It seems to me in my moments of self-complacency that this extensive
biographical Work, however inferior in its nature, may in one respect be
assimilated to the 'Odyssey.' Amidst a thousand entertaining and
instructive episodes the _Hero_ is never long out of sight; for they are
all in some degree connected with him; and _He_, in the whole course of
the History, is exhibited by the author for the best advantage of his
readers:--
"Quid Virtus et quid sapientia possit,
Utile proposuit nobis exemplar Ulyssen."
(What may by virtue be done, and what by wisdom accomplished, Homer
affords in Ulysses for us a helpful example.)
Should there be any cold-blooded and morose mortals who really dislike
this book, I will give them a story to apply. When the great Duke of
Marlborough, accompanied by Lord Cadogan, was one day reconnoitring the
army in Flanders, a heavy rain came on, and they both called for their
cloaks. Lord Cadogan's servant, a good-humored, alert lad, brought his
Lordship's in a minute. The Duke's servant, a lazy, sulky dog, was so
sluggish that his Grace, being wet to the skin, reproved him, and had
for answer with a grunt, "I came as fast as I could;" upon which the
Duke calmly said, "Cadogan, I would not for a thousand pounds have that
fellow's temper."
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 a 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'
back-parlor, 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
toward us, he announced his awful 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 came 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 soothe and conciliate him, and not as an humiliating
abasement at the expense 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 he 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 of 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, "Oh, 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 ardor been uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly
persevering, so rough a reception might have deterred me for ever from
making any further attempts. Fortunately, however, I remained upon the
field not wholly discomfited; and was soon rewarded by hearing some of
his conversation, of which I preserved the following short minute,
without marking the questions and observations by which it was produced.
"People" (he remarked) "may be taken in once, who imagine that an author
is greater in private life than other men. Uncommon parts require
uncommon opportunities for their exertion."
"In barbarous society, superiority of parts is of real consequence.
Great strength or great wisdom is of much value to an individual. But in
more polished times there are people to do everything for money; and
then there are a number of other superiorities, such as those of birth
and fortune and rank, that dissipate men's attention and leave no
extraordinary share of respect for personal and intellectual
superiority. This is wisely ordered by Providence, to preserve some
equality among mankind."
"Sir, this book" ('The Elements of Criticism,' which he had taken up)
"is a pretty essay, and deserves to be held in some estimation, though
much of it is chimerical."
Speaking of one who with more than ordinary boldness attacked public
measures and the royal family, he said, "I think he is safe from the
law, but he is an abusive scoundrel; and instead of applying to my Lord
Chief Justice to punish him, I would send half a dozen footmen and have
him well ducked."
"The notion of liberty amuses the people of England, and helps to keep
off the _tædium vitæ_. When a butcher tells you that 'his heart bleeds
for his country,' he has in fact no uneasy feeling."
"Sheridan will not succeed at Bath with his oratory. Ridicule has gone
down before him, and I doubt Derrick is his enemy."
"Derrick may do very well, as long as he can outrun his character; but
the moment his character gets up with him, it is all over."
It is, however, but just to record that some years afterwards, when I
reminded him of this sarcasm, he said, "Well, but Derrick has now got a
character that he need not run away from."
I was highly pleased with the extraordinary vigor 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 on 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 topic,
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 author 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 clothes looked very rusty; he had on a little shriveled
unpowdered wig, which was too small for his head; his shirt-neck and the
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."
* * * * *
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 honored 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 the 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 that 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 mentioned his having heard that the Doctor had
been lately at Oxford, and 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 respect they
were mended, for they had put their press under better regulations, and
at that time were 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." "Ay"
(said the King), "that is the public library."
His Majesty inquired if he was then writing anything. 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 labors, then said, "I do not think you borrow much
from anybody."
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 shown 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
good 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 much
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 the most general, most scholastic 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 just then 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 one 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 favored by them
would frequently, from gratitude, exaggerate their praises; and as this
proceeded from a good motive, it was certainly excusable as far as error
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 favorable." 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 Savants, 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 was 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 authors 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. "Ay" (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 showed
himself highly pleased with his Majesty's conversation and gracious
behavior. He said to Mr. Barnard, "Sir, they may talk of the King as
they will; but he is the finest gentleman that 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 were
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 favor us with it." Johnson, with great good
humor, 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.
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 awful 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 play-house 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 sixpence, "Why then, sir"
(said he), "give me leave to send your servant to purchase 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 mimic. Mr. Macpherson's
menaces made Johnson provide himself with the same implement of defense;
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.
Mr. Hector was so good as to accompany me to see the great works of Mr.
Bolton [Boulton], at a place which he has called Soho, about two miles
from Birmingham, which the very ingenious proprietor showed me himself
to the best advantage. I wished Johnson had been with us; for it was a
scene which I should have been glad to contemplate by his light. The
vastness and the contrivance of some of the machinery would have
"matched his mighty mind." I shall never forget Mr. Bolton's expression
to me, "I sell here, sir, what all the world desires to have--power." He
had about seven hundred people at work. I contemplated him as an _iron
chieftain_, and he seemed to be a father to his tribe. One of them came
to him, complaining grievously of his landlord for having distrained his
goods. "Your landlord is in the right, Smith" (said Bolton). "But I'll
tell you what: find you a friend who will lay down one-half of your
rent, and I'll lay down the other half; and you shall have your
goods again."
From Mr. Hector I now learned many particulars of Dr. Johnson's early
life, which, with others that he gave me at different times since, have
contributed to the formation of this work.
Dr. Johnson said to me in the morning, "You will see, sir, at Mr.
Hector's, his sister Mrs. Careless, a clergyman's widow. She was the
first woman with whom I was in love. It dropped out of my head
imperceptibly; but she and I will always have a kindness for each
other." He laughed at the notion that a man can never really be in love
but once, and considered it as a mere romantic 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 schoolfellows,
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 o'clock it was, that signal of my
departure had so pleasing an effect upon 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 talked again 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 that 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 the characters and
circumstances, without the parties having any choice in the matter.
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 mathematics, 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
15th. "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 honor 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 patriotic friends with him.
_Johnson_--Well, sir, and what then? What care I for his _patriotic
friends_? Poh!
_Boswell_--I should not be surprised 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 show 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 honor 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's consent, he roared, "Frank, a clean shirt," and was very soon
dressed. 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
awkward 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-humor. There were
present, besides Mr. Wilkes, and Mr. Arthur Lee, who was an old
companion of mine when he studied physics at Edinburgh, Mr. (now Sir
John) Miller, Dr. Lettson, 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.
Sir William Forbes writes to me thus:--"I inclose 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 acquaintances 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 suggested 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
Killahoe, drew up an address to Dr. Johnson on the occasion, replete
with wit and humor, 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 honor
to officiate as clerk.
"Sir Joshua agreed to carry it to Dr. Johnson, who received it with much
good humor, 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_.
"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 one to be remarked as one of the 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 politics
or the ingenious topics of literary investigation.
The character of Samuel Johnson has, I trust, been so developed in the
course of this work that they who have honored it with a perusal may be
considered as well acquainted with him. As, however, it may be expected
that I should collect into one view the capital and distinguishing
features of this extraordinary man, I shall endeavor to acquit myself of
that part of my biographical undertaking, however difficult it may be to
do that which many of my readers will do better for themselves.
His figure was large and well formed, and his countenance of the cast of
an ancient statue; yet his appearance was rendered strange and somewhat
uncouth by convulsive cramps, by the scars of that distemper which it
was once imagined the royal touch could cure, and by a slovenly mode of
dress. He had the use only of one eye; yet so much does mind govern and
even supply the deficiency of organs, that his visual perceptions, as
far as they extended, were uncommonly quick and accurate. So morbid was
his temperament that he never knew the natural joy of a free and
vigorous use of his limbs; when he walked, it was like the struggling
gait of one in fetters; when he rode, he had no command or direction of
his horse, but was carried as if in a balloon. That with his
constitution and habits of life he should have lived seventy-five years,
is a proof that an inherent _vivida vis_ is a powerful preservative of
the human frame.
Man is in general made up of contradictory qualities: and these will
ever show themselves in strange succession where a consistency in
appearance at least, if not in reality, has not been attained by long
habits of philosophical discipline. In proportion to the native vigor of
the mind, the contradictory qualities will be the more prominent, and
more difficult to be adjusted; and therefore we are not to wonder that
Johnson exhibited an eminent example of this remark which I have made
upon human nature.
At different times he seemed a different man in some respects; not,
however, in any great or essential article, upon which he had fully
employed his mind and settled certain principles of duty, but only in
his manners, and in the display of argument and fancy in his talk. He
was prone to superstition, but not to credulity. Though his imagination
might incline him to a belief of the marvelous and the mysterious, his
vigorous reason examined the evidence with jealousy. He was a sincere
and zealous Christian, of high Church-of-England and monarchical
principles, which he would not tamely suffer to be questioned; and had
perhaps at an early period narrowed his mind somewhat too much, both as
to religion and politics. His being impressed with the danger of extreme
latitude in either, though he was of a very independent spirit,
occasioned his appearing somewhat unfavorable to the prevalence of that
noble freedom of sentiment which is the best possession of man. Nor can
it be denied that he had many prejudices; which, however, frequently
suggested many of his pointed sayings, that rather show a playfulness of
fancy than any settled malignity. He was steady and inflexible in
maintaining the obligations of religion and morality, both from a regard
for the order of society, and from a veneration for the Great Source of
all order: correct--nay, stern--in his taste; hard to please, and easily
offended; impetuous and irritable in his temper, but of a most humane
and benevolent heart, which showed itself not only in a most liberal
charity, as far as his circumstances would allow, but in a thousand
instances of active benevolence. He was afflicted with a bodily disease
which made him often restless and fretful; and with a constitutional
melancholy, the clouds of which darkened the brightness of his fancy,
and gave a gloomy cast to his whole course of thinking. We therefore
ought not to wonder at his sallies of impatience and passion at any
time, especially when provoked by obtrusive ignorance or presuming
petulance; and allowance must be made for his uttering hasty and
satirical sallies even against his best friends. And surely, when it is
considered that "amidst sickness and sorrow" he exerted his faculties in
so many works for the benefit of mankind, and particularly that he
achieved the great and admirable Dictionary of our language, we must be
astonished at his resolution.
The solemn text, "Of him to whom much is given, much is expected," seems
to have been ever present to his mind in a rigorous sense, and to have
made him dissatisfied with his labors and acts of goodness, however
comparatively great; so that the unavoidable consciousness of his
superiority was in that respect a cause of disquiet. He suffered so much
from this, and from the gloom which perpetually haunted him and made
solitude frightful, that it may be said of him, "If in this life only he
had hope, he was of all men most miserable." He loved praise when it was
brought to him, but was too proud to seek for it. He was somewhat
susceptible of flattery. As he was general and unconfined in his
studies, he cannot be considered as master of any one particular
science; but he had accumulated a vast and various collection of
learning and knowledge, which was so arranged in his mind as to be ever
in readiness to be brought forth. But his superiority over other learned
men consisted chiefly in what may be called the art of thinking, the art
of using his mind; a certain continual power of seizing the useful
substance of all that he knew, and exhibiting it in a clear and forcible
manner; so that knowledge which we often see to be no better than lumber
in men of dull understanding, was in him true, evident, and actual
wisdom. His moral precepts are practical, for they are drawn from an
intimate acquaintance with human nature. His maxims carry conviction,
for they are founded on the basis of common-sense and a very attentive
and minute survey of real life. His mind was so full of imagery that he
might have been perpetually a poet; yet it is remarkable that however
rich his prose is in this respect, his poetical pieces, in general,
have not much of that splendor, but are rather distinguished by strong
sentiment and an acute observation, conveyed in harmonious and energetic
verse, particularly in heroic couplets.
Though usually grave and even awful in his deportment, he possessed
uncommon and peculiar powers of wit and humor; he frequently indulged
himself in colloquial pleasantry; and the heartiest merriment was often
enjoyed in his company, with this great advantage, that as it was
entirely free from any poisonous tincture of vice or impiety, it was
salutary to those who shared in it. He had accustomed himself to such
accuracy in his common conversation, that he at all times expressed his
thoughts with great force and an elegant choice of language, the effect
of which was aided by his having a loud voice and a slow deliberate
utterance. In him were united a most logical head with a most fertile
imagination, which gave him a most extraordinary advantage in arguing;
for he could reason close or wide, as he saw best for the moment.
Exulting in his intellectual strength and dexterity, he could when he
pleased be the greatest sophist that ever contended in the lists of
declamation; and from a spirit of contradiction, and a delight in
showing his powers, he would often maintain the wrong side with equal
warmth and ingenuity: so that when there was an audience, his real
opinions could seldom be gathered from his talk; though when he was in
company with a single friend, he would discuss a subject with genuine
fairness; but he was too conscientious to make error permanent and
pernicious by deliberately writing it; and in all his numerous works he
earnestly inculcated what appeared to him to be the truth, his piety
being constant and the ruling principle of all his conduct.
Such was Samuel Johnson; a man whose talents, acquirements, and virtues
were so extraordinary, that the more his character is considered, the
more he will be regarded by the present age and by posterity with
admiration and reverence.