Let us seriously reflect of what a pudding is composed. It is composed
of flour that once waved in the golden grain, and drank the dews of
the morning; of milk pressed from the swelling udder by the gentle
hand of the beauteous milk-maid, whose beauty and innocence might have
recommended a worse draught; who, while she stroked the udder,
indulged no ambitious thoughts of wandering in palaces, formed no
plans for the destruction of her fellow-creatures: milk, which is
drawn from the cow, that useful animal, that eats the grass of the
field, and supplies us with that which made the greatest part of the
food of mankind in the age which the poets have agreed to call golden.
It is made with an egg, that miracle of nature, which the theoretical
Burnet has compared to creation. An egg contains water within its
beautiful smooth surface; and an unformed mass, by the incubation of
the parent, becomes a regular animal, furnished with bones and sinews,
and covered with feathers. Let us consider; can there be more wanting
to complete the Meditation on a Pudding? If more is wanting, more may
be found. It contains salt, which keeps the sea from putrefaction:
salt, which is made the image of intellectual excellence, contributes
to the formation of a pudding.
In a magazine I found a saying of Dr Johnson's, something to this
purpose; that the happiest part of a man's life is what he passes
lying awake in bed in the morning. I read it to him. He said, 'I may,
perhaps, have said this; for nobody, at times, talks more laxly than I
do.' I ventured to suggest to him, that this was dangerous from one of
his authority.
I spoke of living in the country, and upon what footing one should be
with neighbours. I observed that some people were afraid of being on
too easy a footing with them, from an apprehension that their time
would not be their own. He made the obvious remark, that it depended
much on what kind of neighbours one has, whether it was desirable to
be on an easy footing with them, or not. I mentioned a certain
baronet, who told me, he never was happy in the country, till he was
not on speaking terms with his neighbours, which he contrived in
different ways to bring about. 'Lord ---', said he, 'stuck along; but
at last the fellow pounded my pigs, and then I got rid of him.'
JOHNSON. 'Nay, sir, My Lord got rid of Sir John, and shewed how little
he valued him, by putting his pigs in the pound.'
I told Dr Johnson I was in some difficulty how to act at Inveraray. I
had reason to think that the Duchess of Argyle disliked me, on account
of my zeal in the Douglas cause; but the Duke of Argyle had always
been pleased to treat me with great civility. They were now at the
castle, which is a very short walk from our inn; and the question was,
whether I should go and pay my respects there. Dr Johnson, to whom I
had stated the case, was clear that I ought; but, in his usual way, he
was very shy of discovering a desire to be invited there himself.
Though from a conviction of the benefit of subordination to society,
he has always shewn great respect to persons of high rank, when he
happened to be in their company, yet his pride of character has ever
made him guard against any appearance of courting the great. Besides,
he was impatient to go to Glasgow, where he expected letters. At the
same time he was, I believe, secretly not unwilling to have attention
paid him by so great a chieftain, and so exalted a nobleman. He
insisted that I should not go to the castle this day before dinner, as
it would look like seeking an invitation. 'But,' said I, 'if the duke
invites us to dine with him to-morrow, shall we accept?' 'Yes, sir,' I
think he said, 'to be sure.' But, he added, 'He won't ask us!' I
mentioned, that I was afraid my company might be disagreeable to the
duchess. He treated this objection with a manly disdain: 'THAT, sir,
he must settle with his wife.' We dined well. I went to the castle
just about the time when I supposed the ladies would be retired from
dinner. I sent in my name; and, being shewn in, found the amiable duke
sitting at the head of his table with several gentlemen. I was most
politely received, and gave his grace some particulars of the curious
journey which I had been making with Dr Johnson. When we rose from
table, the duke said to me, 'I hope you and Dr Johnson will dine with
us to-morrow.' I thanked his grace; but told him, my friend was in a
great hurry to get back to London. The duke, with a kind complacency,
said, 'He will stay one day; and I will take care he shall see this
place to advantage.' I said, I should be sure to let him know his
grace's invitation. As I was going away, the duke said, 'Mr Boswell,
won't you have some tea?' I thought it best to get over the meeting
with the duchess this night; so respectfully agreed. I was conducted
to the drawing-room by the duke, who announced my name; but the
duchess, who was sitting with her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, and
some other ladies, took not the least notice of me. I should have been
mortified at being thus coldly received by a lady of whom I, with the
rest of the world, have always entertained a very high admiration, had
I not been consoled by the obliging attention of the duke.
When I returned to the inn, I informed Dr Johnson of the Duke of
Argyle's invitation, with which he was much pleased, and readily
accepted of it. We talked of a violent contest which was then carrying
on, with a view to the next general election for Ayrshire; where one
of the candidates, in order to undermine the old and established
interest, had artfully held himself out as a champion for the
independency of the county against aristocratick influence, and had
persuaded several gentlemen into a resolution to oppose every
candidate who was supported by peers. 'Foolish fellows!' said Dr
Johnson. 'Didn't they see that they are as much dependent upon the
peers one way as the other. The peers have but to OPPOSE a candidate,
to ensure him success. It is said, the only way to make a pig go
forward, is to pull him back by the tail. These people must be treated
like pigs.'