'Jan. 9, 1758.'
Dr. Burney has kindly favoured me with the following memorandum, which
I take the liberty to insert in his own genuine easy style. I love to
exhibit sketches of my illustrious friend by various eminent hands.
'Soon after this, Mr. Burney, during a visit to the capital, had an
interview with him in Gough-square, where he dined and drank tea with
him, and was introduced to the acquaintance of Mrs. Williams. After
dinner, Mr. Johnson proposed to Mr. Burney to go up with him into his
garret, which being accepted, he there found about five or six Greek
folios, a deal writing-desk, and a chair and a half. Johnson giving to
his guest the entire seat, tottered himself on one with only three legs
and one arm. Here he gave Mr. Burney Mrs. Williams's history, and shewed
him some volumes of his Shakspeare already printed, to prove that he was
in earnest. Upon Mr. Burney's opening the first volume, at the Merchant
of Venice, he observed to him, that he seemed to be more severe on
Warburton than Theobald. "O poor Tib.! (said Johnson) he was ready
knocked down to my hands; Warburton stands between me and him." "But,
Sir, (said Mr. Burney,) you'll have Warburton upon your bones, won't
you?" "No, Sir; he'll not come out: he'll only growl in his den." "But
you think, Sir, that Warburton is a superiour critick to Theobald?" "O
Sir he'd make two-and-fifty Theobalds, cut into slices! The worst of
Warburton is, that he has a rage for saying something, when there's
nothing to be said." Mr. Burney then asked him whether he had seen the
letter which Warburton had written in answer to a pamphlet addressed "To
the most impudent Man alive." He answered in the negative. Mr. Burney
told him it was supposed to be written by Mallet. The controversey now
raged between the friends of Pope and Bolingbroke; and Warburton and
Mallet were the leaders of the several parties. Mr. Burney asked him
then if he had seen Warburton's book against Bolingbroke's Philosophy?
"No, Sir, I have never read Bolingbroke's impiety, and therefore am not
interested about its confutation."'
On the fifteenth of April he began a new periodical paper, entitled The
Idler, which came out every Saturday in a weekly news-paper, called
The Universal Chronicle, or Weekly Gazette, published by Newbery. These
essays were continued till April 5, 1760. Of one hundred and three,
their total number, twelve were contributed by his friends.
The Idler is evidently the work of the same mind which produced The
Rambler, but has less body and more spirit. It has more variety of real
life, and greater facility of language. He describes the miseries of
idleness, with the lively sensations of one who has felt them; and in
his private memorandums while engaged in it, we find 'This year I hope
to learn diligence.' Many of these excellent essays were written as
hastily as an ordinary letter. Mr. Langton remembers Johnson, when on
a visit at Oxford, asking him one evening how long it was till the post
went out; and on being told about half an hour, he exclaimed, 'then we
shall do very well.' He upon this instantly sat down and finished an
Idler, which it was necessary should be in London the next day. Mr.
Langton having signified a wish to read it, 'Sir, (said he) you shall
not do more than I have done myself.' He then folded it up and sent it
off.
1759: AETAT. 50.]--In 1759, in the month of January, his mother died at
the great age of ninety, an event which deeply affected him; not that
'his mind had acquired no firmness by the contemplation of mortality;'
but that his reverential affection for her was not abated by years, as
indeed he retained all his tender feelings even to the latest period of
his life. I have been told that he regretted much his not having gone
to visit his mother for several years, previous to her death. But he was
constantly engaged in literary labours which confined him to London; and
though he had not the comfort of seeing his aged parent, he contributed
liberally to her support.
Soon after this event, he wrote his Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia;
concerning the publication of which Sir John Hawkins guesses vaguely
and idly, instead of having taken the trouble to inform himself with
authentick precision. Not to trouble my readers with a repetition of
the Knight's reveries, I have to mention, that the late Mr. Strahan the
printer told me, that Johnson wrote it, that with the profits he might
defray the expence of his mother's funeral, and pay some little debts
which she had left. He told Sir Joshua Reynolds that he composed it in
the evenings of one week, sent it to the press in portions as it was
written, and had never since read it over. Mr. Strahan, Mr. Johnston,
and Mr. Dodsley purchased it for a hundred pounds, but afterwards paid
him twenty-five pounds more, when it came to a second edition.
Voltaire's Candide, written to refute the system of Optimism, which it
has accomplished with brilliant success, is wonderfully similar in its
plan and conduct to Johnson's Rasselas; insomuch, that I have heard
Johnson say, that if they had not been published so closely one after
the other that there was not time for imitation, it would have been in
vain to deny that the scheme of that which came latest was taken from
the other. Though the proposition illustrated by both these works was
the same, namely, that in our present state there is more evil than
good, the intention of the writers was very different. Voltaire, I am
afraid, meant only by wanton profaneness to obtain a sportive victory
over religion, and to discredit the belief of a superintending
Providence; Johnson meant, by shewing the unsatisfactory nature of
things temporal, to direct the hopes of man to things eternal. Rasselas,
as was observed to me by a very accomplished lady, may be considered as
a more enlarged and more deeply philosophical discourse in prose, upon
the interesting truth, which in his Vanity of Human Wishes he had so
successfully enforced in verse.
I would ascribe to this year the following letter to a son of one of his
early friends at Lichfield, Mr. Joseph Simpson, Barrister, and authour
of a tract entitled Reflections on the Study of the Law.
'TO JOSEPH SIMPSON, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,--Your father's inexorability not only grieves but amazes me:
he is your father; he was always accounted a wise man; nor do I remember
any thing to the disadvantage of his good-nature; but in his refusal to
assist you there is neither good-nature, fatherhood, nor wisdom. It is
the practice of good-nature to overlook faults which have already, by
the consequences, punished the delinquent. It is natural for a father to
think more favourably than others of his children; and it is always wise
to give assistance while a little help will prevent the necessity of
greater.
'If you married imprudently, you miscarried at your own hazard, at an
age when you had a right of choice. It would be hard if the man might
not choose his own wife, who has a right to plead before the Judges of
his country.
'If your imprudence has ended in difficulties and inconveniences, you
are yourself to support them; and, with the help of a little better
health, you would support them and conquer them. Surely, that want which
accident and sickness produces, is to be supported in every region of
humanity, though there were neither friends nor fathers in the world.
You have certainly from your father the highest claim of charity, though
none of right; and therefore I would counsel you to omit no decent nor
manly degree of importunity. Your debts in the whole are not large, and
of the whole but a small part is troublesome. Small debts are like
small shot; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely be escaped
without a wound: great debts are like cannon; of loud noise, but little
danger. You must, therefore, be enabled to discharge petty debts, that
you may have leisure, with security to struggle with the rest. Neither
the great nor little debts disgrace you. I am sure you have my esteem
for the courage with which you contracted them, and the spirit with
which you endure them. I wish my esteem could be of more use. I have
been invited, or have invited myself, to several parts of the kingdom;
and will not incommode my dear Lucy by coming to Lichfield, while her
present lodging is of any use to her. I hope, in a few days, to be
at leisure, and to make visits. Whither I shall fly is matter of no
importance. A man unconnected is at home every where; unless he may be
said to be at home no where. I am sorry, dear Sir, that where you have
parents, a man of your merits should not have an home. I wish I could
give it you. I am, my dear Sir, affectionately yours,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
He now refreshed himself by an excursion to Oxford, of which the
following short characteristical notice, in his own words, is preserved
'* * * is now making tea for me. I have been in my gown ever since I
came here. It was, at my first coming, quite new and handsome. I have
swum thrice, which I had disused for many years. I have proposed to
Vansittart, climbing over the wall, but he has refused me. And I have
clapped my hands till they are sore, at Dr. King's speech.'
His negro servant, Francis Barber, having left him, and been some time
at sea, not pressed as has been supposed, but with his own consent, it
appears from a letter to John Wilkes, Esq., from Dr. Smollet, that his
master kindly interested himself in procuring his release from a state
of life of which Johnson always expressed the utmost abhorrence. He
said, 'No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself
into a jail; for being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance
of being drowned.' And at another time, 'A man in a jail has more room,
better food, and commonly better company.' The letter was as follows:--
'Chelsea, March 16, 1759.
'DEAR SIR, I am again your petitioner, in behalf of that great CHAM of
literature, Samuel Johnson. His black servant, whose name is Francis
Barber, has been pressed on board the Stag Frigate, Captain Angel, and
our lexicographer is in great distress. He says the boy is a sickly lad,
of a delicate frame, and particularly subject to a malady in his throat,
which renders him very unfit for his Majesty's service. You know what
manner of animosity the said Johnson has against you; and I dare say
you desire no other opportunity of resenting it than that of laying him
under an obligation. He was humble enough to desire my assistance on
this occasion, though he and I were never cater-cousins; and I gave him
to understand that I would make application to my friend Mr. Wilkes,
who, perhaps, by his interest with Dr. Hay and Mr. Elliot, might be able
to procure the discharge of his lacquey. It would be superfluous to
say more on the subject, which I leave to your own consideration; but I
cannot let slip this opportunity of declaring that I am, with the most
inviolable esteem and attachment, dear Sir, your affectionate, obliged,
humble servant,
'T. SMOLLET.'
Mr. Wilkes, who upon all occasions has acted, as a private gentleman,
with most polite liberality, applied to his friend Sir George Hay, then
one of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty; and Francis Barber was
discharged, as he has told me, without any wish of his own. He found his
old master in Chambers in the Inner Temple, and returned to his service.
1760: AETAT. 51.]--I take this opportunity to relate the manner in which
an acquaintance first commenced between Dr. Johnson and Mr. Murphy.
During the publication of The Gray's-Inn Journal, a periodical paper
which was successfully carried on by Mr. Murphy alone, when a very
young man, he happened to be in the country with Mr. Foote; and having
mentioned that he was obliged to go to London in order to get ready for
the press one of the numbers of that Journal, Foote said to him, 'You
need not go on that account. Here is a French magazine, in which you
will find a very pretty oriental tale; translate that, and send it to
your printer.' Mr. Murphy having read the tale, was highly pleased with
it, and followed Foote's advice. When he returned to town, this tale was
pointed out to him in The Rambler, from whence it had been translated
into the French magazine. Mr. Murphy then waited upon Johnson,
to explain this curious incident. His talents, literature, and
gentleman-like manners, were soon perceived by Johnson, and a friendship
was formed which was never broken.
1762: AETAT. 53.]--A lady having at this time solicited him to obtain
the Archbishop of Canterbury's patronage to have her son sent to the
University, one of those solicitations which are too frequent, where
people, anxious for a particular object, do not consider propriety, or
the opportunity which the persons whom they solicit have to assist them,
he wrote to her the following answer, with a copy of which I am favoured
by the Reverend Dr. Farmer, Master of Emanuel College, Cambridge.
'MADAM,--I hope you will believe that my delay in answering your letter
could proceed only from my unwillingness to destroy any hope that you
had formed. Hope is itself a species of happiness, and, perhaps, the
chief happiness which this world affords: but, like all other pleasures
immoderately enjoyed, the excesses of hope must be expiated by pain; and
expectations improperly indulged, must end in disappointment. If it
be asked, what is the improper expectation which it is dangerous to
indulge, experience will quickly answer, that it is such expectation as
is dictated not by reason, but by desire; expectation raised, not by
the common occurrences of life, but by the wants of the expectant; an
expectation that requires the common course of things to be changed, and
the general rules of action to be broken.
'When you made your request to me, you should have considered, Madam,
what you were asking. You ask me to solicit a great man, to whom I never
spoke, for a young person whom I had never seen, upon a supposition
which I had no means of knowing to be true. There is no reason why,
amongst all the great, I should chuse to supplicate the Archbishop, nor
why, among all the possible objects of his bounty, the Archbishop should
chuse your son. I know, Madam, how unwillingly conviction is admitted,
when interest opposes it; but surely, Madam, you must allow, that there
is no reason why that should be done by me, which every other man may
do with equal reason, and which, indeed no man can do properly, without
some very particular relation both to the Archbishop and to you. If I
could help you in this exigence by any proper means, it would give me
pleasure; but this proposal is so very remote from all usual methods,
that I cannot comply with it, but at the risk of such answer and
suspicions as I believe you do not wish me to undergo.
'I have seen your son this morning; he seems a pretty youth, and will,
perhaps, find some better friend than I can procure him; but, though he
should at last miss the University, he may still be wise, useful, and
happy. I am, Madam, your most humble servant,
'June 8, 1762.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'TO MR. JOSEPH BARETTI, AT MILAN.
'London, July 20, 1762.
'SIR, However justly you may accuse me for want of punctuality in
correspondence, I am not so far lost in negligence as to omit the
opportunity of writing to you, which Mr. Beauclerk's passage through
Milan affords me.
'I suppose you received the Idlers, and I intend that you shall soon
receive Shakspeare, that you may explain his works to the ladies of
Italy, and tell them the story of the editor, among the other strange
narratives with which your long residence in this unknown region has
supplied you.
'As you have now been long away, I suppose your curiosity may pant for
some news of your old friends. Miss Williams and I live much as we did.
Miss Cotterel still continues to cling to Mrs. Porter, and Charlotte
is now big of the fourth child. Mr. Reynolds gets six thousands a year.
Levet is lately married, not without much suspicion that he has been
wretchedly cheated in his match. Mr. Chambers is gone this day, for the
first time, the circuit with the Judges. Mr. Richardson is dead of an
apoplexy, and his second daughter has married a merchant.
'My vanity, or my kindness, makes me flatter myself, that you would
rather hear of me than of those whom I have mentioned; but of myself
I have very little which I care to tell. Last winter I went down to my
native town, where I found the streets much narrower and shorter than
I thought I had left them, inhabited by a new race of people, to whom I
was very little known. My play-fellows were grown old, and forced me to
suspect that I was no longer young. My only remaining friend has changed
his principles, and was become the tool of the predominant faction. My
daughter-in-law, from whom I expected most, and whom I met with sincere
benevolence, has lost the beauty and gaiety of youth, without having
gained much of the wisdom of age. I wandered about for five days, and
took the first convenient opportunity of returning to a place, where,
if there is not much happiness, there is, at least, such a diversity of
good and evil, that slight vexations do not fix upon the heart. . . .
'May you, my Baretti, be very happy at Milan, or some other place nearer
to, Sir, your most affectionate humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
The accession of George the Third to the throne of these kingdoms,
opened a new and brighter prospect to men of literary merit, who had
been honoured with no mark of royal favour in the preceding reign. His
present Majesty's education in this country, as well as his taste and
beneficence, prompted him to be the patron of science and the arts;
and early this year Johnson, having been represented to him as a very
learned and good man, without any certain provision, his Majesty was
pleased to grant him a pension of three hundred pounds a year. The Earl
of Bute, who was then Prime Minister, had the honour to announce this
instance of his Sovereign's bounty, concerning which, many and various
stories, all equally erroneous, have been propagated: maliciously
representing it as a political bribe to Johnson, to desert his avowed
principles, and become the tool of a government which he held to be
founded in usurpation. I have taken care to have it in my power to
refute them from the most authentick information. Lord Bute told me,
that Mr. Wedderburne, now Lord Loughborough, was the person who first
mentioned this subject to him. Lord Loughborough told me, that the
pension was granted to Johnson solely as the reward of his literary
merit, without any stipulation whatever, or even tacit understanding
that he should write for administration. His Lordship added, that he was
confident the political tracts which Johnson afterwards did write, as
they were entirely consonant with his own opinions, would have been
written by him though no pension had been granted to him.
Mr. Thomas Sheridan and Mr. Murphy, who then lived a good deal both
with him and Mr. Wedderburne, told me, that they previously talked with
Johnson upon this matter, and that it was perfectly understood by all
parties that the pension was merely honorary. Sir Joshua Reynolds told
me, that Johnson called on him after his majesty's intention had been
notified to him, and said he wished to consult his friends as to the
propriety of his accepting this mark of the royal favour, after
the definitions which he had given in his Dictionary of pension and
pensioners. He said he would not have Sir Joshua's answer till next day,
when he would call again, and desired he might think of it. Sir Joshua
answered that he was clear to give his opinion then, that there could be
no objection to his receiving from the King a reward for literary merit;
and that certainly the definitions in his Dictionary were not applicable
to him. Johnson, it should seem, was satisfied, for he did not call
again till he had accepted the pension, and had waited on Lord Bute to
thank him. He then told Sir Joshua that Lord Bute said to him expressly,
'It is not given you for anything you are to do, but for what you have
done.' His Lordship, he said, behaved in the handsomest manner, he
repeated the words twice, that he might be sure Johnson heard them,
and thus set his mind perfectly at ease. This nobleman, who has been
so virulently abused, acted with great honour in this instance and
displayed a mind truly liberal. A minister of a more narrow and selfish
disposition would have availed himself of such an opportunity to fix an
implied obligation on a man of Johnson's powerful talents to give him
his support.
Mr. Murphy and the late Mr. Sheridan severally contended for the
distinction of having been the first who mentioned to Mr. Wedderburne
that Johnson ought to have a pension. When I spoke of this to Lord
Loughborough, wishing to know if he recollected the prime mover in the
business, he said, 'All his friends assisted:' and when I told him that
Mr. Sheridan strenuously asserted his claim to it, his Lordship said,
'He rang the bell.' And it is but just to add, that Mr. Sheridan told
me, that when he communicated to Dr. Johnson that a pension was to be
granted him, he replied in a fervour of gratitude, 'The English language
does not afford me terms adequate to my feelings on this occasion.
I must have recourse to the French. I am penetre with his Majesty's
goodness.' When I repeated this to Dr. Johnson, he did not contradict
it.
This year his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds paid a visit of some weeks to
his native country, Devonshire, in which he was accompanied by Johnson,
who was much pleased with this jaunt, and declared he had derived from
it a great accession of new ideas. He was entertained at the seats of
several noblemen and gentlemen in the West of England; but the greatest
part of the time was passed at Plymouth, where the magnificence of the
navy, the ship-building and all its circumstances, afforded him a grand
subject of contemplation. The Commissioner of the Dock-yard paid him
the compliment of ordering the yacht to convey him and his friend to
the Eddystone, to which they accordingly sailed. But the weather was so
tempestuous that they could not land.
Reynolds and he were at this time the guests of Dr. Mudge, the
celebrated surgeon, and now physician of that place, not more
distinguished for quickness of parts and variety of knowledge, than
loved and esteemed for his amiable manners; and here Johnson formed
an acquaintance with Dr. Mudge's father, that very eminent divine, the
Reverend Zachariah Mudge, Prebendary of Exeter, who was idolised in
the west, both for his excellence as a preacher and the uniform perfect
propriety of his private conduct. He preached a sermon purposely
that Johnson might hear him; and we shall see afterwards that Johnson
honoured his memory by drawing his character. While Johnson was at
Plymouth, he saw a great many of its inhabitants, and was not sparing of
his very entertaining conversation. It was here that he made that frank
and truly original confession, that 'ignorance, pure ignorance,' was the
cause of a wrong definition in his Dictionary of the word pastern,
to the no small surprise of the Lady who put the question to him; who
having the most profound reverence for his character, so as almost to
suppose him endowed with infallibility, expected to hear an explanation
(of what, to be sure, seemed strange to a common reader,) drawn from
some deep-learned source with which she was unacquainted.
Sir Joshua Reynolds, to whom I was obliged for my information concerning
this excursion, mentions a very characteristical anecdote of Johnson
while at Plymouth. Having observed that in consequence of the Dock-yard
a new town had arisen about two miles off as a rival to the old; and
knowing from his sagacity, and just observation of human nature, that
it is certain if a man hates at all, he will hate his next neighbour;
he concluded that this new and rising town could not but excite the envy
and jealousy of the old, in which conjecture he was very soon confirmed;
he therefore set himself resolutely on the side of the old town, the
established town, in which his lot was cast, considering it as a kind of
duty to stand by it. He accordingly entered warmly into its interests,
and upon every occasion talked of the dockers, as the inhabitants of
the new town were called, as upstarts and aliens. Plymouth is very
plentifully supplied with water by a river brought into it from a great
distance, which is so abundant that it runs to waste in the town. The
Dock, or New-town, being totally destitute of water, petitioned Plymouth
that a small portion of the conduit might be permitted to go to them,
and this was now under consideration. Johnson, affecting to entertain
the passions of the place, was violent in opposition; and, half-laughing
at himself for his pretended zeal where he had no concern, exclaimed,
'No, no! I am against the dockers; I am a Plymouth man. Rogues! let them
die of thirst. They shall not have a drop!'
1763: AETAT. 54.]--This is to me a memorable year; for in it I had the
happiness to obtain the acquaintance of that extraordinary man whose
memoirs I am now writing; an acquaintance which I shall ever esteem
as one of the most fortunate circumstances in my life. Though then but
two-and-twenty, I had for several years read his works with delight and
instruction, and had the highest reverence for their authour, which had
grown up in my fancy into a kind of mysterious veneration, by figuring
to myself a state of solemn elevated abstraction, in which I supposed
him to live in the immense metropolis of London. Mr. Gentleman, a native
of Ireland, who passed some years in Scotland as a player, and as an
instructor in the English language, a man whose talents and worth were
depressed by misfortunes, had given me a representation of the figure
and manner of DICTIONARY JOHNSON! as he was then generally called; and
during my first visit to London, which was for three months in 1760, Mr.
Derrick the poet, who was Gentleman's friend and countryman, flattered
me with hopes that he would introduce me to Johnson, an honour of which
I was very ambitious. But he never found an opportunity; which made me
doubt that he had promised to do what was not in his power; till Johnson
some years afterwards told me, 'Derrick, Sir, might very well have
introduced you. I had a kindness for Derrick, and am sorry he is dead.'
In the summer of 1761 Mr. Thomas Sheridan was at Edinburgh, and
delivered lectures upon the English Language and Publick Speaking to
large and respectable audiences. I was often in his company, and
heard him frequently expatiate upon Johnson's extraordinary knowledge,
talents, and virtues, repeat his pointed sayings, describe his
particularities, and boast of his being his guest sometimes till two or
three in the morning. At his house I hoped to have many opportunities of
seeing the sage, as Mr. Sheridan obligingly assured me I should not be
disappointed.
When I returned to London in the end of 1762, to my surprise and regret
I found an irreconcilable difference had taken place between Johnson
and Sheridan. A pension of two hundred pounds a year had been given
to Sheridan. Johnson, who, as has been already mentioned, thought
slightingly of Sheridan's art, upon hearing that he was also pensioned,
exclaimed, 'What! have they given HIM a pension? Then it is time for me
to give up mine.'
Johnson complained that a man who disliked him repeated his sarcasm to
Mr. Sheridan, without telling him what followed, which was, that after a
pause he added, 'However, I am glad that Mr. Sheridan has a pension,
for he is a very good man.' Sheridan could never forgive this hasty
contemptuous expression. It rankled in his mind; and though I informed
him of all that Johnson said, and that he would be very glad to meet him
amicably, he positively declined repeated offers which I made, and once
went off abruptly from a house where he and I were engaged to dine,
because he was told that Dr. Johnson was to be there.
This rupture with Sheridan deprived Johnson of one of his most
agreeable resources for amusement in his lonely evenings; for Sheridan's
well-informed, animated, and bustling mind never suffered conversation
to stagnate; and Mrs. Sheridan was a most agreeable companion to
an intellectual man. She was sensible, ingenious, unassuming, yet
communicative. I recollect, with satisfaction, many pleasing hours which
I passed with her under the hospitable roof of her husband, who was
to me a very kind friend. Her novel, entitled Memoirs of Miss Sydney
Biddulph, contains an excellent moral while it inculcates a future state
of retribution; and what it teaches is impressed upon the mind by a
series of as deep distress as can affect humanity, in the amiable and
pious heroine who goes to her grave unrelieved, but resigned, and full
of hope of 'heaven's mercy.' Johnson paid her this high compliment upon
it: 'I know not, Madam, that you have a right, upon moral principles, to
make your readers suffer so much.'
Mr. Thomas Davies the actor, who then kept a bookseller's shop in
Russel-street, Covent-garden, told me that Johnson was very much his
friend, and came frequently to his house, where he more than once
invited me to meet him; but by some unlucky accident or other he was
prevented from coming to us.
Mr. Thomas Davies was a man of good understanding and talents, with the
advantage of a liberal education. Though somewhat pompous, he was
an entertaining companion; and his literary performances have no
inconsiderable share of merit. He was a friendly and very hospitable
man. Both he and his wife, (who has been celebrated for her beauty,)
though upon the stage for many years, maintained an uniform decency of
character; and Johnson esteemed them, and lived in as easy an intimacy
with them, as with any family which he used to visit. Mr. Davies
recollected several of Johnson's remarkable sayings, and was one of the
best of the many imitators of his voice and manner, while relating them.
He increased my impatience more and more to see the extraordinary man
whose works I highly valued, and whose conversation was reported to be
so peculiarly excellent.
At last, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was sitting in Mr. Davies's
back-parlour, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs. Davies, Johnson
unexpectedly came into the shop; and Mr. Davies having perceived him
through the glass-door in the room in which we were sitting, advancing
towards us,--he announced his aweful approach to me, somewhat in the
manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet on
the appearance of his father's ghost, 'Look, my Lord, it comes.' I found
that I had a very perfect idea of Johnson's figure, from the portrait
of him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had published
his Dictionary, in the attitude of sitting in his easy chair in deep
meditation, which was the first picture his friend did for him, which
Sir Joshua very kindly presented to me, and from which an engraving has
been made for this work. Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully
introduced me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his
prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to
Davies, 'Don't tell where I come from.'--'From Scotland,' cried Davies
roguishly. 'Mr. Johnson, (said I) I do indeed come from Scotland, but
I cannot help it.' I am willing to flatter myself that I meant this as
light pleasantry to sooth and conciliate him, and not as an humiliating
abasement at the expence of my country. But however that might be, this
speech was somewhat unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which he
was so remarkable, he seized the expression 'come from Scotland,' which
I used in the sense of being of that country; and, as if I had said that
I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, 'That, Sir, I find, is
what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.' This stroke
stunned me a good deal; and when we had sat down, I felt myself not a
little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might come next. He then
addressed himself to Davies: 'What do you think of Garrick? He has
refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he knows the
house will be full, and that an order would be worth three shillings.'
Eager to take any opening to get into conversation with him, I ventured
to say, 'O, Sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge such a trifle
to you.' 'Sir, (said he, with a stern look,) I have known David Garrick
longer than you have done: and I know no right you have to talk to me
on the subject.' Perhaps I deserved this check; for it was rather
presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any doubt of the
justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance and pupil.* I now
felt myself much mortified, and began to think that the hope which I had
long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was blasted. And, in truth,
had not my ardour been uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly
persevering, so rough a reception might have deterred me for ever from
making any further attempts. Fortunately, however, I remained upon the
field not wholly discomfited.
* That this was a momentary sally against Garrick there can
be no doubt; for at Johnson's desire he had, some years
before, given a benefit-night at his theatre to this very
person, by which she had got two hundred pounds. Johnson,
indeed, upon all other occasions, when I was in his company
praised the very liberal charity of Garrick. I once
mentioned to him, 'It is observed, Sir, that you attack
Garrick yourself, but will suffer nobody else to do it.'
Johnson, (smiling) 'Why, Sir, that is true.'--BOSWELL.
I was highly pleased with the extraordinary vigour of his conversation,
and regretted that I was drawn away from it by an engagement at another
place. I had, for a part of the evening, been left alone with him, and
had ventured to make an observation now and then, which he received very
civilly; so that I was satisfied that though there was a roughness in
his manner, there was no ill-nature in his disposition. Davies followed
me to the door, and when I complained to him a little of the hard blows
which the great man had given me, he kindly took upon him to console me
by saying, 'Don't be uneasy. I can see he likes you very well.'
A few days afterwards I called on Davies, and asked him if he thought I
might take the liberty of waiting on Mr. Johnson at his Chambers in the
Temple. He said I certainly might, and that Mr. Johnson would take it
as a compliment. So upon Tuesday the 24th of May, after having been
enlivened by the witty sallies of Messieurs Thornton, Wilkes, Churchill
and Lloyd, with whom I had passed the morning, I boldly repaired
to Johnson. His Chambers were on the first floor of No. 1,
Inner-Temple-lane, and I entered them with an impression given me by
the Reverend Dr. Blair, of Edinburgh, who had been introduced to him not
long before, and described his having 'found the Giant in his den;'
an expression, which, when I came to be pretty well acquainted with
Johnson, I repeated to him, and he was diverted at this picturesque
account of himself. Dr. Blair had been presented to him by Dr. James
Fordyce. At this time the controversy concerning the pieces published
by Mr. James Macpherson, as translations of Ossian, was at its height.
Johnson had all along denied their authenticity; and, what was still
more provoking to their admirers, maintained that they had no merit. The
subject having been introduced by Dr. Fordyce, Dr. Blair, relying on
the internal evidence of their antiquity, asked Dr. Johnson whether he
thought any man of a modern age could have written such poems? Johnson
replied, 'Yes, Sir, many men, many women, and many children.' Johnson,
at this time, did not know that Dr. Blair had just published a
Dissertation, not only defending their authenticity, but seriously
ranking them with the poems of Homer and Virgil; and when he was
afterwards informed of this circumstance, he expressed some displeasure
at Dr. Fordyce's having suggested the topick, and said, 'I am not sorry
that they got thus much for their pains. Sir, it was like leading one to
talk of a book when the authour is concealed behind the door.'
He received me very courteously; but, it must be confessed, that his
apartment, and furniture, and morning dress, were sufficiently uncouth.
His brown suit of cloaths looked very rusty; he had on a little old
shrivelled unpowdered wig, which was too small for his head; his
shirt-neck and knees of his breeches were loose; his black worsted
stockings ill drawn up; and he had a pair of unbuckled shoes by way
of slippers. But all these slovenly particularities were forgotten the
moment that he began to talk. Some gentlemen, whom I do not recollect,
were sitting with him; and when they went away, I also rose; but he said
to me, 'Nay, don't go.' 'Sir, (said I,) I am afraid that I intrude
upon you. It is benevolent to allow me to sit and hear you.' He seemed
pleased with this compliment, which I sincerely paid him, and answered,
'Sir, I am obliged to any man who visits me.' I have preserved the
following short minute of what passed this day:--
'Madness frequently discovers itself merely by unnecessary deviation
from the usual modes of the world. My poor friend Smart shewed the
disturbance of his mind, by falling upon his knees, and saying his
prayers in the street, or in any other unusual place. Now although,
rationally speaking, it is greater madness not to pray at all, than to
pray as Smart did, I am afraid there are so many who do not pray, that
their understanding is not called in question.'
Concerning this unfortunate poet, Christopher Smart, who was confined
in a mad-house, he had, at another time, the following conversation
with Dr. Burney:--BURNEY. 'How does poor Smart do, Sir; is he likely to
recover?' JOHNSON. 'It seems as if his mind had ceased to struggle with
the disease; for he grows fat upon it.' BURNEY. 'Perhaps, Sir, that
may be from want of exercise.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; he has partly as much
exercise as he used to have, for he digs in the garden. Indeed, before
his confinement, he used for exercise to walk to the ale-house; but
he was CARRIED back again. I did not think he ought to be shut up. His
infirmities were not noxious to society. He insisted on people praying
with him; and I'd as lief pray with Kit Smart as any one else. Another
charge was, that he did not love clean linen; and I have no passion for
it.'--Johnson continued. 'Mankind have a great aversion to intellectual
labour; but even supposing knowledge to be easily attainable, more
people would be content to be ignorant than would take even a little
trouble to acquire it.'
Talking of Garrick, he said, 'He is the first man in the world for
sprightly conversation.'
When I rose a second time he again pressed me to stay, which I did.
He told me, that he generally went abroad at four in the afternoon, and
seldom came home till two in the morning. I took the liberty to ask if
he did not think it wrong to live thus, and not make more use of
his great talents. He owned it was a bad habit. On reviewing, at the
distance of many years, my journal of this period, I wonder how, at my
first visit, I ventured to talk to him so freely, and that he bore it
with so much indulgence.
Before we parted, he was so good as to promise to favour me with his
company one evening at my lodgings; and, as I took my leave, shook me
cordially by the hand. It is almost needless to add, that I felt no
little elation at having now so happily established an acquaintance of
which I had been so long ambitious.
I did not visit him again till Monday, June 13, at which time I
recollect no part of his conversation, except that when I told him I had
been to see Johnson ride upon three horses, he said, 'Such a man, Sir,
should be encouraged; for his performances shew the extent of the
human powers in one instance, and thus tend to raise our opinion of
the faculties of man. He shews what may be attained by persevering
application; so that every man may hope, that by giving as much
application, although perhaps he may never ride three horses at a
time, or dance upon a wire, yet he may be equally expert in whatever
profession he has chosen to pursue.'
He again shook me by the hand at parting, and asked me why I did not
come oftener to him. Trusting that I was now in his good graces, I
answered, that he had not given me much encouragement, and reminded him
of the check I had received from him at our first interview. 'Poh, poh!
(said he, with a complacent smile,) never mind these things. Come to me
as often as you can. I shall be glad to see you.'
I had learnt that his place of frequent resort was the Mitre tavern in
Fleet-street, where he loved to sit up late, and I begged I might be
allowed to pass an evening with him there soon, which he promised I
should. A few days afterwards I met him near Temple-bar, about one
o'clock in the morning, and asked if he would then go to the Mitre.
'Sir, (said he) it is too late; they won't let us in. But I'll go with
you another night with all my heart.'
A revolution of some importance in my plan of life had just taken place;
for instead of procuring a commission in the foot-guards, which was my
own inclination, I had, in compliance with my father's wishes, agreed to
study the law, and was soon to set out for Utrecht, to hear the lectures
of an excellent Civilian in that University, and then to proceed on
my travels. Though very desirous of obtaining Dr. Johnson's advice and
instructions on the mode of pursuing my studies, I was at this time
so occupied, shall I call it? or so dissipated, by the amusements of
London, that our next meeting was not till Saturday, June 25, when
happening to dine at Clifton's eating-house, in Butcher-row I was
surprized to perceive Johnson come in and take his seat at another
table. The mode of dining, or rather being fed, at such houses in
London, is well known to many to be particularly unsocial, as there is
no Ordinary, or united company, but each person has his own mess, and is
under no obligation to hold any intercourse with any one. A liberal and
full-minded man, however, who loves to talk, will break through this
churlish and unsocial restraint. Johnson and an Irish gentleman got
into a dispute concerning the cause of some part of mankind being black.
'Why, Sir, (said Johnson,) it has been accounted for in three ways:
either by supposing that they are the posterity of Ham, who was cursed;
or that GOD at first created two kinds of men, one black and another
white; or that by the heat of the sun the skin is scorched, and
so acquires a sooty hue. This matter has been much canvassed among
naturalists, but has never been brought to any certain issue.' What the
Irishman said is totally obliterated from my mind; but I remember that
he became very warm and intemperate in his expressions; upon which
Johnson rose, and quietly walked away. When he had retired, his
antagonist took his revenge, as he thought, by saying, 'He has a most
ungainly figure, and an affectation of pomposity, unworthy of a man of
genius.'
Johnson had not observed that I was in the room. I followed him,
however, and he agreed to meet me in the evening at the Mitre. I called
on him, and we went thither at nine. We had a good supper, and
port wine, of which he then sometimes drank a bottle. The orthodox
high-church sound of the Mitre,--the figure and manner of the
celebrated SAMUEL JOHNSON,--the extraordinary power and precision of his
conversation, and the pride arising from finding myself admitted as his
companion, produced a variety of sensations, and a pleasing elevation of
mind beyond what I had ever before experienced. I find in my journal the
following minute of our conversation, which, though it will give but a
very faint notion of what passed, is in some degree a valuable record;
and it will be curious in this view, as shewing how habitual to his mind
were some opinions which appear in his works.
'Colley Cibber, Sir, was by no means a blockhead; but by arrogating to
himself too much, he was in danger of losing that degree of estimation
to which he was entitled. His friends gave out that he INTENDED his
birth-day Odes should be bad: but that was not the case, Sir; for he
kept them many months by him, and a few years before he died he shewed
me one of them, with great solicitude to render it as perfect as might
be, and I made some corrections, to which he was not very willing to
submit. I remember the following couplet in allusion to the King and
himself:
"Perch'd on the eagle's soaring wing,
The lowly linnet loves to sing."
Sir, he had heard something of the fabulous tale of the wren sitting
upon the eagle's wing, and he had applied it to a linnet. Cibber's
familiar style, however, was better than that which Whitehead has
assumed. GRAND nonsense is insupportable. Whitehead is but a little man
to inscribe verses to players.
'Sir, I do not think Gray a first-rate poet. He has not a bold
imagination, nor much command of words. The obscurity in which he has
involved himself will not persuade us that he is sublime. His Elegy in
a Church-yard has a happy selection of images, but I don't like what are
called his great things. His Ode which begins
"Ruin seize thee, ruthless King,
Confusion on thy banners wait!"
has been celebrated for its abruptness, and plunging into the subject
all at once. But such arts as these have no merit, unless when they are
original. We admire them only once; and this abruptness has nothing new
in it. We have had it often before. Nay, we have it in the old song of
Johnny Armstrong:
"Is there ever a man in all Scotland
From the highest estate to the lowest degree," &c.
And then, Sir,
"Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland,
And Johnny Armstrong they do him call."
There, now, you plunge at once into the subject. You have no previous
narration to lead you to it. The two next lines in that Ode are, I
think, very good:
"Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state."'
Finding him in a placid humour, and wishing to avail myself of the
opportunity which I fortunately had of consulting a sage, to hear whose
wisdom, I conceived in the ardour of youthful imagination, that men
filled with a noble enthusiasm for intellectual improvement would gladly
have resorted from distant lands;--I opened my mind to him ingenuously,
and gave him a little sketch of my life, to which he was pleased to
listen with great attention.
I acknowledged, that though educated very strictly in the principles
of religion, I had for some time been misled into a certain degree of
infidelity; but that I was come now to a better way of thinking, and was
fully satisfied of the truth of the Christian revelation, though I was
not clear as to every point considered to be orthodox. Being at
all times a curious examiner of the human mind, and pleased with an
undisguised display of what had passed in it, he called to me with
warmth, 'Give me your hand; I have taken a liking to you.' He then began
to descant upon the force of testimony, and the little we could know of
final causes; so that the objections of, why was it so? or why was it
not so? ought not to disturb us: adding, that he himself had at one
period been guilty of a temporary neglect of religion, but that it was
not the result of argument, but mere absence of thought.
After having given credit to reports of his bigotry, I was agreeably
surprized when he expressed the following very liberal sentiment, which
has the additional value of obviating an objection to our holy religion,
founded upon the discordant tenets of Christians themselves: 'For my
part, Sir, I think all Christians, whether Papists or Protestants, agree
in the essential articles, and that their differences are trivial, and
rather political than religious.'
We talked of belief in ghosts. He said, 'Sir, I make a distinction
between what a man may experience by the mere strength of his
imagination, and what imagination cannot possibly produce. Thus, suppose
I should think that I saw a form, and heard a voice cry "Johnson, you
are a very wicked fellow, and unless you repent you will certainly be
punished;" my own unworthiness is so deeply impressed upon my mind, that
I might IMAGINE I thus saw and heard, and therefore I should not believe
that an external communication had been made to me. But if a form should
appear, and a voice should tell me that a particular man had died at
a particular place, and a particular hour, a fact which I had no
apprehension of, nor any means of knowing, and this fact, with all its
circumstances, should afterwards be unquestionably proved, I should, in
that case, be persuaded that I had supernatural intelligence imparted to
me.'
Here it is proper, once for all, to give a true and fair statement of
Johnson's way of thinking upon the question, whether departed spirits
are ever permitted to appear in this world, or in any way to operate
upon human life. He has been ignorantly misrepresented as weakly
credulous upon that subject; and, therefore, though I feel an
inclination to disdain and treat with silent contempt so foolish a
notion concerning my illustrious friend, yet as I find it has gained
ground, it is necessary to refute it. The real fact then is, that
Johnson had a very philosophical mind, and such a rational respect
for testimony, as to make him submit his understanding to what was
authentically proved, though he could not comprehend why it was so.
Being thus disposed, he was willing to inquire into the truth of any
relation of supernatural agency, a general belief of which has prevailed
in all nations and ages. But so far was he from being the dupe of
implicit faith, that he examined the matter with a jealous attention,
and no man was more ready to refute its falsehood when he had discovered
it. Churchill, in his poem entitled The Ghost, availed himself of the
absurd credulity imputed to Johnson, and drew a caricature of him under
the name of 'POMPOSO,' representing him as one of the believers of the
story of a Ghost in Cock-lane, which, in the year 1762, had gained very
general credit in London. Many of my readers, I am convinced, are to
this hour under an impression that Johnson was thus foolishly deceived.
It will therefore surprize them a good deal when they are informed upon
undoubted authority, that Johnson was one of those by whom the imposture
was detected. The story had become so popular, that he thought it should
be investigated; and in this research he was assisted by the Reverend
Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of Salisbury, the great detector of impostures;
who informs me, that after the gentlemen who went and examined into the
evidence were satisfied of its falsity, Johnson wrote in their presence
an account of it, which was published in the newspapers and Gentleman's
Magazine, and undeceived the world.
Our conversation proceeded. 'Sir, (said he) I am a friend to
subordination, as most conducive to the happiness of society. There is a
reciprocal pleasure in governing and being governed.'
'Dr. Goldsmith is one of the first men we now have as an authour, and he
is a very worthy man too. He has been loose in his principles, but he is
coming right.'
I complained to him that I had not yet acquired much knowledge, and
asked his advice as to my studies. He said, 'Don't talk of study now. I
will give you a plan; but it will require some time to consider of it.'
'It is very good in you (I replied,) to allow me to be with you thus.
Had it been foretold to me some years ago that I should pass an evening
with the authour of The Rambler, how should I have exulted!' What I then
expressed, was sincerely from the heart. He was satisfied that it was,
and cordially answered, 'Sir, I am glad we have met. I hope we shall
pass many evenings and mornings too, together.' We finished a couple of
bottles of port, and sat till between one and two in the morning.
As Dr. Oliver Goldsmith will frequently appear in this narrative, I
shall endeavour to make my readers in some degree acquainted with his
singular character. He was a native of Ireland, and a contemporary with
Mr. Burke at Trinity College, Dublin, but did not then give much promise
of future celebrity. He, however, observed to Mr. Malone, that 'though
he made no great figure in mathematicks, which was a study in much
repute there, he could turn an Ode of Horace into English better than
any of them.' He afterwards studied physick at Edinburgh, and upon the
Continent; and I have been informed, was enabled to pursue his travels
on foot, partly by demanding at Universities to enter the lists as a
disputant, by which, according to the custom of many of them, he was
entitled to the premium of a crown, when luckily for him his challenge
was not accepted; so that, as I once observed to Dr. Johnson, he
DISPUTED his passage through Europe. He then came to England, and was
employed successively in the capacities of an usher to an academy, a
corrector of the press, a reviewer, and a writer for a news-paper.
He had sagacity enough to cultivate assiduously the acquaintance of
Johnson, and his faculties were gradually enlarged by the contemplation
of such a model. To me and many others it appeared that he studiously
copied the manner of Johnson, though, indeed, upon a smaller scale.
At this time I think he had published nothing with his name, though it
was pretty generally known that one Dr. Goldsmith was the authour of An
Enquiry into the present State of polite Learning in Europe, and of The
Citizen of the World, a series of letters supposed to be written
from London by a Chinese. No man had the art of displaying with more
advantage as a writer, whatever literary acquisitions he made. 'Nihil
quod tetigit non ornavit.' His mind resembled a fertile, but thin soil.
There was a quick, but not a strong vegetation, of whatever chanced to
be thrown upon it. No deep root could be struck. The oak of the forest
did not grow there; but the elegant shrubbery and the fragrant parterre
appeared in gay succession. It has been generally circulated and
believed that he was a mere fool in conversation; but, in truth, this
has been greatly exaggerated. He had, no doubt, a more than common share
of that hurry of ideas which we often find in his countrymen, and which
sometimes produces a laughable confusion in expressing them. He was
very much what the French call un etourdi, and from vanity and an
eager desire of being conspicuous wherever he was, he frequently talked
carelessly without knowledge of the subject, or even without thought.
His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment
that of a scholar aukwardly affecting the easy gentleman. Those who
were in any way distinguished, excited envy in him to so ridiculous an
excess, that the instances of it are hardly credible. When accompanying
two beautiful young ladies* with their mother on a tour in France, he
was seriously angry that more attention was paid to them than to him;
and once at the exhibition of the Fantoccini in London, when those who
sat next him observed with what dexterity a puppet was made to toss a
pike, he could not bear that it should have such praise, and exclaimed
with some warmth, 'Pshaw! I can do it better myself.'
* These were the Misses Horneck, known otherwise as 'Little
Comedy' and 'The Jessamy Bride.'--ED.
He boasted to me at this time of the power of his pen in commanding
money, which I believe was true in a certain degree, though in the
instance he gave he was by no means correct. He told me that he had sold
a novel for four hundred pounds. This was his Vicar of Wakefield. But
Johnson informed me, that he had made the bargain for Goldsmith, and the
price was sixty pounds. 'And, Sir, (said he,) a sufficient price too,
when it was sold; for then the fame of Goldsmith had not been elevated,
as it afterwards was, by his Traveller; and the bookseller had such
faint hopes of profit by his bargain, that he kept the manuscript by
him a long time, and did not publish it till after The Traveller had
appeared. Then, to be sure, it was accidentally worth more money.
Mrs. Piozzi and Sir John Hawkins have strangely misstated the history
of Goldsmith's situation and Johnson's friendly interference, when this
novel was sold. I shall give it authentically from Johnson's own exact
narration:--'I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that
he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to
me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a
guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon
as I was drest, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his
rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had
already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass
before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm,
and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated.
He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he
produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit; told the landlady
I should soon return, and having gone to a bookseller, sold it for sixty
pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not
without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill.'
My next meeting with Johnson was on Friday the 1st of July, when he and
I and Dr. Goldsmith supped together at the Mitre. I was before this
time pretty well acquainted with Goldsmith, who was one of the brightest
ornaments of the Johnsonian school. Goldsmith's respectful attachment to
Johnson was then at its height; for his own literary reputation had not
yet distinguished him so much as to excite a vain desire of competition
with his great Master. He had increased my admiration of the goodness
of Johnson's heart, by incidental remarks in the course of conversation,
such as, when I mentioned Mr. Levet, whom he entertained under his roof,
'He is poor and honest, which is recommendation enough to Johnson;' and
when I wondered that he was very kind to a man of whom I had heard a
very bad character, 'He is now become miserable; and that insures the
protection of Johnson.'
He talked very contemptuously of Churchill's poetry, observing, that
'it had a temporary currency, only from its audacity of abuse, and
being filled with living names, and that it would sink into oblivion.'
I ventured to hint that he was not quite a fair judge, as Churchill had
attacked him violently. JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, I am a very fair judge. He
did not attack me violently till he found I did not like his poetry;
and his attack on me shall not prevent me from continuing to say what
I think of him, from an apprehension that it may be ascribed to
resentment. No, Sir, I called the fellow a blockhead at first, and I
will call him a blockhead still. However, I will acknowledge that I
have a better opinion of him now, than I once had; for he has shewn more
fertility than I expected. To be sure, he is a tree that cannot produce
good fruit: he only bears crabs. But, Sir, a tree that produces a great
many crabs is better than a tree which produces only a few.'
Let me here apologize for the imperfect manner in which I am obliged to
exhibit Johnson's conversation at this period. In the early part of my
acquaintance with him, I was so wrapt in admiration of his extraordinary
colloquial talents, and so little accustomed to his peculiar mode of
expression, that I found it extremely difficult to recollect and record
his conversation with its genuine vigour and vivacity. In progress
of time, when my mind was, as it were, strongly impregnated with the
Johnsonian oether, I could, with much more facility and exactness, carry
in my memory and commit to paper the exuberant variety of his wisdom and
wit.
At this time MISS Williams, as she was then called, though she did
not reside with him in the Temple under his roof, but had lodgings in
Bolt-court, Fleet-street, had so much of his attention, that he every
night drank tea with her before he went home, however late it might be,
and she always sat up for him. This, it may be fairly conjectured, was
not alone a proof of his regard for HER, but of his own unwillingness
to go into solitude, before that unseasonable hour at which he had
habituated himself to expect the oblivion of repose. Dr. Goldsmith,
being a privileged man, went with him this night, strutting away, and
calling to me with an air of superiority, like that of an esoterick over
an exoterick disciple of a sage of antiquity, 'I go to Miss Williams.' I
confess, I then envied him this mighty privilege, of which he seemed
so proud; but it was not long before I obtained the same mark of
distinction.
On Tuesday the 5th of July, I again visited Johnson.
Talking of London, he observed, 'Sir, if you wish to have a just notion
of the magnitude of this city, you must not be satisfied with seeing its
great streets and squares, but must survey the innumerable little lanes
and courts. It is not in the showy evolutions of buildings, but in the
multiplicity of human habitations which are crowded together, that the
wonderful immensity of London consists.'
On Wednesday, July 6, he was engaged to sup with me at my lodgings in
Downing-street, Westminster. But on the preceding night my landlord
having behaved very rudely to me and some company who were with me, I
had resolved not to remain another night in his house. I was exceedingly
uneasy at the awkward appearance I supposed I should make to Johnson and
the other gentlemen whom I had invited, not being able to receive them
at home, and being obliged to order supper at the Mitre. I went to
Johnson in the morning, and talked of it as a serious distress. He
laughed, and said, 'Consider, Sir, how insignificant this will appear
a twelvemonth hence.'--Were this consideration to be applied to most of
the little vexatious incidents of life, by which our quiet is too often
disturbed, it would prevent many painful sensations. I have tried it
frequently, with good effect. 'There is nothing (continued he) in this
mighty misfortune; nay, we shall be better at the Mitre.'
I had as my guests this evening at the Mitre tavern, Dr. Johnson, Dr.
Goldsmith, Mr. Thomas Davies, Mr. Eccles, an Irish gentleman, for whose
agreeable company I was obliged to Mr. Davies, and the Reverend Mr.
John Ogilvie, who was desirous of being in company with my illustrious
friend, while I, in my turn, was proud to have the honour of shewing one
of my countrymen upon what easy terms Johnson permitted me to live with
him.
Goldsmith, as usual, endeavoured, with too much eagerness, to SHINE, and
disputed very warmly with Johnson against the well-known maxim of the
British constitution, 'the King can do no wrong;' affirming, that 'what
was morally false could not be politically true; and as the King might,
in the exercise of his regal power, command and cause the doing of what
was wrong, it certainly might be said, in sense and in reason, that
he could do wrong.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you are to consider, that in our
constitution, according to its true principles, the King is the head; he
is supreme; he is above every thing, and there is no power by which he
can be tried. Therefore, it is, Sir, that we hold the King can do no
wrong; that whatever may happen to be wrong in government may not be
above our reach, by being ascribed to Majesty. Redress is always to be
had against oppression, by punishing the immediate agents. The King,
though he should command, cannot force a Judge to condemn a man
unjustly; therefore it is the Judge whom we prosecute and punish.
Political institutions are formed upon the consideration of what will
most frequently tend to the good of the whole, although now and then
exceptions may occur. Thus it is better in general that a nation should
have a supreme legislative power, although it may at times be abused.
And then, Sir, there is this consideration, that if the abuse be
enormous, Nature will rise up, and claiming her original rights,
overturn a corrupt political system.' I mark this animated sentence with
peculiar pleasure, as a noble instance of that truly dignified spirit
of freedom which ever glowed in his heart, though he was charged with
slavish tenets by superficial observers; because he was at all times
indignant against that false patriotism, that pretended love of
freedom, that unruly restlessness, which is inconsistent with the stable
authority of any good government.
'Bayle's Dictionary is a very useful work for those to consult who love
the biographical part of literature, which is what I love most.'
Talking of the eminent writers in Queen Anne's reign, he observed, 'I
think Dr. Arbuthnot the first man among them. He was the most universal
genius, being an excellent physician, a man of deep learning, and a man
of much humour. Mr. Addison was, to be sure, a great man; his learning
was not profound; but his morality, his humour, and his elegance of
writing, set him very high.'
Mr. Ogilvie was unlucky enough to choose for the topick of his
conversation the praises of his native country. He began with saying,
that there was very rich land round Edinburgh. Goldsmith, who had
studied physick there, contradicted this, very untruly, with a sneering
laugh. Disconcerted a little by this, Mr. Ogilvie then took new ground,
where, I suppose, he thought himself perfectly safe; for he observed,
that Scotland had a great many noble wild prospects. JOHNSON. 'I
believe, Sir, you have a great many. Norway, too, has noble wild
prospects; and Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble wild
prospects. But, Sir, let me tell you, the noblest prospect which a
Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England!' This
unexpected and pointed sally produced a roar of applause. After all,
however, those, who admire the rude grandeur of Nature, cannot deny it
to Caledonia.
On Saturday, July 9, I found Johnson surrounded with a numerous levee,
but have not preserved any part of his conversation. On the 14th we had
another evening by ourselves at the Mitre. It happening to be a very
rainy night, I made some common-place observations on the relaxation of
nerves and depression of spirits which such weather occasioned; adding,
however, that it was good for the vegetable creation. Johnson, who, as
we have already seen, denied that the temperature of the air had any
influence on the human frame, answered, with a smile of ridicule. 'Why
yes, Sir, it is good for vegetables, and for the animals who eat those
vegetables, and for the animals who eat those animals.' This observation
of his aptly enough introduced a good supper; and I soon forgot, in
Johnson's company, the influence of a moist atmosphere.
Feeling myself now quite at ease as his companion, though I had all
possible reverence for him, I expressed a regret that I could not be
so easy with my father, though he was not much older than Johnson,
and certainly however respectable had not more learning and greater
abilities to depress me. I asked him the reason of this. JOHNSON. 'Why,
Sir, I am a man of the world. I live in the world, and I take, in some
degree, the colour of the world as it moves along. Your father is a
Judge in a remote part of the island, and all his notions are taken from
the old world. Besides, Sir, there must always be a struggle between a
father and son while one aims at power and the other at independence.'
He enlarged very convincingly upon the excellence of rhyme over blank
verse in English poetry. I mentioned to him that Dr. Adam Smith, in his
lectures upon composition, when I studied under him in the College of
Glasgow, had maintained the same opinion strenuously, and I repeated
some of his arguments. JOHNSON. 'Sir, I was once in company with Smith,
and we did not take to each other; but had I known that he loved rhyme
as much as you tell me he does, I should have HUGGED him.'
'Idleness is a disease which must be combated; but I would not advise
a rigid adherence to a particular plan of study. I myself have never
persisted in any plan for two days together. A man ought to read just
as inclination leads him; for what he reads as a task will do him little
good. A young man should read five hours in a day, and so may acquire a
great deal of knowledge.'
To such a degree of unrestrained frankness had he now accustomed me,
that in the course of this evening I talked of the numerous reflections
which had been thrown out against him on account of his having accepted
a pension from his present Majesty. 'Why, Sir, (said he, with a hearty
laugh,) it is a mighty foolish noise that they make.* I have accepted of
a pension as a reward which has been thought due to my literary merit;
and now that I have this pension, I am the same man in every respect
that I have ever been; I retain the same principles. It is true, that I
cannot now curse (smiling) the House of Hanover; nor would it be decent
for me to drink King James's health in the wine that King George gives
me money to pay for. But, Sir, I think that the pleasure of cursing
the House of Hanover, and drinking King James's health, are amply
overbalanced by three hundred pounds a year.'
* When I mentioned the same idle clamour to him several
years afterwards, he said, with a smile, 'I wish my pension
were twice as large, that they might make twice as much
noise.'--BOSWELL.