How long this immense undertaking had been the object of his

contemplation, I do not know. I once asked him by what means he had

attained to that astonishing knowledge of our language, by which he was

enabled to realise a design of such extent, and accumulated difficulty.

He told me, that 'it was not the effect of particular study; but that it

had grown up in his mind insensibly.' I have been informed by Mr. James

Dodsley, that several years before this period, when Johnson was one day

sitting in his brother Robert's shop, he heard his brother suggest to

him, that a Dictionary of the English Language would be a work that

would be well received by the publick; that Johnson seemed at first

to catch at the proposition, but, after a pause, said, in his abrupt

decisive manner, 'I believe I shall not undertake it.' That he, however,

had bestowed much thought upon the subject, before he published his

Plan, is evident from the enlarged, clear, and accurate views which it

exhibits; and we find him mentioning in that tract, that many of the

writers whose testimonies were to be produced as authorities, were

selected by Pope; which proves that he had been furnished, probably

by Mr. Robert Dodsley, with whatever hints that eminent poet had

contributed towards a great literary project, that had been the subject

of important consideration in a former reign.

The booksellers who contracted with Johnson, single and unaided, for the

execution of a work, which in other countries has not been effected

but by the co-operating exertions of many, were Mr. Robert Dodsley, Mr.

Charles Hitch, Mr. Andrew Millar, the two Messieurs Longman, and the

two Messieurs Knapton. The price stipulated was fifteen hundred and

seventy-five pounds.

The Plan, was addressed to Philip Dormer, Earl of Chesterfield, then one

of his Majesty's Principal Secretaries of State; a nobleman who was very

ambitious of literary distinction, and who, upon being informed of the

design, had expressed himself in terms very favourable to its success.

There is, perhaps in every thing of any consequence, a secret history

which it would be amusing to know, could we have it authentically

communicated. Johnson told me, 'Sir, the way in which the Plan of my

Dictionary came to be inscribed to Lord Chesterfield, was this: I had

neglected to write it by the time appointed. Dodsley suggested a desire

to have it addressed to Lord Chesterfield. I laid hold of this as a

pretext for delay, that it might be better done, and let Dodsley have

his desire. I said to my friend, Dr. Bathurst, "Now if any good comes of

my addressing to Lord Chesterfield, it will be ascribed to deep policy,

when, in fact, it was only a casual excuse for laziness."'

Dr. Adams found him one day busy at his Dictionary, when the following

dialogue ensued. 'ADAMS. This is a great work, Sir. How are you to get

all the etymologies? JOHNSON. Why, Sir, here is a shelf with Junius, and

Skinner, and others; and there is a Welch gentleman who has published

a collection of Welch proverbs, who will help me with the Welch. ADAMS.

But, Sir, how can you do this in three years? JOHNSON. Sir, I have no

doubt that I can do it in three years. ADAMS. But the French Academy,

which consists of forty members, took forty years to compile their

Dictionary. JOHNSON. Sir, thus it is. This is the proportion. Let me

see; forty times forty is sixteen hundred. As three to sixteen hundred,

so is the proportion of an Englishman to a Frenchman.' With so much

ease and pleasantry could he talk of that prodigious labour which he had

undertaken to execute.

For the mechanical part he employed, as he told me, six amanuenses;

and let it be remembered by the natives of North-Britain, to whom he

is supposed to have been so hostile, that five of them were of that

country. There were two Messieurs Macbean; Mr. Shiels, who we shall

hereafter see partly wrote the Lives of the Poets to which the name of

Cibber is affixed; Mr. Stewart, son of Mr. George Stewart, bookseller at

Edinburgh; and a Mr. Maitland. The sixth of these humble assistants was

Mr. Peyton, who, I believe, taught French, and published some elementary

tracts.

To all these painful labourers, Johnson shewed a never-ceasing kindness,

so far as they stood in need of it. The elder Mr. Macbean had afterwards

the honour of being Librarian to Archibald, Duke of Argyle, for many

years, but was left without a shilling. Johnson wrote for him a Preface

to A System of Ancient Geography; and, by the favour of Lord Thurlow,

got him admitted a poor brother of the Charterhouse. For Shiels, who

died of a consumption, he had much tenderness; and it has been thought

that some choice sentences in the Lives of the Poets were supplied by

him. Peyton, when reduced to penury, had frequent aid from the bounty

of Johnson, who at last was at the expense of burying both him and his

wife.

While the Dictionary was going forward, Johnson lived part of the time

in Holborn, part in Gough-square, Fleet-street; and he had an upper room

fitted up like a counting-house for the purpose, in which he gave to

the copyists their several tasks. The words, partly taken from other

dictionaries, and partly supplied by himself, having been first written

down with spaces left between them, he delivered in writing their

etymologies, definitions, and various significations. The authorities

were copied from the books themselves, in which he had marked the

passages with a black-lead pencil, the traces of which could easily be

effaced. I have seen several of them, in which that trouble had not

been taken; so that they were just as when used by the copyists. It is

remarkable, that he was so attentive in the choice of the passages in

which words were authorised, that one may read page after page of

his Dictionary with improvement and pleasure; and it should not pass

unobserved, that he has quoted no authour whose writings had a tendency

to hurt sound religion and morality.

The necessary expense of preparing a work of such magnitude for the

press, must have been a considerable deduction from the price stipulated

to be paid for the copy-right. I understand that nothing was allowed by

the booksellers on that account; and I remember his telling me, that a

large portion of it having by mistake been written upon both sides of

the paper, so as to be inconvenient for the compositor, it cost him

twenty pounds to have it transcribed upon one side only.

He is now to be considered as 'tugging at his oar,' as engaged in a

steady continued course of occupation, sufficient to employ all his time

for some years; and which was the best preventive of that constitutional

melancholy which was ever lurking about him, ready to trouble his quiet.

But his enlarged and lively mind could not be satisfied without more

diversity of employment, and the pleasure of animated relaxation. He

therefore not only exerted his talents in occasional composition

very different from Lexicography, but formed a club in Ivy-lane,

Paternoster-row, with a view to enjoy literary discussion, and amuse his

evening hours. The members associated with him in this little society

were his beloved friend Dr. Richard Bathurst, Mr. Hawkesworth,

afterwards well known by his writings, Mr. John Hawkins, an attorney,

and a few others of different professions.

1749: AETAT. 40.]--In January, 1749, he published the Vanity of human

Wishes, being the Tenth Satire of Juvenal imitated. He, I believe,

composed it the preceding year. Mrs. Johnson, for the sake of country

air, had lodgings at Hampstead, to which he resorted occasionally,

and there the greatest part, if not the whole, of this Imitation was

written. The fervid rapidity with which it was produced, is scarcely

credible. I have heard him say, that he composed seventy lines of it in

one day, without putting one of them upon paper till they were finished.

I remember when I once regretted to him that he had not given us more of

Juvenal's Satires, he said he probably should give more, for he had them

all in his head; by which I understood that he had the originals and

correspondent allusions floating in his mind, which he could, when he

pleased, embody and render permanent without much labour. Some of them,

however, he observed were too gross for imitation.

The profits of a single poem, however excellent, appear to have been

very small in the last reign, compared with what a publication of

the same size has since been known to yield. I have mentioned, upon

Johnson's own authority, that for his London he had only ten guineas;

and now, after his fame was established, he got for his Vanity of Human

Wishes but five guineas more, as is proved by an authentick document in

my possession.

His Vanity of Human Wishes has less of common life, but more of a

philosophick dignity than his London. More readers, therefore, will

be delighted with the pointed spirit of London, than with the profound

reflection of The Vanity of Human Wishes. Garrick, for instance,

observed in his sprightly manner, with more vivacity than regard to just

discrimination, as is usual with wits: 'When Johnson lived much with the

Herveys, and saw a good deal of what was passing in life, he wrote his

London, which is lively and easy. When he became more retired, he gave

us his Vanity of Human Wishes, which is as hard as Greek. Had he gone on

to imitate another satire, it would have been as hard as Hebrew.'

Garrick being now vested with theatrical power by being manager of

Drury-lane theatre, he kindly and generously made use of it to bring

out Johnson's tragedy, which had been long kept back for want of

encouragement. But in this benevolent purpose he met with no small

difficulty from the temper of Johnson, which could not brook that a

drama which he had formed with much study, and had been obliged to keep

more than the nine years of Horace, should be revised and altered at

the pleasure of an actor. Yet Garrick knew well, that without some

alterations it would not be fit for the stage. A violent dispute having

ensued between them, Garrick applied to the Reverend Dr. Taylor to

interpose. Johnson was at first very obstinate. 'Sir, (said he) the

fellow wants me to make Mahomet run mad, that he may have an opportunity

of tossing his hands and kicking his heels.' He was, however, at last,

with difficulty, prevailed on to comply with Garrick's wishes, so as to

allow of some changes; but still there were not enough.

Dr. Adams was present the first night of the representation of Irene,

and gave me the following account: 'Before the curtain drew up, there

were catcalls whistling, which alarmed Johnson's friends. The Prologue,

which was written by himself in a manly strain, soothed the audience,

and the play went off tolerably, till it came to the conclusion, when

Mrs. Pritchard, the heroine of the piece, was to be strangled upon the

stage, and was to speak two lines with the bowstring round her neck.

The audience cried out "Murder! Murder!" She several times attempted to

speak; but in vain. At last she was obliged to go off the stage alive.'

This passage was afterwards struck out, and she was carried off to be

put to death behind the scenes, as the play now has it. The Epilogue,

as Johnson informed me, was written by Sir William Yonge. I know not how

his play came to be thus graced by the pen of a person then so eminent

in the political world.

Notwithstanding all the support of such performers as Garrick,

Barry, Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Pritchard, and every advantage of dress

and decoration, the tragedy of Irene did not please the publick. Mr.

Garrick's zeal carried it through for nine nights, so that the authour

had his three nights' profits; and from a receipt signed by him, now in

the hands of Mr. James Dodsley, it appears that his friend Mr. Robert

Dodsley gave him one hundred pounds for the copy, with his usual

reservation of the right of one edition.

When asked how he felt upon the ill success of his tragedy, he replied,

'Like the Monument;' meaning that he continued firm and unmoved as

that column. And let it be remembered, as an admonition to the genus

irritabile of dramatick writers, that this great man, instead of

peevishly complaining of the bad taste of the town, submitted to its

decision without a murmur. He had, indeed, upon all occasions, a great

deference for the general opinion: 'A man (said he) who writes a book,

thinks himself wiser or wittier than the rest of mankind; he supposes

that he can instruct or amuse them, and the publick to whom he appeals,

must, after all, be the judges of his pretensions.'

On occasion of his play being brought upon the stage, Johnson had a

fancy that as a dramatick authour his dress should be more gay than what

he ordinarily wore; he therefore appeared behind the scenes, and even in

one of the side boxes, in a scarlet waistcoat, with rich gold lace, and

a gold-laced hat. He humourously observed to Mr. Langton, 'that when in

that dress he could not treat people with the same ease as when in his

usual plain clothes.' Dress indeed, we must allow, has more effect

even upon strong minds than one should suppose, without having had

the experience of it. His necessary attendance while his play was in

rehearsal, and during its performance, brought him acquainted with

many of the performers of both sexes, which produced a more favourable

opinion of their profession than he had harshly expressed in his Life of

Savage. With some of them he kept up an acquaintance as long as he and

they lived, and was ever ready to shew them acts of kindness. He for a

considerable time used to frequent the Green Room, and seemed to take

delight in dissipating his gloom, by mixing in the sprightly chit-chat

of the motley circle then to be found there. Mr. David Hume related to

me from Mr. Garrick, that Johnson at last denied himself this amusement,

from considerations of rigid virtue; saying, 'I'll come no more behind

your scenes, David; for the silk stockings and white bosoms of your

actresses excite my amorous propensities.'

1750: AETAT. 41.]--In 1750 he came forth in the character for which

he was eminently qualified, a majestick teacher of moral and religious

wisdom. The vehicle which he chose was that of a periodical paper, which

he knew had been, upon former occasions, employed with great success.

The Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian, were the last of the kind published

in England, which had stood the test of a long trial; and such an

interval had now elapsed since their publication, as made him justly

think that, to many of his readers, this form of instruction would, in

some degree, have the advantage of novelty. A few days before the first

of his Essays came out, there started another competitor for fame in the

same form, under the title of The Tatler Revived, which I believe was

'born but to die.' Johnson was, I think, not very happy in the choice

of his title, The Rambler, which certainly is not suited to a series

of grave and moral discourses; which the Italians have literally,

but ludicrously translated by Il Vagabondo; and which has been lately

assumed as the denomination of a vehicle of licentious tales, The

Rambler's Magazine. He gave Sir Joshua Reynolds the following account of

its getting this name: 'What MUST be done, Sir, WILL be done. When I was

to begin publishing that paper, I was at a loss how to name it. I sat

down at night upon my bedside, and resolved that I would not go to sleep

till I had fixed its title. The Rambler seemed the best that occurred,

and I took it.'

With what devout and conscientious sentiments this paper was undertaken,

is evidenced by the following prayer, which he composed and offered up

on the occasion: 'Almighty GOD, the giver of all good things, without

whose help all labour is ineffectual, and without whose grace all wisdom

is folly; grant, I beseech Thee, that in this undertaking thy Holy

Spirit may not be with-held from me, but that I may promote thy glory,

and the salvation of myself and others: grant this, O LORD, for the sake

of thy son JESUS CHRIST. Amen.'

The first paper of The Rambler was published on Tuesday the 20th

of March, 1750; and its authour was enabled to continue it, without

interruption, every Tuesday and Friday, till Saturday the 17th of March,

1752, on which day it closed. This is a strong confirmation of the truth

of a remark of his, which I have had occasion to quote elsewhere, that

'a man may write at any time, if he will set himself doggedly to it;'

for, notwithstanding his constitutional indolence, his depression of

spirits, and his labour in carrying on his Dictionary, he answered the

stated calls of the press twice a week from the stores of his mind,

during all that time.

Posterity will be astonished when they are told, upon the authority of

Johnson himself, that many of these discourses, which we should suppose

had been laboured with all the slow attention of literary leisure, were

written in haste as the moment pressed, without even being read over by

him before they were printed. It can be accounted for only in this way;

that by reading and meditation, and a very close inspection of life,

he had accumulated a great fund of miscellaneous knowledge, which, by a

peculiar promptitude of mind, was ever ready at his call, and which

he had constantly accustomed himself to clothe in the most apt and

energetick expression. Sir Joshua Reynolds once asked him by what means

he had attained his extraordinary accuracy and flow of language. He told

him, that he had early laid it down as a fixed rule to do his best on

every occasion, and in every company; to impart whatever he knew in

the most forcible language he could put it in; and that by constant

practice, and never suffering any careless expressions to escape him,

or attempting to deliver his thoughts without arranging them in the

clearest manner, it became habitual to him.

As The Rambler was entirely the work of one man, there was, of course,

such a uniformity in its texture, as very much to exclude the charm

of variety; and the grave and often solemn cast of thinking, which

distinguished it from other periodical papers, made it, for some time,

not generally liked. So slowly did this excellent work, of which twelve

editions have now issued from the press, gain upon the world at large,

that even in the closing number the authour says, 'I have never been

much a favourite of the publick.'

Johnson told me, with an amiable fondness, a little pleasing

circumstance relative to this work. Mrs. Johnson, in whose judgement and

taste he had great confidence, said to him, after a few numbers of The

Rambler had come out, 'I thought very well of you before; but I did not

imagine you could have written any thing equal to this.' Distant praise,

from whatever quarter, is not so delightful as that of a wife whom a

man loves and esteems. Her approbation may be said to 'come home to his

bosom;' and being so near, its effect is most sensible and permanent.

Mr. James Elphinston, who has since published various works, and who

was ever esteemed by Johnson as a worthy man, happened to be in Scotland

while The Rambler was coming out in single papers at London. With a

laudable zeal at once for the improvement of his countrymen, and the

reputation of his friend, he suggested and took the charge of an edition

of those Essays at Edinburgh, which followed progressively the London

publication.

This year he wrote to the same gentleman upon a mournful occasion.

'To MR. JAMES ELPHINSTON.

September 25, 1750.

'DEAR SIR, You have, as I find by every kind of evidence, lost an

excellent mother; and I hope you will not think me incapable of

partaking of your grief. I have a mother, now eighty-two years of age,

whom, therefore, I must soon lose, unless it please GOD that she

rather should mourn for me. I read the letters in which you relate your

mother's death to Mrs. Strahan, and think I do myself honour, when I

tell you that I read them with tears; but tears are neither to YOU nor

to ME of any further use, when once the tribute of nature has been paid.

The business of life summons us away from useless grief, and calls us to

the exercise of those virtues of which we are lamenting our deprivation.

The greatest benefit which one friend can confer upon another, is to

guard, and excite, and elevate his virtues. This your mother will still

perform, if you diligently preserve the memory of her life, and of her

death: a life, so far as I can learn, useful, wise, and innocent; and

a death resigned, peaceful, and holy. I cannot forbear to mention, that

neither reason nor revelation denies you to hope, that you may increase

her happiness by obeying her precepts; and that she may, in her

present state, look with pleasure upon every act of virtue to which her

instructions or example have contributed. Whether this be more than a

pleasing dream, or a just opinion of separate spirits, is, indeed, of no

great importance to us, when we consider ourselves as acting under the

eye of GOD: yet, surely, there is something pleasing in the belief, that

our separation from those whom we love is merely corporeal; and it

may be a great incitement to virtuous friendship, if it can be made

probable, that that union that has received the divine approbation shall

continue to eternity.

'There is one expedient by which you may, in some degree, continue her

presence. If you write down minutely what you remember of her from your

earliest years, you will read it with great pleasure, and receive from

it many hints of soothing recollection, when time shall remove her yet

farther from you, and your grief shall be matured to veneration. To

this, however painful for the present, I cannot but advise you, as to a

source of comfort and satisfaction in the time to come; for all comfort

and all satisfaction is sincerely wished you by, dear Sir, your most

obliged, most obedient, and most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

The Rambler has increased in fame as in age. Soon after its first folio

edition was concluded, it was published in six duodecimo volumes; and

its authour lived to see ten numerous editions of it in London, beside

those of Ireland and Scotland.

The style of Johnson was, undoubtedly, much formed upon that of the

great writers in the last century, Hooker, Bacon, Sanderson, Hakewell,

and others; those 'GIANTS,' as they were well characterised by A GREAT

PERSONAGE, whose authority, were I to name him, would stamp a reverence

on the opinion.

Johnson assured me, that he had not taken upon him to add more than four

or five words to the English language, of his own formation; and he was

very much offended at the general licence, by no means 'modestly taken'

in his time not only to coin new words, but to use many words in senses

quite different from their established meaning, and those frequently

very fantastical.

Sir Thomas Brown, whose life Johnson wrote, was remarkably fond of

Anglo-Latin diction; and to his example we are to ascribe Johnson's

sometimes indulging himself in this kind of phraseology. Johnson's

comprehension of mind was the mould for his language. Had his

conceptions been narrower, his expression would have been easier. His

sentences have a dignified march; and, it is certain, that his example

has given a general elevation to the language of his country, for many

of our best writers have approached very near to him; and, from the

influence which he has had upon our composition, scarcely any thing

is written now that is not better expressed than was usual before he

appeared to lead the national taste.

Though The Rambler was not concluded till the year 1752, I shall,

under this year, say all that I have to observe upon it. Some of

the translations of the mottos by himself are admirably done. He

acknowledges to have received 'elegant translations' of many of them

from Mr. James Elphinston; and some are very happily translated by a Mr.

F. Lewis, of whom I never heard more, except that Johnson thus described

him to Mr. Malone: 'Sir, he lived in London, and hung loose upon

society.'

His just abhorrence of Milton's political notions was ever strong. But

this did not prevent his warm admiration of Milton's great poetical

merit, to which he has done illustrious justice, beyond all who have

written upon the subject. And this year he not only wrote a Prologue,

which was spoken by Mr. Garrick before the acting of Comus at Drury-lane

theatre, for the benefit of Milton's grand-daughter, but took a very

zealous interest in the success of the charity.

1751: AETAT. 42.]--In 1751 we are to consider him as carrying on both

his Dictionary and Rambler.

Though Johnson's circumstances were at this time far from being easy,

his humane and charitable disposition was constantly exerting itself.

Mrs. Anna Williams, daughter of a very ingenious Welsh physician, and

a woman of more than ordinary talents and literature, having come to

London in hopes of being cured of a cataract in both her eyes, which

afterwards ended in total blindness, was kindly received as a constant

visitor at his house while Mrs. Johnson lived; and after her death,

having come under his roof in order to have an operation upon her

eyes performed with more comfort to her than in lodgings, she had an

apartment from him during the rest of her life, at all times when he had

a house.

1752: AETAT. 43.]--In 1752 he was almost entirely occupied with his

Dictionary. The last paper of his Rambler was published March 2, this

year; after which, there was a cessation for some time of any exertion

of his talents as an essayist. But, in the same year, Dr. Hawkesworth,

who was his warm admirer, and a studious imitator of his style, and then

lived in great intimacy with him, began a periodical paper, entitled

The Adventurer, in connection with other gentlemen, one of whom was

Johnson's much-beloved friend, Dr. Bathurst; and, without doubt, they

received many valuable hints from his conversation, most of his friends

having been so assisted in the course of their works.

That there should be a suspension of his literary labours during a part

of the year 1752, will not seem strange, when it is considered that soon

after closing his Rambler, he suffered a loss which, there can be no

doubt, affected him with the deepest distress. For on the 17th of March,

O.S., his wife died.

The following very solemn and affecting prayer was found after Dr.

Johnson's decease, by his servant, Mr. Francis Barber, who delivered it

to my worthy friend the Reverend Mr. Strahan, Vicar of Islington, who at

my earnest request has obligingly favoured me with a copy of it, which

he and I compared with the original:

'April 26, 1752, being after 12 at Night of the 25th.

'O Lord! Governour of heaven and earth, in whose hands are embodied

and departed Spirits, if thou hast ordained the Souls of the Dead to

minister to the Living, and appointed my departed Wife to have care

of me, grant that I may enjoy the good effects of her attention and

ministration, whether exercised by appearance, impulses, dreams or in

any other manner agreeable to thy Government. Forgive my presumption,

enlighten my ignorance, and however meaner agents are employed, grant

me the blessed influences of thy holy Spirit, through Jesus Christ our

Lord. Amen.'

That his love for his wife was of the most ardent kind, and, during

the long period of fifty years, was unimpaired by the lapse of time,

is evident from various passages in the series of his Prayers and

Meditations, published by the Reverend Mr. Strahan, as well as from

other memorials, two of which I select, as strongly marking the

tenderness and sensibility of his mind.

'March 28, 1753. I kept this day as the anniversary of my Tetty's death,

with prayer and tears in the morning. In the evening I prayed for her

conditionally, if it were lawful.'

'April 23, 1753. I know not whether I do not too much indulge the vain

longings of affection; but I hope they intenerate my heart, and that

when I die like my Tetty, this affection will be acknowledged in a happy

interview, and that in the mean time I am incited by it to piety. I

will, however, not deviate too much from common and received methods of

devotion.'

Her wedding ring, when she became his wife, was, after her death,

preserved by him, as long as he lived, with an affectionate care, in

a little round wooden box, in the inside of which he pasted a slip of

paper, thus inscribed by him in fair characters, as follows:

'Eheu!

Eliz. Johnson

Nupta Jul. 9 1736,

Mortua, eheu!

Mart. 17 1752.'

After his death, Mr. Francis Barber, his faithful servant and residuary

legatee, offered this memorial of tenderness to Mrs. Lucy Porter, Mrs.

Johnson's daughter; but she having declined to accept of it, he had it

enamelled as a mourning ring for his old master, and presented it to his

wife, Mrs. Barber, who now has it.

I have, indeed, been told by Mrs. Desmoulins, who, before her marriage,

lived for some time with Mrs. Johnson at Hampstead, that she indulged

herself in country air and nice living, at an unsuitable expense, while

her husband was drudging in the smoke of London, and that she by no

means treated him with that complacency which is the most engaging

quality in a wife. But all this is perfectly compatible with his

fondness for her, especially when it is remembered that he had a high

opinion of her understanding, and that the impressions which her beauty,

real or imaginary, had originally made upon his fancy, being continued

by habit, had not been effaced, though she herself was doubtless much

altered for the worse. The dreadful shock of separation took place in

the night; and he immediately dispatched a letter to his friend, the

Reverend Dr. Taylor, which, as Taylor told me, expressed grief in the

strongest manner he had ever read; so that it is much to be regretted

it has not been preserved. The letter was brought to Dr. Taylor, at his

house in the Cloisters, Westminster, about three in the morning; and

as it signified an earnest desire to see him, he got up, and went to

Johnson as soon as he was dressed, and found him in tears and in extreme

agitation. After being a little while together, Johnson requested him

to join with him in prayer. He then prayed extempore, as did Dr. Taylor;

and thus, by means of that piety which was ever his primary object, his

troubled mind was, in some degree, soothed and composed.

The next day he wrote as follows:

'To THE REVEREND DR. TAYLOR.

'DEAR SIR,--Let me have your company and instruction. Do not live away

from me. My distress is great.

'Pray desire Mrs. Taylor to inform me what mourning I should buy for my

mother and Miss Porter, and bring a note in writing with you.

'Remember me in your prayers, for vain is the help of man. I am, dear

Sir, &c.

'March 18, 1752.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

That his sufferings upon the death of his wife were severe, beyond what

are commonly endured, I have no doubt, from the information of many

who were then about him, to none of whom I give more credit than to Mr.

Francis Barber, his faithful negro servant, who came into his family

about a fortnight after the dismal event. These sufferings were

aggravated by the melancholy inherent in his constitution; and although

he probably was not oftener in the wrong than she was, in the little

disagreements which sometimes troubled his married state, during which,

he owned to me, that the gloomy irritability of his existence was more

painful to him than ever, he might very naturally, after her death, be

tenderly disposed to charge himself with slight omissions and offences,

the sense of which would give him much uneasiness. Accordingly we find,

about a year after her decease, that he thus addressed the Supreme

Being: 'O LORD, who givest the grace of repentance, and hearest the

prayers of the penitent, grant that by true contrition I may obtain

forgiveness of all the sins committed, and of all duties neglected in

my union with the wife whom thou hast taken from me; for the neglect of

joint devotion, patient exhortation, and mild instruction.' The kindness

of his heart, notwithstanding the impetuosity of his temper, is well

known to his friends; and I cannot trace the smallest foundation for

the following dark and uncharitable assertion by Sir John Hawkins: 'The

apparition of his departed wife was altogether of the terrifick kind,

and hardly afforded him a hope that she was in a state of happiness.'

That he, in conformity with the opinion of many of the most able,

learned, and pious Christians in all ages, supposed that there was a

middle state after death, previous to the time at which departed

souls are finally received to eternal felicity, appears, I think,

unquestionably from his devotions: 'And, O LORD, so far as it may be

lawful in me, I commend to thy fatherly goodness the soul of my departed

wife; beseeching thee to grant her whatever is best in her present

state, and finally to receive her to eternal happiness.' But this state

has not been looked upon with horrour, but only as less gracious.

He deposited the remains of Mrs. Johnson in the church of Bromley,

in Kent, to which he was probably led by the residence of his friend

Hawkesworth at that place. The funeral sermon which he composed for her,

which was never preached, but having been given to Dr. Taylor, has been

published since his death, is a performance of uncommon excellence,

and full of rational and pious comfort to such as are depressed by

that severe affliction which Johnson felt when he wrote it. When it is

considered that it was written in such an agitation of mind, and in the

short interval between her death and burial, it cannot be read without

wonder.

From Mr. Francis Barber I have had the following authentick and artless

account of the situation in which he found him recently after his wife's

death:

'He was in great affliction. Mrs. Williams was then living in his house,

which was in Gough-square. He was busy with the Dictionary. Mr. Shiels,

and some others of the gentlemen who had formerly written for him, used

to come about him. He had then little for himself, but frequently sent

money to Mr. Shiels when in distress. The friends who visited him at

that time, were chiefly Dr. Bathurst, and Mr. Diamond, an apothecary

in Cork-street, Burlington-gardens, with whom he and Mrs. Williams

generally dined every Sunday. There was a talk of his going to Iceland

with him, which would probably have happened had he lived. There were

also Mr. Cave, Dr. Hawkesworth, Mr. Ryland, merchant on Tower Hill,

Mrs. Masters, the poetess, who lived with Mr. Cave, Mrs. Carter, and

sometimes Mrs. Macaulay, also Mrs. Gardiner, wife of a tallow-chandler

on Snow-hill, not in the learned way, but a worthy good woman; Mr. (now

Sir Joshua) Reynolds; Mr. Millar, Mr. Dodsley, Mr. Bouquet, Mr. Payne

of Paternoster-row, booksellers; Mr. Strahan, the printer; the Earl of

Orrery, Lord Southwell, Mr. Garrick.'

Many are, no doubt, omitted in this catalogue of his friends, and, in

particular, his humble friend Mr. Robert Levet, an obscure practiser in

physick amongst the lower people, his fees being sometimes very small

sums, sometimes whatever provisions his patients could afford him; but

of such extensive practice in that way, that Mrs. Williams has told

me, his walk was from Hounsditch to Marybone. It appears from Johnson's

diary that their acquaintance commenced about the year 1746; and such

was Johnson's predilection for him, and fanciful estimation of

his moderate abilities, that I have heard him say he should not be

satisfied, though attended by all the College of Physicians, unless he

had Mr. Levet with him. Ever since I was acquainted with Dr. Johnson,

and many years before, as I have been assured by those who knew him

earlier, Mr. Levet had an apartment in his house, or his chambers, and

waited upon him every morning, through the whole course of his late and

tedious breakfast. He was of a strange grotesque appearance, stiff

and formal in his manner, and seldom said a word while any company was

present.

The circle of his friends, indeed, at this time was extensive and

various, far beyond what has been generally imagined. To trace his

acquaintance with each particular person, if it could be done, would be

a task, of which the labour would not be repaid by the advantage. But

exceptions are to be made; one of which must be a friend so eminent as

Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was truly his dulce decus, and with whom he

maintained an uninterrupted intimacy to the last hour of his life. When

Johnson lived in Castle-street, Cavendish-square, he used frequently to

visit two ladies, who lived opposite to him, Miss Cotterells, daughters

of Admiral Cotterell. Reynolds used also to visit there, and thus they

met. Mr. Reynolds, as I have observed above, had, from the first reading

of his Life of Savage, conceived a very high admiration of Johnson's

powers of writing. His conversation no less delighted him; and he

cultivated his acquaintance with the laudable zeal of one who was

ambitious of general improvement. Sir Joshua, indeed, was lucky enough

at their very first meeting to make a remark, which was so much above

the common-place style of conversation, that Johnson at once perceived

that Reynolds had the habit of thinking for himself. The ladies were

regretting the death of a friend, to whom they owed great obligations;

upon which Reynolds observed, 'You have, however, the comfort of being

relieved from a burthen of gratitude.' They were shocked a little at

this alleviating suggestion, as too selfish; but Johnson defended it in

his clear and forcible manner, and was much pleased with the MIND,

the fair view of human nature, which it exhibited, like some of the

reflections of Rochefaucault. The consequence was, that he went home

with Reynolds, and supped with him.

Sir Joshua told me a pleasant characteristical anecdote of Johnson

about the time of their first acquaintance. When they were one evening

together at the Miss Cotterells', the then Duchess of Argyle and another

lady of high rank came in. Johnson thinking that the Miss Cotterells

were too much engrossed by them, and that he and his friend were

neglected, as low company of whom they were somewhat ashamed, grew

angry; and resolving to shock their supposed pride, by making their

great visitors imagine that his friend and he were low indeed, he

addressed himself in a loud tone to Mr. Reynolds, saying, 'How much do

you think you and I could get in a week, if we were to WORK AS HARD as

we could?'--as if they had been common mechanicks.

His acquaintance with Bennet Langton, Esq. of Langton, in Lincolnshire,

another much valued friend, commenced soon after the conclusion of

his Rambler; which that gentleman, then a youth, had read with so much

admiration, that he came to London chiefly with the view of endeavouring

to be introduced to its authour. By a fortunate chance he happened to

take lodgings in a house where Mr. Levet frequently visited; and having

mentioned his wish to his landlady, she introduced him to Mr. Levet, who

readily obtained Johnson's permission to bring Mr. Langton to him; as,

indeed, Johnson, during the whole course of his life, had no shyness,

real or affected, but was easy of access to all who were properly

recommended, and even wished to see numbers at his levee, as his morning

circle of company might, with strict propriety, be called. Mr. Langton

was exceedingly surprised when the sage first appeared. He had not

received the smallest intimation of his figure, dress, or manner. From

perusing his writings, he fancied he should see a decent, well-drest, in

short, remarkably decorous philosopher. Instead of which, down from his

bed-chamber, about noon, came, as newly risen, a huge uncouth figure,

with a little dark wig which scarcely covered his head, and his clothes

hanging loose about him. But his conversation was so rich, so animated,

and so forcible, and his religious and political notions so congenial

with those in which Langton had been educated, that he conceived for him

that veneration and attachment which he ever preserved. Johnson was

not the less ready to love Mr. Langton, for his being of a very ancient

family; for I have heard him say, with pleasure, 'Langton, Sir, has

a grant of free warren from Henry the Second; and Cardinal Stephen

Langton, in King John's reign, was of this family.'

Mr. Langton afterwards went to pursue his studies at Trinity College,

Oxford, where he formed an acquaintance with his fellow student, Mr.

Topham Beauclerk; who, though their opinions and modes of life were so

different, that it seemed utterly improbable that they should at all

agree, had so ardent a love of literature, so acute an understanding,

such elegance of manners, and so well discerned the excellent qualities

of Mr. Langton, a gentleman eminent not only for worth and learning, but

for an inexhaustible fund of entertaining conversation, that they became

intimate friends.

Johnson, soon after this acquaintance began, passed a considerable time

at Oxford. He at first thought it strange that Langton should associate

so much with one who had the character of being loose, both in his

principles and practice; but, by degrees, he himself was fascinated.

Mr. Beauclerk's being of the St. Alban's family, and having, in some

particulars, a resemblance to Charles the Second, contributed, in

Johnson's imagination, to throw a lustre upon his other qualities;

and, in a short time, the moral, pious Johnson, and the gay, dissipated

Beauclerk, were companions. 'What a coalition! (said Garrick, when

he heard of this;) I shall have my old friend to bail out of the

Round-house.' But I can bear testimony that it was a very agreeable

association. Beauclerk was too polite, and valued learning and wit too

much, to offend Johnson by sallies of infidelity or licentiousness;

and Johnson delighted in the good qualities of Beauclerk, and hoped

to correct the evil. Innumerable were the scenes in which Johnson was

amused by these young men. Beauclerk could take more liberty with

him, than any body with whom I ever saw him; but, on the other hand,

Beauclerk was not spared by his respectable companion, when reproof

was proper. Beauclerk had such a propensity to satire, that at one time

Johnson said to him, 'You never open your mouth but with intention to

give pain; and you have often given me pain, not from the power of what

you said, but from seeing your intention.' At another time applying to

him, with a slight alteration, a line of Pope, he said,

'Thy love of folly, and thy scorn of fools--

Every thing thou dost shews the one, and every thing thou say'st the

other.' At another time he said to him, 'Thy body is all vice, and

thy mind all virtue.' Beauclerk not seeming to relish the compliment,

Johnson said, 'Nay, Sir, Alexander the Great, marching in triumph into

Babylon, could not have desired to have had more said to him.'

Johnson was some time with Beauclerk at his house at Windsor, where he

was entertained with experiments in natural philosophy. One Sunday, when

the weather was very fine, Beauclerk enticed him, insensibly, to saunter

about all the morning. They went into a church-yard, in the time of

divine service, and Johnson laid himself down at his ease upon one of

the tomb-stones. 'Now, Sir, (said Beauclerk) you are like Hogarth's Idle

Apprentice.' When Johnson got his pension, Beauclerk said to him, in the

humorous phrase of Falstaff, 'I hope you'll now purge and live cleanly

like a gentleman.'

One night when Beauclerk and Langton had supped at a tavern in London,

and sat till about three in the morning, it came into their heads to go

and knock up Johnson, and see if they could prevail on him to join them

in a ramble. They rapped violently at the door of his chambers in the

Temple, till at last he appeared in his shirt, with his little black wig

on the top of his head, instead of a nightcap, and a poker in his hand,

imagining, probably, that some ruffians were coming to attack him. When

he discovered who they were, and was told their errand, he smiled, and

with great good humour agreed to their proposal: 'What, is it you, you

dogs! I'll have a frisk with you.' He was soon drest, and they sallied

forth together into Covent-Garden, where the greengrocers and fruiterers

were beginning to arrange their hampers, just come in from the country.

Johnson made some attempts to help them; but the honest gardeners stared

so at his figure and manner, and odd interference, that he soon saw

his services were not relished. They then repaired to one of the

neighbouring taverns, and made a bowl of that liquor called Bishop,

which Johnson had always liked; while in joyous contempt of sleep, from

which he had been roused, he repeated the festive lines,

'Short, O short then be thy reign,

And give us to the world again!'

They did not stay long, but walked down to the Thames, took a boat, and

rowed to Billingsgate. Beauclerk and Johnson were so well pleased with

their amusement, that they resolved to persevere in dissipation for the

rest of the day: but Langton deserted them, being engaged to breakfast

with some young Ladies. Johnson scolded him for 'leaving his social

friends, to go and sit with a set of wretched UN-IDEA'D girls.' Garrick

being told of this ramble, said to him smartly, 'I heard of your

frolick t'other night. You'll be in the Chronicle.' Upon which Johnson

afterwards observed, 'HE durst not do such a thing. His WIFE would not

LET him!'

1753: AETAT. 44.]--He entered upon this year 1753 with his usual piety,

as appears from the following prayer, which I transcribed from that part

of his diary which he burnt a few days before his death:

'Jan. 1, 1753, N.S. which I shall use for the future.

'Almighty God, who hast continued my life to this day, grant that, by

the assistance of thy Holy Spirit, I may improve the time which thou

shalt grant me, to my eternal salvation. Make me to remember, to thy

glory, thy judgements and thy mercies. Make me so to consider the loss

of my wife, whom thou hast taken from me, that it may dispose me, by thy

grace, to lead the residue of my life in thy fear. Grant this, O LORD,

for JESUS CHRIST'S sake. Amen.'

He now relieved the drudgery of his Dictionary, and the melancholy

of his grief, by taking an active part in the composition of The

Adventurer, in which he began to write April 10.

In one of the books of his diary I find the following entry:

'Apr. 3, 1753. I began the second vol. of my Dictionary, room being left

in the first for Preface, Grammar, and History, none of them yet begun.

'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.'

1754: AETAT. 45.]--The Dictionary, we may believe, afforded Johnson full

occupation this year. As it approached to its conclusion, he probably

worked with redoubled vigour, as seamen increase their exertion and

alacrity when they have a near prospect of their haven.

Lord Chesterfield, to whom Johnson had paid the high compliment of

addressing to his Lordship the Plan of his Dictionary, had behaved to

him in such a manner as to excite his contempt and indignation. The

world has been for many years amused with a story confidently told, and

as confidently repeated with additional circumstances, that a sudden

disgust was taken by Johnson upon occasion of his having been one day

kept long in waiting in his Lordship's antechamber, for which the reason

assigned was, that he had company with him; and that at last, when the

door opened, out walked Colley Cibber; and that Johnson was so violently

provoked when he found for whom he had been so long excluded, that

he went away in a passion, and never would return. I remember having

mentioned this story to George Lord Lyttelton, who told me, he was very

intimate with Lord Chesterfield; and holding it as a well-known truth,

defended Lord Chesterfield, by saying, that 'Cibber, who had been

introduced familiarly by the back-stairs, had probably not been there

above ten minutes.' It may seem strange even to entertain a doubt

concerning a story so long and so widely current, and thus implicitly

adopted, if not sanctioned, by the authority which I have mentioned; but

Johnson himself assured me, that there was not the least foundation

for it. He told me, that there never was any particular incident which

produced a quarrel between Lord Chesterfield and him; but that his

Lordship's continued neglect was the reason why he resolved to have

no connection with him. When the Dictionary was upon the eve of

publication, Lord Chesterfield, who, it is said, had flattered

himself with expectations that Johnson would dedicate the work to him,

attempted, in a courtly manner, to sooth, and insinuate himself with the

Sage, conscious, as it should seem, of the cold indifference with which

he had treated its learned authour; and further attempted to conciliate

him, by writing two papers in The World, in recommendation of the work;

and it must be confessed, that they contain some studied compliments,

so finely turned, that if there had been no previous offence, it is

probable that Johnson would have been highly delighted.* Praise, in

general, was pleasing to him; but by praise from a man of rank and

elegant accomplishments, he was peculiarly gratified.

* Boswell could not have read the second paper carefully.

It is silly and indecent and was certain to offend Johnson.

--ED.

This courtly device failed of its effect. Johnson, who thought that

'all was false and hollow,' despised the honeyed words, and was even

indignant that Lord Chesterfield should, for a moment, imagine that he

could be the dupe of such an artifice. His expression to me concerning

Lord Chesterfield, upon this occasion, was, 'Sir, after making great

professions, he had, for many years, taken no notice of me; but when my

Dictionary was coming out, he fell a scribbling in The World about it.

Upon which, I wrote him a letter expressed in civil terms, but such as

might shew him that I did not mind what he said or wrote, and that I had

done with him.'

This is that celebrated letter of which so much has been said, and about

which curiosity has been so long excited, without being gratified. I

for many years solicited Johnson to favour me with a copy of it, that so

excellent a composition might not be lost to posterity. He delayed from

time to time to give it me; till at last in 1781, when we were on a

visit at Mr. Dilly's, at Southill in Bedfordshire, he was pleased to

dictate it to me from memory. He afterwards found among his papers a

copy of it, which he had dictated to Mr. Baretti, with its title and

corrections, in his own handwriting. This he gave to Mr. Langton; adding

that if it were to come into print, he wished it to be from that copy.

By Mr. Langton's kindness, I am enabled to enrich my work with a perfect

transcript of what the world has so eagerly desired to see.

'TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD

'February 7, 1755.

'MY LORD, I have been lately informed, by the proprietor of The World,

that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the publick,

were written by your Lordship. To be so distinguished, is an honour,

which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know

not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

'When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your Lordship,

I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your

address; and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself Le

vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre;--that I might obtain that regard for

which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so little

encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue

it. When I had once addressed your Lordship in publick, I had exhausted

all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can

possess. I had done all that I could; and no man is well pleased to have

his all neglected, be it ever so little.

'Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited in your outward

rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been

pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is useless to

complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication,

without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile

of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a Patron

before.

'The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and found him

a native of the rocks.

'Is not a Patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man

struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached ground,

encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take

of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed

till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and

cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no

very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has

been received, or to be unwilling that the Publick should consider me

as owing that to a Patron, which Providence has enabled me to do for

myself.

'Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any

favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should

conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have been long

wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with

so much exultation, my Lord, your Lordship's most humble, most obedient

servant,

'SAM JOHNSON.'

'While this was the talk of the town, (says Dr. Adams, in a letter to

me) I happened to visit Dr. Warburton, who finding that I was acquainted

with Johnson, desired me earnestly to carry his compliments to him, and

to tell him that he honoured him for his manly behaviour in rejecting

these condescensions of Lord Chesterfield, and for resenting the

treatment he had received from him, with a proper spirit. Johnson was

visibly pleased with this compliment, for he had always a high opinion

of Warburton. Indeed, the force of mind which appeared in this letter,

was congenial with that which Warburton himself amply possessed.'

There is a curious minute circumstance which struck me, in comparing

the various editions of Johnson's imitations of Juvenal. In the tenth

Satire, one of the couplets upon the vanity of wishes even for literary

distinction stood thus:

'Yet think what ills the scholar's life assail,

Pride, envy, want, the GARRET, and the jail.'

But after experiencing the uneasiness which Lord Chesterfield's

fallacious patronage made him feel, he dismissed the word garret from

the sad group, and in all the subsequent editions the line stands--

'Pride, envy, want, the PATRON, and the jail.'

That Lord Chesterfield must have been mortified by the lofty contempt,

and polite, yet keen satire with which Johnson exhibited him to himself

in this letter, it is impossible to doubt. He, however, with that

glossy duplicity which was his constant study, affected to be quite

unconcerned. Dr. Adams mentioned to Mr. Robert Dodsley that he was sorry

Johnson had written his letter to Lord Chesterfield. Dodsley, with the

true feelings of trade, said 'he was very sorry too; for that he had a

property in the Dictionary, to which his Lordship's patronage might have

been of consequence.' He then told Dr. Adams, that Lord Chesterfield had

shewn him the letter. 'I should have imagined (replied Dr. Adams) that

Lord Chesterfield would have concealed it.' 'Poh! (said Dodsley) do you

think a letter from Johnson could hurt Lord Chesterfield? Not at all,

Sir. It lay upon his table; where any body might see it. He read it

to me; said, "this man has great powers," pointed out the severest

passages, and observed how well they were expressed.' This air of

indifference, which imposed upon the worthy Dodsley, was certainly

nothing but a specimen of that dissimulation which Lord Chesterfield

inculcated as one of the most essential lessons for the conduct of life.

His Lordship endeavoured to justify himself to Dodsley from the charges

brought against him by Johnson; but we may judge of the flimsiness of

his defence, from his having excused his neglect of Johnson, by saying

that 'he had heard he had changed his lodgings, and did not know where

he lived;' as if there could have been the smallest difficulty to inform

himself of that circumstance, by inquiring in the literary circle with

which his Lordship was well acquainted, and was, indeed, himself one of

its ornaments.

Dr. Adams expostulated with Johnson, and suggested, that his not being

admitted when he called on him, was, probably, not to be imputed to Lord

Chesterfield; for his Lordship had declared to Dodsley, that 'he would

have turned off the best servant he ever had, if he had known that he

denied him to a man who would have been always more than welcome;' and,

in confirmation of this, he insisted on Lord Chesterfield's general

affability and easiness of access, especially to literary men. 'Sir

(said Johnson) that is not Lord Chesterfield; he is the proudest man

this day existing.' 'No, (said Dr. Adams) there is one person, at least,

as proud; I think, by your own account, you are the prouder man of the

two.' 'But mine (replied Johnson, instantly) was DEFENSIVE pride.' This,

as Dr. Adams well observed, was one of those happy turns for which he

was so remarkably ready.

Johnson having now explicitly avowed his opinion of Lord Chesterfield,

did not refrain from expressing himself concerning that nobleman with

pointed freedom: 'This man (said he) I thought had been a Lord among

wits; but, I find, he is only a wit among Lords!' And when his Letters

to his natural son were published, he observed, that 'they teach the

morals of a whore, and the manners of a dancing master.'

On the 6th of March came out Lord Bolingbroke's works, published by

Mr. David Mallet. The wild and pernicious ravings, under the name of

Philosophy, which were thus ushered into the world, gave great offence

to all well-principled men. Johnson, hearing of their tendency, which

nobody disputed, was roused with a just indignation, and pronounced this

memorable sentence upon the noble authour and his editor. 'Sir, he was a

scoundrel, and a coward: a scoundrel, for charging a blunderbuss against

religion and morality; a coward, because he had not resolution to fire

it off himself, but left half a crown to a beggarly Scotchman, to draw

the trigger after his death!'

Johnson this year found an interval of leisure to make an excursion to

Oxford, for the purpose of consulting the libraries there.

Of his conversation while at Oxford at this time, Mr. Warton preserved

and communicated to me the following memorial, which, though not written

with all the care and attention which that learned and elegant writer

bestowed on those compositions which he intended for the publick eye,

is so happily expressed in an easy style, that I should injure it by any

alteration:

'When Johnson came to Oxford in 1754, the long vacation was beginning,

and most people were leaving the place. This was the first time of his

being there, after quitting the University. The next morning after his

arrival, he wished to see his old College, Pembroke. I went with him.

He was highly pleased to find all the College-servants which he had left

there still remaining, particularly a very old butler; and expressed

great satisfaction at being recognised by them, and conversed with them

familiarly. He waited on the master, Dr. Radcliffe, who received him

very coldly. Johnson at least expected, that the master would order a

copy of his Dictionary, now near publication: but the master did not

choose to talk on the subject, never asked Johnson to dine, nor even to

visit him, while he stayed at Oxford. After we had left the lodgings,

Johnson said to me, "THERE lives a man, who lives by the revenues of

literature, and will not move a finger to support it. If I come to live

at Oxford, I shall take up my abode at Trinity." We then called on the

Reverend Mr. Meeke, one of the fellows, and of Johnson's standing. Here

was a most cordial greeting on both sides. On leaving him, Johnson said,

"I used to think Meeke had excellent parts, when we were boys together

at the College: but, alas!

'Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!'

I remember, at the classical lecture in the Hall, I could not bear

Meeke's superiority, and I tried to sit as far from him as I could, that

I might not hear him construe."

'As we were leaving the College, he said, "Here I translated Pope's

Messiah. Which do you think is the best line in it?--My own favourite

is,

'Vallis aromaticas fundit Saronica nubes.'"

I told him, I thought it a very sonorous hexameter. I did not tell him,

it was not in the Virgilian style. He much regretted that his FIRST

tutor was dead; for whom he seemed to retain the greatest regard. He

said, "I once had been a whole morning sliding in Christ-Church Meadow,

and missed his lecture in logick. After dinner, he sent for me to his

room. I expected a sharp rebuke for my idleness, and went with a beating

heart. When we were seated, he told me he had sent for me to drink a

glass of wine with him, and to tell me, he was NOT angry with me for

missing his lecture. This was, in fact, a most severe reprimand. Some

more of the boys were then sent for, and we spent a very pleasant

afternoon." Besides Mr. Meeke, there was only one other Fellow of

Pembroke now resident: from both of whom Johnson received the greatest

civilities during this visit, and they pressed him very much to have a

room in the College.

'In the course of this visit (1754), Johnson and I walked, three or four

times, to Ellsfield, a village beautifully situated about three miles

from Oxford, to see Mr. Wise, Radclivian librarian, with whom Johnson

was much pleased. At this place, Mr. Wise had fitted up a house and

gardens, in a singular manner, but with great taste. Here was an

excellent library; particularly, a valuable collection of books in

Northern literature, with which Johnson was often very busy. One day

Mr. Wise read to us a dissertation which he was preparing for the press,

intitled, "A History and Chronology of the fabulous Ages." Some old

divinities of Thrace, related to the Titans, and called the CABIRI, made

a very important part of the theory of this piece; and in conversation

afterwards, Mr. Wise talked much of his CABIRI. As we returned to Oxford

in the evening, I out-walked Johnson, and he cried out Sufflamina, a

Latin word which came from his mouth with peculiar grace, and was as

much as to say, Put on your drag chain. Before we got home, I again

walked too fast for him; and he now cried out, "Why, you walk as if you

were pursued by all the CABIRI in a body." In an evening, we frequently

took long walks from Oxford into the country, returning to supper. Once,

in our way home, we viewed the ruins of the abbies of Oseney and Rewley,

near Oxford. After at least half an hour's silence, Johnson said,

"I viewed them with indignation!" We had then a long conversation on

Gothick buildings; and in talking of the form of old halls, he said, "In

these halls, the fire place was anciently always in the middle of the

room, till the Whigs removed it on one side."--About this time there had

been an execution of two or three criminals at Oxford on a Monday.

Soon afterwards, one day at dinner, I was saying that Mr. Swinton

the chaplain of the gaol, and also a frequent preacher before the

University, a learned man, but often thoughtless and absent, preached

the condemnation-sermon on repentance, before the convicts, on the

preceding day, Sunday; and that in the close he told his audience, that

he should give them the remainder of what he had to say on the subject,

the next Lord's Day. Upon which, one of our company, a Doctor of

Divinity, and a plain matter-of-fact man, by way of offering an apology

for Mr. Swinton, gravely remarked, that he had probably preached the

same sermon before the University: "Yes, Sir, (says Johnson) but the

University were not to be hanged the next morning."

'I forgot to observe before, that when he left Mr. Meeke, (as I have

told above) he added, "About the same time of life, Meeke was left

behind at Oxford to feed on a Fellowship, and I went to London to get my

living: now, Sir, see the difference of our literary characters!"'

The degree of Master of Arts, which, it has been observed, could not be

obtained for him at an early period of his life, was now considered as

an honour of considerable importance, in order to grace the title-page

of his Dictionary; and his character in the literary world being by this

time deservedly high, his friends thought that, if proper exertions were

made, the University of Oxford would pay him the compliment.

To THE REVEREND THOMAS WARTON.

'DEAR SIR,--I am extremely sensible of the favour done me, both by Mr.

Wise and yourself. The book* cannot, I think, be printed in less than

six weeks, nor probably so soon; and I will keep back the title-page,

for such an insertion as you seem to promise me. . . .

'I had lately the favour of a letter from your brother, with some

account of poor Collins, for whom I am much concerned. I have a notion,

that by very great temperance, or more properly abstinence, he may yet

recover. . . .

'You know poor Mr. Dodsley has lost his wife; I believe he is much

affected. I hope he will not suffer so much as I yet suffer for the loss

of mine.

[Greek text omitted]

I have ever since seemed to myself broken off from mankind; a kind of

solitary wanderer in the wild of life, without any direction, or

fixed point of view: a gloomy gazer on a world to which I have little

relation. Yet I would endeavour, by the help of you and your brother,

to supply the want of closer union, by friendship: and hope to have long

the pleasure of being, dear Sir, most affectionately your's,

'[London.] Dec. 21, 1754.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

* 'His Dictionary'--WARTON.

1755: AETAT. 46.]--In 1755 we behold him to great advantage; his degree

of Master of Arts conferred upon him, his Dictionary published, his

correspondence animated, his benevolence exercised.

Mr. Charles Burney, who has since distinguished himself so much in the

science of Musick, and obtained a Doctor's degree from the University

of Oxford, had been driven from the capital by bad health, and was now

residing at Lynne Regis, in Norfolk. He had been so much delighted with

Johnson's Rambler and the Plan of his Dictionary, that when the great

work was announced in the news-papers as nearly finished,' he wrote

to Dr. Johnson, begging to be informed when and in what manner

his Dictionary would be published; intreating, if it should be by

subscription, or he should have any books at his own disposal, to be

favoured with six copies for himself and friends.

In answer to this application, Dr. Johnson wrote the following letter,

of which (to use Dr. Burney's own words) 'if it be remembered that

it was written to an obscure young man, who at this time had not much

distinguished himself even in his own profession, but whose name could

never have reached the authour of The Rambler, the politeness and

urbanity may be opposed to some of the stories which have been lately

circulated of Dr. Johnson's natural rudeness and ferocity.'

'TO MR. BURNEY, IN LYNNE REGIS, NORFOLK.

'SIR,--If you imagine that by delaying my answer I intended to shew any

neglect of the notice with which you have favoured me, you will neither

think justly of yourself nor of me. Your civilities were offered with

too much elegance not to engage attention; and I have too much pleasure

in pleasing men like you, not to feel very sensibly the distinction

which you have bestowed upon me.

'Few consequences of my endeavours to please or to benefit mankind have

delighted me more than your friendship thus voluntarily offered, which

now I have it I hope to keep, because I hope to continue to deserve it.

'I have no Dictionaries to dispose of for myself, but shall be glad

to have you direct your friends to Mr. Dodsley, because it was by his

recommendation that I was employed in the work.

'When you have leisure to think again upon me, let me be favoured

with another letter; and another yet, when you have looked into my

Dictionary. If you find faults, I shall endeavour to mend them; if you

find none, I shall think you blinded by kind partiality: but to have

made you partial in his favour, will very much gratify the ambition of,

Sir, your most obliged and most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Gough-square, Fleet-street, April 8,1755.'

The Dictionary, with a Grammar and History of the English Language,

being now at length published, in two volumes folio, the world

contemplated with wonder so stupendous a work achieved by one man,

while other countries had thought such undertakings fit only for

whole academies. Vast as his powers were, I cannot but think that his

imagination deceived him, when he supposed that by constant application

he might have performed the task in three years.

The extensive reading which was absolutely necessary for the

accumulation of authorities, and which alone may account for Johnson's

retentive mind being enriched with a very large and various store of

knowledge and imagery, must have occupied several years. The Preface

furnishes an eminent instance of a double talent, of which Johnson

was fully conscious. Sir Joshua Reynolds heard him say, 'There are two

things which I am confident I can do very well: one is an introduction

to any literary work, stating what it is to contain, and how it should

be executed in the most perfect manner; the other is a conclusion,

shewing from various causes why the execution has not been equal to what

the authour promised to himself and to the publick.'

A few of his definitions must be admitted to be erroneous. Thus,

Windward and Leeward, though directly of opposite meaning, are defined

identically the same way; as to which inconsiderable specks it is enough

to observe, that his Preface announces that he was aware there might be

many such in so immense a work; nor was he at all disconcerted when an

instance was pointed out to him. A lady once asked him how he came

to define Pastern the KNEE of a horse: instead of making an elaborate

defence, as she expected, he at once answered, 'Ignorance, madam,

pure ignorance.' His definition of Network* has been often quoted with

sportive malignity, as obscuring a thing in itself very plain. But to

these frivolous censures no other answer is necessary than that with

which we are furnished by his own Preface.

* Any thing reticulated or decussated, at equal distances,

with interstices between the intersections.'--ED.

His introducing his own opinions, and even prejudices, under general

definitions of words, while at the same time the original meaning of the

words is not explained, as his Tory, Whig, Pension, Oats, Excise,* and a

few more, cannot be fully defended, and must be placed to the account of

capricious and humorous indulgence. Talking to me upon this subject when

we were at Ashbourne in 1777, he mentioned a still stronger instance

of the predominance of his private feelings in the composition of this

work, than any now to be found in it. 'You know, Sir, Lord Gower forsook

the old Jacobite interest. When I came to the word Renegado, after

telling that it meant "one who deserts to the enemy, a revolter," I

added, Sometimes we say a GOWER. Thus it went to the press; but the

printer had more wit than I, and struck it out.'

* Tory. 'One who adheres to the ancient constitution or the

state and the apostolical hierarchy of the church or

England, opposed to a whig.' Whig. 'The name of a

faction.' Pension. 'An allowance made to any one without

an equivalent. In England it is generally understood to

mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his

country.' Oats. 'A grain which in England is generally

given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.'

Excise. 'A hateful tax levied upon commodities, and

adjudged not by the common judges of property, but wretches

hired by those to whom excise is paid.'--ED.

Let it, however, be remembered, that this indulgence does not display

itself only in sarcasm towards others, but sometimes in playful allusion

to the notions commonly entertained of his own laborious task. Thus:

'Grub-street, the name of a street in London, much inhabited by writers

of small histories, dictionaries, and temporary poems; whence any

mean production is called Grub-street.'--'Lexicographer, a writer of

dictionaries, a harmless drudge.'

It must undoubtedly seem strange, that the conclusion of his Preface

should be expressed in terms so desponding, when it is considered that

the authour was then only in his forty-sixth year. But we must ascribe

its gloom to that miserable dejection of spirits to which he was

constitutionally subject, and which was aggravated by the death of his

wife two years before. I have heard it ingeniously observed by a lady

of rank and elegance, that 'his melancholy was then at its meridian.'

It pleased GOD to grant him almost thirty years of life after this time;

and once, when he was in a placid frame of mind, he was obliged to own

to me that he had enjoyed happier days, and had many more friends, since

that gloomy hour than before.

It is a sad saying, that 'most of those whom he wished to please had

sunk into the grave;' and his case at forty-five was singularly unhappy,

unless the circle of his friends was very narrow. He said to Sir Joshua

Reynolds, 'If a man does not make new acquaintance as he advances

through life, he will soon find himself left alone. A man, Sir, should

keep his friendship in constant repair.'

In July this year he had formed some scheme of mental improvement, the

particular purpose of which does not appear. But we find in his Prayers

and Meditations, p. 25, a prayer entitled 'On the Study of Philosophy,

as an Instrument of living;' and after it follows a note, 'This study

was not pursued.'

On the 13th of the same month he wrote in his Journal the following

scheme of life, for Sunday:

'Having lived' (as he with tenderness of conscience expresses himself)

'not without an habitual reverence for the Sabbath, yet without that

attention to its religious duties which Christianity requires;

'1. To rise early, and in order to it, to go to sleep early on Saturday.

'2. To use some extraordinary devotion in the morning.

'3. To examine the tenour of my life, and particularly the last week;

and to mark my advances in religion, or recession from it.

'4. To read the Scripture methodically with such helps as are at hand.

'5. To go to church twice.

'6. To read books of Divinity, either speculative or practical.

'7. To instruct my family.

'8. To wear off by meditation any worldly soil contracted in the week.'

1756: AETAT. 47.]--In 1756 Johnson found that the great fame of his

Dictionary had not set him above the necessity of 'making provision for

the day that was passing over him.' No royal or noble patron extended

a munificent hand to give independence to the man who had conferred

stability on the language of his country. We may feel indignant that

there should have been such unworthy neglect; but we must, at the

same time, congratulate ourselves, when we consider that to this very

neglect, operating to rouse the natural indolence of his constitution,

we owe many valuable productions, which otherwise, perhaps, might never

have appeared.

He had spent, during the progress of the work, the money for which he

had contracted to write his Dictionary. We have seen that the reward of

his labour was only fifteen hundred and seventy-five pounds; and when

the expence of amanuenses and paper, and other articles are deducted,

his clear profit was very inconsiderable. I once said to him, 'I am

sorry, Sir, you did not get more for your Dictionary.' His answer was,

'I am sorry, too. But it was very well. The booksellers are generous,

liberal-minded men.' He, upon all occasions, did ample justice to

their character in this respect. He considered them as the patrons of

literature; and, indeed, although they have eventually been considerable

gainers by his Dictionary, it is to them that we owe its having been

undertaken and carried through at the risk of great expence, for they

were not absolutely sure of being indemnified.

He this year resumed his scheme of giving an edition of Shakspeare with

notes.* He issued Proposals of considerable length, in which he

shewed that he perfectly well knew what a variety of research such an

undertaking required; but his indolence prevented him from pursuing it

with that diligence which alone can collect those scattered facts that

genius, however acute, penetrating, and luminous, cannot discover by its

own force. It is remarkable, that at this time his fancied activity

was for the moment so vigorous, that he promised his work should be

published before Christmas, 1757. Yet nine years elapsed before it

saw the light. His throes in bringing it forth had been severe and

remittent; and at last we may almost conclude that the Caesarian

operation was performed by the knife of Churchill, whose upbraiding

satire, I dare say, made Johnson's friends urge him to dispatch.

'He for subscribers bates his hook,

And takes your cash; but where's the book?

No matter where; wise fear, you know,

Forbids the robbing of a foe;

But what, to serve our private ends,

Forbids the cheating of our friends?'

* First proposed in 1745--ED.

About this period he was offered a living of considerable value in

Lincolnshire, if he were inclined to enter into holy orders. It was

a rectory in the gift of Mr. Langton, the father of his much

valued friend. But he did not accept of it; partly I believe from

a conscientious motive, being persuaded that his temper and habits

rendered him unfit for that assiduous and familiar instruction of

the vulgar and ignorant which he held to be an essential duty in a

clergyman; and partly because his love of a London life was so strong,

that he would have thought himself an exile in any other place,

particularly if residing in the country. Whoever would wish to see his

thoughts upon that subject displayed in their full force, may peruse The

Adventurer, Number 126.

1757: AETAT. 48.]--MR. BURNEY having enclosed to him an extract from the

review of his Dictionary in the Bibliotheque des Savans, and a list of

subscribers to his Shakspeare, which Mr. Burney had procured in Norfolk,

he wrote the following answer:

'TO MR. BURNEY, IN LYNNE, NORFOLK.

'SIR,--That I may shew myself sensible of your favours, and not commit

the same fault a second time, I make haste to answer the letter which

I received this morning. The truth is, the other likewise was received,

and I wrote an answer; but being desirous to transmit you some proposals

and receipts, I waited till I could find a convenient conveyance, and

day was passed after day, till other things drove it from my thoughts;

yet not so, but that I remember with great pleasure your commendation

of my Dictionary. Your praise was welcome, not only because I believe

it was sincere, but because praise has been very scarce. A man of

your candour will be surprised when I tell you, that among all my

acquaintance there were only two, who upon the publication of my

book did not endeavour to depress me with threats of censure from the

publick, or with objections learned from those who had learned them

from my own Preface. Your's is the only letter of goodwill that I have

received; though, indeed, I am promised something of that sort from

Sweden.

'How my new edition will be received I know not; the subscription has

not been very successful. I shall publish about March.

'If you can direct me how to send proposals, I should wish that they

were in such hands.

'I remember, Sir, in some of the first letters with which you favoured

me, you mentioned your lady. May I enquire after her? In return for the

favours which you have shewn me, it is not much to tell you, that I wish

you and her all that can conduce to your happiness. I am, Sir, your most

obliged, and most humble servant,