As he himself confessed, he did not always keep his resolutions, but
that religion was a real part of Johnson's life and work is shewn not
only by a score of incidents and conversations recorded by Boswell,
but by the numerous _Prayers and Meditations_ which were collected and
published after his death. This was his prayer as he began the second
volume of the Dictionary:
"O GOD, who hast hitherto supported me, enable me to proceed in this
labour, and in the whole task of my present state; that when I shall
render up, at the last day, an account of the talent committed to me, I
may receive pardon, for the sake of JESUS CHRIST. Amen."
His favourite place of worship was St Clement Danes and in the
churchyard to-day we may see his figure facing the street he loved
best and still seeming ready to "defend the most minute circumstance
connected with the Church of England."
Partly from ill-health, partly by natural disposition, Johnson was
incurably lazy.
"I have been trying" he told Boswell "to cure my laziness all my life,
and could not do it."
He slept badly and had no inclination to go to bed; indeed he seldom
came home till two in the morning. Nor, as we shall see[15], did he
mind being roused in the middle of the night, if there was some fun to
be had.
"He has more fun" said his friend Miss Burney "and comical humour and
love of nonsense about him than almost anybody I ever saw."
His laugh was "a kind of good humoured growl" or, as Tom Davies the
bookseller described it, "he laughed like a rhinoceros."
Boswell could not always share this boisterous amusement and was
puzzled at his hero being "exceedingly diverted at what seemed to
others a very small sport."
One evening they were sitting in the Temple with a lawyer named
Chambers who had just been drawing up a will for Johnson's friend,
Langton. Johnson's sense of humour was for some reason keenly tickled
by this; he twitted Chambers with having made the will himself and
ran on in a playful manner, "which certainly was not such as might be
expected from the authour of _The Rambler_."
"Ha, ha, ha!" he bellowed "I hope he has left me a legacy. I'd have
his will turned into verse, like a ballad."
In the street, "Johnson could not stop his merriment, but continued it
all the way till we got without the Temple-gate. He then burst into
such a fit of laughter, that he appeared to be almost in a convulsion;
and, in order to support himself, laid hold of one of the posts at the
side of the foot pavement, and sent forth peals so loud, that in the
silence of the night his voice seemed to resound from Temple-bar to
Fleet-ditch."
Poor Boswell is almost ashamed to record what he calls "this most
ludicrous exhibition of the aweful, melancholy, and venerable Johnson,"
but most of his readers prefer this picture of Johnson staggering in
helpless laughter down Fleet Street to the most impressive essay in
_The Rambler_.
Johnson's oddities in the street must often have made people turn round
to look at him. He always took care, for instance, "to go out or in at
a door or passage by a certain number of steps from a certain point,
or at least so as that either his right or his left foot, (I am not
certain which,) should constantly make the first actual movement when
he came close to the door or passage. Thus I conjecture: for I have,
upon innumerable occasions, observed him suddenly stop, and then seem
to count his steps with a deep earnestness; and when he had neglected
or gone wrong in this sort of magical movement, I have seen him go back
again, put himself in a proper posture to begin the ceremony, and,
having gone through it, break from his abstraction, walk briskly on,
and join his companion."
He was full of these childish tricks. He would never, if he could help
it, step on the cracks between paving-stones; when passing a row of
posts, he was careful to touch the top of each with his hand; and all
the time he would probably be talking to himself and jerking his head
and limbs in the queer way which was habitual with him.
Indoors he was the same. Strangers could not make him out:
"Johnson used to be a pretty frequent visitor at the house of Mr
Richardson, authour of _Clarissa_, and other novels of extensive
reputation. Mr Hogarth came one day to see Richardson, soon after the
execution of Dr Cameron, for having taken arms for the house of Stuart
in 1745-6."
Hogarth was "a warm partisan of George the Second" and defended the
king's decision.
"While he was talking, he perceived a person standing at a window in
the room, shaking his head, and rolling himself about in a strange
ridiculous manner. He concluded that he was an ideot, whom his
relations had put under the care of Mr Richardson, as a very good
man. To his great surprize, however, this figure stalked forwards to
where he and Mr Richardson were sitting, and all at once took up the
argument, and burst out into an invective against George the Second,
as one, who, upon all occasions, was unrelenting and barbarous.... He
displayed such a power of eloquence, that Hogarth looked at him with
astonishment, and actually imagined that this ideot had been at the
moment inspired. Neither Hogarth nor Johnson were made known to each
other at this interview."
It is a pity Hogarth has not left us a picture of the scene.
Although he never wished to have a child of his own, Johnson had a warm
corner in his heart for young people:
"Mr Strahan [the printer] had taken a poor boy from the country as an
apprentice, upon Johnson's recommendation. Johnson having enquired
after him, said, 'Mr Strahan, let me have five guineas on account,
and I'll give this boy one. Nay, if a man recommends a boy, and does
nothing for him, it is sad work. Call him down.' I followed him into
the court-yard, behind Mr Strahan's house.... 'Well, my boy, how do you
go on?'--'Pretty well, Sir; but they are afraid I an't strong enough
for some parts of the business.' JOHNSON. 'Why, I shall be sorry for
it; for when you consider with how little mental power and corporeal
labour a printer can get a guinea a week, it is a very desirable
occupation for you. Do you hear,--take all the pains you can; and if
this does not do, we must think of some other way of life for you.
There's a guinea.'"
To his friends' children he liked to appear as a benevolent
great-uncle; when Mrs Thrale was away from home, he would send her
reports from the nursery:
"I went this afternoon to visit the two babies at Kensington, and found
them indeed a little spotted with their disorder, but as brisk and
gay as health and youth can make them. I took a paper of sweetmeats
and spread them on the table. They took great delight to shew their
governess the various animals that were made of sugar; and when they
had eaten as much as was fit, the rest were laid up for to-morrow."
Here is another letter written in his seventy-fifth year--seven months
before his death:
"TO MISS JANE LANGTON.
May 10, 1784.