account it is
a practice with him to draw out a biographical catechism.

Johnson then proceeded to Oxford, where he was again kindly
received by Dr. Adams.

He arrived in London on the 16th of November, and next day sent to
Dr. Burney the following note, which I insert as the last token of
his remembrance of that ingenious and amiable man, and as another
of the many proofs of the tenderness and benignity of his heart:--

'MR. JOHNSON, who came home last night, sends his respects to dear
Dr. Burney, and all the dear Burneys, little and great.'

Having written to him, in bad spirits, a letter filled with
dejection and fretfulness, and at the same time expressing anxious
apprehensions concerning him, on account of a dream which had
disturbed me; his answer was chiefly in terms of reproach, for a
supposed charge of 'affecting discontent, and indulging the vanity
of complaint.'  It, however, proceeded,--

'Write to me often, and write like a man.  I consider your fidelity
and tenderness as a great part of the comforts which are yet left
me, and sincerely wish we could be nearer to each other. . . .  My
dear friend, life is very short and very uncertain; let us spend it
as well as we can.  My worthy neighbour, Allen, is dead.  Love me
as well as you can.  Pay my respects to dear Mrs. Boswell.  Nothing
ailed me at that time; let your superstition at last have an end.'

Feeling very soon, that the manner in which he had written might
hurt me, he two days afterwards, July 28, wrote to me again, giving
me an account of his sufferings; after which, he thus proceeds:--

'Before this letter, you will have had one which I hope you will
not take amiss; for it contains only truth, and that truth kindly
intended. . . .  Spartam quam nactus es orna; make the most and
best of your lot, and compare yourself not with the few that are
above you, but with the multitudes which are below you.'

Yet it was not a little painful to me to find, that . . . he still
persevered in arraigning me as before, which was strange in him who
had so much experience of what I suffered.  I, however, wrote to
him two as kind letters as I could; the last of which came too late
to be read by him, for his illness encreased more rapidly upon him
than I had apprehended; but I had the consolation of being informed
that he spoke of me on his death-bed, with affection, and I look
forward with humble hope of renewing our friendship in a better
world.


Soon after Johnson's return to the metropolis, both the asthma and
dropsy became more violent and distressful.

During his sleepless nights he amused himself by translating into
Latin verse, from the Greek, many of the epigrams in the
Anthologia.  These translations, with some other poems by him in
Latin, he gave to his friend Mr. Langton, who, having added a few
notes, sold them to the booksellers for a small sum, to be given to
some of Johnson's relations, which was accordingly done; and they
are printed in the collection of his works.

A very erroneous notion has circulated as to Johnson's deficiency
in the knowledge of the Greek language, partly owing to the modesty
with which, from knowing how much there was to be learnt, he used
to mention his own comparative acquisitions.  When Mr. Cumberland
talked to him of the Greek fragments which are so well illustrated
in The Observer, and of the Greek dramatists in general, he
candidly acknowledged his insufficiency in that particular branch
of Greek literature.  Yet it may be said, that though not a great,
he was a good Greek scholar.  Dr. Charles Burney, the younger, who
is universally acknowledged by the best judges to be one of the few
men of this age who are very eminent for their skill in that noble
language, has assured me, that Johnson could give a Greek word for
almost every English one; and that although not sufficiently
conversant in the niceties of the language, he upon some occasions
discovered, even in these, a considerable degree of critical
acumen.  Mr. Dalzel, Professor of Greek at Edinburgh, whose skill
in it is unquestionable, mentioned to me, in very liberal terms,
the impression which was made upon him by Johnson, in a
conversation which they had in London concerning that language.  As
Johnson, therefore, was undoubtedly one of the first Latin scholars
in modern times, let us not deny to his fame some additional
splendour from Greek.

The ludicrous imitators of Johnson's style are innumerable.  Their
general method is to accumulate hard words, without considering,
that, although he was fond of introducing them occasionally, there
is not a single sentence in all his writings where they are crowded
together, as in the first verse of the following imaginary Ode by
him to Mrs. Thrale, which appeared in the newspapers:--


    'Cervisial coctor's viduate dame,
     Opin'st thou this gigantick frame,
       Procumbing at thy shrine:
     Shall, catenated by thy charms,
     A captive in thy ambient arms,
       Perennially be thine?'


This, and a thousand other such attempts, are totally unlike the
original, which the writers imagined they were turning into
ridicule.  There is not similarity enough for burlesque, or even
for caricature.


'TO MR. GREEN, APOTHECARY, AT LICHFIELD.

'DEAR SIR,--I have enclosed the Epitaph for my Father, Mother, and
Brother, to be all engraved on the large size, and laid in the
middle aisle in St. Michael's church, which I request the clergyman
and churchwardens to permit.

'The first care must be to find the exact place of interment, that
the stone may protect the bodies.  Then let the stone be deep,
massy, and hard; and do not let the difference of ten pounds, or
more, defeat our purpose.

'I have enclosed ten pounds, and Mrs. Porter will pay you ten more,
which I gave her for the same purpose.  What more is wanted shall
be sent; and I beg that all possible haste may be made, for I wish
to have it done while I am yet alive.  Let me know, dear Sir, that
you receive this.  I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'Dec. 2, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Death had always been to him an object of terrour; so that, though
by no means happy, he still clung to life with an eagerness at
which many have wondered.  At any time when he was ill, he was very
much pleased to be told that he looked better.  An ingenious member
of the Eumelian Club, informs me, that upon one occasion when he
said to him that he saw health returning to his cheek, Johnson
seized him by the hand and exclaimed, 'Sir, you are one of the
kindest friends I ever had.'

Dr. Heberden, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Warren, and Dr. Butter,
physicians, generously attended him, without accepting any fees, as
did Mr. Cruikshank, surgeon; and all that could be done from
professional skill and ability, was tried, to prolong a life so
truly valuable.  He himself, indeed, having, on account of his very
bad constitution, been perpetually applying himself to medical
inquiries, united his own efforts with those of the gentlemen who
attended him; and imagining that the dropsical collection of water
which oppressed him might be drawn off by making incisions in his
body, he, with his usual resolute defiance of pain, cut deep, when
he thought that his surgeon had done it too tenderly.*


* This bold experiment, Sir John Hawkins has related in such a
manner as to suggest a charge against Johnson of intentionally
hastening his end; a charge so very inconsistent with his character
in every respect, that it is injurious even to refute it, as Sir
John has thought it necessary to do.  It is evident, that what
Johnson did in hopes of relief, indicated an extraordinary
eagerness to retard his dissolution.--BOSWELL.


About eight or ten days before his death, when Dr. Brocklesby paid
him his morning visit, he seemed very low and desponding, and said,
'I have been as a dying man all night.'  He then emphatically broke
out in the words of Shakspeare:--


    'Can'st thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
     Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
     Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
     And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
     Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff,
     Which weighs upon the heart?'


To which Dr. Brocklesby readily answered, from the same great
poet:--


    '--therein the patient
     Must minister to himself.'


Johnson expressed himself much satisfied with the application.

On another day after this, when talking on the subject of prayer,
Dr. Brocklesby repeated from Juvenal,--


    'Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano,'


and so on to the end of the tenth satire; but in running it quickly
over, he happened, in the line,


    'Qui spatium vitae extremum inter munera ponat,'


to pronounce supremum for extremum; at which Johnson's critical ear
instantly took offence, and discoursing vehemently on the
unmetrical effect of such a lapse, he shewed himself as full as
ever of the spirit of the grammarian.

Having no near relations, it had been for some time Johnson's
intention to make a liberal provision for his faithful servant, Mr.
Francis Barber, whom he looked upon as particularly under his
protection, and whom he had all along treated truly as an humble
friend.  Having asked Dr. Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity
to a favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on
the circumstances of the master; and, that in the case of a
nobleman, fifty pounds a year was considered as an adequate reward
for many years' faithful service; 'Then, (said Johnson,) shall I be
nobilissimus, for I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a year, and
I desire you to tell him so.'  It is strange, however, to think,
that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being
averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time;
and had it not been for Sir John Hawkins's repeatedly urging it, I
think it is probable that his kind resolution would not have been
fulfilled.  After making one, which, as Sir John Hawkins informs
us, extended no further than the promised annuity, Johnson's final
disposition of his property was established by a Will and Codicil.


The consideration of numerous papers of which he was possessed,
seems to have struck Johnson's mind, with a sudden anxiety, and as
they were in great confusion, it is much to be lamented that he had
not entrusted some faithful and discreet person with the care and
selection of them; instead of which, he in a precipitate manner,
burnt large masses of them, with little regard, as I apprehend, to
discrimination.  Not that I suppose we have thus been deprived of
any compositions which he had ever intended for the publick eye;
but, from what escaped the flames, I judge that many curious
circumstances relating both to himself and other literary
characters have perished.

Two very valuable articles, I am sure, we have lost, which were two
quarto volumes, containing a full, fair, and most particular
account of his own life, from his earliest recollection.  I owned
to him, that having accidentally seen them, I had read a great deal
in them; and apologizing for the liberty I had taken, asked him if
I could help it.  He placidly answered, 'Why, Sir, I do not think
you could have helped it.'  I said that I had, for once in my life,
felt half an inclination to commit theft.  It had come into my mind
to carry off those two volumes, and never see him more.  Upon my
inquiring how this would have affected him, 'Sir, (said he,) I
believe I should have gone mad.'

During his last illness, Johnson experienced the steady and kind
attachment of his numerous friends.  Mr. Hoole has drawn up a
narrative of what passed in the visits which he paid him during
that time, from the 10th of November to the 13th of December, the
day of his death, inclusive, and has favoured me with a perusal of
it, with permission to make extracts, which I have done.  Nobody
was more attentive to him than Mr. Langton, to whom he tenderly
said, Te teneam moriens deficiente manu.  And I think it highly to
the honour of Mr. Windham, that his important occupations as an
active statesman did not prevent him from paying assiduous respect
to the dying Sage whom he revered, Mr. Langton informs me, that,
'one day he found Mr. Burke and four or five more friends sitting
with Johnson.  Mr. Burke said to him, "I am afraid, Sir, such a
number of us may be oppressive to you."  "No, Sir, (said Johnson,)
it is not so; and I must be in a wretched state, indeed, when your
company would not be a delight to me."  Mr. Burke, in a tremulous
voice, expressive of being very tenderly affected, replied, "My
dear Sir, you have always been too good to me."  Immediately
afterwards he went away.  This was the last circumstance in the
acquaintance of these two eminent men.'


The following particulars of his conversation within a few days of
his death, I give on the authority of Mr. John Nichols:--

'He said, that the Parliamentary Debates were the only part of his
writings which then gave him any compunction: but that at the time
he wrote them, he had no conception he was imposing upon the world,
though they were frequently written from very slender materials,
and often from none at all,--the mere coinage of his own
imagination.  He never wrote any part of his works with equal
velocity.  Three columns of the Magazine, in an hour, was no
uncommon effort, which was faster than most persons could have
transcribed that quantity.

'Of his friend Cave, he always spoke with great affection.  "Yet
(said he,) Cave, (who never looked out of his window, but with a
view to the Gentleman's Magazine,) was a penurious pay-master; he
would contract for lines by the hundred, and expect the long
hundred; but he was a good man, and always delighted to have his
friends at his table."

'He said at another time, three or four days only before his death,
speaking of the little fear he had of undergoing a chirurgical
operation, "I would give one of these legs for a year more of life,
I mean of comfortable life, not such as that which I now suffer;"--
and lamented much his inability to read during his hours of
restlessness; "I used formerly, (he added,) when sleepless in bed,
to read like a Turk."

'Whilst confined by his last illness, it was his regular practice
to have the church-service read to him, by some attentive and
friendly Divine.  The Rev. Mr. Hoole performed this kind office in
my presence for the last time, when, by his own desire, no more
than the Litany was read; in which his responses were in the deep
and sonorous voice which Mr. Boswell has occasionally noticed, and
with the most profound devotion that can be imagined.  His hearing
not being quite perfect, he more than once interrupted Mr. Hoole,
with "Louder, my dear Sir, louder, I entreat you, or you pray in
vain!"--and, when the service was ended, he, with great
earnestness, turned round to an excellent lady who was present,
saying," I thank you, Madam, very heartily, for your kindness in
joining me in this solemn exercise.  Live well, I conjure you; and
you will not feel the compunction at the last, which I now feel."
So truly humble were the thoughts which this great and good man
entertained of his own approaches to religious perfection.'

Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the dying Johnson, his
characteristical manner shewed itself on different occasions.

When Dr. Warren, in the usual style, hoped that he was better; his
answer was, 'No, Sir; you cannot conceive with what acceleration I
advance towards death.'

A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit
up with him.  Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant,
his answer was, 'Not at all, Sir: the fellow's an ideot; he is as
aukward as a turn-spit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy
as a dormouse.'

Mr. Windham having placed a pillow conveniently to support him, he
thanked him for his kindness, and said, 'That will do,--all that a
pillow can do.'

He requested three things of Sir Joshua Reynolds:--To forgive him
thirty pounds which he had borrowed of him; to read the Bible; and
never to use his pencil on a Sunday.  Sir Joshua readily
acquiesced.

Johnson, with that native fortitude, which, amidst all his bodily
distress and mental sufferings, never forsook him, asked Dr.
Brocklesby, as a man in whom he had confidence, to tell him plainly
whether he could recover.  'Give me (said he,) a direct answer.'
The Doctor having first asked him if he could hear the whole truth,
which way soever it might lead, and being answered that he could,
declared that, in his opinion, he could not recover without a
miracle.  'Then, (said Johnson,) I will take no more physick, not
even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to
GOD unclouded.'  In this resolution he persevered, and, at the same
time, used only the weakest kinds of sustenance.  Being pressed by
Mr. Windham to take somewhat more generous nourishment, lest too
low a diet should have the very effect which he dreaded, by
debilitating his mind, he said, 'I will take any thing but
inebriating sustenance.'

The Reverend Mr. Strahan, who was the son of his friend, and had
been always one of his great favourites, had, during his last
illness, the satisfaction of contributing to soothe and comfort
him.  That gentleman's house, at Islington, of which he is Vicar,
afforded Johnson, occasionally and easily, an agreeable change of
place and fresh air; and he attended also upon him in town in the
discharge of the sacred offices of his profession.

Mr. Strahan has given me the agreeable assurance, that, after being
in much agitation, Johnson became quite composed, and continued so
till his death.

Dr. Brocklesby, who will not be suspected of fanaticism, obliged me
with the following account:--

'For some time before his death, all his fears were calmed and
absorbed by the prevalence of his faith, and his trust in the
merits and propitiation of JESUS CHRIST.'

Johnson having thus in his mind the true Christian scheme, at once
rational and consolatory, uniting justice and mercy in the
Divinity, with the improvement of human nature, previous to his
receiving the Holy Sacrament in his apartment, composed and
fervently uttered this prayer:--

'Almighty and most merciful Father, I am now as to human eyes, it
seems, about to commemorate, for the last time, the death of thy
Son JESUS CHRIST, our Saviour and Redeemer.  Grant, O LORD, that my
whole hope and confidence may be in his merits, and thy mercy;
enforce and accept my imperfect repentance; make this commemoration
available to the confirmation of my faith, the establishment of my
hope, and the enlargement of my charity; and make the death of thy
Son JESUS CHRIST effectual to my redemption.  Have mercy upon me,
and pardon the multitude of my offences.  Bless my friends; have
mercy upon all men.  Support me, by thy Holy Spirit, in the days of
weakness, and at the hour of death; and receive me, at my death, to
everlasting happiness, for the sake of JESUS CHRIST.  Amen.'

Having, as has been already mentioned, made his will on the 8th and
9th of December, and settled all his worldly affairs, he languished
till Monday, the 13th of that month, when he expired, about seven
o'clock in the evening, with so little apparent pain that his
attendants hardly perceived when his dissolution took place.

Of his last moments, my brother, Thomas David, has furnished me
with the following particulars:--

'The Doctor, from the time that he was certain his death was near,
appeared to be perfectly resigned, was seldom or never fretful or
out of temper, and often said to his faithful servant, who gave me
this account, "Attend, Francis, to the salvation of your soul,
which is the object of greatest importance:" he also explained to
him passages in the Scripture, and seemed to have pleasure in
talking upon religious subjects.

'On Monday, the 13th of December, the day on which he died, a Miss
Morris, daughter to a particular friend of his, called, and said to
Francis, that she begged to be permitted to see the Doctor, that
she might earnestly request him to give her his blessing.  Francis
went into his room, followed by the young lady, and delivered the
message.  The Doctor turned himself in the bed, and said, "GOD
bless you, my dear!"  These were the last words he spoke.  His
difficulty of breathing increased till about seven o'clock in the
evening, when Mr. Barber and Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in
the room, observing that the noise he made in breathing had ceased,
went to the bed, and found he was dead.'

About two days after his death, the following very agreeable
account was communicated to Mr. Malone, in a letter by the
Honourable John Byng, to whom I am much obliged for granting me
permission to introduce it in my work.


'DEAR SIR,--Since I saw you, I have had a long conversation with
Cawston, who sat up with Dr. Johnson, from nine o'clock, on Sunday
evening, till ten o'clock, on Monday morning.  And, from what I can
gather from him, it should seem, that Dr. Johnson was perfectly
composed, steady in hope, and resigned to death.  At the interval
of each hour, they assisted him to sit up in his bed, and move his
legs, which were in much pain; when he regularly addressed himself
to fervent prayer; and though, sometimes, his voice failed him, his
senses never did, during that time.  The only sustenance he
received, was cyder and water.  He said his mind was prepared, and
the time to his dissolution seemed long.  At six in the morning, he
inquired the hour, and, on being informed, said that all went on
regularly, and he felt he had but a few hours to live.

'At ten o'clock in the morning, he parted from Cawston, saying,
"You should not detain Mr. Windham's servant:--I thank you; bear my
remembrance to your master."  Cawston says, that no man could
appear more collected, more devout, or less terrified at the
thoughts of the approaching minute.

'This account, which is so much more agreeable than, and somewhat
different from, yours, has given us the satisfaction of thinking
that that great man died as he lived, full of resignation,
strengthened in faith, and joyful in hope.'

A few days before his death, he had asked Sir John Hawkins, as one
of his executors, where he should be buried; and on being answered,
'Doubtless, in Westminster-Abbey,' seemed to feel a satisfaction,
very natural to a Poet; and indeed in my opinion very natural to
every man of any imagination, who has no family sepulchre in which
he can be laid with his fathers.  Accordingly, upon Monday,
December 20, his remains were deposited in that noble and renowned
edifice; and over his grave was placed a large blue flag-stone,
with this inscription:--


    'SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
   Obiit XIII die Decembris,
         Anno Domini
         M.DCC.LXXXIV.
      Aetatis suae LXXV.'


His funeral was attended by a respectable number of his friends,
particularly such of the members of the LITERARY CLUB as were then
in town; and was also honoured with the presence of several of the
Reverend Chapter of Westminster.  Mr. Burke, Sir Joseph Banks, Mr.
Windham, Mr. Langton, Sir Charles Bunbury, and Mr. Colman, bore his
pall.  His school-fellow, Dr. Taylor, performed the mournful office
of reading the burial service.

I trust, I shall not be accused of affectation, when I declare,
that I find myself unable to express all that I felt upon the loss
of such a 'Guide, Philosopher, and Friend.'  I shall, therefore,
not say one word of my own, but adopt those of an eminent friend,
which he uttered with an abrupt felicity, superior to all studied
compositions:--'He has made a chasm, which not only nothing can
fill up, but which nothing has a tendency to fill up.  Johnson is
dead.  Let us go to the next best:--there is nobody; no man can be
said to put you in mind of Johnson.'





End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Life of Johnson by [James] Boswell

