'On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture, and walked a considerable
way with little inconvenience. In the afternoon and evening I felt
myself light and easy, and began to plan schemes of life. Thus I went to
bed, and in a short time waked and sat up, as has been long my custom,
when I felt a confusion and indistinctness in my head, which lasted,
I suppose, about half a minute. I was alarmed, and prayed God, that
however he might afflict my body, he would spare my understanding. This
prayer, that I might try the integrity of my faculties, I made in Latin
verse. The lines were not very good, but I knew them not to be very
good: I made them easily, and concluded myself to be unimpaired in my
faculties.
'Soon after I perceived that I had suffered a paralytick stroke, and
that my speech was taken from me. I had no pain, and so little dejection
in this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy, and considered
that perhaps death itself, when it should come, would excite less
horrour than seems now to attend it.
'In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams. Wine has been
celebrated for the production of eloquence. I put myself into violent
motion, and I think repeated it; but all was vain. I then went to bed,
and strange as it may seem, I think slept. When I saw light, it was time
to contrive what I should do. Though God stopped my speech, he left
me my hand; I enjoyed a mercy which was not granted to my dear friend
Lawrence, who now perhaps overlooks me as I am writing, and rejoices
that I have what he wanted. My first note was necessarily to my servant,
who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend why he should
read what I put into his hands.
'I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet friend
at hand, to act as occasion should require. In penning this note, I had
some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made wrong letters.
I then wrote to Dr. Taylor to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden; and
I sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour. My physicians are very
friendly, and give me great hopes; but you may imagine my situation. I
have so far recovered my vocal powers, as to repeat the Lord's Prayer
with no very imperfect articulation. My memory, I hope, yet remains as
it was; but such an attack produces solicitude for the safety of every
faculty.'
'TO MR. THOMAS DAVIES.
'DEAR SIR,--I have had, indeed, a very heavy blow; but GOD, who yet
spares my life, I humbly hope will spare my understanding, and restore
my speech. As I am not at all helpless, I want no particular assistance,
but am strongly affected by Mrs. Davies's tenderness; and when I think
she can do me good, shall be very glad to call upon her. I had ordered
friends to be shut out; but one or two have found the way in; and if
you come you shall be admitted: for I know not whom I can see, that will
bring more amusement on his tongue, or more kindness in his heart. I am,
&c.
'June 18, 1783.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
It gives me great pleasure to preserve such a memorial of Johnson's
regard for Mr. Davies, to whom I was indebted for my introduction
to him. He indeed loved Davies cordially, of which I shall give the
following little evidence. One day when he had treated him with too
much asperity, Tom, who was not without pride and spirit, went off in
a passion; but he had hardly reached home when Frank, who had been sent
after him, delivered this note:--'Come, come, dear Davies, I am always
sorry when we quarrel; send me word that we are friends.'
Such was the general vigour of his constitution, that he recovered from
this alarming and severe attack with wonderful quickness; so that in
July he was able to make a visit to Mr. Langton at Rochester, where he
passed about a fortnight, and made little excursions as easily as at
any time of his life. In August he went as far as the neighbourhood of
Salisbury, to Heale, the seat of William Bowles, Esq., a gentleman whom
I have heard him praise for exemplary religious order in his family. In
his diary I find a short but honourable mention of this visit:--'August
28, I came to Heale without fatigue. 30, I am entertained quite to my
mind.'
While he was here he had a letter from Dr. Brocklesby, acquainting him
of the death of Mrs. Williams, which affected him a good deal. Though
for several years her temper had not been complacent, she had valuable
qualities, and her departure left a blank in his house. Upon this
occasion he, according to his habitual course of piety, composed a
prayer.
I shall here insert a few particulars concerning him, with which I have
been favoured by one of his friends.
'He spoke often in praise of French literature. "The French are
excellent in this, (he would say,) they have a book on every subject."
From what he had seen of them he denied them the praise of superiour
politeness, and mentioned, with very visible disgust, the custom they
have of spitting on the floors of their apartments. "This, (said the
Doctor), is as gross a thing as can well be done; and one wonders how
any man, or set of men, can persist in so offensive a practice for a
whole day together; one should expect that the first effort towards
civilization would remove it even among savages."
'Chymistry was always an interesting pursuit with Dr. Johnson. Whilst
he was in Wiltshire, he attended some experiments that were made by a
physician at Salisbury, on the new kinds of air. In the course of the
experiments frequent mention being made of Dr. Priestley, Dr. Johnson
knit his brows, and in a stern manner inquired, "Why do we hear so much
of Dr. Priestley?" He was very properly answered, "Sir, because we are
indebted to him for these important discoveries." On this Dr. Johnson
appeared well content; and replied, "Well, well, I believe we are; and
let every man have the honour he has merited."'
'A friend was one day, about two years before his death, struck with
some instance of Dr. Johnson's great candour. "Well, Sir, (said he,) I
will always say that you are a very candid man." "Will you, (replied
the Doctor,) I doubt then you will be very singular. But, indeed, Sir,
(continued he,) I look upon myself to be a man very much misunderstood.
I am not an uncandid, nor am I a severe man. I sometimes say more than
I mean, in jest; and people are apt to believe me serious: however, I am
more candid than I was when I was younger. As I know more of mankind
I expect less of them, and am ready now to call a man A GOOD MAN, upon
easier terms than I was formerly."'