'Your most affectionate, humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'July 28, 1782.'
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'Being uncertain whether I should have any call this autumn into the
country, I did not immediately answer your kind letter. I have no call;
but if you desire to meet me at Ashbourne, I believe I can come thither;
if you had rather come to London, I can stay at Streatham; take
your choice.
'This year has been very heavy. From the middle of January to the middle
of June I was battered by one disorder after another! I am now very much
recovered, and hope still to be better. What happiness it is that Mrs.
Boswell has escaped.
'My _Lives_ are reprinting, and I have forgotten the authour of Gray's
character[480]: write immediately, and it may be perhaps yet inserted.
'Of London or Ashbourne you have your free choice; at any place I shall
be glad to see you. I am, dear Sir,
'Yours &c.
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'Aug. 24, 1782.'
On the 3Oth of August, I informed him that my honoured father had died
that morning; a complaint under which he had long laboured having
suddenly come to a crisis, while I was upon a visit at the seat of Sir
Charles Preston, from whence I had hastened the day before, upon
receiving a letter by express.
'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'I have struggled through this year with so much infirmity of body, and
such strong impressions of the fragility of life, that death, whenever
it appears, fills me with melancholy; and I cannot hear without emotion,
of the removal of any one, whom I have known, into another state.
'Your father's death had every circumstance that could enable you to
bear it; it was at a mature age, and it was expected; and as his general
life had been pious, his thoughts had doubtless for many years past been
turned upon eternity. That you did not find him sensible must doubtless
grieve you; his disposition towards you was undoubtedly that of a kind,
though not of a fond father. Kindness, at least actual, is in our power,
but fondness is not; and if by negligence or imprudence you had
extinguished his fondness, he could not at will rekindle it. Nothing
then remained between you but mutual forgiveness of each other's faults,
and mutual desire of each other's happiness.
'I shall long to know his final disposition of his fortune[481].
'You, dear Sir, have now a new station, and have therefore new cares,
and new employments. Life, as Cowley seems to say, ought to resemble a
well-ordered poem[482]; of which one rule generally received is, that
the exordium should be simple, and should promise little. Begin your new
course of life with the least show, and the least expence possible; you
may at pleasure encrease both, but you cannot easily diminish them. Do
not think your estate your own, while any man can call upon you for
money which you cannot pay; therefore, begin with timorous parsimony.
Let it be your first care not to be in any man's debt.
'When the thoughts are extended to a future state, the present life
seems hardly worthy of all those principles of conduct, and maxims of
prudence, which one generation of men has transmitted to another; but
upon a closer view, when it is perceived how much evil is produced, and
how much good is impeded by embarrassment and distress, and how little
room the expedients of poverty leave for the exercise of virtue, it
grows manifest that the boundless importance of the next life enforces
some attention to the interests of this.
'Be kind to the old servants, and secure the kindness of the agents and
factors; do not disgust them by asperity, or unwelcome gaiety, or
apparent suspicion. From them you must learn the real state of your
affairs, the characters of your tenants, and the value of your
lands[483].
'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell; I think her expectations from air
and exercise are the best that she can form. I hope she will live long
and happily.
'I forget whether I told you that Rasay[484] has been here; we dined
cheerfully together. I entertained lately a young gentleman from
Corrichatachin[485].
'I received your letters only this morning. I am, dear Sir,
'Yours &c.
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'London, Sept. 7, 1782.'
In answer to my next letter, I received one from him, dissuading me from
hastening to him as I had proposed[486]; what is proper for publication
is the following paragraph, equally just and tender:--
'One expence, however, I would not have you to spare: let nothing be
omitted that can preserve Mrs. Boswell, though it should be necessary to
transplant her for a time into a softer climate. She is the prop and
stay of your life. How much must your children suffer by losing her.'
My wife was now so much convinced of his sincere friendship for me, and
regard for her, that, without any suggestion on my part, she wrote him a
very polite and grateful letter:--
'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL.
'DEAR LADY,
'I have not often received so much pleasure as from your invitation to
Auchinleck. The journey thither and back is, indeed, too great for the
latter part of the year; but if my health were fully recovered, I would
suffer no little heat and cold, nor a wet or a rough road to keep me
from you. I am, indeed, not without hope of seeing Auchinleck again; but
to make it a pleasant place I must see its lady well, and brisk, and
airy. For my sake, therefore, among many greater reasons, take care,
dear Madam, of your health, spare no expence, and want no attendance
that can procure ease, or preserve it. Be very careful to keep your mind
quiet; and do not think it too much to give an account of your recovery
to, Madam,
'Yours, &c.
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'London, Sept. 7, 1782.'
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'Having passed almost this whole year in a succession of disorders, I
went in October to Brighthelmston, whither I came in a state of so much
weakness, that I rested four times in walking between the inn and the
lodging. By physick and abstinence I grew better, and am now reasonably
easy, though at a great distance from health[487]. I am afraid, however,
that health begins, after seventy, and long before, to have a meaning
different from that which it had at thirty. But it is culpable to murmur
at the established order of the creation, as it is vain to oppose it. He
that lives must grow old; and he that would rather grow old than die,
has GOD to thank for the infirmities of old age[488].
'At your long silence I am rather angry. You do not, since now you are
the head of your house, think it worth your while to try whether you or
your friend can live longer without writing[489], nor suspect that after
so many years of friendship, that when I do not write to you, I forget
you. Put all such useless jealousies out of your head, and disdain to
regulate your own practice by the practice of another, or by any other
principle than the desire of doing right.
'Your oeconomy, I suppose, begins now to be settled; your expences are
adjusted to your revenue, and all your people in their proper places.
Resolve not to be poor: whatever you have, spend less. Poverty is a
great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys liberty, and it
makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult.
'Let me know the history of your life, since your accession to your
estate. How many houses, how many cows, how much land in your own hand,
and what bargains you make with your tenants.
* * * * *
'Of my _Lives of the Poets_, they have printed a new edition in octavo,
I hear, of three thousand. Did I give a set to Lord Hailes? If I did
not, I will do it out of these. What did you make of all your copy[490]?
'Mrs. Thrale and the three Misses[491] are now for the winter in
Argyll-street. Sir Joshua Reynolds has been out of order, but is well
again; and I am, dear Sir,
'Your affectionate humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'London, Dec. 7, 1782.'
'To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.
'Edinburgh, Dec. 20, 1782.
'DEAR SIR,
'I was made happy by your kind letter, which gave us the agreeable hopes
of seeing you in Scotland again.
'I am much flattered by the concern you are pleased to take in my
recovery. I am better, and hope to have it in my power to convince you
by my attention of how much consequence I esteem your health to the
world and to myself. I remain, Sir, with grateful respect,
'Your obliged and obedient servant,
'MARGARET BOSWELL.'
The death of Mr. Thrale had made a very material alteration with respect
to Johnson's reception in that family. The manly authority of the
husband no longer curbed the lively exuberance of the lady; and as her
vanity had been fully gratified, by having the Colossus of Literature
attached to her for many years, she gradually became less assiduous to
please him. Whether her attachment to him was already divided by another
object, I am unable to ascertain; but it is plain that Johnson's
penetration was alive to her neglect or forced attention; for on the eth
of October this year, we find him making a 'parting use of the
library[492]' at Streatham, and pronouncing a prayer, which he composed
on leaving Mr. Thrale's family[493]:--
'Almighty God, Father of all mercy, help me by thy grace, that I may,
with humble and sincere thankfulness, remember the comforts and
conveniences which I have enjoyed at this place; and that I may resign
them with holy submission, equally trusting in thy protection when thou
givest, and when thou takest away. Have mercy upon me, Lord, have
mercy upon me.
'To thy fatherly protection, O Lord, I commend this family. Bless,
guide, and defend them, that they may so pass through this world, as
finally to enjoy in thy presence everlasting happiness, for Jesus
Christ's sake. Amen[494].'
One cannot read this prayer, without some emotions not very favourable
to the lady whose conduct occasioned it[495].
In one of his memorandum-books I find, 'Sunday, went to church at
Streatham. _Templo valedixi cum osculo_[496].'
He met Mr. Philip Metcalfe[497] often at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and
other places, and was a good deal with him at Brighthelmston[498] this
autumn, being pleased at once with his excellent table and animated
conversation. Mr. Metcalfe shewed him great respect, and sent him a note
that he might have the use of his carriage whenever he pleased. Johnson
(3d October, 1782) returned this polite answer:--'Mr. Johnson is very
much obliged by the kind offer of the carriage, but he has no desire of
using Mr. Metcalfe's carriage, except when he can have the pleasure of
Mr. Metcalfe's company.' Mr. Metcalfe could not but be highly pleased
that his company was thus valued by Johnson, and he frequently attended
him in airings. They also went together to Chichester[499], and they
visited Petworth, and Cowdry, the venerable seat of the Lords Montacute.
'Sir, (said Johnson,) I should like to stay here four-and-twenty hours.
We see here how our ancestors lived.'
That his curiosity was still unabated, appears from two letters to Mr.
John Nichols, of the 10th and 20th[500] of October this year. In one he
says, 'I have looked into your _Anecdotes_, and you will hardly thank a
lover of literary history for telling you, that he has been much
informed and gratified. I wish you would add your own discoveries and
intelligence to those of Dr. Rawlinson, and undertake the Supplement to
Wood[501]'. Think of it.' In the other, 'I wish, Sir, you could obtain
some fuller information of Jortin[502], Markland[503], and Thirlby[504].
They were three contemporaries of great eminence.'
'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
'DEAR SIR,
'I heard yesterday of your late disorder[505], and should think ill of
myself if I had heard of it without alarm. I heard likewise Of your
recovery, which I sincerely wish to be complete and permanent. Your
country has been in danger of losing one of its brightest ornaments, and
I of losing one of my oldest and kindest friends: but I hope you will
still live long, for the honour of the nation: and that more enjoyment
of your elegance, your intelligence, and your benevolence, is still
reserved for, dear Sir, your most affectionate, &c.
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'Brighthelmston,