The Reverend Mr Dun, our parish minister, who had dined with us
yesterday, with some other company, insisted that Dr Johnson and I
should dine with him to-day. This gave me an opportunity to shew my
friend the road to the church, made by my father at a great expence,
for above three miles, on his own estate, through a range of well
enclosed farms, with a row of trees on each side of it. He called it
the Via sacra, and was very fond of it. Dr Johnson, though he held
notions far distant from those of the Presbyterian clergy, yet could
associate on good terms with them. He indeed occasionally attacked
them. One of them discovered a narrowness of information concerning
the dignitaries of the Church of England, among whom may be found men
of the greatest learning, virtue, and piety, and of a truly apostolic
character. He talked before Dr Johnson, of fat bishops and drowsy
deans; and, in short, seemed to believe the illiberal and profane
scoffings of professed satyrists, or vulgar railers. Dr Johnson was so
highly offended, that he said to him, 'Sir, you know no more of our
church than a Hottentot.' I was sorry that he brought this upon
himself.