After his four years' schooling Francis returned to London and remained
a faithful servant till his master's death. When Johnson was making
his will he "asked Dr Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity to
a favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on the
circumstances of the master; and, that in the case of a nobleman, fifty
pounds a year was considered as an adequate reward for many years'
faithful service; 'Then (said Johnson,) shall I be _nobilissimus_, for
I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a year, and I desire you to tell
him so.'"
Lastly, we must mention a fireside creature that Johnson loved:
"I shall never forget" says Boswell "the indulgence with which he
treated Hodge, his cat: for whom he himself used to go out and buy
oysters, lest the servants having that trouble should take a dislike to
the poor creature. I am, unluckily, one of those who have an antipathy
to a cat, so that I am uneasy when in the room with one; and I own, I
frequently suffered a good deal from the presence of this same Hodge.
I recollect him one day scrambling up Dr Johnson's breast, apparently
with much satisfaction, while my friend smiling and half-whistling,
rubbed down his back, and pulled him by the tail; and when I observed
he was a fine cat, saying, 'Why yes, Sir, but I have had cats whom I
liked better than this'; and then as if perceiving Hodge to be out
of countenance, adding, 'but he is a very fine cat, a very fine cat
indeed.'"
How did this "crowd of wretched old creatures," as Macaulay rather
unkindly calls them, agree? Not very well. Hodge was probably the only
peaceful member.
In 1778 the following conversation took place between Johnson and his
friends Mr and Mrs Thrale:
"MRS THRALE. Pray, Sir, how does Mrs Williams like all this tribe?
DR JOHNSON. Madam, she does not like them at all; but their fondness
for her is not greater. She and Desmoulins quarrel incessantly....
MR THRALE. And pray who is clerk of your kitchen, Sir? DR JOHNSON.
Why, Sir, I am afraid there is none; a general anarchy prevails in my
kitchen, as I am told by Mr Levett, who says it is not now what it used
to be. MRS THRALE. Mr Levett, I suppose, Sir, has the office of keeping
the hospital in health, for he is an apothecary. DR JOHNSON. Levett,
Madam, is a brutal fellow, but I have a good regard for him; for his
brutality is in his manners, not his mind. MR THRALE. But how do you
get your dinners drest? DR JOHNSON. Why, Desmoulins has the chief
management of the kitchen; but our roasting is not magnificent, for
we have no jack. MR THRALE. No jack! Why, how do they manage without?
DR JOHNSON. Small joints, I believe, they manage with a string, and
larger are done at the tavern.... MRS THRALE. But pray, Sir, who is the
Poll[14] you talk of? She that you used to abet in her quarrels with
Mrs Williams, and call out, _At her again, Poll! Never flinch, Poll!_
DR JOHNSON. Why, I took to Poll very well at first, but she won't do
upon a nearer examination. MRS THRALE. How came she among you, Sir? DR
JOHNSON. Why I don't rightly remember, but we could spare her very well
from us. Poll is a stupid slut. I had some hopes of her at first; but
when I talked to her tightly and closely, I could make nothing of her;
she was wiggle waggle...."
Nothing, perhaps, makes us realise more fully Johnson's largeness of
heart than the picture of his extraordinary household.
Goldsmith was right when he said: "Johnson, to be sure, has a roughness
in his manner; but no man alive has a more tender heart. _He has
nothing of the bear but his skin._"