Ashbourne, Sept. 2. '. . . I still continue by God's mercy to mend. My
breath is easier, my nights are quieter, and my legs are less in bulk,
and stronger in use. I have, however, yet a great deal to overcome,
before I can yet attain even an old man's health. Write, do write to me
now and then; we are now old acquaintance, and perhaps few people have
lived so much and so long together, with less cause of complaint on
either side. The retrospection of this is very pleasant, and I hope we
shall never think on each other with less kindness.'
Sept. 9. 'I could not answer your letter before this day, because I
went on the sixth to Chatsworth, and did not come back till the post
was gone. Many words, I hope, are not necessary between you and me, to
convince you what gratitude is excited in my heart, by the Chancellor's
liberality and your kind offices. I did not indeed expect that what was
asked by the Chancellor would have been refused, but since it has, we
will not tell that any thing has been asked. I have enclosed a letter to
the Chancellor which, when you have read it, you will be pleased to seal
with a head, or other general seal, and convey it to him; had I sent
it directly to him, I should have seemed to overlook the favour of
your intervention. I do not despair of supporting an English winter.
At Chatsworth, I met young Mr. Burke, who led me very commodiously into
conversation with the Duke and Duchess. We had a very good morning. The
dinner was publick.'
Sept. 18. 'I have three letters this day, all about the balloon, I could
have been content with one. Do not write about the balloon, whatever
else you may think proper to say.'
It may be observed, that his writing in every way, whether for the
publick, or privately to his friends, was by fits and starts; for we see
frequently, that many letters are written on the same day. When he had
once overcome his aversion to begin, he was, I suppose, desirous to go
on, in order to relieve his mind from the uneasy reflection of delaying
what he ought to do.
We now behold Johnson for the last time, in his native city, for which
he ever retained a warm affection, and which, by a sudden apostrophe,
under the word Lich, he introduces with reverence, into his immortal
Work, THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY:--Salve, magna parens! While here, he felt
a revival of all the tenderness of filial affection, an instance of
which appeared in his ordering the grave-stone and inscription over
Elizabeth Blaney* to be substantially and carefully renewed.
* His mother.--ED.
To Mr. Henry White, a young clergyman, with whom he now formed an
intimacy, so as to talk to him with great freedom, he mentioned that
he could not in general accuse himself of having been an undutiful son.
'Once, indeed, (said he,) I was disobedient; I refused to attend my
father to Uttoxeter-market. Pride was the source of that refusal, and
the remembrance of it was painful. A few years ago, I desired to atone
for this fault; I went to Uttoxeter in very bad weather, and stood for a
considerable time bareheaded in the rain, on the spot where my father's
stall used to stand. In contrition I stood, and I hope the penance was
expiatory.'
'I told him (says Miss Seward) in one of my latest visits to him, of a
wonderful learned pig, which I had seen at Nottingham; and which did all
that we have observed exhibited by dogs and horses. The subject amused
him. "Then, (said he,) the pigs are a race unjustly calumniated. PIG
has, it seems, not been wanting to MAN, but MAN to PIG. We do not allow
TIME for his education, we kill him at a year old." Mr. Henry White, who
was present, observed that if this instance had happened in or before
Pope's time, he would not have been justified in instancing the swine as
the lowest degree of groveling instinct. Dr. Johnson seemed pleased with
the observation, while the person who made it proceeded to remark, that
great torture must have been employed, ere the indocility of the animal
could have been subdued. "Certainly, (said the Doctor;) but, (turning
to me,) how old is your pig?" I told him, three years old. "Then, (said
he,) the pig has no cause to complain; he would have been killed the
first year if he had not been EDUCATED, and protracted existence is a
good recompence for very considerable degrees of torture."'
As Johnson had now very faint hopes of recovery, and as Mrs. Thrale
was no longer devoted to him, it might have been supposed that he would
naturally have chosen to remain in the comfortable house of his beloved
wife's daughter, and end his life where he began it. But there was in
him an animated and lofty spirit, and however complicated diseases might
depress ordinary mortals, all who saw him, beheld and acknowledged the
invictum animum Catonis. Such was his intellectual ardour even at this
time, that he said to one friend, 'Sir, I look upon every day to be
lost, in which I do not make a new acquaintance;' and to another, when
talking of his illness, 'I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.'
And such was his love of London, so high a relish had he of its
magnificent extent, and variety of intellectual entertainment, that he
languished when absent from it, his mind having become quite luxurious
from the long habit of enjoying the metropolis; and, therefore, although
at Lichfield, surrounded with friends, who loved and revered him, and
for whom he had a very sincere affection, he still found that such
conversation as London affords, could be found no where else. These
feelings, joined, probably, to some flattering hopes of aid from the
eminent physicians and surgeons in London, who kindly and generously
attended him without accepting fees, made him resolve to return to the
capital.
From Lichfield he came to Birmingham, where he passed a few days with
his worthy old schoolfellow, Mr. Hector, who thus writes to me:--'He
was very solicitous with me to recollect some of our most early
transactions, and transmit them to him, for I perceive nothing gave him
greater pleasure than calling to mind those days of our innocence. I
complied with his request, and he only received them a few days before
his death. I have transcribed for your inspection, exactly the minutes
I wrote to him.' This paper having been found in his repositories after
his death, Sir John Hawkins has inserted it entire, and I have made
occasional use of it and other communications from Mr. Hector, in the
course of this Work. I have both visited and corresponded with him since
Dr. Johnson's death, and by my inquiries concerning a great variety of
particulars have obtained additional information. I followed the same
mode with the Reverend Dr. Taylor, in whose presence I wrote down a good
deal of what he could tell; and he, at my request, signed his name, to
give it authenticity. It is very rare to find any person who is able
to give a distinct account of the life even of one whom he has known
intimately, without questions being put to them. My friend Dr. Kippis
has told me, that on this account it is a practice with him to draw out
a biographical catechism.
Johnson then proceeded to Oxford, where he was again kindly received by
Dr. Adams.
He arrived in London on the 16th of November, and next day sent to
Dr. Burney the following note, which I insert as the last token of his
remembrance of that ingenious and amiable man, and as another of the
many proofs of the tenderness and benignity of his heart:--
'MR. JOHNSON, who came home last night, sends his respects to dear Dr.
Burney, and all the dear Burneys, little and great.'
Having written to him, in bad spirits, a letter filled with dejection
and fretfulness, and at the same time expressing anxious apprehensions
concerning him, on account of a dream which had disturbed me; his answer
was chiefly in terms of reproach, for a supposed charge of 'affecting
discontent, and indulging the vanity of complaint.' It, however,
proceeded,--
'Write to me often, and write like a man. I consider your fidelity and
tenderness as a great part of the comforts which are yet left me, and
sincerely wish we could be nearer to each other. . . . My dear friend,
life is very short and very uncertain; let us spend it as well as we
can. My worthy neighbour, Allen, is dead. Love me as well as you can.
Pay my respects to dear Mrs. Boswell. Nothing ailed me at that time; let
your superstition at last have an end.'
Feeling very soon, that the manner in which he had written might hurt
me, he two days afterwards, July 28, wrote to me again, giving me an
account of his sufferings; after which, he thus proceeds:--
'Before this letter, you will have had one which I hope you will not
take amiss; for it contains only truth, and that truth kindly intended.
. . . Spartam quam nactus es orna; make the most and best of your lot,
and compare yourself not with the few that are above you, but with the
multitudes which are below you.'
Yet it was not a little painful to me to find, that . . . he still
persevered in arraigning me as before, which was strange in him who had
so much experience of what I suffered. I, however, wrote to him two as
kind letters as I could; the last of which came too late to be read
by him, for his illness encreased more rapidly upon him than I had
apprehended; but I had the consolation of being informed that he spoke
of me on his death-bed, with affection, and I look forward with humble
hope of renewing our friendship in a better world.
Soon after Johnson's return to the metropolis, both the asthma and
dropsy became more violent and distressful.
During his sleepless nights he amused himself by translating into Latin
verse, from the Greek, many of the epigrams in the Anthologia. These
translations, with some other poems by him in Latin, he gave to his
friend Mr. Langton, who, having added a few notes, sold them to the
booksellers for a small sum, to be given to some of Johnson's relations,
which was accordingly done; and they are printed in the collection of
his works.
A very erroneous notion has circulated as to Johnson's deficiency in the
knowledge of the Greek language, partly owing to the modesty with which,
from knowing how much there was to be learnt, he used to mention his own
comparative acquisitions. When Mr. Cumberland talked to him of the Greek
fragments which are so well illustrated in The Observer, and of the
Greek dramatists in general, he candidly acknowledged his insufficiency
in that particular branch of Greek literature. Yet it may be said, that
though not a great, he was a good Greek scholar. Dr. Charles Burney, the
younger, who is universally acknowledged by the best judges to be one
of the few men of this age who are very eminent for their skill in that
noble language, has assured me, that Johnson could give a Greek word for
almost every English one; and that although not sufficiently conversant
in the niceties of the language, he upon some occasions discovered,
even in these, a considerable degree of critical acumen. Mr. Dalzel,
Professor of Greek at Edinburgh, whose skill in it is unquestionable,
mentioned to me, in very liberal terms, the impression which was
made upon him by Johnson, in a conversation which they had in London
concerning that language. As Johnson, therefore, was undoubtedly one of
the first Latin scholars in modern times, let us not deny to his fame
some additional splendour from Greek.
The ludicrous imitators of Johnson's style are innumerable. Their
general method is to accumulate hard words, without considering, that,
although he was fond of introducing them occasionally, there is not a
single sentence in all his writings where they are crowded together, as
in the first verse of the following imaginary Ode by him to Mrs. Thrale,
which appeared in the newspapers:--
'Cervisial coctor's viduate dame,
Opin'st thou this gigantick frame,
Procumbing at thy shrine:
Shall, catenated by thy charms,
A captive in thy ambient arms,
Perennially be thine?'
This, and a thousand other such attempts, are totally unlike the
original, which the writers imagined they were turning into ridicule.
There is not similarity enough for burlesque, or even for caricature.
'TO MR. GREEN, APOTHECARY, AT LICHFIELD.
'DEAR SIR,--I have enclosed the Epitaph for my Father, Mother, and
Brother, to be all engraved on the large size, and laid in the middle
aisle in St. Michael's church, which I request the clergyman and
churchwardens to permit.
'The first care must be to find the exact place of interment, that the
stone may protect the bodies. Then let the stone be deep, massy, and
hard; and do not let the difference of ten pounds, or more, defeat our
purpose.
'I have enclosed ten pounds, and Mrs. Porter will pay you ten more,
which I gave her for the same purpose. What more is wanted shall be
sent; and I beg that all possible haste may be made, for I wish to have
it done while I am yet alive. Let me know, dear Sir, that you receive
this. I am, Sir, your most humble servant,
'Dec. 2, 1784.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
Death had always been to him an object of terrour; so that, though by no
means happy, he still clung to life with an eagerness at which many have
wondered. At any time when he was ill, he was very much pleased to be
told that he looked better. An ingenious member of the Eumelian Club,
informs me, that upon one occasion when he said to him that he saw
health returning to his cheek, Johnson seized him by the hand and
exclaimed, 'Sir, you are one of the kindest friends I ever had.'
Dr. Heberden, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Warren, and Dr. Butter, physicians,
generously attended him, without accepting any fees, as did Mr.
Cruikshank, surgeon; and all that could be done from professional skill
and ability, was tried, to prolong a life so truly valuable. He
himself, indeed, having, on account of his very bad constitution,
been perpetually applying himself to medical inquiries, united his own
efforts with those of the gentlemen who attended him; and imagining that
the dropsical collection of water which oppressed him might be drawn off
by making incisions in his body, he, with his usual resolute defiance
of pain, cut deep, when he thought that his surgeon had done it too
tenderly.*
* This bold experiment, Sir John Hawkins has related in such
a manner as to suggest a charge against Johnson of
intentionally hastening his end; a charge so very
inconsistent with his character in every respect, that it is
injurious even to refute it, as Sir John has thought it
necessary to do. It is evident, that what Johnson did in
hopes of relief, indicated an extraordinary eagerness to
retard his dissolution.--BOSWELL.
About eight or ten days before his death, when Dr. Brocklesby paid him
his morning visit, he seemed very low and desponding, and said, 'I have
been as a dying man all night.' He then emphatically broke out in the
words of Shakspeare:--
'Can'st thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart?'