'I would, however, wish you to remember, should you again address the
publick under the character of a political writer, that luxuriance of
imagination or energy of language will ill compensate for the want of
candour, of justice, and of truth. And I shall only add, that should I
hereafter be disposed to read, as I heretofore have done, the most
excellent of all your performances, _The Rambler_, the pleasure which I
have been accustomed to find in it will be much diminished by the
reflection that the writer of so moral, so elegant, and so valuable a
work, was capable of prostituting his talents in such productions as
_The False Alarm_, the _Thoughts on the Transactions respecting
Falkland's Islands_, and _The Patriot_'
I am willing to do justice to the merit of Dr. Towers, of whom I will
say, that although I abhor his Whiggish democratical notions and
propensities, (for I will not call them principles,) I esteem him as an
ingenious, knowing, and very convivial man.
The other instance was a paragraph of a letter to me, from my old and
most intimate friend, the Reverend Mr. Temple, who wrote the character
of Gray, which has had the honour to be adopted both by Mr. Mason and
Dr. Johnson in their accounts of that poet[927]. The words were,--
'How can your great, I will not say your _pious_, but your _moral_
friend, support the barbarous measures of administration, which they
have not the face to ask even their infidel pensioner Hume to
defend[926].'
However confident of the rectitude of his own mind, Johnson may have
felt sincere uneasiness that his conduct should be erroneously imputed
to unworthy motives, by good men; and that the influence of his valuable
writings should on that account be in any degree obstructed or
lessened[928].
He complained to a Right Honourable friend[929] of distinguished talents
and very elegant manners, with whom he maintained a long intimacy, and
whose generosity towards him will afterwards appear[930], that his pension
having been given to him as a literary character, he had been applied to
by administration to write political pamphlets; and he was even so much
irritated, that he declared his resolution to resign his pension. His
friend shewed him the impropriety of such a measure, and he afterwards
expressed his gratitude, and said he had received good advice. To that
friend he once signified a wish to have his pension secured to him for
his life; but he neither asked nor received from government any reward
whatsoever for his political labours[931].
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[932],' 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[933].' '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 _LevA(C)es_, 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[934]:
'there is in it such a vigour of mind, such a swarm of thoughts, so much
of nature, and art, and life[935].' 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_[936].'
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[937]?" 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[938].'
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 Hypocrite_, altered from
Cibber's _Nonjuror_[939], 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[940]. I once
said to Dr. Madan[941], a clergyman of Ireland, who was a great Whig, that
perhaps a Nonjuror would have been less criminal in taking the oaths
imposed by the ruling power, than refusing them; because refusing them,
necessarily laid him under almost an irresistible temptation to be more
criminal; for, a man _must_ live, and if he precludes himself from the
support furnished by the establishment, will probably be reduced to very
wicked shifts to maintain himself[942].' BOSWELL. 'I should think, Sir,
that a man who took the oaths contrary to his principles, was a
determined wicked man, because he was sure he was committing perjury;
whereas a Nonjuror might be insensibly led to do what was wrong, without
being so directly conscious of it.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, a man who goes
to bed to his patron's wife is pretty sure that he is committing
wickedness.' BOSWELL. 'Did the nonjuring clergymen do so, Sir?' JOHNSON.
'I am afraid many of them did.'
I was startled at his argument, and could by no means think it
convincing. Had not his own father complied with the requisition of
government[943], (as to which he once observed to me, when I pressed him
upon it, '_That_, Sir, he was to settle with himself,') he would
probably have thought more unfavourably of a Jacobite who took the
oaths:
'--had he not resembled
My father as he _swore_--[944].'
Mr. Strahan talked of launching into the great ocean of London, in order
to have a chance for rising into eminence; and, observing that many men
were kept back from trying their fortunes there, because they were born
to a competency, said, 'Small certainties are the bane of men of
talents[945];' which Johnson confirmed. Mr. Strahan put Johnson in mind of
a remark which he had made to him; 'There are few ways in which a man
can be more innocently employed than in getting money.' 'The more one
thinks of this, (said Strahan,) the juster it will appear.'
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[946], 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[947].'
'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[948].
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[949]; 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[950].
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[951]
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[952].'
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[953] 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,--calumque tueri
Jussit,--et erectos ad sidera--tollere vultus_[954]';
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[955]; 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[956]. I recollect his exhibiting him to me one day, as if
saying, 'Davy has some convivial pleasantry about him, but 'tis a futile
fellow[957];' 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[958]; and I wish it could be preserved as musick is written,
according to the very ingenious method of Mr. Steele[959], who has shown
how the recitation of Mr. Garrick, and other eminent speakers, might be
transmitted to posterity in score[960].
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.[961]
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.'--[962]
'No, Sir, there are but two good[963] 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[964].'
A young lady[965] 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[966], 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.'
After frequently considering this subject, I am more and more confirmed
in what I then meant to express, and which was sanctioned by the
authority, and illustrated by the wisdom, of Johnson; and I think it of
the utmost consequence to the happiness of Society, to which
subordination is absolutely necessary[967]. It is weak, and contemptible,
and unworthy, in a parent to relax in such a case. It is sacrificing
general advantage to private feelings. And let it be considered, that
the claim of a daughter who has acted thus, to be restored to her former
situation, is either fantastical or unjust. If there be no value in the
distinction of rank, what does she suffer by being kept in the situation
to which she has descended? If there be a value in that distinction, it
ought to be steadily maintained. If indulgence be shewn to such conduct,
and the offenders know that in a longer or shorter time they shall be
received as well as if they had not contaminated their blood by a base
alliance, the great check upon that inordinate caprice which generally
occasions low marriages will be removed, and the fair and comfortable
order of improved life will be miserably disturbed[968].
Lord Chesterfield's Letters being mentioned, Johnson said, 'It was not
to be wondered at that they had so great a sale, considering that they
were the letters of a statesman, a wit, one who had been so much in the
mouths of mankind, one long accustomed _virA"m volitare per ora_[969].'
On Friday, March 31, I supped with him and some friends at a tavern[970].
One of the company[971] 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[972].'
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[973].'
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 shall here insert the
progress and completion of that high academical honour, in the same
manner as I have traced his obtaining that of Master of Arts.
To the Reverend Dr. FOTHERGILL, Vice-Chancellor of the University of
Oxford, to be communicated to the Heads of Houses, and proposed in
Convocation.
'MR. VICE-CHANCELLOR AND GENTLEMEN[974],
'The honour of the degree of M.A. by diploma, formerly conferred upon
MR. SAMUEL JOHNSON, in consequence of his having eminently distinguished
himself by the publication of a series of Essays, excellently calculated
to form the manners of the people, and in which the cause of religion
and morality has been maintained and recommended by the strongest powers
of argument and elegance of language, reflected an equal degree of
lustre upon the University itself.
'The many learned labours which have since that time employed the
attention and displayed the abilities of that great man, so much to the
advancement of literature and the benefit of the community, render him
worthy of more distinguished honours in the Republick of letters: and I
persuade myself, that I shall act agreeably to the sentiments of the
whole University, in desiring that it may be proposed in Convocation to
confer on him the degree of Doctor in Civil Law by diploma, to which I
readily give my consent; and am,
'Mr. Vice-Chancellor and Gentlemen,
'Your affectionate friend and servant,
'NORTH[975].'
'Downing-street,