Dr. Johnson delighted in his own partiality for Oxford; and one day, at
my house, entertained five members of the other University with various
instances of the superiority of Oxford, enumerating the gigantic names of
many men whom it had produced, with apparent triumph. At last I said to
him, "Why, there happens to be no less than five Cambridge men in the
room now." "I did not," said he, "think of that till you told me; but
the wolf don't count the sheep." When the company were retired, we
happened to be talking of Dr. Barnard, the Provost of Eton, who died
about that time; and after a long and just eulogium on his wit, his
learning, and his goodness of heart, "He was the only man, too," says Mr.
Johnson, quite seriously, "that did justice to my good breeding; and you
may observe that I am well-bred to a degree of needless scrupulosity. No
man," continued he, not observing the amazement of his hearers, "no man
is so cautious not to interrupt another; no man thinks it so necessary to
appear attentive when others are speaking; no man so steadily refuses
preference to himself, or so willingly bestows it on another, as I do;
nobody holds so strongly as I do the necessity of ceremony, and the ill
effects which follow the breach of it, yet people think me rude; but
Barnard did me justice." "'Tis pity," said I, laughing, "that he had not
heard you compliment the Cambridge men after dinner to-day." "Why,"
replied he, "I was inclined to _down_ them sure enough; but then a fellow
_deserves_ to be of Oxford that talks so." I have heard him at other
times relate how he used so sit in some coffee-house there, and turn M---
's "C-r-ct-c-s" into ridicule for the diversion of himself and of chance
comers-in. "The 'Elf-da,'" says he, "was too exquisitely pretty; I could
make no fun out of that." When upon some occasions he would express his
astonishment that he should have an enemy in the world, while he had been
doing nothing but good to his neighbours, I used to make him recollect
these circumstances. "Why, child," said he, "what harm could that do the
fellow? I always thought very well of M---n for a _Cambridge_ man; he
is, I believe, a mighty blameless character." Such tricks were, however,
the more unpardonable in Mr. Johnson, because no one could harangue like
him about the difficulty always found in forgiving petty injuries, or in
provoking by needless offence. Mr. Jordan, his tutor, had much of his
affection, though he despised his want of scholastic learning. "That
creature would," said he, "defend his pupils to the last: no young lad
under his care should suffer for committing slight improprieties, while
he had breath to defend, or power to protect them. If I had had sons to
send to College," added he, "Jordan should have been their tutor."
Sir William Browne, the physician, who lived to a very extraordinary age,
and was in other respects an odd mortal, with more genius than
understanding, and more self sufficiency than wit, was the only person
who ventured to oppose Mr. Johnson when he had a mind to shine by
exalting his favourite university, and to express his contempt of the
Whiggish notions which prevail at Cambridge. _He_ did it once, however,
with surprising felicity. His antagonist having repeated with an air of
triumph the famous epigram written by Dr. Trapp--
"Our royal master saw, with heedful eyes,
The wants of his two universities:
Troops he to Oxford sent, as knowing why
That learned body wanted loyalty:
But books to Cambridge gave, as well discerning
That that right loyal body wanted learning."