'Tenth month, 1753.
23. Indulgence in bed an hour too long.
Twelfth month, 17. An hypochondriack obnubilation from wind
and indigestion.
Ninth month, 28. An over-dose of whisky.
29. A dull, cross, cholerick day.
First month, 1757--22. A little swinish at dinner and repast.
31. Dogged on provocation.
Second month, 5. Very dogged or snappish.
14. Snappish on fasting.
26. Cursed snappishness to those under me, on a bodily
indisposition.
Third month, 11. On a provocation, exercised a dumb resentment
for two days, instead of scolding.
22. Scolded too vehemently.
23. Dogged again.
Fourth month, 29. Mechanically and sinfully dogged.'
Johnson laughed heartily at this good Quietist's self-condemning
minutes; particularly at his mentioning, with such a serious regret,
occasional instances of '_swinishness_ in eating, and _doggedness of
temper_[481].' He thought the observations of the Critical Reviewers upon
the importance of a man to himself so ingenious and so well expressed,
that I shall here introduce them.
After observing, that 'There are few writers who have gained any
reputation by recording their own actions,' they say:--
'We may reduce the egotists to four classes. In the _first_ we have
Julius Caesar: he relates his own transactions; but he relates them with
peculiar grace and dignity, and his narrative is supported by the
greatness of his character and atchievements. In the _second_ class we
have Marcus Antoninus: this writer has given us a series of reflections
on his own life; but his sentiments are so noble, his morality so
sublime, that his meditations are universally admired. In the _third_
class we have some others of tolerable credit, who have given importance
to their own private history by an intermixture of literary anecdotes,
and the occurrences of their own times: the celebrated _Huetius_ has
published an entertaining volume upon this plan, "_De rebus ad eum
pertinentibus_[482]." In the _fourth_ class we have the journalists,
temporal and spiritual: Elias Ashmole, William Lilly, George Whitefield,
John Wesley, and a thousand other old women and fanatick writers of
memoirs and meditations.'
I mentioned to him that Dr. Hugh Blair, in his lectures on Rhetorick and
Belles Lettres, which I heard him deliver at Edinburgh, had animadverted
on the Johnsonian style as too pompous; and attempted to imitate it, by
giving a sentence of Addison in _The Spectator_, No. 411, in the manner
of Johnson. When treating of the utility of the pleasures of imagination
in preserving us from vice, it is observed of those 'who know not how to
be idle and innocent,' that 'their very first step out of business is
into vice or folly;' which Dr. Blair supposed would have been expressed
in _The Rambler_ thus: 'Their very first step out of the regions of
business is into the perturbation of vice, or the vacuity of folly[483].'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, these are not the words I should have used. No, Sir; the
imitators of my style have not hit it. Miss Aikin has done it the best;
for she has imitated the sentiment as well as the diction[484].' I intend,
before this work is concluded[485], to exhibit specimens of imitation of
my friend's style in various modes; some caricaturing or mimicking it,
and some formed upon it, whether intentionally or with a degree of
similarity to it, of which, perhaps, the writers were not conscious.
In Baretti's Review, which he published in Italy, under the title of
_Frusta Letteraria_[486], it is observed, that Dr. Robertson the historian
had formed his style upon that of _Il celebre Samuele Johnson_. My
friend himself was of that opinion; for he once said to me, in a
pleasant humour, 'Sir, if Robertson's style be faulty, he owes it to me;
that is, having too many words, and those too big ones[487].'
I read to him a letter which Lord Monboddo had written to me, containing
some critical remarks upon the style of his _Journey to the Western
Islands of Scotland_. His Lordship praised the very fine passage upon
landing at Icolmkill[488]; but his own style being exceedingly dry and
hard, he disapproved of the richness of Johnson's language, and of his
frequent use of metaphorical expressions. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, this
criticism would be just, if in my style, superfluous words, or words too
big for the thoughts, could be pointed out[489]; but this I do not believe
can be done. For instance; in the passage which Lord Monboddo admires,
'We were now treading that illustrious region[490],' the word
_illustrious_, contributes nothing to the mere narration; for the fact
might be told without it: but it is not, therefore, superfluous; for it
wakes the mind to peculiar attention, where something of more than usual
importance is to be presented. "Illustrious!"--for what? and then the
sentence proceeds to expand the circumstances connected with Iona. And,
Sir, as to metaphorical expression, that is a great excellence in style,
when it is used with propriety, for it gives you two ideas for
one;--conveys the meaning more luminously, and generally with a
perception of delight.'
He told me, that he had been asked to undertake the new edition of the
_Biographia Britannica_, but had declined it; which he afterwards said
to me he regretted[491]. In this regret many will join, because it would
have procured us more of Johnson's most delightful species of writing;
and although my friend Dr. Kippis has hitherto discharged the task
judiciously, distinctly, and with more impartiality than might have been
expected from a Separatist, it were to have been wished that the
superintendence of this literary Temple of Fame had been assigned to 'a
friend to the constitution in Church and State.' We should not then have
had it too much crowded with obscure dissenting teachers, doubtless men
of merit and worth, but not quite to be numbered amongst 'the most
eminent persons who have flourished in Great-Britain and Ireland[492].'
On Saturday, September 30, after breakfast, when Taylor was gone out to
his farm, Dr. Johnson and I had a serious conversation by ourselves on
melancholy and madness; which he was, I always thought, erroneously
inclined to confound together[493]. Melancholy, like 'great wit,' may be
'near allied to madness[494];' but there is, in my opinion, a distinct
separation between them. When he talked of madness, he was to be
understood as speaking of those who were in any great degree disturbed,
or as it is commonly expressed, 'troubled in mind.' Some of the ancient
philosophers held, that all deviations from right reason were madness;
and whoever wishes to see the opinions both of ancients and moderns upon
this subject, collected and illustrated with a variety of curious facts,
may read Dr. Arnold's very entertaining work[495].
Johnson said, 'A madman loves to be with people whom he fears; not as a
dog fears the lash; but of whom he stands in awe.' I was struck with the
justice of this observation. To be with those of whom a person, whose
mind is wavering and dejected, stands in awe, represses and composes an
uneasy tumult of spirits, and consoles him with the contemplation of
something steady, and at least comparatively great.
He added, 'Madmen are all sensual in the lower stages of the distemper.
They are eager for gratifications to sooth their minds, and divert their
attention from the misery which they suffer: but when they grow very
ill, pleasure is too weak for them, and they seek for pain[496].
Employment, Sir, and hardships, prevent melancholy. I suppose in all our
army in America there was not one man who went mad[497].'
We entered seriously upon a question of much importance to me, which
Johnson was pleased to consider with friendly attention. I had long
complained to him that I felt myself discontented in Scotland, as too
narrow a sphere, and that I wished to make my chief residence in London,
the great scene of ambition, instruction, and amusement: a scene, which
was to me, comparatively speaking, a heaven upon earth[498]. JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, I never knew any one who had such a _gust_ for London as you
have: and I cannot blame you for your wish to live there: yet, Sir, were
I in your father's place, I should not consent to your settling there;
for I have the old feudal notions, and I should be afraid that
Auchinleck would be deserted, as you would soon find it more desirable
to have a country-seat in a better climate. I own, however, that to
consider it as a _duty_ to reside on a family estate is a prejudice; for
we must consider, that working-people get employment equally, and the
produce of land is sold equally, whether a great family resides at home
or not; and if the rents of an estate be carried to London, they return
again in the circulation of commerce; nay, Sir, we must perhaps allow,
that carrying the rents to a distance is a good, because it contributes
to that circulation. We must, however, allow, that a well-regulated
great family may improve a neighbourhood in civility and elegance, and
give an example of good order, virtue, and piety; and so its residence
at home may be of much advantage. But if a great family be disorderly
and vicious, its residence at home is very pernicious to a
neighbourhood. There is not now the same inducement to live in the
country as formerly; the pleasures of social life are much better
enjoyed in town; and there is no longer in the country that power and
influence in proprietors of land which they had in old times, and which
made the country so agreeable to them. The Laird of Auchinleck now is
not near so great a man as the Laird of Auchinleck was a hundred years
ago[499].
I told him, that one of my ancestors never went from home without being
attended by thirty men on horseback. Johnson's shrewdness and spirit of
enquiry were exerted upon every occasion. 'Pray (said he,) how did your
ancestor support his thirty men and thirty horses, when he went at a
distance from home, in an age when there was hardly any money in
circulation?' I suggested the same difficulty to a friend, who mentioned
Douglas's going to the Holy Land with a numerous train of followers.
Douglas could, no doubt, maintain followers enough while living upon his
own lands, the produce of which supplied them with food; but he could
not carry that food to the Holy Land; and as there was no commerce by
which he could be supplied with money, how could he maintain them in
foreign countries?
I suggested a doubt, that if I were to reside in London, the exquisite
zest with which I relished it in occasional visits might go off, and I
might grow tired of it. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, you find no man, at all
intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is
tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that
life can afford[500].'
To obviate his apprehension, that by settling in London I might desert
the seat of my ancestors, I assured him, that I had old feudal
principles to a degree of enthusiasm; and that I felt all the _dulcedo_
of the _natale solum_[501]. I reminded him, that the Laird of Auchinleck
had an elegant house, in front of which he could ride ten miles forward
upon his own territories, upon which he had upwards of six hundred
people attached to him; that the family seat was rich in natural
romantick beauties of rock, wood, and water; and that in my 'morn of
life[502],' I had appropriated the finest descriptions in the ancient
Classicks to certain scenes there, which were thus associated in my
mind. That when all this was considered, I should certainly pass a part
of the year at home, and enjoy it the more from variety, and from
bringing with me a share of the intellectual stores of the metropolis.
He listened to all this, and kindly 'hoped it might be as I now
supposed.'
He said, 'A country gentleman should bring his lady to visit London as
soon as he can, that they may have agreeable topicks for conversation
when they are by themselves.'
As I meditated trying my fortune in Westminster Hall, our conversation
turned upon the profession of the law in England. JOHNSON. 'You must not
indulge too sanguine hopes, should you be called to our bar. I was told,
by a very sensible lawyer, that there are a great many chances against
any man's success in the profession of the law; the candidates are so
numerous, and those who get large practice so few. He said, it was by no
means true that a man of good parts and application is sure of having
business, though he, indeed, allowed that if such a man could but appear
in a few causes, his merit would be known, and he would get forward; but
that the great risk was, that a man might pass half a life-time in the
Courts, and never have an opportunity of shewing his abilities[503].'
We talked of employment being absolutely necessary to preserve the mind
from wearying and growing fretful, especially in those who have a
tendency to melancholy; and I mentioned to him a saying which somebody
had related of an American savage, who, when an European was expatiating
on all the advantages of money, put this question: 'Will it purchase
_occupation_?' JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it, Sir, this saying is too refined
for a savage. And, Sir, money _will_ purchase occupation; it will
purchase all the conveniences of life; it will purchase variety of
company; it will purchase all sorts of entertainment.'
I talked to him of Forster's _Voyage to the South Seas_, which pleased
me; but I found he did not like it. 'Sir, (said he,) there is a great
affectation of fine writing in it.' BOSWELL. 'But he carries you along
with him.' JOHNSON, 'No, Sir; he does not carry _me_ along with him: he
leaves me behind him: or rather, indeed, he sets me before him; for he
makes me turn over many leaves at a time.'
On Sunday, September 12[504], we went to the church of Ashbourne, which is
one of the largest and most luminous that I have seen in any town of the
same size. I felt great satisfaction in considering that I was supported
in my fondness for solemn publick worship by the general concurrence and
munificence of mankind.
Johnson and Taylor were so different from each other, that I wondered at
their preserving an intimacy[505]. Their having been at school and college
together, might, in some degree, account for this[506]; but Sir Joshua
Reynolds has furnished me with a stronger reason; for Johnson mentioned
to him, that he had been told by Taylor he was to be his heir. I shall
not take upon me to animadvert upon this; but certain it is, that
Johnson paid great attention to Taylor. He now, however, said to me,
'Sir, I love him; but I do not love him more; my regard for him does not
increase. As it is said in the Apocrypha, "his talk is of bullocks[507]:"
I do not suppose he is very fond of my company.[508] His habits are by no
means sufficiently clerical: this he knows that I see; and no man likes
to live under the eye of perpetual disapprobation.'
I have no doubt that a good many sermons were composed for Taylor by
Johnson. At this time I found, upon his table, a part of one which he
had newly begun to write: and _Concio pro Tayloro_ appears in one of his
diaries. When to these circumstances we add the internal evidence from
the power of thinking and style, in the collection which the Reverend
Mr. Hayes has published, with the _significant_ title of Sermons _left
for publication_ by the Reverend John Taylor, LL.D., our conviction will
be complete[509].
I, however, would not have it thought, that Dr. Taylor, though he could
not write like Johnson, (as, indeed, who could?) did not sometimes
compose sermons as good as those which we generally have from very
respectable divines. He showed me one with notes on the margin in
Johnson's hand-writing; and I was present when he read another to
Johnson, that he might have his opinion of it, and Johnson said it was
'very well.' These, we may be sure, were not Johnson's; for he was above
little arts, or tricks of deception.
Johnson was by no means of opinion, that every man of a learned
profession should consider it as incumbent upon him, or as necessary to
his credit, to appear as an authour. When in the ardour of ambition for
literary fame, I regretted to him one day that an eminent Judge had
nothing of it, and therefore would leave no perpetual monument of
himself to posterity[510]. 'Alas, Sir, (said Johnson) what a mass of
confusion should we have, if every Bishop, and every Judge, every
Lawyer, Physician, and Divine, were to write books.'
I mentioned to Johnson a respectable person of a very strong mind, who
had little of that tenderness which is common to human nature; as an
instance of which, when I suggested to him that he should invite his
son, who had been settled ten years in foreign parts[511], to come home
and pay him a visit, his answer was, 'No, no, let him mind his
business.' JOHNSON. 'I do not agree with him, Sir, in this. Getting
money is not all a man's business: to cultivate kindness is a valuable
part of the business of life.'
In the evening, Johnson, being in very good spirits, entertained us with
several characteristical portraits. I regret that any of them escaped my
retention and diligence. I found, from experience, that to collect my
friend's conversation so as to exhibit it with any degree of its
original flavour, it was necessary to write it down without delay. To
record his sayings, after some distance of time, was like preserving or
pickling long-kept and faded fruits, or other vegetables, which, when in
that state, have little or nothing of their taste when fresh.
I shall present my readers with a series of what I gathered this evening
from the Johnsonian garden.
'My friend, the late Earl of Corke, had a great desire to maintain the
literary character of his family[512]: he was a genteel man, but did not
keep up the dignity of his rank. He was so generally civil, that nobody
thanked him for it.'
'Did we not hear so much said of Jack Wilkes, we should think more
highly of his conversation. Jack has great variety of talk, Jack is a
scholar, and Jack has the manners of a gentleman[513]. But after hearing
his name sounded from pole to pole, as the phoenix of convivial
felicity, we are disappointed in his company. He has always been _at
me_: but I would do Jack a kindness, rather than not. The contest is now
over[514].'
'Garrick's gaiety of conversation has delicacy and elegance: Foote makes
you laugh more; but Foote has the air of a buffoon paid for entertaining
the company. He, indeed, well deserves his hire[515].'
'Colley Cibber once consulted me as to one of his birth-day Odes,[516] a
long time before it was wanted. I objected very freely to several
passages. Cibber lost patience, and would not read his Ode to an end.
When we had done with criticism, we walked over to Richardson's, the
authour of _Clarissa_, and I wondered to find Richardson displeased that
I "did not treat Gibber with more _respect_." Now, Sir, to talk of
_respect for a player_!' (smiling disdainfully). BOSWELL. 'There, Sir,
you are always heretical: you never will allow merit to a player[517].'
JOHNSON. 'Merit, Sir! what merit? Do you respect a rope-dancer, or a
ballad-singer?' BOSWELL. 'No, Sir: but we respect a great player, as a
man who can conceive lofty sentiments, and can express them gracefully.'
JOHNSON. 'What, Sir, a fellow who claps a hump on his back, and a lump
on his leg, and cries "_I am Richard the Third_[518]"? Nay, Sir, a
ballad-singer is a higher man, for he does two things; he repeats and he
sings: there is both recitation and musick in his performance: the
player only recites.' BOSWELL. 'My dear Sir! you may turn anything into
ridicule. I allow, that a player of farce is not entitled to respect; he
does a little thing: but he who can represent exalted characters, and
touch the noblest passions, has very respectable powers; and mankind
have agreed in admiring great talents for the stage. We must consider,
too, that a great player does what very few are capable to do: his art
is a very rare faculty. _Who_ can repeat Hamlet's soliloquy, "To be, or
not to be," as Garrick does it?' JOHNSON. 'Any body may. Jemmy, there (a
boy about eight years old, who was in the room), will do it as well in a
week[519].' BOSWELL. 'No, no, Sir: and as a proof of the merit of great
acting, and of the value which mankind set upon it, Garrick has got a
hundred thousand pounds.' JOHNSON. 'Is getting a hundred thousand pounds
a proof of excellence? That has been done by a scoundrel commissary[520].'
This was most fallacious reasoning. I was sure, for once, that I had the
best side of the argument. I boldly maintained the just distinction
between a tragedian and a mere theatrical droll; between those who rouse
our terrour and pity, and those who only make us laugh. 'If (said I)
Betterton and Foote were to walk into this room, you would respect
Betterton much more than Foote.' JOHNSON. 'If Betterton were to walk
into this room with Foote, Foote would soon drive him out of it. Foote,
Sir, _quatenùs_ Foote, has powers superiour to them all[521].'
On Monday, September 22, when at breakfast, I unguardedly said to Dr.
Johnson, 'I wish I saw you and Mrs. Macaulay[522] together.' He grew very
angry; and, after a pause, while a cloud gathered on his brow, he burst
out, 'No, Sir; you would not see us quarrel, to make you sport. Don't
you know that it is very uncivil to _pit_[523] two people against one
another?' Then, checking himself, and wishing to be more gentle, he
added, 'I do not say you should be hanged or drowned for this; but it
_is_ very uncivil.' Dr. Taylor thought him in the wrong, and spoke to
him privately of it; but I afterwards acknowledged to Johnson that I was
to blame, for I candidly owned, that I meant to express a desire to see
a contest between Mrs. Macaulay and him; but then I knew how the contest
would end; so that I was to see him triumph. JOHNSON. 'Sir, you cannot
be sure how a contest will end; and no man has a right to engage two
people in a dispute by which their passions may be inflamed, and they
may part with bitter resentment against each other. I would sooner keep
company with a man from whom I must guard my pockets, than with a man
who contrives to bring me into a dispute with somebody that he may hear
it. This is the great fault of ----[524], (naming one of our friends)
endeavouring to introduce a subject upon which he knows two people in
the company differ.' BOSWELL. 'But he told me, Sir, he does it for
instruction.' JOHNSON. 'Whatever the motive be, Sir, the man who does
so, does very wrong. He has no more right to instruct himself at such
risk, than he has to make two people fight a duel, that he may learn how
to defend himself.'
He found great fault with a gentleman of our acquaintance for keeping a
bad table[525]. 'Sir, (said he,) when a man is invited to dinner, he is
disappointed if he does not get something good. I advised Mrs. Thrale,
who has no card-parties at her house, to give sweet-meats, and such good
things, in an evening, as are not commonly given, and she would find
company enough come to her; for every body loves to have things which
please the palate put in their way, without trouble or preparation[526].'
Such was his attention to the _minutiae_ of life and manners.
He thus characterised the Duke of Devonshire[527], grandfather of the
present representative of that very respectable family: 'He was not a
man of superiour abilities, but he was a man strictly faithful to his
word. If, for instance, he had promised you an acorn, and none had grown
that year in his woods, he would not have contented himself with that
excuse; he would have sent to Denmark for it. So unconditional was he in
keeping his word; so high as to the point of honour.' This was a liberal
testimony from the Tory Johnson to the virtue of a great Whig nobleman.
Mr. Burke's _Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol, on the affairs of
America_, being mentioned, Johnson censured the composition much[528], and
he ridiculed the definition of a free government, _viz_. 'For any
practical purpose, it is what the people think so[529].'--'I will let the
King of France govern me on those conditions, (said he,) for it is to be
governed just as I please.' And when Dr. Taylor talked of a girl being
sent to a parish workhouse, and asked how much she could be obliged to
work, 'Why, (said Johnson,) as much as is reasonable: and what is that?
as much as _she thinks_ reasonable.'
Dr. Johnson obligingly proposed to carry me to see Islam, a romantick
scene, now belonging to a family of the name of Port, but formerly the
seat of the Congreves[530]. I suppose it is well described in some of the
Tours. Johnson described it distinctly and vividly, at which I could not
but express to him my wonder; because, though my eyes, as he observed,
were better than his, I could not by any means equal him in representing
visible objects. I said, the difference between us in this respect was
as that between a man who has a bad instrument, but plays well on it,
and a man who has a good instrument, on which he can play very
imperfectly[531].
I recollect a very fine amphitheatre, surrounded with hills covered with
woods, and walks neatly formed along the side of a rocky steep, on the
quarter next the house, with recesses under projections of rock,
overshadowed with trees; in one of which recesses, we were told,
Congreve wrote his _Old Bachelor_[532]. We viewed a remarkable natural
curiosity at Islam; two rivers bursting near each other from the rock,
not from immediate springs, but after having run for many miles under
ground. Plott, in his _History of Staffordshire_[533], gives an account of
this curiosity; but Johnson would not believe it, though we had the
attestation of the gardener, who said, he had put in corks, where the
river _Manyfold_ sinks into the ground, and had catched them in a net,
placed before one of the openings where the water bursts out. Indeed,
such subterraneous courses of water are found in various parts of our
globe[534].
Talking of Dr. Johnson's unwillingness to believe extraordinary
things[535], I ventured to say, 'Sir, you come near Hume's argument
against miracles, "That it is more probable witnesses should lie, or be
mistaken, than that they should happen[536]."' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, Hume,
taking the proposition simply, is right. But the Christian revelation is
not proved by the miracles alone, but as connected with prophecies, and
with the doctrines in confirmation of which the miracles were wrought.'
He repeated his observation, that the differences among Christians are
really of no consequence[537]. 'For instance, (said he,) if a Protestant
objects to a Papist, "You worship images;" the Papist can answer, "I do
not insist on _your_ doing it; you may be a very good Papist without it:
I do it only as a help to my devotion."' I said, the great article of
Christianity is the revelation of immortality. Johnson admitted it was.
In the evening, a gentleman-farmer, who was on a visit at Dr. Taylor's,
attempted to dispute with Johnson in favour of Mungo Campbell, who shot
Alexander, Earl of Eglintoune[538] upon his having fallen, when retreating
from his Lordship, who he believed was about to seize his gun, as he had
threatened to do. He said, he should have done just as Campbell did.
JOHNSON. 'Whoever would do as Campbell did, deserves to be hanged; not
that I could, as a juryman, have found him legally guilty of murder; but
I am glad they found means to convict him.' The gentleman-farmer said,
'A poor man has as much honour as a rich man; and Campbell had _that_ to
defend.' Johnson exclaimed, 'A poor man has no honour.' The English
yeoman, not dismayed, proceeded: 'Lord Eglintoune was a damned fool to
run on upon Campbell, after being warned that Campbell would shoot him
if he did.' Johnson, who could not bear any thing like swearing[539],
angrily replied, 'He was _not_ a _damned_ fool: he only thought too well
of Campbell. He did not believe Campbell would be such a _damned_
scoundrel, as to do so _damned_ a thing.' His emphasis on _damned_,
accompanied with frowning looks, reproved his opponent's want of decorum
in _his_ presence.
Talking of the danger of being mortified by rejection, when making
approaches to the acquaintance of the great, I observed: 'I am, however,
generally for trying, "Nothing venture, nothing have."'[540] JOHNSON.
'Very true, Sir; but I have always been more afraid of failing, than
hopeful of success.' And, indeed, though he had all just respect for
rank, no man ever less courted the favour of the great.
During this interview at Ashbourne, Johnson seemed to be more uniformly
social, cheerful, and alert, than I had almost ever seen him. He was
prompt on great occasions and on small. Taylor, who praised every thing
of his own to excess; in short, 'whose geese were all swans,' as the
proverb says, expatiated on the excellence of his bull-dog, which, he
told us, was 'perfectly well shaped.' Johnson, after examining the
animal attentively, thus repressed the vain-glory of our host:--'No,
Sir, he is _not_ well shaped; for there is not the quick transition from
the thickness of the fore-part, to the _tenuity_--the thin part--
behind,--which a bull-dog ought to have.' This _tenuity_ was the only
_hard word_ that I heard him use during this interview, and it will be
observed, he instantly put another expression in its place. Taylor said,
a small bull-dog was as good as a large one. JOHNSON, 'No, Sir; for, in
proportion to his size, he has strength: and your argument would prove,
that a good bull-dog may be as small as a mouse.' It was amazing how he
entered with perspicuity and keenness upon every thing that occurred in
conversation. Most men, whom I know, would no more think of discussing a
question about a bull-dog, than of attacking a bull.
I cannot allow any fragment whatever that floats in my memory concerning
the great subject of this work to be lost. Though a small particular may
appear trifling to some, it will be relished by others; while every
little spark adds something to the general blaze: and to please the
true, candid, warm admirers of Johnson, and in any degree increase the
splendour of his reputation, I bid defiance to the shafts of ridicule,
or even of malignity. Showers of them have been discharged at my
_Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides_; yet it still sails unhurt along the
stream of time, and, as an attendant upon Johnson,
'Pursues the triumph, and partakes the gale[541].'
One morning after breakfast, when the sun shone bright, we walked out
together, and 'pored[542]' for some time with placid indolence upon an
artificial water-fall, which Dr. Taylor had made by building a strong
dyke of stone across the river behind the garden[543]. It was now somewhat
obstructed by branches of trees and other rubbish, which had come down
the river, and settled close to it. Johnson, partly from a desire to see
it play more freely, and partly from that inclination to activity which
will animate, at times, the most inert and sluggish mortal, took a long
pole which was lying on a bank, and pushed down several parcels of this
wreck with painful assiduity, while I stood quietly by, wondering to
behold the sage thus curiously employed, and smiling with an humorous
satisfaction each time when he carried his point. He worked till he was
quite out of breath; and having found a large dead cat so heavy that he
could not move it after several efforts, 'Come,' said he, (throwing down
the pole,) '_you_ shall take it now;' which I accordingly did, and being
a fresh man, soon made the cat tumble over the cascade. This may be
laughed at as too trifling to record; but it is a small characteristick
trait in the Flemish picture which I give of my friend, and in which,
therefore, I mark the most minute particulars. And let it be remembered,
that _Æsop at play_ is one of the instructive apologues of antiquity.
I mentioned an old gentleman of our acquaintance whose memory was
beginning to fail. JOHNSON. 'There must be a diseased mind, where there
is a failure of memory at seventy. A man's head, Sir, must be morbid, if
he fails so soon.'[544] My friend, being now himself sixty-eight, might
think thus: but I imagine, that _threescore and ten_, the Psalmist's
period of sound human life in later ages, may have a failure, though
there be no disease in the constitution.
Talking of Rochester's Poems, he said, he had given them to Mr. Steevens
to castrate for the edition of the poets, to which he was to write
Prefaces. Dr. Taylor (the only time I ever heard him say any thing
witty)[545] observed, that 'if Rochester had been castrated himself, his
exceptionable poems would not have been written.'[546] I asked if Burnet
had not given a good Life of Rochester. JOHNSON. 'We have a good
_Death_: there is not much _Life_[547].'
I asked whether Prior's Poems were to be printed entire: Johnson said
they were. I mentioned Lord Hailes's censure of Prior, in his Preface to
a collection of _Sacred Poems_, by various hands, published by him at
Edinburgh a great many years ago, where he mentions, 'those impure tales
which will be the eternal opprobrium of their ingenious authour.'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, Lord Hailes has forgot. There is nothing in Prior that
will excite to lewdness. If Lord Hailes thinks there is, he must be more
combustible than other people[548].'
I instanced the tale of _Paulo Purganti and his Wife_. JOHNSON. 'Sir,
there is nothing there, but that his wife wanted to be kissed when poor
Paulo was out of pocket. No, Sir, Prior is a lady's book. No lady is
ashamed to have it standing in her library.'
The hypochondriack disorder being mentioned, Dr. Johnson did not think
it so common as I supposed. 'Dr. Taylor (said he) is the same one day as
another. Burke and Reynolds are the same; Beauclerk, except when in
pain, is the same. I am not so myself; but this I do not mention
commonly[549].'
I complained of a wretched changefulness, so that I could not preserve,
for any long continuance, the same views of any thing. It was most
comfortable to me to experience, in Dr. Johnson's company, a relief from
this uneasiness. His steady vigorous mind held firm before me those
objects which my own feeble and tremulous imagination frequently
presented, in such a wavering state, that my reason could not judge well
of them.
Dr. Johnson advised me to-day, to have as many books about me as I
could; that I might read upon any subject upon which I had a desire for
instruction at the time. 'What you read _then_ (said he) you will
remember; but if you have not a book immediately ready, and the subject
moulds in your mind, it is a chance if you again have a desire to study
it.' He added, 'If a man never has an eager desire for instruction, he
should prescribe a task for himself. But it is better when a man reads
from immediate inclination[550].'
He repeated a good many lines of Horace's _Odes_, while we were in the
chaise. I remember particularly the Ode _Eheu fugaces_[551].
He said, the dispute as to the comparative excellence of Homer or
Virgil[552] was inaccurate. 'We must consider (said he) whether Homer was
not the greatest poet, though Virgil may have produced the finest poem.
Virgil was indebted to Homer for the whole invention of the structure of
an epick poem, and for many of his beauties.'
He told me that Bacon was a favourite authour with him[553]; but he had
never read his works till he was compiling the _English Dictionary_, in
which, he said, I might see Bacon very often quoted. Mr. Seward
recollects his having mentioned, that a Dictionary of the English
Language might be compiled from Bacon's writings alone[554], and that he
had once an intention of giving an edition of Bacon, at least of his
English works, and writing the Life of that great man. Had he executed
this intention, there can be no doubt that he would have done it in a
most masterly manner. Mallet's _Life of Bacon_ has no inconsiderable
merit as an acute and elegant dissertation relative to its subject; but
Mallet's mind was not comprehensive enough to embrace the vast extent of
Lord Verulam's genius and research. Dr. Warburton therefore observed,
with witty justness, 'that Mallet, in his _Life of Bacon_, had forgotten
that he was a philosopher; and if he should write the Life of the Duke
of Marlborough, which he had undertaken to do, he would probably forget
that he was a general[555].'
Wishing to be satisfied what degree of truth there was in a story which
a friend of Johnson's and mine had told me to his disadvantage, I
mentioned it to him in direct terms; and it was to this effect: that a
gentleman[556] who had lived in great intimacy with him, shewn him much
kindness, and even relieved him from a spunging-house, having afterwards
fallen into bad circumstances, was one day, when Johnson was at dinner
with him, seized for debt, and carried to prison; that Johnson sat still
undisturbed, and went on eating and drinking; upon which the gentleman's
sister, who was present, could not suppress her indignation: 'What, Sir,
(said she,) are you so unfeeling, as not even to offer to go to my
brother in his distress; you who have been so much obliged to him?' And
that Johnson answered, 'Madam, I owe him no obligation; what he did for
me he would have done for a dog.'
Johnson assured me, that the story was absolutely false: but like a man
conscious of being in the right, and desirous of completely vindicating
himself from such a charge, he did not arrogantly rest on a mere denial,
and on his general character, but proceeded thus:--'Sir, I was very
intimate with that gentleman, and was once relieved by him from an
arrest; but I never was present when he was arrested, never knew that he
was arrested, and I believe he never was in difficulties after the time
when he relieved me. I loved him much; yet, in talking of his general
character, I may have said, though I do not remember that I ever did say
so, that as his generosity proceeded from no principle, but was a part
of his profusion, he would do for a dog what he would do for a friend:
but I never applied this remark to any particular instance, and
certainly not to his kindness to me. If a profuse man, who does not
value his money, and gives a large sum to a whore, gives half as much,
or an equally large sum to relieve a friend, it cannot be esteemed as
virtue. This was all that I could say of that gentleman; and, if said at
all, it must have been said after his death. Sir, I would have gone to
the world's end to relieve him. The remark about the dog, if made by me,
was such a sally as might escape one when painting a man highly.'
On Tuesday, September 23, Johnson was remarkably cordial to me. It being
necessary for me to return to Scotland soon, I had fixed on the next day
for my setting out, and I felt a tender concern at the thought of
parting with him. He had, at this time, frankly communicated to me many
particulars, which are inserted in this work in their proper places; and
once, when I happened to mention that the expence of my jaunt would come
to much more than I had computed, he said, 'Why, Sir, if the expence
were to be an inconvenience, you would have reason to regret it: but, if
you have had the money to spend, I know not that you could have
purchased as much pleasure with it in any other way.'
During this interview at Ashbourne, Johnson and I frequently talked with
wonderful pleasure of mere trifles which had occurred in our tour to the
Hebrides; for it had left a most agreeable and lasting impression upon
his mind.
He found fault with me for using the phrase to _make_ money. 'Don't you
see (said he) the impropriety of it? To _make_ money is to _coin_ it:
you should say _get_ money.' The phrase, however, is, I think, pretty
current[557]. But Johnson was at all times jealous of infractions upon the
genuine English language, and prompt to repress colloquial barbarisms;
such as, _pledging myself_, for _undertaking_; _line_, for _department_,
or _branch_, as, the _civil line_, the _banking line_. He was
particularly indignant against the almost universal use of the word
_idea_ in the sense of _notion_ or _opinion_, when it is clear that
_idea_ can only signify something of which an image can be formed in the
mind[558]. We may have an _idea_ or _image_ of a mountain, a tree, a
building; but we cannot surely have an _idea_ or _image_ of an
_argument_ or _proposition_. Yet we hear the sages of the law
'delivering their _ideas_ upon the question under consideration;' and
the first speakers in parliament 'entirely coinciding in the _idea_
which has been ably stated by an honourable member;'--or 'reprobating an
_idea_ unconstitutional, and fraught with the most dangerous
consequences to a great and free country.' Johnson called this 'modern
cant[559].'
I perceived that he pronounced the word _heard_, as if spelt with a
double _e, heerd_, instead of sounding it _herd_, as is most usually
done. He said, his reason was, that if it was pronounced _herd_, there
would be a single exception from the English pronunciation of the
syllable _ear_, and he thought it better not to have that exception.
He praised Grainger's _Ode on Solitude_, in Dodsley's _Collection_, and
repeated, with great energy, the exordium:--
'O Solitude, romantick maid,
Whether by nodding towers you tread;
Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb;
Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide;
Or, starting from your half-year's sleep,
From Hecla view the thawing deep;
Or, at the purple dawn of day,
Tadnor's marble waste survey[560]';
observing, 'This, Sir, is very noble.'
In the evening our gentleman-farmer, and two others, entertained
themselves and the company with a great number of tunes on the fiddle.
Johnson desired to have 'Let ambition fire thy mind[561],' played over
again, and appeared to give a patient attention to it; though he owned
to me that he was very insensible to the power of musick[562]. I told him,
that it affected me to such a degree, as often to agitate my nerves
painfully, producing in my mind alternate sensations of pathetick
dejection, so that I was ready to shed tears; and of daring resolution,
so that I was inclined to rush into the thickest part of the battle.
'Sir, (said he,) I should never hear it, if it made me such a fool.'
Much of the effect of musick, I am satisfied, is owing to the
association of ideas. That air, which instantly and irresistibly excites
in the Swiss, when in a foreign land, the _maladie du pais_, has, I am
told, no intrinsick power of sound. And I know from my own experience,
that Scotch reels, though brisk, make me melancholy, because I used to
hear them in my early years, at a time when Mr. Pitt called for soldiers
'from the mountains of the north,' and numbers of brave Highlanders were
going abroad, never to return[563]. Whereas the airs in _The Beggar's
Opera_, many of which are very soft, never fail to render me gay,
because they are associated with the warm sensations and high spirits of
London. This evening, while some of the tunes of ordinary composition
were played with no great skill, my frame was agitated, and I was
conscious of a generous attachment to Dr. Johnson, as my preceptor and
friend, mixed with an affectionate regret that he was an old man, whom I
should probably lose in a short time. I thought I could defend him at
the point of my sword. My reverence and affection for him were in full
glow. I said to him, 'My dear Sir, we must meet every year, if you don't
quarrel with me.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, you are more likely to quarrel
with me, than I with you. My regard for you is greater almost than I
have words to express; but I do not choose to be always repeating it;
write it down in the first leaf of your pocket-book, and never doubt of
it again.'
I talked to him of misery being 'the doom of man' in this life, as
displayed in his _Vanity of Human Wishes_[564]'. Yet I observed that
things were done upon the supposition of happiness; grand houses were
built, fine gardens were made, splendid places of publick amusement were
contrived, and crowded with company. JOHNSON. 'Alas, Sir, these are all
only struggles for happiness. When I first entered Ranelagh[565], it gave
an expansion and gay sensation to my mind, such as I never experienced
any where else. But, as Xerxes wept when he viewed his immense army, and
considered that not one of that great multitude would be alive a hundred
years afterwards, so it went to my heart to consider that there was not
one in all that brilliant circle, that was not afraid to go home and
think; but that the thoughts of each individual there, would be
distressing when alone.' This reflection was experimentally just. The
feeling of languor[566], which succeeds the animation of gaiety, is itself
a very severe pain; and when the mind is then vacant, a thousand
disappointments and vexations rush in and excruciate. Will not many even
of my fairest readers allow this to be true?
I suggested, that being in love, and flattered with hopes of success; or
having some favourite scheme in view for the next day, might prevent
that wretchedness of which we had been talking. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it
may sometimes be so as you suppose; but my conclusion is in general but
too true.'
While Johnson and I stood in calm conference by ourselves in Dr.
Taylor's garden, at a pretty late hour in a serene autumn night, looking
up to the heavens, I directed the discourse to the subject of a future
state. My friend was in a placid and most benignant frame. 'Sir, (said
he,) I do not imagine that all things will be made clear to us
immediately after death, but that the ways of Providence will be
explained to us very gradually.' I ventured to ask him whether, although
the words of some texts of Scripture seemed strong in support of the
dreadful doctrine of an eternity of punishment, we might not hope that
the denunciation was figurative, and would not literally be executed.
JOHNSON. 'Sir, you are to consider the intention of punishment in a
future state. We have no reason to be sure that we shall then be no
longer liable to offend against GOD. We do not know that even the angels
are quite in a state of security; nay we know that some of them have
fallen. It may, therefore, perhaps be necessary, in order to preserve
both men and angels in a state of rectitude, that they should have
continually before them the punishment of those who have deviated from
it; but we may hope that by some other means a fall from rectitude may
be prevented. Some of the texts of Scripture upon this subject are, as
you observe, indeed strong; but they may admit of a mitigated
interpretation.' He talked to me upon this awful and delicate question
in a gentle tone, and as if afraid to be decisive[567].
After supper I accompanied him to his apartment, and at my request he
dictated to me an argument in favour of the negro who was then claiming
his liberty, in an action in the Court of Session in Scotland[568]. He had
always been very zealous against slavery in every form, in which I, with
all deference, thought that he discovered 'a zeal without knowledge[569].'
Upon one occasion, when in company with some very grave men at Oxford,
his toast was, 'Here's to the next insurrection of the negroes in the
West Indies[570].' His violent prejudice against our West Indian and
American settlers appeared whenever there was an opportunity[571]. Towards
the conclusion of his _Taxation no Tyranny_, he says, 'how is it that we
hear the loudest _yelps_ for liberty among the drivers of negroes[572]?'
and in his conversation with Mr. Wilkes, he asked, 'Where did Beckford
and Trecothick learn English[573]?' That Trecothick could both speak and
write good English is well known. I myself was favoured with his
correspondence concerning the brave Corsicans. And that Beckford could
speak it with a spirit of honest resolution even to his Majesty, as his
'faithful Lord-Mayor of London,' is commemorated by the noble monument
erected to him in Guildhall[574].'