I read him a letter from Dr. Hugh Blair concerning Pope, (in writing
whose life he was now employed,) which I shall insert as a literary
curiosity[1219].
'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'In the year 1763, being at London, I was carried by Dr. John Blair,
Prebendary of Westminster, to dine at old Lord Bathurst's; where we
found the late Mr. Mallet, Sir James Porter, who had been Ambassadour at
Constantinople, the late Dr. Macaulay, and two or three more. The
conversation turning on Mr. Pope, Lord Bathurst told us, that _The Essay
on Man_ was originally composed by Lord Bolingbroke in prose, and that
Mr. Pope did no more than put it into verse: that he had read Lord
Bolingbroke's manuscript in his own hand-writing; and remembered well,
that he was at a loss whether most to admire the elegance of Lord
Bolingbroke's prose, or the beauty of Mr. Pope's verse. When Lord
Bathurst told this, Mr. Mallet bade me attend, and remember this
remarkable piece of information; as, by the course of Nature, I might
survive his Lordship, and be a witness of his having said so. The
conversation was indeed too remarkable to be forgotten. A few days
after, meeting with you, who were then also in London, you will remember
that I mentioned to you what had passed on this subject, as I was much
struck with this anecdote. But what ascertains[1220] my recollection of
it beyond doubt, is that being accustomed to keep a journal of what
passed when I was in London, which I wrote out every evening, I find the
particulars of the above information, just as I have now given them,
distinctly marked; and am thence enabled to fix this conversation to
have passed on Friday, the 22d of April, 1763.
'I remember also distinctly, (though I have not for this the authority
of my journal,) that the conversation going on concerning Mr. Pope, I
took notice of a report which had been sometimes propagated that he did
not understand Greek[1221]. Lord Bathurst said to me, that he knew that
to be false; for that part of the _Iliad_ was translated by Mr. Pope in
his house in the country; and that in the mornings when they assembled
at breakfast, Mr. Pope used frequently to repeat, with great rapture,
the Greek lines which he had been translating, and then to give them his
version of them, and to compare them together.
'If these circumstances can be of any use to Dr. Johnson, you have my
full liberty to give them to him. I beg you will, at the same time,
present to him my most respectful compliments, with best wishes for his
success and fame in all his literary undertakings. I am, with great
respect, my dearest Sir,
'Your most affectionate,
'And obliged humble servant,
'HUGH BLAIR.'
'Broughton Park,
'Sept. 21, 1779.'
JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it, Sir, this is too strongly stated. Pope may
have had from Bolingbroke the philosophick _stamina_ of his Essay; and
admitting this to be true, Lord Bathurst did not intentionally falsify.
But the thing is not true in the latitude that Blair seems to imagine;
we are sure that the poetical imagery, which makes a great part of the
poem, was Pope's own[1222]. It is amazing, Sir, what deviations there
are from precise truth, in the account which is given of almost every
thing[1223]. I told Mrs. Thrale, "You have so little anxiety about truth,
that you never tax your memory with the exact thing[1224]." Now what is
the use of the memory to truth, if one is careless of exactness? Lord
Hailes's _Annals of Scotland_ are very exact; but they contain mere dry
particulars[1225]. They are to be considered as a Dictionary. You know
such things are there; and may be looked at when you please. Robertson
paints; but the misfortune is, you are sure he does not know the people
whom he paints; so you cannot suppose a likeness[1226]. Characters
should never be given by an historian, unless he knew the people whom
he describes, or copies from those who knew them[1227].'
BOSWELL. 'Why, Sir, do people play this trick which I observe now, when
I look at your grate, putting the shovel against it to make the fire
burn?' JOHNSON. 'They play the trick, but it does not make the fire
burn. _There_ is a better; (setting the poker perpendicularly up at
right angles with the grate.) In days of superstition they thought, as
it made a cross with the bars, it would drive away the witch.'
BOSWELL. 'By associating with you, Sir, I am always getting an accession
of wisdom. But perhaps a man, after knowing his own character--the
limited strength of his own mind, should not be desirous of having too
much wisdom, considering, _quid valeant humeri_[1228], how little he can
carry[1229].' JOHNSON. 'Sir, be as wise as you can; let a man be _aliis
laetus, sapiens sibi_:
"Though pleas'd to see the dolphins play,
I mind my compass and my way[1230]."
You may be wise in your study in the morning, and gay in company at a
tavern in the evening. Every man is to take care of his own wisdom and
his own virtue, without minding too much what others think.'
He said, 'Dodsley first mentioned to me the scheme of an English
Dictionary[1231]; but I had long thought of it.' BOSWELL. 'You did not
know what you were undertaking.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, I knew very well
what I was undertaking,--and very well how to do it,--and have done it
very well[1232].' BOSWELL. 'An excellent climax! and it _has_ availed
you. In your Preface you say, "What would it avail me in this gloom of
solitude[1233]?" You have been agreeably mistaken.'
In his _Life of Milton_[1234] he observes, 'I cannot but remark a kind
of respect, perhaps unconsciously, paid to this great man by his
biographers: every house in which he resided is historically mentioned,
as if it were an injury to neglect naming any place that he honoured by
his presence.' I had, before I read this observation, been desirous of
shewing that respect to Johnson, by various inquiries. Finding him this
evening in a very good humour, I prevailed on him to give me an exact
list of his places of residence, since he entered the metropolis as an
authour, which I subjoin in a note[1235].
I mentioned to him a dispute between a friend of mine and his lady,
concerning conjugal infidelity, which my friend had maintained was by no
means so bad in the husband, as in the wife. JOHNSON. 'Your friend was
in the right, Sir. Between a man and his Maker it is a different
question: but between a man and his wife, a husband's infidelity is
nothing. They are connected by children, by fortune, by serious
considerations of community. Wise married women don't trouble themselves
about the infidelity in their husbands.' BOSWELL. 'To be sure there is a
great difference between the offence of infidelity in a man and that of
his wife.' JOHNSON. 'The difference is boundless. The man imposes no
bastards upon his wife[1236].'
Here it may be questioned whether Johnson was entirely in the right. I
suppose it will not be controverted that the difference in the degree of
criminality is very great, on account of consequences: but still it may
be maintained, that, independent of moral obligation, infidelity is by
no means a light offence in a husband; because it must hurt a delicate
attachment, in which a mutual constancy is implied, with such refined
sentiments as Massinger has exhibited in his play of _The
Picture_.--Johnson probably at another time would have admitted this
opinion. And let it be kept in remembrance, that he was very careful not
to give any encouragement to irregular conduct. A gentleman[1237], not
adverting to the distinction made by him upon this subject, supposed a
case of singular perverseness in a wife, and heedlessly said, 'That then
he thought a husband might do as he pleased with a safe conscience.'
JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, this is wild indeed (smiling) you must consider that
fornication is a crime[1238] in a single man; and you cannot have more
liberty by being married.'
He this evening expressed himself strongly against the Roman Catholics;
observing, 'In every thing in which they differ from us they are wrong.'
He was even against the invocation of saints[1239]; in short, he was in
the humour of opposition.
Having regretted to him that I had learnt little Greek, as is too
generally the case in Scotland; that I had for a long time hardly
applied at all to the study of that noble language, and that I was
desirous of being told by him what method to follow; he recommended to
me as easy helps, Sylvanus's _First Book of the Iliad_; Dawson's
_Lexicon to the Greek New Testament_; and _Hesiod_, with _Pasoris
Lexicon_ at the end of it.
On Tuesday, October 13, I dined with him at Mr. Ramsay's, with Lord
Newhaven[1240], and some other company, none of whom I recollect, but a
beautiful Miss Graham[1241], a relation of his Lordship's, who asked Dr.
Johnson to hob or nob with her. He was flattered by such pleasing
attention, and politely told her, he never drank wine; but if she would
drink a glass of water, he was much at her service. She accepted. 'Oho,
Sir! (said Lord Newhaven) you are caught.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, I do not see
_how_ I am _caught_; but if I am caught, I don't want to get free again.
If I am caught, I hope to be kept.' Then when the two glasses of water
were brought, smiling placidly to the young lady, he said, 'Madam, let
us _reciprocate_.'
Lord Newhaven and Johnson carried on an argument for some time,
concerning the Middlesex election[1242]. Johnson said, 'Parliament may
be considered as bound by law as a man is bound where there is nobody to
tie the knot. As it is clear that the House of Commons may expel, and
expel again and again, why not allow of the power to incapacitate for
that parliament, rather than have a perpetual contest kept up between
parliament and the people.' Lord Newhaven took the opposite side; but
respectfully said, 'I speak with great deference to you, Dr. Johnson; I
speak to be instructed.' This had its full effect on my friend. He bowed
his head almost as low as the table, to a complimenting nobleman; and
called out, 'My Lord, my Lord, I do not desire all this ceremony; let us
tell our minds to one another quietly.' After the debate was over, he
said, 'I have got lights on the subject to-day, which I had not before.'
This was a great deal from him, especially as he had written a pamphlet
upon it[1243].
He observed, 'The House of Commons was originally not a privilege of the
people, but a check for the Crown on the House of Lords. I remember
Henry the Eighth wanted them to do something; they hesitated in the
morning, but did it in the afternoon. He told them, "It is well you did;
or half your heads should have been upon Temple-bar[1244]." But the House
of Commons is now no longer under the power of the crown, and therefore
must be bribed.' He added, 'I have no delight in talking of publick
affairs[1245].'
Of his fellow-collegian,[1246] the celebrated Mr. George Whitefield, he
said, 'Whitefield never drew as much attention as a mountebank does; he
did not draw attention by doing better than others, but by doing what
was strange.[1247] Were Astley[1248] to preach a sermon standing upon
his head on a horse's back, he would collect a multitude to hear him;
but no wise man would say he had made a better sermon for that. I never
treated Whitefield's ministry with contempt; I believe he did good. He
had devoted himself to the lower classes of mankind, and among them he
was of use.[1249] But when familiarity and noise claim the praise due to
knowledge, art, and elegance, we must beat down such pretensions.'
What I have preserved of his conversation during the remainder of my
stay in London at this time, is only what follows: I told him that when
I objected to keeping company with a notorious infidel,[1250] a
celebrated friend[1251] of ours said to me, 'I do not think that men who
live laxly in the world, as you and I do, can with propriety assume such
an authority. Dr. Johnson may, who is uniformly exemplary in his conduct.
But it is not very consistent to shun an infidel to-day, and get drunk
to-morrow.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, this is sad reasoning. Because a man
cannot be right in all things, is he to be right in nothing? Because a
man sometimes gets drunk, is he therefore to steal? This doctrine would
very soon bring a man to the gallows.'
After all, however, it is a difficult question how far sincere
Christians should associate with the avowed enemies of religion; for in
the first place, almost every man's mind may be more or less 'corrupted
by evil communications;'[1252] secondly, the world may very naturally
suppose that they are not really in earnest in religion, who can easily
bear its opponents; and thirdly, if the profane find themselves quite
well received by the pious, one of the checks upon an open declaration
of their infidelity, and one of the probable chances of obliging them
seriously to reflect, which their being shunned would do, is removed.
He, I know not why, shewed upon all occasions an aversion to go to
Ireland, where I proposed to him that we should make a tour. JOHNSON.
'It is the last place where I should wish to travel.' BOSWELL. 'Should
you not like to see Dublin, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir? Dublin is only a
worse capital.' BOSWELL. 'Is not the Giant's-Causeway worth seeing?'
JOHNSON. 'Worth seeing? yes; but not worth going to see.'
Yet he had a kindness for the Irish nation, and thus generously
expressed himself to a gentleman from that country, on the subject of an
UNION which artful Politicians have often had in view--'Do not make an
union with us, Sir. We should unite with you, only to rob you. We should
have robbed the Scotch, if they had had any thing of which we could have
robbed them[1253].'
Of an acquaintance of ours, whose manners and every thing about him,
though expensive, were coarse, he said, 'Sir, you see in him vulgar
prosperity.'
A foreign minister of no very high talents, who had been in his company
for a considerable time quite overlooked, happened luckily to mention
that he had read some of his _Rambler_ in Italian, and admired it much.
This pleased him greatly; he observed that the title had been
translated, _Il Genio errante_, though I have been told it was rendered
more ludicrously, _Il Vagabondo_;[1254] and finding that this minister
gave such a proof of his taste, he was all attention to him, and on the
first remark which he made, however simple, exclaimed, 'The Ambassadour
says well--His Excellency observes--.' And then he expanded and enriched
the little that had been said, in so strong a manner, that it appeared
something of consequence.[1255] This was exceedingly entertaining to the
company who were present, and many a time afterwards it furnished a
pleasant topick of merriment: '_The Ambassadeur says well_,' became a
laughable term of applause, when no mighty matter had been expressed.
I left London on Monday, October 18, and accompanied Colonel Stuart to
Chester, where his regiment was to lye for some time.
'Mr. Boswell to Dr. Johnson.
'Chester, October 22, 1779.
'My Dear Sir,
'It was not till one o'clock on Monday morning, that Colonel Stuart and
I left London; for we chose to bid a cordial adieu to Lord Mountstuart,
who was to set out on that day on his embassy to Turin. We drove on
excellently, and reached Lichfield in good time enough that night. The
Colonel had heard so preferable a character of the George, that he would
not put up at the Three Crowns, so that I did not see our host
Wilkins.[1256] We found at the George as good accommodation as we could
wish to have, and I fully enjoyed the comfortable thought that _I was in
Lichfield again_. Next morning it rained very hard; and as I had much to
do in a little time, I ordered a post-chaise, and between eight and nine
sallied forth to make a round of visits. I first went to Mr. Green,
hoping to have had him to accompany me to all my other friends, but he
was engaged to attend the Bishop of Sodor and Man, who was then lying at
Lichfield very ill of the gout. Having taken a hasty glance at the
additions to Green's museum,[1257] from which it was not easy to break
away, I next went to the Friery,[1258] where I at first occasioned some
tumult in the ladies, who were not prepared to receive _company_ so
early: but my _name_, which has by wonderful felicity come to be closely
associated with yours, soon made all easy; and Mrs. Cobb and Miss Adye
re-assumed their seats at the breakfast-table, which they had quitted
with some precipitation. They received me with the kindness of an old
acquaintance; and after we had joined in a cordial chorus to _your_
praise, Mrs. Cobb gave _me_ the high satisfaction of hearing that you
said, "Boswell is a man who I believe never left a house without leaving
a wish for his return." And she afterwards added, that she bid you tell
me, that if ever I came to Lichfield, she hoped I would take a bed at
the Friery. From thence I drove to Peter Garrick's, where I also found a
very flattering welcome. He appeared to me to enjoy his usual
chearfulness; and he very kindly asked me to come when I could, and pass
a week with him. From Mr. Garrick's, I went to the Palace to wait on Mr.
Seward.[1259] I was first entertained by his lady and daughter, he himself
being in bed with a cold, according to his valetudinary custom. But he
desired to see me; and I found him drest in his black gown, with a white
flannel night-gown above it; so that he looked like a Dominican friar.
He was good-humoured and polite; and under his roof too my reception was
very pleasing. I then proceeded to Stow-hill, and first paid my respects
to Mrs. Gastrell,[1260] whose conversation I was not willing to quit. But
my sand-glass was now beginning to run low, as I could not trespass too
long on the Colonel's kindness, who obligingly waited for me; so I
hastened to Mrs. Aston's,[1261] whom I found much better than I feared I
should; and there I met a brother-in-law of these ladies, who talked
much of you, and very well too, as it appeared to me. It then only
remained to visit Mrs. Lucy Porter, which I did, I really believe, with
sincere satisfaction on both sides. I am sure I was glad to see her
again; and, as I take her to be very honest, I trust she was glad to see
me again; for she expressed herself so, that I could not doubt of her
being in earnest. What a great key-stone of kindness, my dear Sir, were
you that morning! for we were all held together by our common attachment
to you. I cannot say that I ever passed two hours with more
self-complacency than I did those two at Lichfield. Let me not entertain
any suspicion that this is idle vanity. Will not you confirm me in my
persuasion, that he who finds himself so regarded has just reason to be
happy?
'We got to Chester about midnight on Tuesday; and here again I am in a
state of much enjoyment. Colonel Stuart and his officers treat me with
all the civility I could wish; and I play my part admirably. _Laetus
aliis, sapiens sibi_,[1262] the classical sentence which you, I imagine,
invented the other day, is exemplified in my present existence. The
Bishop[1263], to whom I had the honour to be known several years ago,
shews me much attention; and I am edified by his conversation. I must
not omit to tell you, that his Lordship admires, very highly, your
_Prefaces to the Poets_. I am daily obtaining an extension of agreeable
acquaintance, so that I am kept in animated variety; and the study of
the place itself, by the assistance of books, and of the Bishop, is
sufficient occupation. Chester pleases my fancy more than any town I
ever saw. But I will not enter upon it at all in this letter.
'How long I shall stay here I cannot yet say. I told a very pleasing
young lady[1264], niece to one of the Prebendaries, at whose house I saw
her, "I have come to Chester, Madam, I cannot tell how; and far less can
I tell how I am to get away from it." Do not think me too juvenile. I
beg it of you, my dear Sir, to favour me with a letter while I am here,
and add to the happiness of a happy friend, who is ever, with
affectionate veneration,
'Most sincerely yours,
'James Boswell.'[1265]
'If you do not write directly, so as to catch me here, I shall be
disappointed. Two lines from you will keep my lamp burning bright.'
'To James Boswell, Esq.
'Dear Sir,
'Why should you importune me so earnestly to write? Of what importance
can it be to hear of distant friends, to a man who finds himself welcome
wherever he goes, and makes new friends faster than he can want them? If
to the delight of such universal kindness of reception, any thing can be
added by knowing that you retain my good-will, you may indulge yourself
in the full enjoyment of that small addition.
'I am glad that you made the round of Lichfield with so much success:
the oftener you are seen, the more you will be liked. It was pleasing to
me to read that Mrs. Aston was so well, and that Lucy Porter was so glad
to see you.
'In the place where you now are, there is much to be observed; and you
will easily procure yourself skilful directors. But what will you do to
keep away the _black dog_[1266] that worries you at home? If you would,
in compliance with your father's advice, enquire into the old tenures
and old charters of Scotland, you would certainly open to yourself many
striking scenes of the manners of the middle ages.[1267] The feudal
system, in a country half-barbarous, is naturally productive of great
anomalies in civil life. The knowledge of past times is naturally
growing less in all cases not of publick record; and the past time of
Scotland is so unlike the present, that it is already difficult for a
Scotchman to image the oeconomy of his grandfather. Do not be tardy nor
negligent; but gather up eagerly what can yet be found.[1268]
'We have, I think, once talked of another project, a _History of the
late insurrection in Scotland_, with all its incidents.[1269] Many
falsehoods are passing into uncontradicted history. Voltaire, who loved
a striking story, has told what he[1270] could not find to be true.
[1271]
'You may make collections for either of these projects, or for both, as
opportunities occur, and digest your materials at leisure. The great
direction which Burton has left to men disordered like you, is this, _Be
not solitary; be not idle_[1272]: which I would thus modify;--If you are
idle, be not solitary; if you are solitary, be not idle.
'There is a letter for you, from
'Your humble servant,
'Sam. Johnson[1273].'
'London, October 27, 1779.'
'To Dr. Samuel Johnson.
'Carlisle, Nov. 7, 1779.
'My dear Sir,
'That I should importune you to write to me at Chester, is not
wonderful, when you consider what an avidity I have for delight; and
that the _amor_ of pleasure, like the _amor nummi_[1274], increases in
proportion with the quantity which we possess of it. Your letter, so
full of polite kindness and masterly counsel, came like a large treasure
upon me, while already glittering with riches. I was quite enchanted at
Chester, so that I could with difficulty quit it. But the enchantment
was the reverse of that of Circé; for so far was there from being any
thing sensual in it, that I was _all mind_. I do not mean all reason
only; for my fancy was kept finely in play. And why not?--If you please
I will send you a copy, or an abridgement of my Chester journal, which
is truly a log-book of felicity.
'The Bishop treated me with a kindness which was very flattering. I told
him, that you regretted you had seen so little of Chester.[1275] His
Lordship bade me tell you, that he should be glad to shew you more of
it. I am proud to find the friendship with which you honour me is known
in so many places.
'I arrived here late last night. Our friend the Dean[1276] has been gone
from hence some months; but I am told at my inn, that he is very
_populous_ (popular). However, I found Mr. Law, the Archdeacon, son to
the Bishop[1277], and with him I have breakfasted and dined very agreeably.
I got acquainted with him at the assizes here, about a year and a half
ago; he is a man of great variety of knowledge, uncommon genius, and I
believe, sincere religion. I received the holy sacrament in the
Cathedral in the morning, this being the first Sunday in the month; and
was at prayers there in the evening. It is divinely cheering to me to
think that there is a Cathedral so near Auchinleck; and I now leave Old
England in such a state of mind as I am thankful to GOD for granting me.
'The _black dog_ that worries me at home I cannot but dread; yet as I
have been for some time past in a military train, I trust I shall
_repulse_ him. To hear from you will animate me like the sound of a
trumpet, I therefore hope, that soon after my return to the northern
field, I shall receive a few lines from you.
'Colonel Stuart did me the honour to escort me in his carriage to shew
me Liverpool, and from thence back again to Warrington, where we
parted[1278]. In justice to my valuable wife, I must inform you she wrote
to me, that as I was so happy, she would not be so selfish as to wish me
to return sooner than business absolutely required my presence. She made
my clerk write to me a post or two after to the same purpose, by
commission from her; and this day a kind letter from her met me at the
Post-Office here, acquainting me that she and the little ones were well,
and expressing all their wishes for my return home. I am, more and more,
my dear Sir,
'Your affectionate
'And obliged humble servant,
'JAMES BOSWELL.'
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'Your last letter was not only kind but fond. But I wish you to get rid
of all intellectual excesses, and neither to exalt your pleasures, nor
aggravate your vexations, beyond their real and natural state[1279].
'Why should you not be as happy at Edinburgh as at Chester? _In culpa
est animus, qui se non effugit usquam_[1280]. Please yourself with your
wife and children, and studies, and practice.
'I have sent a petition[1281] from Lucy Porter, with which I leave it to
your discretion whether it is proper to comply. Return me her letter,
which I have sent, that you may know the whole case, and not be seduced
to any thing that you may afterwards repent. Miss Doxy perhaps you know
to be Mr. Garrick's niece.
'If Dean Percy can be popular at Carlisle, he may be very happy. He has
in his disposal two livings, each equal, or almost equal in value to the
deanery; he may take one himself, and give the other to his son.
'How near is the Cathedral to Auchinleck, that you are so much delighted
with it? It is, I suppose, at least an hundred and fifty miles off[1282].
However, if you are pleased, it is so far well.
'Let me know what reception you have from your father, and the state of
his health. Please him as much as you can, and add no pain to his last
years.
'Of our friends here I can recollect nothing to tell you. I have neither
seen nor heard of Langton. Beauclerk is just returned from
Brighthelmston, I am told, much better. Mr. Thrale and his family are
still there; and his health is said to be visibly improved; he has not
bathed, but hunted[1283].
'At Bolt-court there is much malignity, but of late little open
hostility[1284]. I have had a cold, but it is gone.
'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, &c.
'I am, Sir,
'Your humble servant,
'London, Nov. 13, 1779.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
On November 22, and December 21, I wrote to him from Edinburgh, giving a
very favourable report of the family of Miss Doxy's lover;--that after a
good deal of enquiry I had discovered the sister of Mr. Francis
Stewart[1285], one of his amanuenses when writing his _Dictionary_;--that
I had, as desired by him, paid her a guinea for an old pocket-book of her
brother's which he had retained; and that the good woman, who was in
very moderate circumstances, but contented and placid, wondered at his
scrupulous and liberal honesty, and received the guinea as if sent her
by Providence[1286].--That I had repeatedly begged of him to keep his
promise to send me his letter to Lord Chesterfield, and that this
_memento_, like _Delenda est Carthago_, must be in every letter that I
should write to him, till I had obtained my object[1287].
1780: AETAT. 71.--In 1780, the world was kept in impatience for the
completion of his _Lives of the Poets_, upon which he was employed so
far as his indolence allowed him to labour[1288].
I wrote to him on January 1, and March 13, sending him my notes of Lord
Marchmont's information concerning Pope;--complaining that I had not
heard from him for almost four months, though he was two letters in my
debt;--that I had suffered again from melancholy;--hoping that he had
been in so much better company, (the Poets,) that he had not time to
think of his distant friends; for if that were the case, I should have
some recompence for my uneasiness;--that the state of my affairs did not
admit of my coming to London this year; and begging he would return me
Goldsmith's two poems, with his lines marked[1289].
His friend Dr. Lawrence having now suffered the greatest affliction to
which a man is liable, and which Johnson himself had felt in the most
severe manner; Johnson wrote to him in an admirable strain of sympathy
and pious consolation.
'To DR. LAWRENCE.
'DEAR SIR,
'At a time when all your friends ought to shew their kindness, and with
a character which ought to make all that know you your friends, you may
wonder that you have yet heard nothing from me.
'I have been hindered by a vexatious and incessant cough, for which
within these ten days I have been bled once, fasted four or five times,
taken physick five times, and opiates, I think, six. This day it seems
to remit.
'The loss, dear Sir, which you have lately suffered, I felt many years
ago, and know therefore how much has been taken from you, and how little
help can be had from consolation. He that outlives a wife whom he has
long loved, sees himself disjoined from the only mind that has the same
hopes, and fears, and interest; from the only companion with whom he has
shared much good or evil; and with whom he could set his mind at
liberty, to retrace the past or anticipate the future. The continuity of
being is lacerated[1290]; the settled course of sentiment and action is
stopped; and life stands suspended and motionless, till it is driven by
external causes into a new channel. But the time of suspense is
dreadful.
'Our first recourse in this distressed solitude, is, perhaps for want of
habitual piety, to a gloomy acquiescence in necessity. Of two mortal
beings, one must lose the other; but surely there is a higher and better
comfort to be drawn from the consideration of that Providence which
watches over all, and a belief that the living and the dead are equally
in the hands of GOD, who will reunite those whom he has separated; or
who sees that it is best not to reunite.
'I am, dear Sir,
'Your most affectionate,
'And most humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'January 20, 1780.'
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'Well, I had resolved to send you the Chesterfield letter; but I will
write once again without it. Never impose tasks upon mortals. To require
two things is the way to have them both undone.
'For the difficulties which you mention in your affairs I am sorry; but
difficulty is now very general: it is not therefore less grievous, for
there is less hope of help. I pretend not to give you advice, not
knowing the state of your affairs; and general counsels about prudence
and frugality would do you little good. You are, however, in the right
not to increase your own perplexity by a journey hither; and I hope that
by staying at home you will please your father.
'Poor dear Beauclerk[1291]--_nec, ut soles, dabis joca_[1292]. His wit
and his folly, his acuteness and maliciousness, his merriment and
reasoning, are now over. Such another will not often be found among
mankind. He directed himself to be buried by the side of his mother, an
instance of tenderness which I hardly expected[1293]. He has left his
children to the care of Lady Di, and if she dies, of Mr. Langton, and of
Mr. Leicester his relation, and a man of good character. His library has
been offered to sale to the Russian ambassador[1294].
'Dr. Percy, notwithstanding all the noise of the newspapers, has had no
literary loss[1295]. Clothes and moveables were burnt to the value of
about one hundred pounds; but his papers, and I think his books, were
all preserved.
'Poor Mr. Thrale has been in extreme danger from an apoplectical
disorder, and recovered, beyond the expectation of his physicians; he is
now at Bath, that his mind may be quiet, and Mrs. Thrale and Miss are
with him.
'Having told you what has happened to your friends, let me say something
to you of yourself. You are always complaining of melancholy, and I
conclude from those complaints that you are fond of it. No man talks of
that which he is desirous to conceal, and every man desires to conceal
that of which he is ashamed.[1296] Do not pretend to deny it; _manifestum
habemus furem_; make it an invariable and obligatory law to yourself,
never to mention your own mental diseases; if you are never to speak of
them, you will think on them but little, and if you think little of
them, they will molest you rarely. When you talk of them, it is plain
that you want either praise or pity; for praise there is no room, and
pity will do you no good; therefore, from this hour speak no more, think
no more, about them[1297].
'Your transaction with Mrs. Stewart gave me great satisfaction; I am
much obliged to you for your attention. Do not lose sight of her; your
countenance may be of great credit, and of consequence of great
advantage to her. The memory of her brother is yet fresh in my mind; he
was an ingenious and worthy man.
'Please to make my compliments to your lady, and to the young ladies. I
should like to see them, pretty loves.
'I am, dear Sir,
'Yours affectionately,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'April 8, 1780.'
Mrs. Thrale being now at Bath with her husband, the correspondence
between Johnson and her was carried on briskly. I shall present my
readers with one of her original letters to him at this time, which will
amuse them probably more than those well-written but studied epistles
which she has inserted in her collection, because it exhibits the easy
vivacity of their literary intercourse. It is also of value as a key to
Johnson's answer, which she has printed by itself, and of which I shall
subjoin extracts.
'MRS. THRALE TO DR. JOHNSON.
'I had a very kind letter from you yesterday, dear Sir, with a most
circumstantial date[1298]. You took trouble with my circulating letter,
[1299] Mr. Evans writes me word, and I thank you sincerely for so doing:
one might do mischief else not being on the spot.
'Yesterday's evening was passed at Mrs. Montagu's: there was Mr.
Melmoth;[1300] I do not like him _though_, nor he me; it was expected we
should have pleased each other; he is, however, just Tory enough to hate
the Bishop of Peterborough[1301] for Whiggism, and Whig enough to abhor
you for Toryism.
'Mrs. Montagu flattered him finely; so he had a good afternoon on't.
This evening we spend at a concert. Poor Queeney's[1302] sore eyes have
just released her; she had a long confinement, and could neither read
nor write, so my master[1303] treated her very good-naturedly with the
visits of a young woman in this town, a taylor's daughter, who professes
musick, and teaches so as to give six lessons a day to ladies, at five
and threepence a lesson. Miss Burney says she is a great performer; and
I respect the wench for getting her living so prettily; she is very
modest and pretty-mannered, and not seventeen years old.
'You live in a fine whirl indeed; if I did not write regularly you would
half forget me, and that would be very wrong, for I _felt_ my regard for
you in my _face_ last night, when the criticisms were going on.
'This morning it was all connoisseurship; we went to see some pictures
painted by a gentleman-artist, Mr. Taylor, of this place; my master
makes one, every where, and has got a good dawling[1304] companion to ride
with him now. He looks well enough, but I have no notion of health for a
man whose mouth cannot be sewed up.[1305] Burney[1306] and I and Queeney
teize him every meal he eats, and Mrs. Montagu is quite serious with him;
but what _can_ one do? He will eat, I think, and if he does eat I know he
will not live; it makes me very unhappy, but I must bear it. Let me
always have your friendship. I am, most sincerely, dear Sir,
'Your faithful servant,
'H. L. T.'
'Bath, Friday, April 28.'
'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE.
'DEAREST MADAM,
'Mr. Thrale never will live abstinently, till he can persuade himself to
live by rule[1307].
* * * * *
Encourage, as you can, the musical girl.
'Nothing is more common than mutual dislike, where mutual approbation is
particularly expected. There is often on both sides a vigilance not
over-benevolent; and as attention is strongly excited, so that nothing
drops unheeded, any difference in taste or opinion, and some difference
where there is no restraint will commonly appear, immediately generates
dislike.
'Never let criticisms operate upon your face or your mind; it is very
rarely that an authour is hurt by his criticks. The blaze of reputation
cannot be blown out, but it often dies in the socket[1308]; a very few
names may be considered as perpetual lamps that shine unconsumed. From
the authour of _Fitzosborne's Letters_ I cannot think myself in much
danger. I met him only once about thirty years ago, and in some small
dispute reduced him to whistle; having not seen him since, that is the
last impression. Poor Moore, the fabulist[1309], was one of the company.
'Mrs. Montagu's long stay, against her own inclination, is very
convenient. You would, by your own confession, want a companion; and she
is _par pluribus_; conversing with her you may _find variety in
one_[1310].'
'London, May 1, 1780.'
On the and of May I wrote to him, and requested that we might have
another meeting somewhere in the North of England, in the autumn of this
year.
From Mr. Langton I received soon after this time a letter, of which I
extract a passage, relative both to Mr. Beauclerk and Dr. Johnson.
'The melancholy information you have received concerning Mr. Beauclerk's
death is true. Had his talents been directed in any sufficient degree as
they ought, I have always been strongly of opinion that they were
calculated to make an illustrious figure; and that opinion, as it had
been in part formed upon Dr. Johnson's judgment, receives more and more
confirmation by hearing what, since his death, Dr. Johnson has said
concerning them; a few evenings ago, he was at Mr. Vesey's[1311], where
Lord Althorpe[1312], who was one of a numerous company there, addressed
Dr. Johnson on the subject of Mr. Beauclerk's death, saying, "Our CLUB
has had a great loss since we met last." He replied, "A loss, that
perhaps the whole nation could not repair!" The Doctor then went on to
speak of his endowments, and particularly extolled the wonderful ease
with which he uttered what was highly excellent. He said, that "no man
ever was so free when he was going to say a good thing, from a _look_
that expressed that it was coming; or, when he had said it, from a look
that expressed that it had come." At Mr. Thrale's, some days before when
we were talking on the same subject, he said, referring to the same idea
of his wonderful facility, "That Beauclerk's talents were those which he
had felt himself more disposed to envy, than those of any whom he had
known[1313]."
'On the evening I have spoken of above, at Mr. Vesey's, you would have
been much gratified, as it exhibited an instance of the high importance
in which Dr. Johnson's character is held, I think even beyond any I ever
before was witness to. The company consisted chiefly of ladies, among
whom were the Duchess Dowager of Portland[1314], the Duchess of Beaufort,
whom I suppose from her rank I must name before her mother Mrs.
Boscawen, and her elder sister Mrs. Lewson, who was likewise there; Lady
Lucan[1315], Lady Clermont, and others of note both for their station
and understandings. Among the gentlemen were Lord Althorpe, whom I have
before named, Lord Macartney, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Lord Lucan, Mr.
Wraxal[1316], whose book you have probably seen, _The Tour to the
Northern Parts of Europe_; a very agreeable ingenious man; Dr. Warren,
Mr. Pepys, the Master in Chancery, whom I believe you know, and Dr.
Barnard, the Provost of Eton[1317]. As soon as Dr. Johnson was come in
and had taken a chair[1318], the company began to collect round him,
till they became not less than four, if not five, deep; those behind
standing, and listening over the heads of those that were sitting near
him[1319]. The conversation for some time was chiefly between Dr.
Johnson and the Provost of Eton, while the others contributed
occasionally their remarks. Without attempting to detail the particulars
of the conversation, which perhaps if I did, I should spin my account
out to a tedious length, I thought, my dear Sir, this general account of
the respect with which our valued friend was attended to, might be
acceptable[1320].'
'To THE REVEREND DR. FARMER.
'May 25, 1780.
Sir,
'I know your disposition to second any literary attempt, and therefore
venture upon the liberty of entreating you to procure from College or
University registers, all the dates, or other informations which they
can supply, relating to Ambrose Philips, Broome, and Gray, who were all
of Cambridge, and of whose lives I am to give such accounts as I can
gather. Be pleased to forgive this trouble from, Sir,
'Your most humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
While Johnson was thus engaged in preparing a delightful literary
entertainment for the world, the tranquillity of the metropolis of
Great-Britain was unexpectedly disturbed, by the most horrid series of
outrage that ever disgraced a civilised country. A relaxation of some of
the severe penal provisions against our fellow-subjects of the Catholic
communion had been granted by the legislature, with an opposition so
inconsiderable that the genuine mildness of Christianity, united with
liberal policy, seemed to have become general in this island[1321]. But
a dark and malignant spirit of persecution soon shewed itself, in an
unworthy petition for the repeal of the wise and humane statute. That
petition was brought forward by a mob, with the evident purpose of
intimidation, and was justly rejected. But the attempt was accompanied
and followed by such daring violence as is unexampled in history. Of
this extraordinary tumult, Dr. Johnson has given the following concise,
lively, and just account in his _Letters to Mrs. Thrale[1322]:--
'On Friday[1323], the good Protestants met in Saint George's-Fields, at
the summons of Lord George Gordon, and marching to Westminster, insulted
the Lords and Commons, who all bore it with great tameness. At night the
outrages began by the demolition of the mass-house by Lincoln's-Inn.'
'An exact journal of a week's defiance of government I cannot give you.
On Monday, Mr. Strahan[1324], who had been insulted, spoke to Lord
Mansfield, who had I think been insulted too, of the licentiousness of
the populace; and his Lordship treated it as a very slight irregularity.
On Tuesday night[1325] they pulled down Fielding's house, and burnt his
goods in the street. They had gutted on Monday Sir George Savile's
house, but the building was saved. On Tuesday evening, leaving
Fielding's ruins, they went to Newgate to demand their companions who
had been seized demolishing the chapel. The keeper could not release
them but by the Mayor's permission, which he went to ask; at his return
he found all the prisoners released, and Newgate in a blaze. They then
went to Bloomsbury, and fastened upon Lord Mansfield's house, which they
pulled down; and as for his goods, they totally burnt them[1326]. They
have since gone to Caen-wood, but a guard was there before them. They
plundered some Papists, I think, and burnt a mass-house[1327] in
Moorfields the same night.'
'On Wednesday I walked with Dr. Scott to look at Newgate, and found it
in ruins, with the fire yet glowing. As I went by, the Protestants were
plundering the Sessions-house at the Old-Bailey. There were not, I
believe, a hundred; but they did their work at leisure, in full
security, without sentinels, without trepidation, as men lawfully
employed, in full day. Such is the cowardice of a commercial place. On
Wednesday they broke open the Fleet, and the King's-Bench, and the
Marshalsea, and Wood-street Compter, and Clerkenwell Bridewell, and
released all the prisoners[1328].'
'At night they set fire to the Fleet, and to the King's-Bench, and I
know not how many other places; and one might see the glare of
conflagration fill the sky from many parts. The sight was dreadful. Some
people were threatened: Mr. Strahan advised me to take care of myself.
Such a time of terrour you have been happy in not seeing.'
'The King said in Council, "That the magistrates had not done their
duty, but that he would do his own;" and a proclamation was published,
directing us to keep our servants within doors, as the peace was now to
be preserved by force. The soldiers were sent out to different parts,
and the town is now [_June_ 9] at quiet.'
'The soldiers[1329] are stationed so as to be every where within call:
there is no longer any body of rioters, and the individuals are hunted
to their holes, and led to prison; Lord George was last night sent to
the Tower. Mr. John Wilkes was this day[1330] in my neighbourhood, to
seize the publisher of a seditious paper.'
'Several chapels have been destroyed, and several inoffensive Papists
have been plundered; but the high sport was to burn the gaols. This was
a good rabble trick. The debtors and the criminals were all set at
liberty; but of the criminals, as has always happened, many are already
retaken; and two pirates have surrendered themselves, and it is expected
that they will be pardoned.'
'Government now acts again with its proper force; and we are all[1331]
under the protection of the King and the law. I thought that it would be
agreeable to you and my master to have my testimony to the publick
security; and that you would sleep more quietly when I told you that you
are safe.'
'There has, indeed, been an universal panick from which the King was the
first that recovered. Without the concurrence of his ministers, or the
assistance of the civil magistrate, he put the soldiers in motion, and
saved the town from calamities, such as a rabble's government must
naturally produce.'
'The publick[1332] has escaped a very heavy calamity. The rioters
attempted the Bank on Wednesday night, but in no great number; and like
other thieves, with no great resolution. Jack Wilkes headed the party
that drove them away. It is agreed, that if they had seized the Bank on
Tuesday, at the height of the panick, when no resistance had been
prepared, they might have carried irrecoverably away whatever they had
found. Jack, who was always zealous for order and decency,[1333] declares
that if he be trusted with power, he will not leave a rioter alive.
There is, however, now no longer any need of heroism or bloodshed; no
blue ribband[1334] is any longer worn[1335].'
Such was the end of this miserable sedition, from which London was
delivered by the magnanimity of the Sovereign himself. Whatever some may
maintain, I am satisfied that there was no combination or plan, either
domestic or foreign; but that the mischief spread by a gradual contagion
of frenzy, augmented by the quantities of fermented liquors, of which
the deluded populace possessed themselves in the course of their
depredations.
I should think myself very much to blame, did I here neglect to do
justice to my esteemed friend Mr. Akerman, the keeper of Newgate, who
long discharged a very important trust with an uniform intrepid
firmness, and at the same time a tenderness and a liberal charity, which
entitle him to be recorded with distinguished honour[1336].
Upon this occasion, from the timidity and negligence of magistracy on
the one hand, and the almost incredible exertions of the mob on the
other, the first prison of this great country was laid open, and the
prisoners set free; but that Mr. Akerman, whose house was burnt, would
have prevented all this, had proper aid been sent to him in due time,
there can be no doubt.
Many years ago, a fire broke out in the brick part which was built as an
addition to the old gaol of Newgate. The prisoners were in consternation
and tumult, calling out, 'We shall be burnt--we shall be burnt! Down
with the gate--down with the gate!' Mr. Akerman hastened to them, shewed
himself at the gate, and having, after some confused vociferation of
'Hear him--hear him!' obtained a silent attention, he then calmly told
them, that the gate must not go down; that they were under his care, and
that they should not be permitted to escape: but that he could assure
them, they need not be afraid of being burnt, for that the fire was not
in the prison, properly so called, which was strongly built with stone;
and that if they would engage to be quiet, he himself would come in to
them, and conduct them to the further end of the building, and would not
go out till they gave him leave. To this proposal they agreed; upon
which Mr. Akerman, having first made them fall back from the gate, went
in, and with a determined resolution, ordered the outer turnkey upon no
account to open the gate, even though the prisoners (though he trusted
they would not) should break their word, and by force bring himself to
order it. 'Never mind me, (said he,) should that happen.' The prisoners
peaceably followed him, while he conducted them through passages of
which he had the keys, to the extremity of the gaol which was most
distant from the fire. Having, by this very judicious conduct, fully
satisfied them that there was no immediate risk, if any at all, he then
addressed them thus: 'Gentlemen, you are now convinced that I told you
true. I have no doubt that the engines will soon extinguish this fire;
if they should not, a sufficient guard will come, and you shall all be
taken out and lodged in the Compters[1337]. I assure you, upon my word
and honour, that I have not a farthing insured. I have left my house,
that I might take care of you. I will keep my promise, and stay with you
if you insist upon it; but if you will allow me to go out and look after
my family and property, I shall[1338] be obliged to you.' Struck with
his behaviour, they called out, 'Master Akerman, you have done bravely;
it was very kind in you: by all means go and take care of your own
concerns.' He did so accordingly, while they remained, and were all
preserved.
Johnson has been heard to relate the substance of this story with high
praise, in which he was joined by Mr. Burke. My illustrious friend,
speaking of Mr. Akerman's kindness to his prisoners, pronounced this
eulogy upon his character:--'He who has long had constantly in his view
the worst of mankind, and is yet eminent for the humanity of his
disposition, must have had it originally in a great degree, and
continued to cultivate it very carefully[1339].'
In the course of this month my brother David waited upon Dr. Johnson,
with the following letter of introduction, which I had taken care should
be lying ready on his arrival in London.
'To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.
'Edinburgh, April 29, 1780.
'MY DEAR SIR,
'This will be delivered to you by my brother David, on his return from
Spain. You will be glad to see the man who vowed to "stand by the old
castle of Auchinleck, with heart, purse, and sword;" that romantick
family solemnity devised by me, of which you and I talked with
complacency upon the spot. I trust that twelve years of absence have not
lessened his feudal attachment; and that you will find him worthy of
being introduced to your acquaintance.
'I have the honour to be,
'With affectionate veneration,
'My dear Sir,
'Your most faithful humble servant,
'JAMES BOSWELL.'
Johnson received him very politely, and has thus mentioned him in a
letter to Mrs. Thrale[1340]: 'I have had with me a brother of Boswell's,
a Spanish merchant,[1341] whom the war has driven from his residence at
Valentia; he is gone to see his friends, and will find Scotland but a
sorry place after twelve years' residence in a happier climate. He is a
very agreeable man, and speaks no Scotch.'
'To DR. BEATTIE, AT ABERDEEN.
'Sir,
'More years[1342] than I have any delight to reckon, have past since you
and I saw one another; of this, however, there is no reason for making
any reprehensory complaint--_Sic fata ferunt[1343]_. But methinks there
might pass some small interchange of regard between us. If you say, that
I ought to have written, I now write; and I write to tell you, that I
have much kindness for you and Mrs. Beattie; and that I wish your health
better, and your life long. Try change of air, and come a few degrees
Southwards: a softer climate may do you both good; winter is coming on;
and London will be warmer, and gayer, and busier, and more fertile of
amusement than Aberdeen.
'My health is better; but that will be little in the balance, when I
tell you that Mrs. Montagu has been very ill, and is I doubt now but
weakly. Mr. Thrale has been very dangerously disordered; but is much
better, and I hope will totally recover. He has withdrawn himself from
business the whole summer. Sir Joshua and his sister are well; and Mr.
Davies has got great success as an authour,[1344] generated by the
corruption of a bookseller.[1345] More news I have not to tell you, and
therefore you must be contented with hearing, what I know not whether
you much wish to hear[1346], that I am, Sir,
'Your most humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'Bolt-court, Fleet-street,
August 21, 1780.'
'To JAMES BOSWELL, Esq.
'DEAR SIR,
'I find you have taken one of your fits of taciturnity, and have
resolved not to write till you are written to; it is but a peevish
humour, but you shall have your way.
'I have sat at home in Bolt-court, all the summer, thinking to write the
_Lives_, and a great part of the time only thinking. Several of them,
however, are done, and I still think to do the rest.
'Mr. Thrale and his family have, since his illness, passed their time
first at Bath, and then at Brighthelmston; but I have been at neither
place. I would have gone to Lichfield, if I could have had time, and I
might have had time if I had been active; but I have missed much, and
done little.
'In the late disturbances, Mr. Thrale's house and stock were in great
danger; the mob was pacified at their first invasion, with about fifty
pounds in drink and meat; and at their second, were driven away by the
soldiers[1347]. Mr. Strahan got a garrison into his house, and maintained
them a fortnight; he was so frighted that he removed part of his goods.
Mrs. Williams took shelter in the country.
'I know not whether I shall get a ramble this autumn[1348]; it is now
about the time when we were travelling. I have, however, better health
than I had then, and hope you and I may yet shew ourselves on some part
of Europe, Asia, or Africa[1349]. In the mean time let us play no trick,
but keep each other's kindness by all means in our power.
'The bearer of this is Dr. Dunbar, of Aberdeen, who has written and
published a very ingenious book[1350], and who I think has a kindness
for me, and will, when he knows you, have a kindness for you.
'I suppose your little ladies are grown tall; and your son is become a
learned young man. I love them all, and I love your naughty lady, whom I
never shall persuade to love me. When the _Lives_ are done, I shall send
them to complete her collection, but must send them in paper, as for
want of a pattern, I cannot bind them to fit the rest.
'I am, Sir,
'Yours most affectionately,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'London, Aug. 21, 1780.'
This year he wrote to a young clergyman[1351] in the country, the
following very excellent letter, which contains valuable advice to
Divines in general:--
'Dear Sir,
'Not many days ago Dr. Lawrence shewed me a letter, in which you make
mention of me: I hope, therefore, you will not be displeased that I
endeavour to preserve your good-will by some observations which your
letter suggested to me.
'You are afraid of falling into some improprieties in the daily service
by reading to an audience that requires no exactness. Your fear, I hope,
secures you from danger. They who contract absurd habits are such as
have no fear. It is impossible to do the same thing very often, without
some peculiarity of manner: but that manner may be good or bad, and a
little care will at least preserve it from being bad: to make it good,
there must, I think, be something of natural or casual felicity, which
cannot be taught.
'Your present method of making your sermons seems very judicious. Few
frequent preachers can be supposed to have sermons more their own than
yours will be. Take care to register, somewhere or other, the authours
from whom your several discourses are borrowed; and do not imagine that
you shall always remember, even what perhaps you now think it impossible
to forget.
'My advice, however, is, that you attempt, from time to time, an
original sermon; and in the labour of composition, do not burthen your
mind with too much at once; do not exact from yourself at one effort of
excogitation, propriety of thought and elegance of expression. Invent
first, and then embellish. The production of something, where nothing
was before, is an act of greater energy than the expansion or decoration
of the thing produced. Set down diligently your thoughts as they rise,
in the first words that occur; and, when you have matter, you will
easily give it form: nor, perhaps, will this method be always necessary;
for by habit, your thoughts and diction will flow together[1352].
'The composition of sermons is not very difficult: the divisions not
only help the memory of the hearer, but direct the judgement of the
writer; they supply sources of invention, and keep every part in its
proper place.
'What I like least in your letter is your account of the manners of your
parish; from which I gather, that it has been long neglected by the
parson. The Dean of Carlisle[1353], who was then a little rector in
Northamptonshire[1354], told me, that it might be discerned whether or no
there was a clergyman resident in a parish by the civil or savage manner
of the people. Such a congregation as yours stands in need of much
reformation; and I would not have you think it impossible to reform
them. A very savage parish was civilised by a decayed gentlewoman, who
came among them to teach a petty school. My learned friend Dr.
Wheeler[1355] of Oxford, when he was a young man, had the care of a
neighbouring parish for fifteen pounds a year, which he was never paid;
but he counted it a convenience that it compelled him to make a sermon
weekly. One woman he could not bring to the communion; and, when he
reproved or exhorted her, she only answered, that she was no scholar. He
was advised to set some good woman or man of the parish, a little wiser
than herself, to talk to her in a language level to her mind. Such
honest, I may call them holy artifices, must be practised by every
clergyman; for all means must be tried by which souls may be saved[1356].
Talk to your people, however, as much as you can; and you will find,
that the more frequently you converse with them upon religious subjects,
the more willingly they will attend, and the more submissively they will
learn. A clergyman's diligence always makes him venerable. I think I
have now only to say, that in the momentous work you have undertaken, I
pray GOD to bless you.
'I am, Sir,
'Your most humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'Bolt-court, Aug. 30, 1780.'
My next letters to him were dated August 24, September 6, and October 1,
and from them I extract the following passages:--
'My brother David and I find the long indulged fancy of our comfortable
meeting again at Auchinleck, so well realised, that it in some degree
confirms the pleasing hope of _O! preclarum diem!_[1357] in a future
state.'
'I beg that you may never again harbour a suspicion of my indulging a
peevish humour, or playing tricks; you will recollect that when I
confessed to you, that I had once been intentionally silent to try your
regard, I gave you my word and honour that I would not do so again[1358].'
'I rejoice to hear of your good state of health; I pray GOD to continue
it long. I have often said, that I would willingly have ten years added
to my life, to have ten taken from yours; I mean, that I would be ten
years older to have you ten years younger. But let me be thankful for
the years during which I have enjoyed your friendship, and please myself
with the hopes of enjoying it many years to come in this state of being,
trusting always, that in another state, we shall meet never to be
separated. Of this we can form no notion; but the thought, though
indistinct, is delightful, when the mind is calm and clear[1359].'
'The riots in London were certainly horrible; but you give me no account
of your own situation, during the barbarous anarchy. A description of it
by DR. JOHNSON would be a great painting[1360]; you might write another
_London, a Poem_.'
'I am charmed with your condescending affectionate expression, "let us
keep each other's kindness by all the means in our power;" my revered
Friend! how elevating is it to my mind, that I am found worthy to be a
companion to Dr. Samuel Johnson! All that you have said in grateful
praise of Mr. Walmsley,[1361] I have long thought of you; but we are
both Tories,[1362] which has a very general influence upon our
sentiments. I hope that you will agree to meet me at York, about the
end of this month; or if you will come to Carlisle, that would be better
still, in case the Dean be there. Please to consider, that to keep each
other's kindness, we should every year have that free and intimate
communication of mind which can be had only when we are together. We
should have both our solemn and our pleasant talk.'
'I write now for the third time, to tell you that my desire for our
meeting this autumn, is much increased. I wrote to Squire Godfrey
Bosville[1363], my Yorkshire chief, that I should, perhaps, pay him a
visit, as I was to hold a conference with Dr. Johnson at York. I give
you my word and honour that I said not a word of his inviting you; but
he wrote to me as follows:--
'"I need not tell you I shall be happy to see you here the latter end of
this month, as you propose; and I shall likewise be in hopes that you
will persuade Dr. Johnson to finish the conference here. It will add to
the favour of your own company, if you prevail upon such an associate,
to assist your observations. I have often been entertained with his
writings, and I once belonged to a club of which he was a member, and I
never spent an evening there, but I heard something from him well worth
remembering."
'We have thus, my dear Sir, good comfortable quarters in the
neighbourhood of York, where you may be assured we shall be heartily
welcome. I pray you then resolve to set out; and let not the year 1780
be a blank in our social calendar, and in that record of wisdom and wit,
which I keep with so much diligence, to your honour, and the instruction
and delight of others.'
Mr. Thrale had now another contest for the representation in parliament
of the borough of Southwark, and Johnson kindly lent him his assistance,
by writing advertisements and letters for him. I shall insert one as a
specimen:
'TO THE WORTHY ELECTORS OF THE BOROUGH OF SOUTHWARK.
'GENTLEMEN,
'A new Parliament being now called, I again solicit the honour of being
elected for one of your representatives; and solicit it with the greater
confidence, as I am not conscious of having neglected my duty, or of
having acted otherwise than as becomes the independent representative of
independent constituents; superiour to fear, hope, and expectation, who
has no private purposes to promote, and whose prosperity is involved in
the prosperity of his country. As my recovery from a very severe
distemper is not yet perfect, I have declined to attend the Hall, and
hope an omission so necessary will not be harshly censured.
'I can only send my respectful wishes, that all your deliberations may
tend to the happiness of the kingdom, and the peace of the borough.
'I am, Gentlemen,
'Your most faithful
'And obedient servant,
'HENRY THRALE.'
'Southwark, Sept. 5, 1780.'