Mr. Lowe's exclusion from the exhibition gives him more trouble than you
and the other gentlemen of the Council could imagine or intend. He
considers disgrace and ruin as the inevitable consequence of your
determination.
He says, that some pictures have been received after rejection; and if
there be any such precedent, I earnestly entreat that you will use your
interest in his favour. Of his work I can say nothing; I pretend not to
judge of painting; and this picture I never saw: but I conceive it
extremely hard to shut out any man from the possibility of success; and
therefore I repeat my request that you will propose the re-consideration
of Mr. Lowe's case; and if there be any among the Council with whom my
name can have any weight, be pleased to communicate to them the desire
of, Sir, Your most humble servant, SAM. JOHNSON. April 12, 1783.
Such intercession was too powerful to be resisted; and Mr. Lowe's
performance was admitted at Somerset Place[631]. The subject, as I
recollect, was the Deluge, at that point of time when the water was
verging to the top of the last uncovered mountain. Near to the spot was
seen the last of the antediluvian race, exclusive of those who were
saved in the ark of Noah. This was one of those giants, then the
inhabitants of the earth, who had still strength to swim, and with one
of his hands held aloft his infant child. Upon the small remaining dry
spot appeared a famished lion, ready to spring at the child and devour
it. Mr. Lowe told me that Johnson said to him, 'Sir, your picture is
noble and probable.' 'A compliment, indeed, (said Mr. Lowe,) from a man
who cannot lie, and cannot be mistaken.'
About this time he wrote to Mrs. Lucy Porter, mentioning his bad health,
and that he intended a visit to Lichfield. 'It is, (says he,) with no
great expectation of amendment that I make every year a journey into the
country; but it is pleasant to visit those whose kindness has been often
experienced.'
On April 18, (being Good-Friday,) I found him at breakfast, in his usual
manner upon that day, drinking tea without milk, and eating a cross-bun
to prevent faintness; we went to St. Clement's church, as formerly. When
we came home from church, he placed himself on one of the stone-seats at
his garden-door, and I took the other, and thus in the open air and in a
placid frame of mind, he talked away very easily. JOHNSON. 'Were I a
country gentleman, I should not be very hospitable, I should not have
crowds in my house[632].' BOSWELL. 'Sir Alexander Dick[633] tells me,
that he remembers having a thousand people in a year to dine at his
house: that is, reckoning each person as one, each time that he dined
there.' JOHNSON. 'That, Sir, is about three a day.' BOSWELL. 'How your
statement lessens the idea.' JOHNSON. 'That, Sir, is the good of
counting[634]. It brings every thing to a certainty, which before
floated in the mind indefinitely.' BOSWELL. 'But _Omne ignotum pro
magnifico est[635]: one is sorry to have this diminished.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, you should not allow yourself to be delighted with errour.'
BOSWELL. 'Three a day seem but few.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, he who
entertains three a day, does very liberally. And if there is a large
family, the poor entertain those three, for they eat what the poor would
get: there must be superfluous meat; it must be given to the poor, or
thrown out.' BOSWELL. 'I observe in London, that the poor go about and
gather bones, which I understand are manufactured.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
they boil them, and extract a grease from them for greasing wheels and
other purposes. Of the best pieces they make a mock ivory, which is used
for hafts to knives, and various other things; the coarser pieces they
burn and pound, and sell the ashes.' BOSWELL. 'For what purpose, Sir?'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, for making a furnace for the chymists for melting
iron. A paste made of burnt bones will stand a stronger heat than any
thing else. Consider, Sir; if you are to melt iron, you cannot line your
pot with brass, because it is softer than iron, and would melt sooner;
nor with iron, for though malleable iron is harder than cast iron, yet
it would not do; but a paste of burnt-bones will not melt.' BOSWELL. 'Do
you know, Sir, I have discovered a manufacture to a great extent, of
what you only piddle at,--scraping and drying the peel of oranges[636].
At a place in Newgate-street, there is a prodigious quantity prepared,
which they sell to the distillers.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, I believe they make a
higher thing out of them than a spirit; they make what is called
orange-butter, the oil of the orange inspissated, which they mix perhaps
with common pomatum, and make it fragrant. The oil does not fly off in
the drying.'
BOSWELL. 'I wish to have a good walled garden.' JOHNSON. 'I don't think
it would be worth the expence to you. We compute in England, a park wall
at a thousand pounds a mile; now a garden-wall must cost at least as
much. You intend your trees should grow higher than a deer will leap.
Now let us see; for a hundred pounds you could only have forty-four
square yards, which is very little; for two hundred pounds, you may have
eighty-four square yards[637], which is very well. But when will you get
the value of two hundred pounds of walls, in fruit, in your climate? No,
Sir, such contention with Nature is not worth while. I would plant an
orchard, and have plenty of such fruit as ripen well in your country. My
friend, Dr. Madden[638], of Ireland, said, that "in an orchard there
should be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to be stolen, and
enough to rot upon the ground." Cherries are an early fruit, you may
have them; and you may have the early apples and pears.' BOSWELL. 'We
cannot have nonpareils.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you can no more have nonpareils
than you can have grapes.' BOSWELL. 'We have them, Sir; but they are
very bad.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, never try to have a thing merely to shew
that you _cannot_ have it. From ground that would let for forty
shillings you may have a large orchard; and you see it costs you only
forty shillings. Nay, you may graze the ground when the trees are grown
up; you cannot while they are young.' BOSWELL. 'Is not a good garden a
very common thing in England, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Not so common, Sir, as
you imagine[639]. In Lincolnshire there is hardly an orchard; in
Staffordshire very little fruit.' BOSWELL. 'Has Langton no orchard?'
JOHNSON. 'No, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'How so, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, from the
general negligence of the county. He has it not, because nobody else has
it.' BOSWELL. 'A hot-house is a certain thing; I may have that.'
JOHNSON. 'A hot-house is pretty certain; but you must first build it,
then you must keep fires in it, and you must have a gardener to take
care of it.' BOSWELL. 'But if I have a gardener at any rate?--' JOHNSON.
'Why, yes.' BOSWELL.' I'd have it near my house; there is no need to
have it in the orchard.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, I'd have it near my house. I
would plant a great many currants; the fruit is good, and they make a
pretty sweetmeat.'
I record this minute detail, which some may think trifling, in order to
shew clearly how this great man, whose mind could grasp such large and
extensive subjects, as he has shewn in his literary labours, was yet
well-informed in the common affairs of life, and loved to
illustrate them.
Mr. Walker, the celebrated master of elocution[640], came in, and then
we went up stairs into the study. I asked him if he had taught many
clergymen. JOHNSON. 'I hope not.' WALKER. 'I have taught only one, and
he is the best reader I ever heard, not by my teaching, but by his own
natural talents.' JOHNSON. 'Were he the best reader in the world, I
would not have it told that he was taught.' Here was one of his peculiar
prejudices. Could it be any disadvantage to the clergyman to have it
known that he was taught an easy and graceful delivery? BOSWELL. 'Will
you not allow, Sir, that a man may be taught to read well?' JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, so far as to read better than he might do without being
taught, yes. Formerly it was supposed that there was no difference in
reading, but that one read as well as another.' BOSWELL. 'It is
wonderful to see old Sheridan as enthusiastick about oratory as
ever[641],' WALKER. 'His enthusiasm as to what oratory will do, may be
too great: but he reads well.' JOHNSON. 'He reads well, but he reads
low[642]; and you know it is much easier to read low than to read high;
for when you read high, you are much more limited, your loudest note can
be but one, and so the variety is less in proportion to the loudness.
Now some people have occasion to speak to an extensive audience, and
must speak loud to be heard.' WALKER. 'The art is to read strong,
though low.'
Talking of the origin of language; JOHNSON. 'It must have come by
inspiration. A thousand, nay, a million of children could not invent a
language. While the organs are pliable, there is not understanding
enough to form a language; by the time that there is understanding
enough, the organs are become stiff. We know that after a certain age we
cannot learn to pronounce a new language. No foreigner, who comes to
England when advanced in life, ever pronounces English tolerably well;
at least such instances are very rare. When I maintain that language
must have come by inspiration, I do not mean that inspiration is
required for rhetorick, and all the beauties of language; for when once
man has language, we can conceive that he may gradually form
modifications of it. I mean only that inspiration seems to me to be
necessary to give man the faculty of speech; to inform him that he may
have speech; which I think he could no more find out without
inspiration, than cows or hogs would think of such a faculty.' WALKER.
'Do you think, Sir, that there are any perfect synonimes in any
language?' JOHNSON. 'Originally there were not; but by using words
negligently, or in poetry, one word comes to be confounded
with another.'
He talked of Dr. Dodd[643]. 'A friend of mine, (said he,) came to me and
told me, that a lady wished to have Dr. Dodd's picture in a bracelet,
and asked me for a motto. I said, I could think of no better than
_Currat Lex_. I was very willing to have him pardoned, that is, to have
the sentence changed to transportation: but, when he was once hanged, I
did not wish he should be made a saint.'
Mrs. Burney, wife of his friend Dr. Burney, came in, and he seemed to be
entertained with her conversation.
Garrick's funeral was talked of as extravagantly expensive. Johnson,
from his dislike to exaggeration, would not allow that it was
distinguished by any extraordinary pomp. 'Were there not six horses to
each coach?' said Mrs. Burney. JOHNSON. 'Madam, there were no more six
horses than six phoenixes[644].'
Mrs. Burney wondered that some very beautiful new buildings should be
erected in Moorfields, in so shocking a situation as between Bedlam and
St. Luke's Hospital; and said she could not live there. JOHNSON. 'Nay,
Madam, you see nothing there to hurt you. You no more think of madness
by having windows that look to Bedlam, than you think of death by having
windows that look to a church-yard.' MRS. BURNEY. 'We may look to a
church-yard, Sir; for it is right that we should be kept in mind of
death.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Madam, if you go to that, it is right that we
should be kept in mind of madness, which is occasioned by too much
indulgence of imagination. I think a very moral use may be made of these
new buildings: I would have those who have heated imaginations live
there, and take warning.' MRS. BURNEY. 'But, Sir, many of the poor
people that are mad, have become so from disease, or from distressing
events. It is, therefore, not their fault, but their misfortune; and,
therefore, to think of them is a melancholy consideration.'
Time passed on in conversation till it was too late for the service of
the church at three o'clock. I took a walk, and left him alone for some
time; then returned, and we had coffee and conversation again by
ourselves.
I stated the character of a noble friend of mine, as a curious case for
his opinion:--'He is the most inexplicable man to me that I ever knew.
Can you explain him, Sir? He is, I really believe, noble-minded,
generous, and princely. But his most intimate friends may be separated
from him for years, without his ever asking a question concerning them.
He will meet them with a formality, a coldness, a stately indifference;
but when they come close to him, and fairly engage him in conversation,
they find him as easy, pleasant, and kind, as they could wish. One then
supposes that what is so agreeable will soon be renewed; but stay away
from him for half a year, and he will neither call on you, nor send to
inquire about you.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, I cannot ascertain his character
exactly, as I do not know him; but I should not like to have such a man
for my friend. He may love study, and wish not to be interrupted by his
friends; _Amici fures temporis_. He may be a frivolous man, and be so
much occupied with petty pursuits, that he may not want friends. Or he
may have a notion that there is a dignity in appearing indifferent,
while he in fact may not be more indifferent at his heart than another.'
We went to evening prayers at St. Clement's, at seven, and then parted.
On Sunday, April 20, being Easter-day, after attending solemn service at
St. Paul's, I came to Dr. Johnson, and found Mr. Lowe, the painter,
sitting with him. Mr. Lowe mentioned the great number of new buildings
of late in London, yet that Dr. Johnson had observed, that the number of
inhabitants was not increased. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, the bills of
mortality prove that no more people die now than formerly; so it is
plain no more live. The register of births proves nothing, for not one
tenth of the people of London are born there.' BOSWELL. 'I believe, Sir,
a great many of the children born in London die early.' JOHNSON. 'Why,
yes, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'But those who do live, are as stout and strong
people as any[645]: Dr. Price[646] says, they must be naturally stronger
to get through.' JOHNSON. 'That is system, Sir. A great traveller
observes, that it is said there are no weak or deformed people among the
Indians; but he with much sagacity assigns the reason of this, which is,
that the hardship of their life as hunters and fishers does not allow
weak or diseased children to grow up. Now had I been an Indian, I must
have died early; my eyes would not have served me to get food. I indeed
now could fish, give me English tackle; but had I been an Indian I must
have starved, or they would have knocked me on the head, when they saw I
could do nothing.' BOSWELL. 'Perhaps they would have taken care of you:
we are told they are fond of oratory, you would have talked to them.'
JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, I should not have lived long enough to be fit to
talk; I should have been dead before I was ten years old. Depend upon
it, Sir, a savage, when he is hungry, will not carry about with him a
looby of nine years old, who cannot help himself. They have no
affection, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'I believe natural affection, of which we
hear so much, is very small.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, natural affection is
nothing: but affection from principle and established duty is sometimes
wonderfully strong.' LOWE. 'A hen, Sir, will feed her chickens in
preference to herself.' JOHNSON. 'But we don't know that the hen is
hungry; let the hen be fairly hungry, and I'll warrant she'll peck the
corn herself. A cock, I believe, will feed hens instead of himself; but
we don't know that the cock is hungry.' BOSWELL. 'And that, Sir, is not
from affection but gallantry. But some of the Indians have affection.'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, that they help some of their children is plain; for some
of them live, which they could not do without being helped.'
I dined with him; the company were, Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins, and
Mr. Lowe. He seemed not to be well, talked little, grew drowsy soon
after dinner, and retired, upon which I went away.
Having next day gone to Mr. Burke's seat in the country, from whence I
was recalled by an express, that a near relation of mine had killed his
antagonist in a duel, and was himself dangerously wounded[647], I saw
little of Dr. Johnson till Monday, April 28, when I spent a considerable
part of the day with him, and introduced the subject, which then chiefly
occupied my mind. JOHNSON. 'I do not see, Sir, that fighting is
absolutely forbidden in Scripture; I see revenge forbidden, but not
self-defence.' BOSWELL. 'The Quakers say it is; "Unto him that smiteth
thee on one cheek, offer him also the other[648]."' JOHNSON. 'But stay,
Sir; the text is meant only to have the effect of moderating passion; it
is plain that we are not to take it in a literal sense. We see this from
the context, where there are other recommendations, which I warrant you
the Quaker will not take literally; as, for instance, "From him that
would borrow of thee, turn thou not away[649]." Let a man whose credit
is bad, come to a Quaker, and say, "Well, Sir, lend me a hundred
pounds;" he'll find him as unwilling as any other man. No, Sir, a man
may shoot the man who invades his character, as he may shoot him who
attempts to break into his house[650]. So in 1745, my friend, Tom
Cumming the Quaker[651], said, he would not fight, but he would drive an
ammunition cart; and we know that the Quakers have sent flannel
waistcoats to our soldiers, to enable them to fight better.' BOSWELL.
'When a man is the aggressor, and by ill-usage forces on a duel in which
he is killed, have we not little ground to hope that he is gone into a
state of happiness?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, we are not to judge determinately of
the state in which a man leaves this life. He may in a moment have
repented effectually, and it is possible may have been accepted by GOD.
There is in _Camden's Remains_, an epitaph upon a very wicked man, who
was killed by a fall from his horse, in which he is supposed to say,
'"Between the stirrup and the ground,
I mercy ask'd, I mercy found[652]."'
BOSWELL. 'Is not the expression in the Burial-service, "in the _sure_
and _certain_ hope of a blessed resurrection[653]," too strong to be
used indiscriminately, and, indeed, sometimes when those over whose
bodies it is said, have been notoriously profane?' JOHNSON. 'It is sure
and certain _hope_, Sir; not _belief_.' I did not insist further;
but cannot help thinking that less positive words would be more
proper[654].
Talking of a man who was grown very fat, so as to be incommoded with
corpulency; he said, 'He eats too much, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'I don't know,
Sir; you will see one man fat who eats moderately, and another lean who
eats a great deal.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, whatever may be the quantity
that a man eats, it is plain that if he is too fat, he has eaten more
than he should have done. One man may have a digestion that consumes
food better than common; but it is certain that solidity is encreased by
putting something to it.' BOSWELL. 'But may not solids swell and be
distended?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, they may swell and be distended; but
that is not fat.'
We talked of the accusation against a gentleman for supposed
delinquencies in India[655]. JOHNSON. 'What foundation there is for
accusation I know not, but they will not get at him. Where bad actions
are committed at so great a distance, a delinquent can obscure the
evidence till the scent becomes cold; there is a cloud between, which
cannot be penetrated: therefore all distant power is bad. I am clear
that the best plan for the government of India is a despotick governour;
for if he be a good man, it is evidently the best government; and
supposing him to be a bad man, it is better to have one plunderer than
many. A governour whose power is checked, lets others plunder, that he
himself may be allowed to plunder; but if despotick, he sees that the
more he lets others plunder, the less there will be for himself, so he
restrains them; and though he himself plunders, the country is a gainer,
compared with being plundered by numbers.'
I mentioned the very liberal payment which had been received for
reviewing; and, as evidence of this, that it had been proved in a trial,
that Dr. Shebbeare[656] had received six guineas a sheet for that kind
of literary labour. JOHNSON, 'Sir, he might get six guineas for a
particular sheet, but not _communibus sheetibus_[657].' BOSWELL. 'Pray,
Sir, by a sheet of review is it meant that it shall be all of the
writer's own composition? or are extracts, made from the book reviewed,
deducted.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir: it is a sheet, no matter of what.'
BOSWELL. 'I think that it is not reasonable.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, it is.
A man will more easily write a sheet all his own, than read an octavo
volume to get extracts[658].' To one of Johnson's wonderful fertility of
mind I believe writing was really easier than reading and extracting;
but with ordinary men the case is very different. A great deal, indeed,
will depend upon the care and judgement with which the extracts are
made. I can suppose the operation to be tedious and difficult: but in
many instances we must observe crude morsels cut out of books as if at
random; and when a large extract is made from one place, it surely may
be done with very little trouble. One however, I must acknowledge, might
be led, from the practice of reviewers, to suppose that they take a
pleasure in original writing; for we often find, that instead of giving
an accurate account of what has been done by the authour whose work
they are reviewing, which is surely the proper business of a literary
journal, they produce some plausible and ingenious conceits of their
own, upon the topicks which have been discussed[659].
Upon being told that old Mr. Sheridan, indignant at the neglect of his
oratorical plans, had threatened to go to America; JOHNSON. 'I hope he
will go to America.' BOSWELL. 'The Americans don't want oratory.'
JOHNSON. 'But we can want Sheridan[660].'
On Monday[661], April 29, I found him at home in the forenoon, and Mr.
Seward with him. Horace having been mentioned; BOSWELL. 'There is a
great deal of thinking in his works. One finds there almost every thing
but religion.' SEWARD. 'He speaks of his returning to it, in his Ode
_Parcus Deorum cultor et infrequens_[662] JOHNSON. 'Sir, he was not in
earnest: this was merely poetical.' BOSWELL. 'There are, I am afraid,
many people who have no religion at all.' SEWARD. 'And sensible people
too.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, not sensible in that respect. There must be
either a natural or a moral stupidity, if one lives in a total neglect
of so very important a concern.' SEWARD. 'I wonder that there should be
people without religion.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you need not wonder at this,
when you consider how large a proportion of almost every man's life is
passed without thinking of it. I myself was for some years totally
regardless of religion. It had dropped out of my mind. It was at an
early part of my life. Sickness brought it back, and I hope I have never
lost it since[663].' BOSWELL. 'My dear Sir, what a man must you have
been without religion! Why you must have gone on drinking, and
swearing, and--[664]' JOHNSON. (with a smile) 'I drank enough and swore
enough, to be sure.' SEWARD. 'One should think that sickness and the
view of death would make more men religious.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, they do not
know how to go about it: they have not the first notion. A man who has
never had religion before, no more grows religious when he is sick, than
a man who has never learnt figures can count when he has need of
calculation.'
I mentioned a worthy friend of ours[665] whom we valued much, but
observed that he was too ready to introduce religious discourse upon all
occasions. JOHNSON. 'Why, yes, Sir, he will introduce religious
discourse without seeing whether it will end in instruction and
improvement, or produce some profane jest. He would introduce it in the
company of Wilkes, and twenty more such.'
I mentioned Dr. Johnson's excellent distinction between liberty of
conscience and liberty of teaching[666]. JOHNSON. 'Consider, Sir; if you
have children whom you wish to educate in the principles of the Church
of England, and there comes a Quaker who tries to pervert them to his
principles, you would drive away the Quaker. You would not trust to the
predomination of right, which you believe is in your opinions; you would
keep wrong out of their heads. Now the vulgar are the children of the
State. If any one attempts to teach them doctrines contrary to what the
State approves, the magistrate may and ought to restrain him.' SEWARD.
'Would you restrain private conversation, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it
is difficult to say where private conversation begins, and where it
ends. If we three should discuss even the great question concerning the
existence of a Supreme Being by ourselves, we should not be restrained;
for that would be to put an end to all improvement. But if we should
discuss it in the presence of ten boarding-school girls, and as many
boys, I think the magistrate would do well to put us in the stocks, to
finish the debate there.'
Lord Hailes had sent him a present of a curious little printed poem, on
repairing the University of Aberdeen, by David Malloch, which he
thought would please Johnson, as affording clear evidence that Mallet
had appeared even as a literary character by the name of _Malloch_; his
changing which to one of softer sound, had given Johnson occasion to
introduce him into his _Dictionary_, under the article _Alias_[667].
This piece was, I suppose, one of Mallet's first essays. It is preserved
in his works, with several variations. Johnson having read aloud, from
the beginning of it, where there were some common-place assertions as to
the superiority of ancient times;--'How false (said he) is all this, to
say that in ancient times learning was not a disgrace to a Peer as it is
now. In ancient times a Peer was as ignorant as any one else. He would
have been angry to have it thought he could write his name[668]. Men in
ancient times dared to stand forth with a degree of ignorance with which
nobody would dare now to stand forth. I am always angry when I hear
ancient times praised at the expence of modern times. There is now a
great deal more learning in the world than there was formerly; for it is
universally diffused. You have, perhaps, no man who knows as much Greek
and Latin as Bentley[669]; no man who knows as much mathematicks as
Newton: but you have many more men who know Greek and Latin, and who
know mathematicks[670].'
On Thursday, May 1, I visited him in the evening along with young Mr.
Burke. He said, 'It is strange that there should be so little reading in
the world, and so much writing. People in general do not willingly read,
if they can have any thing else to amuse them[671]. There must be an
external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or avarice. The progress which
the understanding makes through a book, has more pain than pleasure in
it. Language is scanty, and inadequate to express the nice gradations
and mixtures of our feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure
inclination. The books that we do read with pleasure are light
compositions, which contain a quick succession of events. However, I
have this year read all Virgil through[672]. I read a book of the
_Aeneid_ every night, so it was done in twelve nights, and I had great
delight in it. The _Georgicks_ did not give me so much pleasure, except
the fourth book. The _Eclogues_ I have almost all by heart. I do not
think the story of the _Aeneid_ interesting. I like the story of the
_Odyssey_ much better[673]; and this not on account of the wonderful
things which it contains; for there are wonderful things enough in the
_Aeneid_;--the ships of the Trojans turned to sea-nymphs,--the tree at
Polydorus's tomb dropping blood. The story of the _Odyssey_ is
interesting, as a great part of it is domestick. It has been said, there
is pleasure in writing, particularly in writing verses. I allow you may
have pleasure from writing, after it is over, if you have written well;
but you don't go willingly to it again[674]. I know when I have been
writing verses, I have run my finger down the margin, to see how many I
had made, and how few I had to make[675].'
He seemed to be in a very placid humour, and although I have no note of
the particulars of young Mr. Burke's conversation, it is but justice to
mention in general, that it was such that Dr. Johnson said to me
afterwards, 'He did very well indeed; I have a mind to tell his
father[676].'
'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
'DEAR SIR,
'The gentleman who waits on you with this, is Mr. Cruikshanks[677], who
wishes to succeed his friend Dr. Hunter[678] as Professor of Anatomy in
the Royal Academy. His qualifications are very generally known, and it
adds dignity to the institution that such men[679] are candidates.
'I am, Sir,
'Your most humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'May 2[680], 1783.'
I have no minute of any interview with Johnson till Thursday, May 15,
when I find what follows:--BOSWELL. 'I wish much to be in Parliament,
Sir[681].' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, unless you come resolved to support any
administration, you would be the worse for being in Parliament, because
you would be obliged to live more expensively.' BOSWELL. 'Perhaps, Sir,
I should be the less happy for being in Parliament. I never would sell
my vote, and I should be vexed if things went wrong.' JOHNSON. 'That's
cant, Sir. It would not vex you more in the house, than in the gallery:
publick affairs vex no man.' BOSWELL. 'Have not they vexed yourself a
little, Sir? Have not you been vexed by all the turbulence of this
reign, and by that absurd vote of the House of Commons, "That the
influence of the Crown has increased, is increasing, and ought to be
diminished[682]?"' JOHNSON. 'Sir, I have never slept an hour less, nor
eat an ounce less meat[683]. I would have knocked the factious dogs on
the head, to be sure; but I was not _vexed_.' BOSWELL. 'I declare, Sir,
upon my honour, I did imagine I was vexed, and took a pride in it; but
it _was_, perhaps, cant; for I own I neither ate less, nor slept less.'
JOHNSON. 'My dear friend, clear your _mind_ of cant[684]. You may _talk_
as other people do: you may say to a man, "Sir, I am your most humble
servant." You are not his most humble servant. You may say, "These are
bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved to such times." You
don't mind the times. You tell a man, "I am sorry you had such bad
weather the last day of your journey, and were so much wet." You don't
care six-pence whether he is wet or dry. You may _talk_ in this manner;
it is a mode of talking in Society[685]; but don't _think_
foolishly[686].'
I talked of living in the country. JOHNSON. 'Don't set up for what is
called hospitality; it is a waste of time, and a waste of money; you are
eaten up, and not the more respected for your liberality. If your house
be like an inn, nobody cares for you. A man who stays a week with
another, makes him a slave for a week.'[687] BOSWELL. 'But there are
people, Sir, who make their houses a home to their guests, and are
themselves quite easy.' JOHNSON. 'Then, Sir, home must be the same to
the guests, and they need not come.'
Here he discovered a notion common enough in persons not much accustomed
to entertain company, that there must be a degree of elaborate
attention, otherwise company will think themselves neglected; and such
attention is no doubt very fatiguing.[688] He proceeded: 'I would not,
however, be a stranger in my own county; I would visit my neighbours,
and receive their visits; but I would not be in haste to return visits.
If a gentleman comes to see me, I tell him he does me a great deal of
honour. I do not go to see him perhaps for ten weeks; then we are very
complaisant to each other. No, Sir, you will have much more influence by
giving or lending money where it is wanted, than by hospitality[689].'
On Saturday, May 17, I saw him for a short time. Having mentioned that I
had that morning been with old Mr. Sheridan, he remembered their former
intimacy with a cordial warmth, and said to me, 'Tell Mr. Sheridan, I
shall be glad to see him, and shake hands with him[690].' BOSWELL. 'It
is to me very wonderful that resentment should be kept up so long.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is not altogether resentment that he does not
visit me; it is partly falling out of the habit,--partly disgust, as one
has at a drug that has made him sick. Besides, he knows that I laugh at
his oratory[691].'
Another day I spoke of one of our friends, of whom he, as well as I,
had a very high opinion. He expatiated in his praise; but added, 'Sir,
he is a cursed Whig, a _bottomless_ Whig, as they all are now[692].'
I mentioned my expectations from the interest of an eminent person[693]
then in power; adding, 'but I have no claim but the claim of friendship;
however, some people will go a great way from that motive.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, they will go all the way from that motive.' A gentleman talked of
retiring. 'Never think of that,' said Johnson. The gentleman urged, 'I
should then do no ill.' JOHNSON. Nor no good either. Sir, it would be a
civil suicide[694].'
On Monday, May 26, I found him at tea, and the celebrated Miss Burney,
the authour of _Evelina_[695] and _Cecilia_, with him. I asked if there
would be any speakers in Parliament, if there were no places to be
obtained. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir. Why do you speak here? Either to instruct
and entertain, which is a benevolent motive; or for distinction, which
is a selfish motive.' I mentioned _Cecilia_. JOHNSON. (with an air of
animated satisfaction) 'Sir, if you talk of _Cecilia_, talk on[696].'
We talked of Mr. Barry's exhibition of his pictures. JOHNSON. 'Whatever
the hand may have done, the mind has done its part. There is a grasp of
mind there which you find nowhere else[697].'
I asked whether a man naturally virtuous, or one who has overcome wicked
inclinations, is the best. JOHNSON. 'Sir, to _you_, the man who has
overcome wicked inclinations is not the best. He has more merit to
_himself_: I would rather trust my money to a man who has no hands, and
so a physical impossibility to steal, than to a man of the most honest
principles. There is a witty satirical story of Foote. He had a small
bust of Garrick placed upon his bureau, "You may be surprized (said he)
that I allow him to be so near my gold;--but you will observe he has
no hands."'
On Friday, May 29[698], being to set out for Scotland next morning, I
passed a part of the day with him in more than usual earnestness; as his
health was in a more precarious state than at any time when I had parted
from him. He, however, was quick and lively, and critical as usual. I
mentioned one who was a very learned man. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, he has a
great deal of learning; but it never lies straight. There is never one
idea by the side of another; 'tis all entangled: and then he drives it
so aukwardly upon conversation.'
I stated to him an anxious thought, by which a sincere Christian might
be disturbed, even when conscious of having lived a good life, so far as
is consistent with human infirmity; he might fear that he should
afterwards fall away, and be guilty of such crimes as would render all
his former religion vain. Could there be, upon this aweful subject, such
a thing as balancing of accounts? Suppose a man who has led a good life
for seven years, commits an act of wickedness, and instantly dies; will
his former good life have any effect in his favour? JOHNSON. 'Sir, if a
man has led a good life for seven years, and then is hurried by passion
to do what is wrong, and is suddenly carried off, depend upon it he will
have the reward of his seven years' good life; GOD will not take a catch
of him. Upon this principle Richard Baxter believes that a Suicide may
be saved. "If, (says he) it should be objected that what I maintain may
encourage suicide, I answer, I am not to tell a lie to prevent it."'
BOSWELL. 'But does not the text say, "As the tree falls, so it must
lie[699]?"' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; as the tree falls: but,--(after a
little pause)--that is meant as to the general state of the tree, not
what is the effect of a sudden blast.' In short, he interpreted the
expression as referring to condition, not to position. The common
notion, therefore, seems to be erroneous; and Shenstone's witty remark
on Divines trying to give the tree a jerk upon a death-bed, to make it
lie favourably, is not well founded[700].
I asked him what works of Richard Baxter's I should read. He said, 'Read
any of them; they are all good[701].'
He said, 'Get as much force of mind as you can. Live within your income.
Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let your imports be
more than your exports, and you'll never go far wrong.'
I assured him, that in the extensive and various range of his
acquaintance there never had been any one who had a more sincere respect
and affection for him than I had. He said, 'I believe it, Sir. Were I in
distress, there is no man to whom I should sooner come than to you. I
should like to come and have a cottage in your park, toddle about, live
mostly on milk, and be taken care of by Mrs. Boswell. She and I are good
friends now; are we not?'
Talking of devotion, he said, 'Though it be true that "GOD dwelleth not
in temples made with hands[702]," yet in this state of being, our minds
are more piously affected in places appropriated to divine worship, than
in others. Some people have a particular room in their house, where they
say their prayers; of which I do not disapprove, as it may animate their
devotion.'
He embraced me, and gave me his blessing, as usual when I was leaving
him for any length of time. I walked from his door to-day, with a
fearful apprehension of what might happen before I returned.
'To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM WINDHAM.
Sir, The bringer of this letter is the father of Miss Philips[703], a
singer, who comes to try her voice on the stage at Dublin.
Mr. Philips is one of my old friends; and as I am of opinion that
neither he nor his daughter will do any thing that can disgrace their
benefactors, I take the liberty of entreating you to countenance and
protect them so far as may be suitable to your station[704] and
character; and shall consider myself as obliged by any favourable notice
which they shall have the honour of receiving from you.