Mr M'Aulay breakfasted with us, nothing hurt or dismayed by his last
night's correction. Being a man of good sense, he had a just
admiration of Dr Johnson. Either yesterday morning, or this, I
communicated to Dr Johnson, from Mr M'Aulay's information, the news
that Dr Beattie had got a pension of two hundred pounds a year. He sat
up in his bed, clapped his hands, and cried, 'O brave we!' a peculiar
exclamation of his when he rejoices. [Footnote: Having mentioned, more
than once, that my Journal was perused by Dr Johnson, I think it
proper to inform my readers that this is the last paragraph which he
read.]
As we sat over our tea, Mr Home's Tragedy of Douglas was mentioned. I
put Dr Johnson in mind, that once, in a coffee-house at Oxford, he
called to old Mr Sheridan, 'How came you, sir, to give Home a gold
medal for writing that foolish play?' and defied Mr Sheridan to shew
ten good lines in it. He did not insist they should be together, but
that there were not ten good lines in the whole play. He now persisted
in this. I endeavoured to defend that pathetick and beautiful tragedy,
and repeated the following passage:
'"... Sincerity,
Thou first of virtues! let no mortal leave
Thy onward path, although the earth should gape,
And from the gulph of hell destruction cry.
To take dissimulation's winding way."'
JOHNSON. 'That will not do, sir. Nothing is good but what is
consistent with truth or probability, which this is not. Juvenal,
indeed, gives us a noble picture of inflexible virtue:
Esto bonus miles, tutor bonus, arbiter idem
Integer: ambiguae si quando citabere testis,
Incertaeque rei, Phalaris licet imperet, ut sis
Falsus, et admoto dictet perjuria tauro,
Summum crede nefas animam praeferre pudori,
Et propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.
[Footnote: An honest guardian, arbitrator just.
Be thou; thy station deem a sacred trust.
With thy good sword maintain thy country's cause;
In every action venerate its laws:
The lie suborn'd if falsely urg'd to swear,
Though torture wait thee, torture firmly bear;
To forfeit honour, think the highest shame,
And life too dearly bought by loss of fame;
Nor, to preserve it, with thy virtue give
That for which only man should wish to live.
For this and the other translations to which no signature is affixed,
I am indebted to the friend whose observations are mentioned in
notes.] He repeated the lines with great force and dignity; then
added, 'And, after this, comes Johnny Hoe, with his EARTH GAPING, and
his DESTRUCTION CRYING--Pooh!' [Footnote: I am sorry that I was
unlucky in my quotation. But notwithstanding the acuteness of Dr
Johnson's criticism, and the power of his ridicule, the Tragedy of
Douglas still continues to be generally and deservedly admired.]
While we were lamenting the number of ruined religious buildings which
we had lately seen, I spoke with peculiar feeling to the miserable
neglect of the chapel belonging to the palace of Holyrood House, in
which are deposited the remains of many of the kings of Scotland, and
of many of our nobility. I said, it was a disgrace to the country that
it was not repaired: and particularly complained that my friend
Douglas, the representative of a great house, and proprietor of a vast
estate, should suffer the sacred spot where his mother lies interred,
to be unroofed, and exposed to all the inclemencies of the weather. Dr
Johnson, who, I know not how, had formed an opinion on the Hamilton
side, in the Douglas cause, slily answered, 'Sir, sir, don't be too
severe upon the gentleman; don't accuse him of want of filial piety!
Lady Jane Douglas was not HIS mother.' He roused my zeal so much that
I took the liberty to tell him he knew nothing of the cause; which I
do most seriously believe was the case.
We were now 'in a country of bridles and saddles', and set out fully
equipped. The Duke of Argyle was obliging enough to mount Dr Johnson
on a stately steed from his grace's stable. My friend was highly
pleased, and Joseph said, 'He now looks like a bishop.'
We dined at the inn at Tarbat, and at night came to Rosedow, the
beautiful seat of Sir James Colquhoun, on the banks of Lochlomond,
where I, and any friends whom I have introduced, have ever been
received with kind and elegant hospitality.