THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.

Had Dr. Johnson written his own life, in conformity with the opinion

which he has given, that every man's life may be best written by

himself; had he employed in the preservation of his own history, that

clearness of narration and elegance of language in which he has embalmed

so many eminent persons, the world would probably have had the most

perfect example of biography that was ever exhibited. But although he

at different times, in a desultory manner, committed to writing many

particulars of the progress of his mind and fortunes, he never had

persevering diligence enough to form them into a regular composition.

Of these memorials a few have been preserved; but the greater part was

consigned by him to the flames, a few days before his death.

As I had the honour and happiness of enjoying his friendship for upwards

of twenty years; as I had the scheme of writing his life constantly in

view; as he was well apprised of this circumstance, and from time to

time obligingly satisfied my inquiries, by communicating to me the

incidents of his early years; as I acquired a facility in recollecting,

and was very assiduous in recording, his conversation, of which the

extraordinary vigour and vivacity constituted one of the first features

of his character; and as I have spared no pains in obtaining materials

concerning him, from every quarter where I could discover that they were

to be found, and have been favoured with the most liberal communications

by his friends; I flatter myself that few biographers have entered

upon such a work as this, with more advantages; independent of literary

abilities, in which I am not vain enough to compare myself with some

great names who have gone before me in this kind of writing.

Instead of melting down my materials into one mass, and constantly

speaking in my own person, by which I might have appeared to have more

merit in the execution of the work, I have resolved to adopt and enlarge

upon the excellent plan of Mr. Mason, in his Memoirs of Gray. Wherever

narrative is necessary to explain, connect, and supply, I furnish it to

the best of my abilities; but in the chronological series of Johnson's

life, which I trace as distinctly as I can, year by year, I produce,

wherever it is in my power, his own minutes, letters or conversation,

being convinced that this mode is more lively, and will make my readers

better acquainted with him, than even most of those were who actually

knew him, but could know him only partially; whereas there is here an

accumulation of intelligence from various points, by which his character

is more fully understood and illustrated.

Indeed I cannot conceive a more perfect mode of writing any man's life,

than not only relating all the most important events of it in their

order, but interweaving what he privately wrote, and said, and thought;

by which mankind are enabled as it were to see him live, and to 'live

o'er each scene' with him, as he actually advanced through the several

stages of his life. Had his other friends been as diligent and ardent

as I was, he might have been almost entirely preserved. As it is, I will

venture to say that he will be seen in this work more completely than

any man who has ever yet lived.

And he will be seen as he really was; for I profess to write, not his

panegyrick, which must be all praise, but his Life; which, great and

good as he was, must not be supposed to be entirely perfect. To be as he

was, is indeed subject of panegyrick enough to any man in this state of

being; but in every picture there should be shade as well as light, and

when I delineate him without reserve, I do what he himself recommended,

both by his precept and his example.

I am fully aware of the objections which may be made to the minuteness

on some occasions of my detail of Johnson's conversation, and how

happily it is adapted for the petty exercise of ridicule, by men of

superficial understanding and ludicrous fancy; but I remain firm

and confident in my opinion, that minute particulars are frequently

characteristick, and always amusing, when they relate to a distinguished

man. I am therefore exceedingly unwilling that any thing, however

slight, which my illustrious friend thought it worth his while to

express, with any degree of point, should perish.

Of one thing I am certain, that considering how highly the small portion

which we have of the table-talk and other anecdotes of our celebrated

writers is valued, and how earnestly it is regretted that we have not

more, I am justified in preserving rather too many of Johnson's sayings,

than too few; especially as from the diversity of dispositions it cannot

be known with certainty beforehand, whether what may seem trifling to

some, and perhaps to the collector himself, may not be most agreeable to

many; and the greater number that an authour can please in any degree,

the more pleasure does there arise to a benevolent mind.

Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield, in Staffordshire, on the 18th of

September, N. S., 1709; and his initiation into the Christian Church was

not delayed; for his baptism is recorded, in the register of St. Mary's

parish in that city, to have been performed on the day of his birth. His

father is there stiled Gentleman, a circumstance of which an ignorant

panegyrist has praised him for not being proud; when the truth is, that

the appellation of Gentleman, though now lost in the indiscriminate

assumption of Esquire, was commonly taken by those who could not boast

of gentility. His father was Michael Johnson, a native of Derbyshire,

of obscure extraction, who settled in Lichfield as a bookseller and

stationer. His mother was Sarah Ford, descended of an ancient race of

substantial yeomanry in Warwickshire. They were well advanced in years

when they married, and never had more than two children, both sons;

Samuel, their first born, who lived to be the illustrious character

whose various excellence I am to endeavour to record, and Nathanael, who

died in his twenty-fifth year.

Mr. Michael Johnson was a man of a large and robust body, and of a

strong and active mind; yet, as in the most solid rocks veins of unsound

substance are often discovered, there was in him a mixture of that

disease, the nature of which eludes the most minute enquiry, though the

effects are well known to be a weariness of life, an unconcern about

those things which agitate the greater part of mankind, and a general

sensation of gloomy wretchedness. From him then his son inherited,

with some other qualities, 'a vile melancholy,' which in his too strong

expression of any disturbance of the mind, 'made him mad all his life,

at least not sober.' Michael was, however, forced by the narrowness of

his circumstances to be very diligent in business, not only in his shop,

but by occasionally resorting to several towns in the neighbourhood,

some of which were at a considerable distance from Lichfield. At that

time booksellers' shops in the provincial towns of England were very

rare, so that there was not one even in Birmingham, in which town old

Mr. Johnson used to open a shop every market-day. He was a pretty good

Latin scholar, and a citizen so creditable as to be made one of the

magistrates of Lichfield; and, being a man of good sense, and skill in

his trade, he acquired a reasonable share of wealth, of which however

he afterwards lost the greatest part, by engaging unsuccessfully in a

manufacture of parchment. He was a zealous high-church man and royalist,

and retained his attachment to the unfortunate house of Stuart, though

he reconciled himself, by casuistical arguments of expediency and

necessity, to take the oaths imposed by the prevailing power.

Johnson's mother was a woman of distinguished understanding. I asked

his old school-fellow, Mr. Hector, surgeon of Birmingham, if she was not

vain of her son. He said, 'she had too much good sense to be vain,

but she knew her son's value.' Her piety was not inferiour to her

understanding; and to her must be ascribed those early impressions

of religion upon the mind of her son, from which the world afterwards

derived so much benefit. He told me, that he remembered distinctly

having had the first notice of Heaven, 'a place to which good people

went,' and hell, 'a place to which bad people went,' communicated to him

by her, when a little child in bed with her; and that it might be the

better fixed in his memory, she sent him to repeat it to Thomas Jackson,

their man-servant; he not being in the way, this was not done; but there

was no occasion for any artificial aid for its preservation.

There is a traditional story of the infant Hercules of toryism,

so curiously characteristick, that I shall not withhold it. It was

communicated to me in a letter from Miss Mary Adye, of Lichfield:

'When Dr. Sacheverel was at Lichfield, Johnson was not quite three years

old. My grandfather Hammond observed him at the cathedral perched upon

his father's shoulders, listening and gaping at the much celebrated

preacher. Mr. Hammond asked Mr. Johnson how he could possibly think of

bringing such an infant to church, and in the midst of so great a crowd.

He answered, because it was impossible to keep him at home; for, young

as he was, he believed he had caught the publick spirit and zeal for

Sacheverel, and would have staid for ever in the church, satisfied with

beholding him.'

Nor can I omit a little instance of that jealous independence of

spirit, and impetuosity of temper, which never forsook him. The fact

was acknowledged to me by himself, upon the authority of his mother. One

day, when the servant who used to be sent to school to conduct him

home, had not come in time, he set out by himself, though he was then so

near-sighted, that he was obliged to stoop down on his hands and knees

to take a view of the kennel before he ventured to step over it. His

school-mistress, afraid that he might miss his way, or fall into the

kennel, or be run over by a cart, followed him at some distance. He

happened to turn about and perceive her. Feeling her careful attention

as an insult to his manliness, he ran back to her in a rage, and beat

her, as well as his strength would permit.

Of the power of his memory, for which he was all his life eminent to a

degree almost incredible, the following early instance was told me in

his presence at Lichfield, in 1776, by his step-daughter, Mrs. Lucy

Porter, as related to her by his mother. When he was a child in

petticoats, and had learnt to read, Mrs. Johnson one morning put the

common prayer-book into his hands, pointed to the collect for the day,

and said, 'Sam, you must get this by heart.' She went up stairs, leaving

him to study it: But by the time she had reached the second floor, she

heard him following her. 'What's the matter?' said she. 'I can say it,'

he replied; and repeated it distinctly, though he could not have read it

more than twice.

But there has been another story of his infant precocity generally

circulated, and generally believed, the truth of which I am to refute

upon his own authority. It is told, that, when a child of three years

old, he chanced to tread upon a duckling, the eleventh of a brood,

and killed it; upon which, it is said, he dictated to his mother the

following epitaph:

'Here lies good master duck,

Whom Samuel Johnson trod on;

If it had liv'd, it had been GOOD LUCK,

For then we'd had an ODD ONE.'

There is surely internal evidence that this little composition combines

in it, what no child of three years old could produce, without an

extension of its faculties by immediate inspiration; yet Mrs. Lucy

Porter, Dr. Johnson's stepdaughter, positively maintained to me, in his

presence, that there could be no doubt of the truth of this anecdote,

for she had heard it from his mother. So difficult is it to obtain

an authentick relation of facts, and such authority may there be for

errour; for he assured me, that his father made the verses, and wished

to pass them for his child's. He added, 'my father was a foolish old

man; that is to say, foolish in talking of his children.'

Young Johnson had the misfortune to be much afflicted with the

scrophula, or king's evil, which disfigured a countenance naturally well

formed, and hurt his visual nerves so much, that he did not see at all

with one of his eyes, though its appearance was little different from

that of the other. There is amongst his prayers, one inscribed 'When, my

EYE was restored to its use,' which ascertains a defect that many of his

friends knew he had, though I never perceived it. I supposed him to be

only near-sighted; and indeed I must observe, that in no other respect

could I discern any defect in his vision; on the contrary, the force of

his attention and perceptive quickness made him see and distinguish all

manner of objects, whether of nature or of art, with a nicety that is

rarely to be found. When he and I were travelling in the Highlands of

Scotland, and I pointed out to him a mountain which I observed resembled

a cone, he corrected my inaccuracy, by shewing me, that it was indeed

pointed at the top, but that one side of it was larger than the other.

And the ladies with whom he was acquainted agree, that no man was more

nicely and minutely critical in the elegance of female dress. When I

found that he saw the romantick beauties of Islam, in Derbyshire, much

better than I did, I told him that he resembled an able performer upon

a bad instrument. It has been said, that he contracted this grievous

malady from his nurse. His mother yielding to the superstitious notion,

which, it is wonderful to think, prevailed so long in this country, as

to the virtue of the regal touch; a notion, which our kings encouraged,

and to which a man of such inquiry and such judgement as Carte could

give credit; carried him to London, where he was actually touched by

Queen Anne. Mrs. Johnson indeed, as Mr. Hector informed me, acted by the

advice of the celebrated Sir John Floyer, then a physician in Lichfield.

Johnson used to talk of this very frankly; and Mrs. Piozzi has preserved

his very picturesque description of the scene, as it remained upon his

fancy. Being asked if he could remember Queen Anne, 'He had (he said)

a confused, but somehow a sort of solemn recollection of a lady in

diamonds, and a long black hood.' This touch, however, was without

any effect. I ventured to say to him, in allusion to the political

principles in which he was educated, and of which he ever retained some

odour, that 'his mother had not carried him far enough; she should have

taken him to ROME.'

He was first taught to read English by Dame Oliver, a widow, who kept

a school for young children in Lichfield. He told me she could read the

black letter, and asked him to borrow for her, from his father, a bible

in that character. When he was going to Oxford, she came to take leave

of him, brought him, in the simplicity of her kindness, a present

of gingerbread, and said, he was the best scholar she ever had. He

delighted in mentioning this early compliment: adding, with a smile,

that 'this was as high a proof of his merit as he could conceive.' His

next instructor in English was a master, whom, when he spoke of him

to me, he familiarly called Tom Brown, who, said he, 'published a

spelling-book, and dedicated it to the UNIVERSE; but, I fear, no copy of

it can now be had.'

He began to learn Latin with Mr. Hawkins, usher, or under-master of

Lichfield school, 'a man (said he) very skilful in his little way.' With

him he continued two years, and then rose to be under the care of Mr.

Hunter, the headmaster, who, according to his account, 'was very severe,

and wrong-headedly severe. He used (said he) to beat us unmercifully;

and he did not distinguish between ignorance and negligence; for he

would beat a boy equally for not knowing a thing, as for neglecting to

know it. He would ask a boy a question; and if he did not answer it,

he would beat him, without considering whether he had an opportunity of

knowing how to answer it. For instance, he would call up a boy and ask

him Latin for a candlestick, which the boy could not expect to be asked.

Now, Sir, if a boy could answer every question, there would be no need

of a master to teach him.'

It is, however, but justice to the memory of Mr. Hunter to mention, that

though he might err in being too severe, the school of Lichfield

was very respectable in his time. The late Dr. Taylor, Prebendary

of Westminster, who was educated under him, told me, that 'he was an

excellent master, and that his ushers were most of them men of eminence;

that Holbrook, one of the most ingenious men, best scholars, and best

preachers of his age, was usher during the greatest part of the time

that Johnson was at school. Then came Hague, of whom as much might be

said, with the addition that he was an elegant poet. Hague was succeeded

by Green, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, whose character in the learned

world is well known.'

Indeed Johnson was very sensible how much he owed to Mr. Hunter. Mr.

Langton one day asked him how he had acquired so accurate a knowledge

of Latin, in which, I believe, he was exceeded by no man of his time;

he said, 'My master whipt me very well. Without that, Sir, I should have

done nothing.' He told Mr. Langton, that while Hunter was flogging his

boys unmercifully, he used to say, 'And this I do to save you from the

gallows.' Johnson, upon all occasions, expressed his approbation of

enforcing instruction by means of the rod. 'I would rather (said he)

have the rod to be the general terrour to all, to make them learn, than

tell a child, if you do thus, or thus, you will be more esteemed than

your brothers or sisters. The rod produces an effect which terminates

in itself. A child is afraid of being whipped, and gets his task, and

there's an end on't; whereas, by exciting emulation and comparisons

of superiority, you lay the foundation of lasting mischief; you make

brothers and sisters hate each other.'

That superiority over his fellows, which he maintained with so much

dignity in his march through life, was not assumed from vanity

and ostentation, but was the natural and constant effect of those

extraordinary powers of mind, of which he could not but be conscious

by comparison; the intellectual difference, which in other cases of

comparison of characters, is often a matter of undecided contest, being

as clear in his case as the superiority of stature in some men above

others. Johnson did not strut or stand on tiptoe; He only did not stoop.

From his earliest years his superiority was perceived and acknowledged.

He was from the beginning [Greek text omitted], a king of men. His

school-fellow, Mr. Hector, has obligingly furnished me with many

particulars of his boyish days: and assured me that he never knew him

corrected at school, but for talking and diverting other boys from their

business. He seemed to learn by intuition; for though indolence and

procrastination were inherent in his constitution, whenever he made an

exertion he did more than any one else. His favourites used to receive

very liberal assistance from him; and such was the submission and

deference with which he was treated, such the desire to obtain his

regard, that three of the boys, of whom Mr. Hector was sometimes one,

used to come in the morning as his humble attendants, and carry him to

school. One in the middle stooped, while he sat upon his back, and one

on each side supported him; and thus he was borne triumphant. Such

a proof of the early predominance of intellectual vigour is very

remarkable, and does honour to human nature. Talking to me once himself

of his being much distinguished at school, he told me, 'they never

thought to raise me by comparing me to any one; they never said, Johnson

is as good a scholar as such a one; but such a one is as good a scholar

as Johnson; and this was said but of one, but of Lowe; and I do not

think he was as good a scholar.'

He discovered a great ambition to excel, which roused him to counteract

his indolence. He was uncommonly inquisitive; and his memory was so

tenacious, that he never forgot any thing that he either heard or read.

Mr. Hector remembers having recited to him eighteen verses, which, after

a little pause, he repeated verbatim, varying only one epithet, by which

he improved the line.

He never joined with the other boys in their ordinary diversions: his

only amusement was in winter, when he took a pleasure in being drawn

upon the ice by a boy barefooted, who pulled him along by a garter fixed

round him; no very easy operation, as his size was remarkably large. His

defective sight, indeed, prevented him from enjoying the common sports;

and he once pleasantly remarked to me, 'how wonderfully well he had

contrived to be idle without them.' Mr. Hector relates, that 'he could

not oblige him more than by sauntering away the hours of vacation in the

fields, during which he was more engaged in talking to himself than to

his companion.'

Dr. Percy, the Bishop of Dromore, who was long intimately acquainted

with him, and has preserved a few anecdotes concerning him, regretting

that he was not a more diligent collector, informs me, that 'when a

boy he was immoderately fond of reading romances of chivalry, and he

retained his fondness for them through life; so that (adds his Lordship)

spending part of a summer at my parsonage house in the country, he

chose for his regular reading the old Spanish romance of Felixmarte of

Hircania, in folio, which he read quite through. Yet I have heard him

attribute to these extravagant fictions that unsettled turn of mind

which prevented his ever fixing in any profession.'

1725: AETAT. 16.--After having resided for some time at the house of his

uncle, Cornelius Ford, Johnson was, at the age of fifteen, removed to

the school of Stourbridge, in Worcestershire, of which Mr. Wentworth

was then master. This step was taken by the advice of his cousin, the

Reverend Mr. Ford, a man in whom both talents and good dispositions were

disgraced by licentiousness, but who was a very able judge of what

was right. At this school he did not receive so much benefit as

was expected. It has been said, that he acted in the capacity of an

assistant to Mr. Wentworth, in teaching the younger boys. 'Mr. Wentworth

(he told me) was a very able man, but an idle man, and to me very

severe; but I cannot blame him much. I was then a big boy; he saw I did

not reverence him; and that he should get no honour by me. I had brought

enough with me, to carry me through; and all I should get at his school

would be ascribed to my own labour, or to my former master. Yet he

taught me a great deal.'

He thus discriminated, to Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, his progress

at his two grammar-schools. 'At one, I learnt much in the school, but

little from the master; in the other, I learnt much from the master, but

little in the school.'

He remained at Stourbridge little more than a year, and then returned

home, where he may be said to have loitered, for two years, in a state

very unworthy his uncommon abilities. He had already given several

proofs of his poetical genius, both in his school-exercises and in other

occasional compositions.

He had no settled plan of life, nor looked forward at all, but merely

lived from day to day. Yet he read a great deal in a desultory manner,

without any scheme of study, as chance threw books in his way, and

inclination directed him through them. He used to mention one curious

instance of his casual reading, when but a boy. Having imagined that his

brother had hid some apples behind a large folio upon an upper shelf

in his father's shop, he climbed up to search for them. There were no

apples; but the large folio proved to be Petrarch, whom he had seen

mentioned in some preface, as one of the restorers of learning. His

curiosity having been thus excited, he sat down with avidity, and read a

great part of the book. What he read during these two years he told

me, was not works of mere amusement, 'not voyages and travels, but

all literature, Sir, all ancient writers, all manly: though but little

Greek, only some of Anacreon and Hesiod; but in this irregular manner

(added he) I had looked into a great many books, which were not commonly

known at the Universities, where they seldom read any books but what are

put into their hands by their tutors; so that when I came to Oxford, Dr.

Adams, now master of Pembroke College, told me I was the best qualified

for the University that he had ever known come there.'

That a man in Mr. Michael Johnson's circumstances should think of

sending his son to the expensive University of Oxford, at his own

charge, seems very improbable. The subject was too delicate to question

Johnson upon. But I have been assured by Dr. Taylor that the scheme

never would have taken place had not a gentleman of Shropshire, one of

his schoolfellows, spontaneously undertaken to support him at Oxford, in

the character of his companion; though, in fact, he never received any

assistance whatever from that gentleman.

He, however, went to Oxford, and was entered a Commoner of Pembroke

College on the 31st of October, 1728, being then in his nineteenth year.

The Reverend Dr. Adams, who afterwards presided over Pembroke College

with universal esteem, told me he was present, and gave me some account

of what passed on the night of Johnson's arrival at Oxford. On that

evening, his father, who had anxiously accompanied him, found means to

have him introduced to Mr. Jorden, who was to be his tutor.

His father seemed very full of the merits of his son, and told the

company he was a good scholar, and a poet, and wrote Latin verses. His

figure and manner appeared strange to them; but he behaved modestly,

and sat silent, till upon something which occurred in the course of

conversation, he suddenly struck in and quoted Macrobius; and thus he

gave the first impression of that more extensive reading in which he had

indulged himself.

His tutor, Mr. Jorden, fellow of Pembroke, was not, it seems, a man of

such abilities as we should conceive requisite for the instructor of

Samuel Johnson, who gave me the following account of him. 'He was a

very worthy man, but a heavy man, and I did not profit much by his

instructions. Indeed, I did not attend him much. The first day after

I came to college I waited upon him, and then staid away four. On the

sixth, Mr. Jorden asked me why I had not attended. I answered I had

been sliding in Christ-Church meadow. And this I said with as much

nonchalance as I am now talking to you. I had no notion that I was wrong

or irreverent to my tutor. BOSWELL: 'That, Sir, was great fortitude of

mind.' JOHNSON: 'No, Sir; stark insensibility.'

He had a love and respect for Jorden, not for his literature, but for

his worth. 'Whenever (said he) a young man becomes Jorden's pupil, he

becomes his son.'

Having given a specimen of his poetical powers, he was asked by Mr.

Jorden, to translate Pope's Messiah into Latin verse, as a Christmas

exercise. He performed it with uncommon rapidity, and in so masterly a

manner, that he obtained great applause from it, which ever after kept

him high in the estimation of his College, and, indeed, of all the

University.

It is said, that Mr. Pope expressed himself concerning it in terms of

strong approbation. Dr. Taylor told me, that it was first printed for

old Mr. Johnson, without the knowledge of his son, who was very angry

when he heard of it.

The 'morbid melancholy,' which was lurking in his constitution, and to

which we may ascribe those particularities, and that aversion to regular

life, which, at a very early period, marked his character, gathered such

strength in his twentieth year, as to afflict him in a dreadful manner.

While he was at Lichfield, in the college vacation of the year 1729, he

felt himself overwhelmed with an horrible hypochondria, with perpetual

irritation, fretfulness, and impatience; and with a dejection, gloom,

and despair, which made existence misery. From this dismal malady he

never afterwards was perfectly relieved; and all his labours, and

all his enjoyments, were but temporary interruptions of its baleful

influence. He told Mr. Paradise that he was sometimes so languid and

inefficient, that he could not distinguish the hour upon the town-clock.

Johnson, upon the first violent attack of this disorder, strove to

overcome it by forcible exertions. He frequently walked to Birmingham

and back again, and tried many other expedients, but all in vain. His

expression concerning it to me was 'I did not then know how to manage

it.' His distress became so intolerable, that he applied to Dr. Swinfen,

physician in Lichfield, his god-father, and put into his hands a state

of his case, written in Latin. Dr. Swinfen was so much struck with the

extraordinary acuteness, research, and eloquence of this paper, that in

his zeal for his godson he shewed it to several people. His daughter,

Mrs. Desmoulins, who was many years humanely supported in Dr. Johnson's

house in London, told me, that upon his discovering that Dr. Swinfen

had communicated his case, he was so much offended, that he was never

afterwards fully reconciled to him. He indeed had good reason to be

offended; for though Dr. Swinfen's motive was good, he inconsiderately

betrayed a matter deeply interesting and of great delicacy, which had

been entrusted to him in confidence; and exposed a complaint of his

young friend and patient, which, in the superficial opinion of the

generality of mankind, is attended with contempt and disgrace.

To Johnson, whose supreme enjoyment was the exercise of his reason,

the disturbance or obscuration of that faculty was the evil most to

be dreaded. Insanity, therefore, was the object of his most dismal

apprehension; and he fancied himself seized by it, or approaching to

it, at the very time when he was giving proofs of a more than ordinary

soundness and vigour of judgement. That his own diseased imagination

should have so far deceived him, is strange; but it is stranger still

that some of his friends should have given credit to his groundless

opinion, when they had such undoubted proofs that it was totally

fallacious; though it is by no means surprising that those who wish

to depreciate him, should, since his death, have laid hold of this

circumstance, and insisted upon it with very unfair aggravation.

The history of his mind as to religion is an important article. I have

mentioned the early impressions made upon his tender imagination by

his mother, who continued her pious care with assiduity, but, in his

opinion, not with judgement. 'Sunday (said he) was a heavy day to me

when I was a boy. My mother confined me on that day, and made me read

"The Whole Duty of Man," from a great part of which I could derive no

instruction. When, for instance, I had read the chapter on theft, which

from my infancy I had been taught was wrong, I was no more convinced

that theft was wrong than before; so there was no accession of

knowledge. A boy should be introduced to such books, by having

his attention directed to the arrangement, to the style, and other

excellencies of composition; that the mind being thus engaged by an

amusing variety of objects, may not grow weary.'

He communicated to me the following particulars upon the subject of

his religious progress. 'I fell into an inattention to religion, or an

indifference about it, in my ninth year. The church at Lichfield, in

which we had a seat, wanted reparation, so I was to go and find a seat

in other churches; and having bad eyes, and being awkward about this, I

used to go and read in the fields on Sunday. This habit continued till

my fourteenth year; and still I find a great reluctance to go to church.

I then became a sort of lax TALKER against religion, for I did not much

THINK against it; and this lasted till I went to Oxford, where it would

not be SUFFERED. When at Oxford, I took up Law's Serious Call to a Holy

Life, expecting to find it a dull book (as such books generally are),

and perhaps to laugh at it. But I found Law quite an overmatch for me;

and this was the first occasion of my thinking in earnest of religion,

after I became capable of rational inquiry.' From this time forward

religion was the predominant object of his thoughts; though, with the

just sentiments of a conscientious Christian, he lamented that his

practice of its duties fell far short of what it ought to be.

The particular course of his reading while at Oxford, and during the

time of vacation which he passed at home, cannot be traced. Enough

has been said of his irregular mode of study. He told me that from his

earliest years he loved to read poetry, but hardly ever read any poem to

an end; that he read Shakspeare at a period so early, that the speech of

the ghost in Hamlet terrified him when he was alone; that Horace's Odes

were the compositions in which he took most delight, and it was long

before he liked his Epistles and Satires. He told me what he read

SOLIDLY at Oxford was Greek; not the Grecian historians, but Homer and

Euripides, and now and then a little Epigram; that the study of which

he was the most fond was Metaphysicks, but he had not read much, even in

that way. I always thought that he did himself injustice in his account

of what he had read, and that he must have been speaking with reference

to the vast portion of study which is possible, and to which a few

scholars in the whole history of literature have attained; for when

I once asked him whether a person, whose name I have now forgotten,

studied hard, he answered 'No, Sir; I do not believe he studied hard. I

never knew a man who studied hard. I conclude, indeed, from the effects,

that some men have studied hard, as Bentley and Clarke.' Trying him by

that criterion upon which he formed his judgement of others, we may be

absolutely certain, both from his writings and his conversation, that

his reading was very extensive. Dr. Adam Smith, than whom few were

better judges on this subject, once observed to me that 'Johnson knew

more books than any man alive.' He had a peculiar facility in seizing at

once what was valuable in any book, without submitting to the labour of

perusing it from beginning to end. He had, from the irritability of his

constitution, at all times, an impatience and hurry when he either read

or wrote. A certain apprehension, arising from novelty, made him write

his first exercise at College twice over; but he never took that trouble

with any other composition; and we shall see that his most excellent

works were struck off at a heat, with rapid exertion.

No man had a more ardent love of literature, or a higher respect for it

than Johnson. His apartment in Pembroke College was that upon the

second floor, over the gateway. The enthusiasts of learning will ever

contemplate it with veneration. One day, while he was sitting in it

quite alone, Dr. Panting, then master of the College, whom he called

'a fine Jacobite fellow,' overheard him uttering this soliloquy in his

strong, emphatick voice: 'Well, I have a mind to see what is done in

other places of learning. I'll go and visit the Universities abroad.

I'll go to France and Italy. I'll go to Padua.--And I'll mind my

business. For an Athenian blockhead is the worst of all blockheads.'

Dr. Adams told me that Johnson, while he was at Pembroke College, 'was

caressed and loved by all about him, was a gay and frolicksome fellow,

and passed there the happiest part of his life.' But this is a striking

proof of the fallacy of appearances, and how little any of us know of

the real internal state even of those whom we see most frequently; for

the truth is, that he was then depressed by poverty, and irritated by

disease. When I mentioned to him this account as given me by Dr. Adams,

he said; 'Ah, Sir, I was mad and violent. It was bitterness which they

mistook for frolick. I was miserably poor, and I thought to fight my

way by my literature and my wit; so I disregarded all power and all

authority.'

The Bishop of Dromore observes in a letter to me,

'The pleasure he took in vexing the tutors and fellows has been often

mentioned. But I have heard him say, what ought to be recorded to the

honour of the present venerable master of that College, the Reverend

William Adams, D.D., who was then very young, and one of the junior

fellows; that the mild but judicious expostulations of this worthy man,

whose virtue awed him, and whose learning he revered, made him really

ashamed of himself, "though I fear (said he) I was too proud to own it."

'I have heard from some of his cotemporaries that he was generally seen

lounging at the College gate, with a circle of young students round him,

whom he was entertaining with wit, and keeping from their studies, if

not spiriting them up to rebellion against the College discipline, which

in his maturer years he so much extolled.'

I do not find that he formed any close intimacies with his

fellow-collegians. But Dr. Adams told me that he contracted a love and

regard for Pembroke College, which he retained to the last. A short time

before his death he sent to that College a present of all his works, to

be deposited in their library; and he had thoughts of leaving to it his

house at Lichfield; but his friends who were about him very properly

dissuaded him from it, and he bequeathed it to some poor relations.

He took a pleasure in boasting of the many eminent men who had been

educated at Pembroke. In this list are found the names of Mr. Hawkins

the Poetry Professor, Mr. Shenstone, Sir William Blackstone, and others;

not forgetting the celebrated popular preacher, Mr. George Whitefield,

of whom, though Dr. Johnson did not think very highly, it must be

acknowledged that his eloquence was powerful, his views pious and

charitable, his assiduity almost incredible; and, that since his death,

the integrity of his character has been fully vindicated. Being himself

a poet, Johnson was peculiarly happy in mentioning how many of the sons

of Pembroke were poets; adding, with a smile of sportive triumph, 'Sir,

we are a nest of singing birds.'

He was not, however, blind to what he thought the defects of his own

College; and I have, from the information of Dr. Taylor, a very strong

instance of that rigid honesty which he ever inflexibly preserved.

Taylor had obtained his father's consent to be entered of Pembroke, that

he might be with his schoolfellow Johnson, with whom, though some years

older than himself, he was very intimate. This would have been a great

comfort to Johnson. But he fairly told Taylor that he could not, in

conscience, suffer him to enter where he knew he could not have an able

tutor. He then made inquiry all round the University, and having found

that Mr. Bateman, of Christ Church, was the tutor of highest reputation,

Taylor was entered of that College. Mr. Bateman's lectures were so

excellent, that Johnson used to come and get them at second-hand from

Taylor, till his poverty being so extreme that his shoes were worn

out, and his feet appeared through them, he saw that this humiliating

circumstance was perceived by the Christ Church men, and he came no

more. He was too proud to accept of money, and somebody having set a

pair of new shoes at his door, he threw them away with indignation. How

must we feel when we read such an anecdote of Samuel Johnson!

The res angusta domi prevented him from having the advantage of a

complete academical education. The friend to whom he had trusted for

support had deceived him. His debts in College, though not great, were

increasing; and his scanty remittances from Lichfield, which had all

along been made with great difficulty, could be supplied no longer, his

father having fallen into a state of insolvency. Compelled, therefore,

by irresistible necessity, he left the College in autumn, 1731, without

a degree, having been a member of it little more than three years.

And now (I had almost said POOR) Samuel Johnson returned to his native

city, destitute, and not knowing how he should gain even a decent

livelihood. His father's misfortunes in trade rendered him unable to

support his son; and for some time there appeared no means by which he

could maintain himself. In the December of this year his father died.

Johnson was so far fortunate, that the respectable character of his

parents, and his own merit, had, from his earliest years, secured him

a kind reception in the best families at Lichfield. Among these I

can mention Mr. Howard, Dr. Swinfen, Mr. Simpson, Mr. Levett, Captain

Garrick, father of the great ornament of the British stage; but

above all, Mr. Gilbert Walmsley, Register of the Prerogative Court of

Lichfield, whose character, long after his decease, Dr. Johnson has,

in his Life of Edmund Smith, thus drawn in the glowing colours of

gratitude:

'Of Gilbert Walmsley, thus presented to my mind, let me indulge myself

in the remembrance. I knew him very early; he was one of the first

friends that literature procured me, and I hope that, at least, my

gratitude made me worthy of his notice.

'He was of an advanced age, and I was only not a boy, yet he never

received my notions with contempt. He was a whig, with all the virulence

and malevolence of his party; yet difference of opinion did not keep us

apart. I honoured him and he endured me.

'At this man's table I enjoyed many cheerful and instructive hours, with

companions, such as are not often found--with one who has lengthened,

and one who has gladdened life; with Dr. James, whose skill in physick

will be long remembered; and with David Garrick, whom I hoped to have

gratified with this character of our common friend. But what are the

hopes of man! I am disappointed by that stroke of death, which has

eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and impoverished the publick stock of

harmless pleasure.'

In these families he passed much time in his early years. In most of

them, he was in the company of ladies, particularly at Mr. Walmsley's,

whose wife and sisters-in-law, of the name of Aston, and daughters of a

Baronet, were remarkable for good breeding; so that the notion which has

been industriously circulated and believed, that he never was in good

company till late in life, and, consequently had been confirmed

in coarse and ferocious manners by long habits, is wholly without

foundation. Some of the ladies have assured me, they recollected him

well when a young man, as distinguished for his complaisance.

In the forlorn state of his circumstances, he accepted of an offer to be

employed as usher in the school of Market-Bosworth, in Leicestershire,

to which it appears, from one of his little fragments of a diary, that

he went on foot, on the 16th of July.

This employment was very irksome to him in every respect, and he

complained grievously of it in his letters to his friend Mr. Hector, who

was now settled as a surgeon at Birmingham. The letters are lost; but

Mr. Hector recollects his writing 'that the poet had described the dull

sameness of his existence in these words, "Vitam continet una dies" (one

day contains the whole of my life); that it was unvaried as the note of

the cuckow; and that he did not know whether it was more disagreeable

for him to teach, or the boys to learn, the grammar rules.' His general

aversion to this painful drudgery was greatly enhanced by a disagreement

between him and Sir Wolstan Dixey, the patron of the school, in whose

house, I have been told, he officiated as a kind of domestick chaplain,

so far, at least, as to say grace at table, but was treated with what

he represented as intolerable harshness; and, after suffering for a few

months such complicated misery, he relinquished a situation which all

his life afterwards he recollected with the strongest aversion, and even

a degree of horrour. But it is probable that at this period, whatever

uneasiness he may have endured, he laid the foundation of much future

eminence by application to his studies.

Being now again totally unoccupied, he was invited by Mr. Hector to

pass some time with him at Birmingham, as his guest, at the house of

Mr. Warren, with whom Mr. Hector lodged and boarded. Mr. Warren was the

first established bookseller in Birmingham, and was very attentive to

Johnson, who he soon found could be of much service to him in his trade,

by his knowledge of literature; and he even obtained the assistance of

his pen in furnishing some numbers of a periodical Essay printed in the

newspaper, of which Warren was proprietor. After very diligent inquiry,

I have not been able to recover those early specimens of that particular

mode of writing by which Johnson afterwards so greatly distinguished

himself.

He continued to live as Mr. Hector's guest for about six months, and

then hired lodgings in another part of the town, finding himself as well

situated at Birmingham as he supposed he could be any where, while he

had no settled plan of life, and very scanty means of subsistence. He

made some valuable acquaintances there, amongst whom were Mr. Porter,

a mercer, whose widow he afterwards married, and Mr. Taylor, who by his

ingenuity in mechanical inventions, and his success in trade, acquired

an immense fortune. But the comfort of being near Mr. Hector, his old

school-fellow and intimate friend, was Johnson's chief inducement to

continue here.

His juvenile attachments to the fair sex were very transient; and it is

certain that he formed no criminal connection whatsoever. Mr. Hector,

who lived with him in his younger days in the utmost intimacy and social

freedom, has assured me, that even at that ardent season his conduct

was strictly virtuous in that respect; and that though he loved to

exhilarate himself with wine, he never knew him intoxicated but once.

In a man whom religious education has secured from licentious

indulgences, the passion of love, when once it has seized him, is

exceedingly strong; being unimpaired by dissipation, and totally

concentrated in one object. This was experienced by Johnson, when he

became the fervent admirer of Mrs. Porter, after her first husband's

death. Miss Porter told me, that when he was first introduced to her

mother, his appearance was very forbidding: he was then lean and lank,

so that his immense structure of bones was hideously striking to the

eye, and the scars of the scrophula were deeply visible. He also wore

his hair, which was straight and stiff, and separated behind: and he

often had, seemingly, convulsive starts and odd gesticulations, which

tended to excite at once surprize and ridicule. Mrs. Porter was so

much engaged by his conversation that she overlooked all these external

disadvantages, and said to her daughter, 'this is the most sensible man

that I ever saw in my life.'

Though Mrs. Porter was double the age of Johnson, and her person and

manner, as described to me by the late Mr. Garrick, were by no means

pleasing to others, she must have had a superiority of understanding

and talents, as she certainly inspired him with a more than ordinary

passion; and she having signified her willingness to accept of his hand,

he went to Lichfield to ask his mother's consent to the marriage, which

he could not but be conscious was a very imprudent scheme, both on

account of their disparity of years, and her want of fortune. But Mrs.

Johnson knew too well the ardour of her son's temper, and was too tender

a parent to oppose his inclinations.

I know not for what reason the marriage ceremony was not performed at

Birmingham; but a resolution was taken that it should be at Derby, for

which place the bride and bridegroom set out on horseback, I suppose in

very good humour. But though Mr. Topham Beauclerk used archly to mention

Johnson's having told him, with much gravity, 'Sir, it was a love

marriage on both sides,' I have had from my illustrious friend the

following curious account of their journey to church upon the nuptial

morn:

9th JULY:--'Sir, she had read the old romances, and had got into her

head the fantastical notion that a woman of spirit should use her lover

like a dog. So, Sir, at first she told me that I rode too fast, and she

could not keep up with me; and, when I rode a little slower, she passed

me, and complained that I lagged behind. I was not to be made the slave

of caprice; and I resolved to begin as I meant to end. I therefore

pushed on briskly, till I was fairly out of her sight. The road lay

between two hedges, so I was sure she could not miss it; and I contrived

that she should soon come up with me. When she did, I observed her to be

in tears.'

This, it must be allowed, was a singular beginning of connubial

felicity; but there is no doubt that Johnson, though he thus shewed a

manly firmness, proved a most affectionate and indulgent husband to the

last moment of Mrs. Johnson's life: and in his Prayers and Meditations,

we find very remarkable evidence that his regard and fondness for her

never ceased, even after her death.

He now set up a private academy, for which purpose he hired a large

house, well situated near his native city. In the Gentleman's Magazine

for 1736, there is the following advertisement:

'At Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordshire, young gentlemen are boarded

and taught the Latin and Greek languages, by SAMUEL JOHNSON.'

But the only pupils that were put under his care were the celebrated

David Garrick and his brother George, and a Mr. Offely, a young

gentleman of good fortune who died early. The truth is, that he was not

so well qualified for being a teacher of elements, and a conductor in

learning by regular gradations, as men of inferiour powers of mind. His

own acquisitions had been made by fits and starts, by violent irruptions

into the regions of knowledge; and it could not be expected that his

impatience would be subdued, and his impetuosity restrained, so as to

fit him for a quiet guide to novices.

Johnson was not more satisfied with his situation as the master of an

academy, than with that of the usher of a school; we need not wonder,

therefore, that he did not keep his academy above a year and a half.

From Mr. Garrick's account he did not appear to have been profoundly

reverenced by his pupils. His oddities of manner, and uncouth

gesticulations, could not but be the subject of merriment to them;

and, in particular, the young rogues used to listen at the door of his

bed-chamber, and peep through the key-hole, that they might turn into

ridicule his tumultuous and awkward fondness for Mrs. Johnson, whom he

used to name by the familiar appellation of Tetty or Tetsey, which, like

Betty or Betsey, is provincially used as a contraction for Elisabeth,

her christian name, but which to us seems ludicrous, when applied to a

woman of her age and appearance. Mr. Garrick described her to me as

very fat, with a bosom of more than ordinary protuberance, with swelled

cheeks of a florid red, produced by thick painting, and increased by

the liberal use of cordials; flaring and fantastick in her dress, and

affected both in her speech and her general behaviour. I have seen

Garrick exhibit her, by his exquisite talent of mimickry, so as to

excite the heartiest bursts of laughter; but he, probably, as is the

case in all such representations, considerably aggravated the picture.

Johnson now thought of trying his fortune in London, the great field of

genius and exertion, where talents of every kind have the fullest scope,

and the highest encouragement. It is a memorable circumstance that his

pupil David Garrick went thither at the same time,* with intention to

complete his education, and follow the profession of the law, from which

he was soon diverted by his decided preference for the stage.

* Both of them used to talk pleasantly of this their first

journey to London. Garrick, evidently meaning to embellish

a little, said one day in my hearing, 'we rode and tied.'

And the Bishop of Killaloe informed me, that at another

time, when Johnson and Garrick were dining together in a

pretty large company, Johnson humorously ascertaining the

chronology of something, expressed himself thus: 'that was

the year when I came to London with two-pence half-penny in

my pocket.' Garrick overhearing him, exclaimed, 'eh? what

do you say? with two-pence half-penny in your pocket?'--

JOHNSON, 'Why yes; when I came with two-pence half-penny in

MY pocket, and thou, Davy, with three half-pence in thine.'

--BOSWELL.

They were recommended to Mr. Colson, an eminent mathematician and master

of an academy, by the following letter from Mr. Walmsley:

'TO THE REVEREND MR. COLSON.

'Lichfield, March 2,1737.

'Dear Sir, I had the favour of yours, and am extremely obliged to you;

but I cannot say I had a greater affection for you upon it than I had

before, being long since so much endeared to you, as well by an early

friendship, as by your many excellent and valuable qualifications; and,

had I a son of my own, it would be my ambition, instead of sending him

to the University, to dispose of him as this young gentleman is.

'He, and another neighbour of mine, one Mr. Samuel Johnson, set out this

morning for London together. Davy Garrick is to be with you early the

next week, and Mr. Johnson to try his fate with a tragedy, and to see to

get himself employed in some translation, either from the Latin or the

French. Johnson is a very good scholar and poet, and I have great hopes

will turn out a fine tragedy-writer. If it should any way lie in your

way, doubt not but you would be ready to recommend and assist your

countryman.

'G. WALMSLEY.'

How he employed himself upon his first coming to London is not

particularly known.'

* One curious anecdote was communicated by himself to Mr.

John Nichols. Mr. Wilcox, the bookseller, on being informed

by him that his intention was to get his livelihood as an

authour, eyed his robust frame attentively, and with a

significant look, said, 'You had better buy a porter's

knot.' He however added, 'Wilcox was one of my best

friends.'--BOSWELL.

He had a little money when he came to town, and he knew how he could

live in the cheapest manner. His first lodgings were at the house of Mr.

Norris, a staymaker, in Exeter-street, adjoining Catharine-street, in

the Strand. 'I dined (said he) very well for eight-pence, with very good

company, at the Pine Apple in New-street, just by. Several of them

had travelled. They expected to meet every day; but did not know one

another's names. It used to cost the rest a shilling, for they drank

wine; but I had a cut of meat for six-pence, and bread for a penny, and

gave the waiter a penny; so that I was quite well served, nay, better

than the rest, for they gave the waiter nothing.' He at this time, I

believe, abstained entirely from fermented liquors: a practice to which

he rigidly conformed for many years together, at different periods of

his life.

His Ofellus in the Art of Living in London, I have heard him relate, was

an Irish painter, whom he knew at Birmingham, and who had practised his

own precepts of oeconomy for several years in the British capital. He

assured Johnson, who, I suppose, was then meditating to try his fortune

in London, but was apprehensive of the expence, 'that thirty pounds

a year was enough to enable a man to live there without being

contemptible. He allowed ten pounds for clothes and linen. He said a

man might live in a garret at eighteen-pence a week; few people would

inquire where he lodged; and if they did, it was easy to say, "Sir, I am

to be found at such a place." By spending three-pence in a coffeehouse,

he might be for some hours every day in very good company; he might dine

for six-pence, breakfast on bread and milk for a penny, and do without

supper. On clean-shirt-day he went abroad, and paid visits.' I have

heard him more than once talk of this frugal friend, whom he recollected

with esteem and kindness, and did not like to have one smile at the

recital. 'This man (said he, gravely) was a very sensible man, who

perfectly understood common affairs: a man of a great deal of knowledge

of the world, fresh from life, not strained through books. He amused

himself, I remember, by computing how much more expence was absolutely

necessary to live upon the same scale with that which his friend

described, when the value of money was diminished by the progress of

commerce. It may be estimated that double the money might now with

difficulty be sufficient.'

Amidst this cold obscurity, there was one brilliant circumstance to

cheer him; he was well acquainted with Mr. Henry Hervey, one of the

branches of the noble family of that name, who had been quartered at

Lichfield as an officer of the army, and had at this time a house in

London, where Johnson was frequently entertained, and had an opportunity

of meeting genteel company. Not very long before his death, he

mentioned this, among other particulars of his life, which he was kindly

communicating to me; and he described this early friend, 'Harry Hervey,'

thus: 'He was a vicious man, but very kind to me. If you call a dog

HERVEY, I shall love him.'

He told me he had now written only three acts of his Irene, and that he

retired for some time to lodgings at Greenwich, where he proceeded in it

somewhat further, and used to compose, walking in the Park; but did not

stay long enough at that place to finish it.

In the course of the summer he returned to Lichfield, where he had left

Mrs. Johnson, and there he at last finished his tragedy, which was not

executed with his rapidity of composition upon other occasions, but

was slowly and painfully elaborated. A few days before his death,

while burning a great mass of papers, he picked out from among them the

original unformed sketch of this tragedy, in his own hand-writing,

and gave it to Mr. Langton, by whose favour a copy of it is now in my

possession.

Johnson's residence at Lichfield, on his return to it at this time, was

only for three months; and as he had as yet seen but a small part of

the wonders of the Metropolis, he had little to tell his townsmen. He

related to me the following minute anecdote of this period: 'In the

last age, when my mother lived in London, there were two sets of people,

those who gave the wall, and those who took it; the peaceable and the

quarrelsome. When I returned to Lichfield, after having been in London,

my mother asked me, whether I was one of those who gave the wall, or

those who took it. NOW it is fixed that every man keeps to the right;

or, if one is taking the wall, another yields it; and it is never a

dispute.'

He now removed to London with Mrs. Johnson; but her daughter, who had

lived with them at Edial, was left with her relations in the

country. His lodgings were for some time in Woodstock-street, near

Hanover-square, and afterwards in Castle-street, near Cavendish-square.

His tragedy being by this time, as he thought, completely finished

and fit for the stage, he was very desirous that it should be brought

forward. Mr. Peter Garrick told me, that Johnson and he went together to

the Fountain tavern, and read it over, and that he afterwards solicited

Mr. Fleetwood, the patentee of Drury-lane theatre, to have it acted at

his house; but Mr. Fleetwood would not accept it, probably because it

was not patronized by some man of high rank; and it was not acted till

1749, when his friend David Garrick was manager of that theatre.

The Gentleman's Magazine, begun and carried on by Mr. Edward Cave,

under the name of SYLVANUS URBAN, had attracted the notice and esteem of

Johnson, in an eminent degree, before he came to London as an adventurer

in literature. He told me, that when he first saw St. John's Gate, the

place where that deservedly popular miscellany was originally printed,

he 'beheld it with reverence.'

It appears that he was now enlisted by Mr. Cave as a regular coadjutor

in his magazine, by which he probably obtained a tolerable livelihood.

At what time, or by what means, he had acquired a competent knowledge

both of French and Italian, I do not know; but he was so well skilled in

them, as to be sufficiently qualified for a translator. That part of his

labour which consisted in emendation and improvement of the productions

of other contributors, like that employed in levelling ground, can be

perceived only by those who had an opportunity of comparing the original

with the altered copy. What we certainly know to have been done by him

in this way, was the Debates in both houses of Parliament, under the

name of 'The Senate of Lilliput,' sometimes with feigned denominations

of the several speakers, sometimes with denominations formed of the

letters of their real names, in the manner of what is called anagram, so

that they might easily be decyphered. Parliament then kept the press in

a kind of mysterious awe, which made it necessary to have recourse to

such devices. In our time it has acquired an unrestrained freedom, so

that the people in all parts of the kingdom have a fair, open, and

exact report of the actual proceedings of their representatives and

legislators, which in our constitution is highly to be valued; though,

unquestionably, there has of late been too much reason to complain of

the petulance with which obscure scribblers have presumed to treat men

of the most respectable character and situation.

This important article of the Gentlemen's Magazine was, for several

years, executed by Mr. William Guthrie, a man who deserves to be

respectably recorded in the literary annals of this country. The debates

in Parliament, which were brought home and digested by Guthrie, whose

memory, though surpassed by others who have since followed him in the

same department, was yet very quick and tenacious, were sent by Cave

to Johnson for his revision; and, after some time, when Guthrie had

attained to greater variety of employment, and the speeches were more

and more enriched by the accession of Johnson's genius, it was resolved

that he should do the whole himself, from the scanty notes furnished

by persons employed to attend in both houses of Parliament. Sometimes,

however, as he himself told me, he had nothing more communicated to

him than the names of the several speakers, and the part which they had

taken in the debate.*

* Johnson later told Boswell that 'as soon as he found that

the speeches were thought genuine he determined that he

would write no more of them: for "he would not be accessary

to the propagation of falsehood." And such was the

tenderness of his conscience, that a short time before his

death he expressed his regret for his having been the

authour of fictions which had passed for realities.'--Ed.

But what first displayed his transcendent powers, and 'gave the world

assurance of the MAN,' was his London, a Poem, in Imitation of the Third

Satire of Juvenal: which came out in May this year, and burst forth with

a splendour, the rays of which will for ever encircle his name. Boileau

had imitated the same satire with great success, applying it to Paris;

but an attentive comparison will satisfy every reader, that he is

much excelled by the English Juvenal. Oldham had also imitated it, and

applied it to London; all which performances concur to prove, that great

cities, in every age, and in every country, will furnish similar topicks

of satire. Whether Johnson had previously read Oldham's imitation, I do

not know; but it is not a little remarkable, that there is scarcely any

coincidence found between the two performances, though upon the very

same subject.

Johnson's London was published in May, 1738; and it is remarkable, that

it came out on the same morning with Pope's satire, entitled '1738;' so

that England had at once its Juvenal and Horace as poetical monitors.

The Reverend Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of Salisbury, to whom I am indebted

for some obliging communications, was then a student at Oxford,

and remembers well the effect which London produced. Every body was

delighted with it; and there being no name to it, the first buz of the

literary circles was 'here is an unknown poet, greater even than Pope.'

And it is recorded in the Gentleman's Magazine of that year, that it

'got to the second edition in the course of a week.'

One of the warmest patrons of this poem on its first appearance was

General Oglethorpe, whose 'strong benevolence of soul,' was unabated

during the course of a very long life; though it is painful to think,

that he had but too much reason to become cold and callous, and

discontented with the world, from the neglect which he experienced of

his publick and private worth, by those in whose power it was to gratify

so gallant a veteran with marks of distinction. This extraordinary

person was as remarkable for his learning and taste, as for his other

eminent qualities; and no man was more prompt, active, and generous, in

encouraging merit. I have heard Johnson gratefully acknowledge, in his

presence, the kind and effectual support which he gave to his London,

though unacquainted with its authour.

Pope, who then filled the poetical throne without a rival, it may

reasonably be presumed, must have been particularly struck by the sudden

appearance of such a poet; and, to his credit, let it be remembered,

that his feelings and conduct on the occasion were candid and liberal.

He requested Mr. Richardson, son of the painter, to endeavour to find

out who this new authour was. Mr. Richardson, after some inquiry, having

informed him that he had discovered only that his name was Johnson, and

that he was some obscure man, Pope said; 'he will soon be deterre.' We

shall presently see, from a note written by Pope, that he was himself

afterwards more successful in his inquiries than his friend.

While we admire the poetical excellence of this poem, candour obliges us

to allow, that the flame of patriotism and zeal for popular resistance

with which it is fraught, had no just cause. There was, in truth, no

'oppression;' the 'nation' was NOT 'cheated.' Sir Robert Walpole was

a wise and a benevolent minister, who thought that the happiness and

prosperity of a commercial country like ours, would be best promoted by

peace, which he accordingly maintained, with credit, during a very long

period. Johnson himself afterwards honestly acknowledged the merit

of Walpole, whom he called 'a fixed star;' while he characterised his

opponent, Pitt, as 'a meteor.' But Johnson's juvenile poem was naturally

impregnated with the fire of opposition, and upon every account was

universally admired.

Though thus elevated into fame, and conscious of uncommon powers, he

had not that bustling confidence, or, I may rather say, that animated

ambition, which one might have supposed would have urged him to

endeavour at rising in life. But such was his inflexible dignity of

character, that he could not stoop to court the great; without which,

hardly any man has made his way to a high station. He could not expect

to produce many such works as his London, and he felt the hardships of

writing for bread; he was, therefore, willing to resume the office of a

schoolmaster, so as to have a sure, though moderate income for his life;

and an offer being made to him of the mastership of a school, provided

he could obtain the degree of Master of Arts, Dr. Adams was applied

to, by a common friend, to know whether that could be granted him as

a favour from the University of Oxford. But though he had made such a

figure in the literary world, it was then thought too great a favour to

be asked.

Pope, without any knowledge of him but from his London, recommended him

to Earl Gower, who endeavoured to procure for him a degree from Dublin.

It was, perhaps, no small disappointment to Johnson that this

respectable application had not the desired effect; yet how much reason

has there been, both for himself and his country, to rejoice that it did

not succeed, as he might probably have wasted in obscurity those hours

in which he afterwards produced his incomparable works.

About this time he made one other effort to emancipate himself from

the drudgery of authourship. He applied to Dr. Adams, to consult

Dr. Smalbroke of the Commons, whether a person might be permitted to

practice as an advocate there, without a doctor's degree in Civil Law.

'I am (said he) a total stranger to these studies; but whatever is a

profession, and maintains numbers, must be within the reach of common

abilities, and some degree of industry.' Dr. Adams was much pleased with

Johnson's design to employ his talents in that manner, being confident

he would have attained to great eminence.

As Mr. Pope's note concerning Johnson, alluded to in a former page,

refers both to his London, and his Marmor Norfolciense, I have deferred

inserting it till now. I am indebted for it to Dr. Percy, the Bishop

of Dromore, who permitted me to copy it from the original in his

possession. It was presented to his Lordship by Sir Joshua Reynolds, to

whom it was given by the son of Mr. Richardson the painter, the person

to whom it is addressed. I have transcribed it with minute exactness,

that the peculiar mode of writing, and imperfect spelling of that

celebrated poet, may be exhibited to the curious in literature. It

justifies Swift's epithet of 'Paper-sparing Pope,' for it is written

on a slip no larger than a common message-card, and was sent to Mr.

Richardson, along with the Imitation of Juvenal.

'This is imitated by one Johnson who put in for a Publick-school in

Shropshire, but was disappointed. He has an infirmity of the convulsive

kind, that attacks him sometimes, so as to make him a sad Spectacle. Mr.

P. from the Merit of this Work which was all the knowledge he had of him

endeavour'd to serve him without his own application; & wrote to my Ld

gore, but he did not succeed. Mr. Johnson published afterwds another

Poem in Latin with Notes the whole very Humerous call'd the Norfolk

Prophecy. P.'

Johnson had been told of this note; and Sir Joshua Reynolds informed

him of the compliment which it contained, but, from delicacy, avoided

shewing him the paper itself. When Sir Joshua observed to Johnson that

he seemed very desirous to see Pope's note, he answered, 'Who would not

be proud to have such a man as Pope so solicitous in inquiring about

him?'

The infirmity to which Mr. Pope alludes, appeared to me also, as I have

elsewhere observed, to be of the convulsive kind, and of the nature

of that distemper called St. Vitus's dance; and in this opinion I am

confirmed by the description which Sydenham gives of that disease. 'This

disorder is a kind of convulsion. It manifests itself by halting or

unsteadiness of one of the legs, which the patient draws after him like

an ideot. If the hand of the same side be applied to the breast, or any

other part of the body, he cannot keep it a moment in the same

posture, but it will be drawn into a different one by a convulsion,

notwithstanding all his efforts to the contrary.' Sir Joshua Reynolds,

however, was of a different opinion, and favoured me with the following

paper.

'Those motions or tricks of Dr. Johnson are improperly called

convulsions. He could sit motionless, when he was told so to do, as well

as any other man; my opinion is that it proceeded from a habit which

he had indulged himself in, of accompanying his thoughts with certain

untoward actions, and those actions always appeared to me as if they

were meant to reprobate some part of his past conduct. Whenever he was

not engaged in conversation, such thoughts were sure to rush into his

mind; and, for this reason, any company, any employment whatever, he

preferred to being alone. The great business of his life (he said) was

to escape from himself; this disposition he considered as the disease of

his mind, which nothing cured but company.

'One instance of his absence and particularity, as it is characteristick

of the man, may be worth relating. When he and I took a journey together

into the West, we visited the late Mr. Banks, of Dorsetshire; the

conversation turning upon pictures, which Johnson could not well see, he

retired to a corner of the room, stretching out his right leg as far as

he could reach before him, then bringing up his left leg, and stretching

his right still further on. The old gentleman observing him, went up to

him, and in a very courteous manner assured him, that though it was not

a new house, the flooring was perfectly safe. The Doctor started from

his reverie, like a person waked out of his sleep, but spoke not a

word.'

While we are on this subject, my readers may not be displeased with

another anecdote, communicated to me by the same friend, from the

relation of Mr. Hogarth.

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; and being a warm partisan of George the Second, he

observed to Richardson, that certainly there must have been some very

unfavourable circumstances lately discovered in this particular case,

which had induced the King to approve of an execution for rebellion so

long after the time when it was committed, as this had the appearance of

putting a man to death in cold blood, and was very unlike his Majesty's

usual clemency. 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 surprise, 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; mentioning many

instances, particularly, that when an officer of high rank had been

acquitted by a Court Martial, George the Second had with his own hand,

struck his name off the list. In short, 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.

1740: AETAT. 31.]--In 1740 he wrote for the Gentleman's Magazine the

'Preface,' 'Life of Sir Francis Drake,' and the first parts of those of

'Admiral Blake,' and of 'Philip Baretier,' both which he finished the

following year. He also wrote an 'Essay on Epitaphs,' and an 'Epitaph

on Philips, a Musician,' which was afterwards published with some other

pieces of his, in Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies. This Epitaph is so

exquisitely beautiful, that I remember even Lord Kames, strangely

prejudiced as he was against Dr. Johnson, was compelled to allow it very

high praise. It has been ascribed to Mr. Garrick, from its appearing at

first with the signature G; but I have heard Mr. Garrick declare, that

it was written by Dr. Johnson, and give the following account of the

manner in which it was composed. Johnson and he were sitting together;

when, amongst other things, Garrick repeated an Epitaph upon this

Philips by a Dr. Wilkes, in these words:

'Exalted soul! whose harmony could please

The love-sick virgin, and the gouty ease;

Could jarring discord, like Amphion, move

To beauteous order and harmonious love;

Rest here in peace, till angels bid thee rise,

And meet thy blessed Saviour in the skies.'

Johnson shook his head at these common-place funereal lines, and said to

Garrick, 'I think, Davy, I can make a better.' Then, stirring about his

tea for a little while, in a state of meditation, he almost extempore

produced the following verses:

'Philips, whose touch harmonious could remove

The pangs of guilty power or hapless love;

Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more,

Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before;

Sleep, undisturb'd, within this peaceful shrine,

Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!'

1742: AETAT. 33.]--In 1742 he wrote . . . 'Proposals for Printing

Bibliotheca Harleiana, or a Catalogue of the Library of the Earl of

Oxford.' He was employed in this business by Mr. Thomas Osborne the

bookseller, who purchased the library for 13,000l., a sum which Mr.

Oldys says, in one of his manuscripts, was not more than the binding of

the books had cost; yet, as Dr. Johnson assured me, the slowness of

the sale was such, that there was not much gained by it. It has been

confidently related, with many embellishments, that Johnson one day

knocked Osborne down in his shop, with a folio, and put his foot upon

his neck. The simple truth I had from Johnson himself. 'Sir, he was

impertinent to me, and I beat him. But it was not in his shop: it was in

my own chamber.'

1744: AETAT. 35.]--He produced one work this year, fully sufficient to

maintain the high reputation which he had acquired. This was The Life

of Richard Savage; a man, of whom it is difficult to speak impartially,

without wondering that he was for some time the intimate companion of

Johnson; for his character was marked by profligacy, insolence, and

ingratitude: yet, as he undoubtedly had a warm and vigorous, though

unregulated mind, had seen life in all its varieties, and been much in

the company of the statesmen and wits of his time, he could communicate

to Johnson an abundant supply of such materials as his philosophical

curiosity most eagerly desired; and as Savage's misfortunes and

misconduct had reduced him to the lowest state of wretchedness as

a writer for bread, his visits to St. John's Gate naturally brought

Johnson and him together.

It is melancholy to reflect, that Johnson and Savage were sometimes in

such extreme indigence,* that they could not pay for a lodging; so that

they have wandered together whole nights in the streets. Yet in these

almost incredible scenes of distress, we may suppose that Savage

mentioned many of the anecdotes with which Johnson afterwards enriched

the life of his unhappy companion, and those of other Poets.

* Soon after Savage's Life was published, Mr. Harte dined

with Edward Cave, and occasionally praised it. Soon after,

meeting him, Cave said, 'You made a man very happy t'other

day.'--'How could that be.' says Harte; 'nobody was there

but ourselves.' Cave answered, by reminding him that a

plate of victuals was sent behind a screen, which was to

Johnson, dressed so shabbily, that he did not choose to

appear; but on hearing the conversation, was highly

delighted with the encomiums on his book--MALONE.

He told Sir Joshua Reynolds, that one night in particular, when Savage

and he walked round St. James's-square for want of a lodging, they were

not at all depressed by their situation; but in high spirits and brimful

of patriotism, traversed the square for several hours, inveighed against

the minister, and 'resolved they would stand by their country.'

In Johnson's Life of Savage, although it must be allowed that its moral

is the reverse of--'Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo,' a very

useful lesson is inculcated, to guard men of warm passions from a too

free indulgence of them; and the various incidents are related in so

clear and animated a manner, and illuminated throughout with so much

philosophy, that it is one of the most interesting narratives in the

English language. Sir Joshua Reynolds told me, that upon his return from

Italy he met with it in Devonshire, knowing nothing of its authour, and

began to read it while he was standing with his arm leaning against a

chimney-piece. It seized his attention so strongly, that, not being able

to lay down the book till he had finished it, when he attempted to move,

he found his arm totally benumbed. The rapidity with which this work was

composed, is a wonderful circumstance. Johnson has been heard to say, 'I

wrote forty-eight of the printed octavo pages of the Life of Savage at a

sitting; but then I sat up all night.'

It is remarkable, that in this biographical disquisition there appears a

very strong symptom of Johnson's prejudice against players; a prejudice

which may be attributed to the following causes: first, the imperfection

of his organs, which were so defective that he was not susceptible

of the fine impressions which theatrical excellence produces upon the

generality of mankind; secondly, the cold rejection of his tragedy; and,

lastly, the brilliant success of Garrick, who had been his pupil,

who had come to London at the same time with him, not in a much more

prosperous state than himself, and whose talents he undoubtedly rated

low, compared with his own. His being outstripped by his pupil in the

race of immediate fame, as well as of fortune, probably made him feel

some indignation, as thinking that whatever might be Garrick's merits

in his art, the reward was too great when compared with what the most

successful efforts of literary labour could attain. At all periods of

his life Johnson used to talk contemptuously of players; but in this

work he speaks of them with peculiar acrimony; for which, perhaps, there

was formerly too much reason from the licentious and dissolute manners

of those engaged in that profession. It is but justice to add, that in

our own time such a change has taken place, that there is no longer room

for such an unfavourable distinction.

His schoolfellow and friend, Dr. Taylor, told me a pleasant anecdote of

Johnson's triumphing over his pupil David Garrick. When that great actor

had played some little time at Goodman's fields, Johnson and Taylor went

to see him perform, and afterwards passed the evening at a tavern with

him and old Giffard. Johnson, who was ever depreciating stage-players,

after censuring some mistakes in emphasis which Garrick had committed in

the course of that night's acting, said, 'The players, Sir, have got

a kind of rant, with which they run on, without any regard either to

accent or emphasis.' Both Garrick and Giffard were offended at this

sarcasm, and endeavoured to refute it; upon which Johnson rejoined,

'Well now, I'll give you something to speak, with which you are little

acquainted, and then we shall see how just my observation is. That shall

be the criterion. Let me hear you repeat the ninth Commandment, "Thou

shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour."' Both tried at it,

said Dr. Taylor, and both mistook the emphasis, which should be upon not

and false witness. Johnson put them right, and enjoyed his victory with

great glee.

Johnson's partiality for Savage made him entertain no doubt of his

story, however extraordinary and improbable. It never occurred to him

to question his being the son of the Countess of Macclesfield, of whose

unrelenting barbarity he so loudly complained, and the particulars of

which are related in so strong and affecting a manner in Johnson's

life of him. Johnson was certainly well warranted in publishing his

narrative, however offensive it might be to the lady and her relations,

because her alledged unnatural and cruel conduct to her son, and

shameful avowal of guilt, were stated in a Life of Savage now lying

before me, which came out so early as 1727, and no attempt had been made

to confute it, or to punish the authour or printer as a libeller: but

for the honour of human nature, we should be glad to find the shocking

tale not true; and, from a respectable gentleman connected with the

lady's family, I have received such information and remarks, as

joined to my own inquiries, will, I think, render it at least somewhat

doubtful, especially when we consider that it must have originated from

the person himself who went by the name of Richard Savage.

1746: AETAT. 37.]--It is somewhat curious, that his literary career

appears to have been almost totally suspended in the years 1745 and

1746, those years which were marked by a civil war in Great-Britain,

when a rash attempt was made to restore the House of Stuart to the

throne. That he had a tenderness for that unfortunate House, is well

known; and some may fancifully imagine, that a sympathetick anxiety

impeded the exertion of his intellectual powers: but I am inclined to

think, that he was, during this time, sketching the outlines of his

great philological work.

1747: AETAT. 38.]--This year his old pupil and friend, David Garrick,

having become joint patentee and manager of Drury-lane theatre, Johnson

honoured his opening of it with a Prologue, which for just and manly

dramatick criticism, on the whole range of the English stage, as well as

for poetical excellence, is unrivalled. Like the celebrated Epilogue to

the Distressed Mother, it was, during the season, often called for by

the audience.

But the year 1747 is distinguished as the epoch, when Johnson's

arduous and important work, his DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, was

announced to the world, by the publication of its Plan or Prospectus.