I hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery. What have you
to do with Liberty and Necessity[236]? Or what more than to hold your
tongue about it? Do not doubt but I shall be most heartily glad to see
you here again, for I love every part about you but your affectation
of distress.
I have at last finished my _Lives_, and have laid up for you a load of
copy[237], all out of order, so that it will amuse you a long time to
set it right. Come to me, my dear Bozzy, and let us be as happy as we
can. We will go again to the Mitre, and talk old times over.
I am, dear Sir,
Yours affectionately,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
March, 14, 1781.
On Monday, March 19, I arrived in London, and on Tuesday, the 20th, met
him in Fleet-street, walking, or rather indeed moving along; for his
peculiar march is thus described in a very just and picturesque manner,
in a short Life[238] of him published very soon after his death:--'When
he walked the streets, what with the constant roll of his head, and the
concomitant motion of his body, he appeared to make his way by that
motion, independent of his feet.' That he was often much stared at while
he advanced in this manner, may easily be believed; but it was not safe
to make sport of one so robust as he was. Mr. Langton saw him one day,
in a fit of absence, by a sudden start, drive the load off a porter's
back, and walk forward briskly, without being conscious of what he
had done.
The porter was very angry, but stood still, and eyed the huge figure
with much earnestness, till he was satisfied that his wisest course was
to be quiet, and take up his burthen again.
Our accidental meeting in the street after a long separation was a
pleasing surprize to us both. He stepped aside with me into
Falcon-court, and made kind inquiries about my family, and as we were in
a hurry going different ways, I promised to call on him next day; he
said he was engaged to go out in the morning. 'Early, Sir?' said I.
JOHNSON: 'Why, Sir, a London morning does not go with the sun.'
I waited on him next evening, and he gave me a great portion of his
original manuscript of his _Lives of the Poets_, which he had
preserved for me.
I found on visiting his friend, Mr. Thrale, that he was now very ill,
and had removed, I suppose by the solicitation of Mrs. Thrale, to a
house in Grosvenor-square[239]. I was sorry to see him sadly changed in
his appearance.
He told me I might now have the pleasure to see Dr. Johnson drink wine
again, for he had lately returned to it. When I mentioned this to
Johnson, he said, 'I drink it now sometimes, but not socially.' The
first evening that I was with him at Thrale's, I observed he poured a
large quantity of it into a glass, and swallowed it greedily. Every
thing about his character and manners was forcible and violent; there
never was any moderation; many a day did he fast, many a year did he
refrain from wine; but when he did eat, it was voraciously; when he did
drink wine, it was copiously. He could practise abstinence, but not
temperance[240].
Mrs. Thrale and I had a dispute, whether Shakspeare or Milton had drawn
the most admirable picture of a man[241]. I was for Shakspeare; Mrs.
Thrale for Milton; and after a fair hearing, Johnson decided for
my opinion.
I told him of one of Mr. Burke's playful sallies upon Dean Marlay[242]:
'I don't like the Deanery of _Ferns_, it sounds so like a _barren_
title.'--'Dr. Heath should have it;' said I. Johnson laughed, and
condescending to trifle in the same mode of conceit, suggested Dr.
_Moss_[243].
He said, 'Mrs. Montagu has dropt me. Now, Sir, there are people whom one
should like very well to drop, but would not wish to be dropped
by[244].' He certainly was vain of the society of ladies, and could make
himself very agreeable to them, when he chose it; Sir Joshua Reynolds
agreed with me that he could. Mr. Gibbon, with his usual sneer,
controverted it, perhaps in resentment of Johnson's having talked with
some disgust of his ugliness[245], which one would think a _philosopher_
would not mind. Dean Marlay wittily observed, 'A lady may be vain, when
she can turn a wolf-dog into a lap-dog.'
The election for Ayrshire, my own county, was this spring tried upon a
petition, before a Committee of the House of Commons. I was one of the
Counsel for the sitting member, and took the liberty of previously
stating different points to Johnson, who never failed to see them
clearly, and to supply me with some good hints. He dictated to me the
following note upon the registration of deeds:--
'All laws are made for the convenience of the community: what is legally
done, should be legally recorded, that the state of things may be known,
and that wherever evidence is requisite, evidence may be had. For this
reason, the obligation to frame and establish a legal register is
enforced by a legal penalty, which penalty is the want of that
perfection and plentitude of right which a register would give. Thence
it follows, that this is not an objection merely legal: for the reason
on which the law stands being equitable, makes it an equitable
objection.'
'This (said he) you must enlarge on, when speaking to the Committee. You
must not argue there as if you were arguing in the schools[246]; close
reasoning will not fix their attention; you must say the same thing over
and over again, in different words. If you say it but once, they miss it
in a moment of inattention. It is unjust, Sir, to censure lawyers for
multiplying words when they argue; it is often necessary for them to
multiply words[247].' His notion of the duty of a member of Parliament,
sitting upon an election-committee[248], was very high; and when he was
told of a gentleman upon one of those committees, who read the
newspapers part of the time, and slept the rest, while the merits of a
vote were examined by the counsel; and as an excuse, when challenged by
the chairman for such behaviour, bluntly answered, 'I had made up my
mind upon that case;'--Johnson, with an indignant contempt, said, 'If he
was such a rogue as to make up his mind upon a case without hearing it,
he should not have been such a fool as to tell it.' 'I think (said Mr.
Dudley Long[249], now North) the Doctor has pretty plainly made him out
to be both rogue and fool.'
Johnson's profound reverence for the Hierarchy[250] made him expect from
bishops the highest degree of decorum; he was offended even at their
going to taverns; 'A bishop (said he) has nothing to do at a
tippling-house. It is not indeed immoral in him to go to a tavern;
neither would it be immoral in him to whip a top in Grosvenor-square.
But, if he did, I hope the boys would fall upon him, and apply
the whip to _him_. There are gradations in conduct; there is
morality,--decency,--propriety. None of these should be violated by a
bishop. A bishop should not go to a house where he may meet a young
fellow leading out a wench.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, every tavern does not
admit women.' JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it, Sir, any tavern will admit a
well-drest man and a well-drest woman; they will not perhaps admit a
woman whom they see every night walking by their door, in the street.
But a well-drest man may lead in a well-drest woman to any tavern in
London. Taverns sell meat and drink, and will sell them to any body who
can eat and can drink. You may as well say that a mercer will not sell
silks to a woman of the town.'
He also disapproved of bishops going to routs, at least of their staying
at them longer than their presence commanded respect. He mentioned a
particular bishop. 'Poh! (said Mrs. Thrale) the Bishop of ----[251] is
never minded at a rout.' BOSWELL. 'When a bishop places himself in a
situation where he has no distinct character, and is of no consequence,
he degrades the dignity of his order.' JOHNSON. 'Mr. Boswell, Madam, has
said it as correctly as it could be.'
Nor was it only in the dignitaries of the Church that Johnson required a
particular decorum and delicacy of behaviour; he justly considered that
the clergy, as persons set apart for the sacred office of serving at the
altar, and impressing the minds of men with the aweful concerns of a
future state, should be somewhat more serious than the generality of
mankind, and have a suitable composure of manners. A due sense of the
dignity of their profession, independent of higher motives, will ever
prevent them from losing their distinction in an indiscriminate
sociality; and did such as affect this, know how much it lessens them in
the eyes of those whom they think to please by it, they would feel
themselves much mortified.
Johnson and his friend, Beauclerk, were once together in company with
several clergymen, who thought that they should appear to advantage, by
assuming the lax jollity of _men of the world;_ which, as it may be
observed in similar cases, they carried to noisy excess. Johnson, who
they expected would be _entertained,_ sat grave and silent for some
time; at last, turning to Beauclerk, he said, by no means in a whisper,
'This merriment of parsons is mighty offensive.'
Even the dress of a clergyman should be in character, and nothing can be
more despicable than conceited attempts at avoiding the appearance of
the clerical order; attempts, which are as ineffectual as they are
pitiful. Dr. Porteus, now Bishop of London, in his excellent charge when
presiding over the diocese of Chester, justly animadverts upon this
subject; and observes of a reverend fop, that he 'can be but _half a
beau_[252].'
Addison, in _The Spectator_[253], has given us a fine portrait of a
clergyman, who is supposed to be a member of his _Club_; and Johnson has
exhibited a model, in the character of Mr. Mudge[254], which has escaped
the collectors of his works, but which he owned to me, and which indeed
he shewed to Sir Joshua Reynolds at the time when it was written. It
bears the genuine marks of Johnson's best manner, and is as
follows[255]:--
'The Reverend Mr. _Zacariah Mudge_, Prebendary of Exeter, and Vicar of
St. Andrew's in Plymouth; a man equally eminent for his virtues and
abilities, and at once beloved as a companion and reverenced as a
pastor. He had that general curiosity to which no kind of knowledge is
indifferent or superfluous; and that general benevolence by which no
order of men is hated or despised.
His principles both of thought and action were great and comprehensive.
By a solicitous examination of objections, and judicious comparison of
opposite arguments, he attained what enquiry never gives but to industry
and perspicuity, a firm and unshaken settlement of conviction. But his
firmness was without asperity; for, knowing with how much difficulty
truth was sometimes found, he did not wonder that many missed it.
The general course of his life was determined by his profession; he
studied the sacred volumes in the original languages; with what
diligence and success, his _Notes upon the Psalms_ give sufficient
evidence. He once endeavoured to add the knowledge of Arabick to that of
Hebrew; but finding his thoughts too much diverted from other studies,
after some time desisted from his purpose.
His discharge of parochial duties was exemplary. How his _Sermons_[256]
were composed, may be learned from the excellent volume which he has
given to the publick; but how they were delivered, can be known only to
those that heard them; for as he appeared in the pulpit, words will not
easily describe him. His delivery, though unconstrained was not
negligent, and though forcible was not turbulent; disdaining anxious
nicety of emphasis, and laboured artifice of action, it captivated the
hearer by its natural dignity, it roused the sluggish, and fixed the
volatile, and detained the mind upon the subject, without directing it
to the speaker.
The grandeur and solemnity of the preacher did not intrude upon his
general behaviour; at the table of his friends he was a companion
communicative and attentive, of unaffected manners, of manly
cheerfulness, willing to please, and easy to be pleased. His
acquaintance was universally solicited, and his presence obstructed no
enjoyment which religion did not forbid. Though studious he was popular;
though argumentative he was modest; though inflexible he was candid; and
though metaphysical yet orthodox[257].'
On Friday, March 30, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, with
the Earl of Charlemont, Sir Annesley Stewart, Mr. Eliot of Port-Eliot,
Mr. Burke, Dean Marlay, Mr. Langton; a most agreeable day, of which I
regret that every circumstance is not preserved; but it is unreasonable
to require such a multiplication of felicity.
Mr. Eliot, with whom Dr. Walter Harte had travelled[258], talked to us
of his _History of Gustavus Adolphus_, which he said was a very good
book in the German translation. JOHNSON. 'Harte was excessively vain. He
put copies of his book in manuscript into the hands of Lord Chesterfield
and Lord Granville, that they might revise it. Now how absurd was it to
suppose that two such noblemen would revise so big a manuscript. Poor
man! he left London the day of the publication of his book, that he
might be out of the way of the great praise he was to receive; and he
was ashamed to return, when he found how ill his book had succeeded. It
was unlucky in coming out on the same day with Robertson's _History of
Scotland_[259]. His husbandry[260], however, is good.' BOSWELL. 'So he
was fitter for that than for heroick history: he did well, when he
turned his sword into a plough-share.'
Mr. Eliot mentioned a curious liquor peculiar to his country, which the
Cornish fishermen drink. They call it _Mahogany_; and it is made of two
parts gin, and one part treacle, well beaten together. I begged to have
some of it made, which was done with proper skill by Mr. Eliot. I
thought it very good liquor; and said it was a counterpart of what is
called _Athol Porridge_ in the Highlands of Scotland, which is a mixture
of whisky and honey. Johnson said, 'that must be a better liquor than
the Cornish, for both its component parts are better.' He also
observed, '_Mahogany_ must be a modern name; for it is not long since
the wood called mahogany was known in this country.' I mentioned his
scale of liquors[261];--claret for boys--port for men--brandy for
heroes. 'Then (said Mr. Burke) let me have claret: I love to be a boy;
to have the careless gaiety of boyish days.' JOHNSON. 'I should drink
claret too, if it would give me that; but it does not: it neither makes
boys men, nor men boys. You'll be drowned by it, before it has any
effect upon you.'
I ventured to mention a ludicrous paragraph in the newspapers, that Dr.
Johnson was learning to dance of Vestris[262]. Lord Charlemont, wishing
to excite him to talk, proposed in a whisper, that he should be asked,
whether it was true. 'Shall I ask him?' said his Lordship. We were, by a
great majority, clear for the experiment. Upon which his Lordship very
gravely, and with a courteous air said, 'Pray, Sir, is it true that you
are taking lessons of Vestris?' This was risking a good deal, and
required the boldness of a General of Irish Volunteers to make the
attempt. Johnson was at first startled, and in some heat answered, 'How
can your Lordship ask so simple a question?' But immediately recovering
himself, whether from unwillingness to be deceived, or to appear
deceived, or whether from real good humour, he kept up the joke: 'Nay,
but if any body were to answer the paragraph, and contradict it, I'd
have a reply, and would say, that he who contradicted it was no friend
either to Vestris or me. For why should not Dr.[263] Johnson add to his
other powers a little corporeal agility? Socrates learnt to dance at an
advanced age, and Cato learnt Greek at an advanced age. Then it might
proceed to say, that this Johnson, not content with dancing on the
ground, might dance on the rope; and they might introduce the elephant
dancing on the rope. A nobleman[264] wrote a play, called _Love in a
hollow Tree_. He found out that it was a bad one, and therefore wished
to buy up all the copies, and burn them. The Duchess of Marlborough had
kept one; and when he was against her at an election, she had a new
edition of it printed, and prefixed to it, as a frontispiece, an
elephant dancing on a rope; to shew, that his Lordship's writing comedy
was as aukward as an elephant dancing on a rope[265].'
On Sunday, April 1, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale's, with Sir Philip
Jennings Clerk and Mr. Perkins[266], who had the superintendence of Mr.
Thrale's brewery, with a salary of five hundred pounds a year. Sir
Philip had the appearance of a gentleman of ancient family, well
advanced in life. He wore his own white hair in a bag of goodly size, a
black velvet coat, with an embroidered waistcoat, and very rich laced
ruffles; which Mrs. Thrale said were old fashioned, but which, for that
reason, I thought the more respectable, more like a Tory; yet Sir Philip
was then in Opposition in Parliament[267]. 'Ah, Sir, (said Johnson,)
ancient ruffles and modern principles do not agree.' Sir Philip defended
the Opposition to the American war ably and with temper, and I joined
him. He said, the majority of the nation was against the ministry.
JOHNSON. '_I_, Sir, am against the ministry[268]; but it is for having
too little of that, of which Opposition thinks they have too much. Were
I minister, if any man wagged his finger against me, he should be turned
out[269]; for that which it is in the power of Government to give at
pleasure to one or to another, should be given to the supporters of
Government. If you will not oppose at the expence of losing your place,
your opposition will not be honest, you will feel no serious grievance;
and the present opposition is only a contest to get what others have.
Sir Robert Walpole acted as I would do. As to the American war, the
_sense_ of the nation is _with_ the ministry. The majority of those who
can _understand_ is with it; the majority of those who can only _hear_,
is against it; and as those who can only hear are more numerous than
those who can understand, and Opposition is always loudest, a majority
of the rabble will be for Opposition.'
This boisterous vivacity entertained us; but the truth in my opinion
was, that those who could understand the best were against the American
war, as almost every man now is, when the question has been coolly
considered.
Mrs. Thrale gave high praise to Mr. Dudley Long, (now North). JOHNSON.
'Nay, my dear lady, don't talk so. Mr. Long's character is very _short_.
It is nothing. He fills a chair. He is a man of genteel appearance, and
that is all[270]. I know nobody who blasts by praise as you do: for
whenever there is exaggerated praise, every body is set against a
character. They are provoked to attack it. Now there is Pepys[271]; you
praised that man with such disproportion, that I was incited to lessen
him, perhaps more than he deserves[272]. His blood is upon your
head[273]. By the same principle, your malice defeats itself; for your
censure is too violent. And yet (looking to her with a leering smile)
she is the first woman in the world, could she but restrain that wicked
tongue of hers;--she would be the only woman, could she but command that
little whirligig[274].'
Upon the subject of exaggerated praise I took the liberty to say, that I
thought there might be very high praise given to a known character which
deserved it, and therefore it would not be exaggerated. Thus, one might
say of Mr. Edmund Burke, He is a very wonderful man. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir,
you would not be safe if another man had a mind perversely to
contradict. He might answer, "Where is all the wonder? Burke is, to be
sure, a man of uncommon abilities, with a great quantity of matter in
his mind, and a great fluency of language in his mouth. But we are not
to be stunned and astonished by him." So you see, Sir, even Burke would
suffer, not from any fault of his own, but from your folly.'
Mrs. Thrale mentioned a gentleman who had acquired a fortune of four
thousand a year in trade, but was absolutely miserable, because he could
not talk in company; so miserable, that he was impelled to lament his
situation in the street to ----[275], whom he hates, and who he knows
despises him. 'I am a most unhappy man (said he). I am invited to
conversations. I go to conversations; but, alas! I have no
conversation.' JOHNSON. 'Man commonly cannot be successful in different
ways. This gentleman has spent, in getting four thousand pounds a year,
the time in which he might have learnt to talk; and now he cannot talk.'
Mr. Perkins made a shrewd and droll remark: 'If he had got his four
thousand a year as a mountebank, he might have learnt to talk at the
same time that he was getting his fortune.'
Some other gentlemen came in. The conversation concerning the person
whose character Dr. Johnson had treated so slightingly, as he did not
know his merit, was resumed. Mrs. Thrale said, 'You think so of him,
Sir, because he is quiet, and does not exert himself with force. You'll
be saying the same thing of Mr. ---- there, who sits as quiet--.' This
was not well-bred; and Johnson did not let it pass without correction.
'Nay, Madam, what right have you to talk thus? Both Mr. ---- and I have
reason to take it ill. _You_ may talk so of Mr. ----; but why do you
make _me_ do it. Have I said anything against Mr. ----? You have _set_
him, that I might shoot him: but I have not shot him.'
One of the gentlemen said, he had seen three folio volumes of Dr.
Johnson's sayings collected by me. 'I must put you right, Sir, (said I;)
for I am very exact in authenticity. You could not see folio volumes,
for I have none: you might have seen some in quarto and octavo. This is
inattention which one should guard against.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, it is a want
of concern about veracity. He does not know that he saw _any_ volumes.
If he had seen them he could have remembered their size[276].'
Mr. Thrale appeared very lethargick to-day. I saw him again on Monday
evening, at which time he was not thought to be in immediate danger; but
early in the morning of Wednesday, the 4th[277], he expired[278].
Johnson was in the house, and thus mentions the event: 'I felt almost
the last flutter of his pulse, and looked for the last time upon the
face that for fifteen years had never been turned upon me but with
respect and benignity[279].' Upon that day there was a Call of the
LITERARY CLUB; but Johnson apologised for his absence by the
following note:--
'MR. JOHNSON knows that Sir Joshua Reynolds and the other gentlemen will
excuse his incompliance with the call, when they are told that Mr.
Thrale died this morning.' Wednesday.'
Mr. Thrale's death was a very essential loss to Johnson[280], who,
although he did not foresee all that afterwards happened, was
sufficiently convinced that the comforts which Mr. Thrale's family
afforded him, would now in a great measure cease. He, however continued
to shew a kind attention to his widow and children as long as it was
acceptable; and he took upon him, with a very earnest concern, the
office of one of his executors, the importance of which seemed greater
than usual to him, from his circumstances having been always such, that
he had scarcely any share in the real business of life[281]. His friends
of the CLUB were in hopes that Mr. Thrale might have made a liberal
provision for him for his life, which, as Mr. Thrale left no son, and a
very large fortune, it would have been highly to his honour to have
done; and, considering Dr. Johnson's age, could not have been of long
duration; but he bequeathed him only two hundred pounds, which was the
legacy given to each of his executors[282]. I could not but be somewhat
diverted by hearing Johnson talk in a pompous manner of his new office,
and particularly of the concerns of the brewery, which it was at last
resolved should be sold[283]. Lord Lucan[284] tells a very good story,
which, if not precisely exact, is certainly characteristic: that when
the sale of Thrale's brewery was going forward, Johnson appeared
bustling about, with an ink-horn and pen in his button-hole, like an
excise-man; and on being asked what he really considered to be the value
of the property which was to be disposed of, answered, 'We are not here
to sell a parcel of boilers and vats but the potentiality of growing
rich, beyond the dreams of avarice[285].'
On Friday, April 6, he carried me to dine at a club, which, at his
desire, had been lately formed at the Queen's Arms, in St. Paul's
Church-yard. He told Mr. Hoole, that he wished to have a _City Club_,
and asked him to collect one; but, said he, 'Don't let them be
_patriots_[286].' The company were to-day very sensible, well-behaved
men. I have preserved only two particulars of his conversation. He said
he was glad Lord George Gordon had escaped[287], rather than that a
precedent should be established for hanging a man for _constructive
treason_; which, in consistency with his true, manly, constitutional
Toryism, he considered would be a dangerous engine of arbitrary power.
And upon its being mentioned that an opulent and very indolent Scotch
nobleman, who totally resigned the management of his affairs to a man of
knowledge and abilities, had claimed some merit by saying, 'The next
best thing to managing a man's own affairs well is being sensible of
incapacity, and not attempting it, but having full confidence in one who
can do it:' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, this is paltry. There is a middle
course. Let a man give application; and depend upon it he will soon get
above a despicable state of helplessness, and attain the power of acting
for himself.'
On Saturday, April 7, I dined with him at Mr. Hoole's with Governour
Bouchier and Captain Orme, both of whom had been long in the
East-Indies; and being men of good sense and observation, were very
entertaining. Johnson defended the oriental regulation of different
_casts_ of men, which was objected to as totally destructive of the
hopes of rising in society by personal merit. He shewed that there was a
_principle_ in it sufficiently plausible by analogy. 'We see (said he)
in metals that there are different species; and so likewise in animals,
though one species may not differ very widely from another, as in the
species of dogs,--the cur, the spaniel, the mastiff. The Bramins are the
mastiffs of mankind.'
On Thursday, April 12, I dined with him at a Bishop's, where were Sir
Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Berrenger, and some more company. He had dined the
day before at another Bishop's. I have unfortunately recorded none of
his conversation at the Bishop's where we dined together[288]: but I
have preserved his ingenious defence of his dining twice abroad in
Passion-week[289]; a laxity, in which I am convinced he would not have
indulged himself at the time when he wrote his solemn paper in _The
Rambler_[290], upon that aweful season. It appeared to me, that by
being much more in company, and enjoying more luxurious living, he had
contracted a keener relish of pleasure, and was consequently less
rigorous in his religious rites. This he would not acknowledge; but he
reasoned with admirable sophistry, as follows: 'Why, Sir, a Bishop's
calling company together in this week is, to use the vulgar phrase, not
_the thing_. But you must consider laxity is a bad thing; but
preciseness is also a bad thing; and your general character may be more
hurt by preciseness than by dining with a Bishop in Passion-week. There
might be a handle for reflection. It might be said, 'He refused to dine
with a Bishop in Passion-week, but was three Sundays absent from
Church.' BOSWELL. 'Very true, Sir. But suppose a man to be uniformly of
good conduct, would it not be better that he should refuse to dine with
a Bishop in this week, and so not encourage a bad practice by his
example?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, you are to consider whether you might not
do more harm by lessening the influence of a Bishop's character by your
disapprobation in refusing him, than by going to him.'