[8] SAMUEL JOHNSON was born at Lichfield, in Staffordſhire, on the 18th of September, N. S. 1709; and his initiation into the Chriſtian church was not delayed; for his baptiſm is recorded, in the regiſter of St. Mary's pariſh in that city, to have been performed on the day of his birth: His father is there ſtiled Gentleman, a circumſtance of which an ignorant panegyriſt has praiſed him for not being proud; when the truth is, that the appellation of Gentle⯑man, though now loſt in the indiſcriminate aſſumption of Eſquire, was com⯑monly taken by thoſe who could not boaſt of gentility. His father was Michael Johnſon, a native of Derbyſhire, of obſcure extraction, who ſettled in Lichfield as a bookſeller and ſtationer. His mother was Sarah Ford, deſcended of an ancient race of ſubſtantial yeomanry in Warwickſhire. They were well advanced in years when they married, and never had more than two children, both ſons; Samuel, their firſt born, who lived to be the illuſtrious character whoſe various excellence I am to endeavour to record, and Nathanael, who died in his twenty-fifth year.

Mr. Michael Johnſon was a man of a large and robuſt body, and of a ſtrong and active mind; yet, as in the moſt ſolid rocks veins of unſound ſub⯑ſtance are often diſcovered, there was in him a mixture of that diſeaſe, the nature of which eludes the moſt minute enquiry, though the effects are well known to be a wearineſs of life, an unconcern about thoſe things which agitate the greater part of mankind, and a general ſenſation of gloomy wretchedneſs. From him then his ſon inherited, with ſome other qualities, ‘"a vile melan⯑choly,"’ which in his too ſtrong expreſſion of any diſturbance of the mind, ‘"made him mad all his life, at leaſt not ſober. ⁸"’ Michael was, however, forced by the narrowneſs of his circumſtances to be very diligent in buſineſs, not only in his ſhop, but by occaſionally reſorting to ſeveral towns in the neighbourhood, ſome of which were at a conſiderable diſtance from Lichfield. At that time bookſellers' ſhops in the provincial towns of England were very rare, ſo that there was not one even in Birmingham, in which town old Mr. Johnſon uſed to open a ſhop every market-day. He was a pretty good Latin ſcholar, and a citizen ſo creditable as to be made one of the magiſtrates of Lichfield; and, being a man of good ſenſe, and ſkill in his trade, he acquired a reaſonable ſhare of wealth, of which however he afterwards loſt the greateſt part, by engaging unſucceſsfully in a manufacture of parchment. He was a zealous high-churchman and royaliſt, and retained his attachment to the unfortunate houſe of Stuart, though he reconciled himſelf, by caſuiſtical arguments of expediency and neceſſity, to take the oaths impoſed by the pre⯑vailing power.

[9] There is a circumſtance in his life ſomewhat romantick, but ſo well authenticated, that I ſhall not omit it. A young woman of Leek, in Staffordſhire, while he ſerved his apprenticeſhip there, conceived a violent paſſion for him; and though it met with no favourable return, followed him to Lichfield, where ſhe took lodgings oppoſite to the houſe in which he lived, and indulged her hopeleſs flame. When he was informed that it ſo preyed upon her mind that her life was in danger, he with a generous humanity went to her and offered to marry her, but it was then too late: Her vital power was exhauſted; and ſhe actually exhibited one of the very rare inſtances of dying for love. She was buried in the cathedral of Lichfield; and he, with a tender regard, placed a ſtone over her grave with this inſcription:

Johnſon's mother was a woman of diſtinguiſhed underſtanding. I aſked his old ſchool-fellow Mr. Hector, ſurgeon, of Birmingham, if ſhe was not vain of her ſon. He ſaid, ‘"ſhe had too much good ſenſe to be vain, but ſhe knew her ſon's value."’ Her piety was not inferiour to her underſtand⯑ing; and to her muſt be aſcribed thoſe early impreſſions of religion upon the mind of her ſon▪ from which the world afterwards derived ſo much benefit. He told me, that he remembered diſtinctly having had the firſt notice of Heaven ‘"a place to which good people went,"’ and Hell ‘"a place to which bad people went,"’ communicated to him by her, when a little child in bed with her; and that it might be the better fixed in his memory, ſhe ſent him to repeat it to Thomas Jackſon, their man-ſervant. He not being in the way, this was not done; but there was no occaſion for any artificial aid for its preſervation.

In following ſo very eminent a man from his cradle to his grave, every minute particular, which can throw light on the progreſs of his mind, is inte⯑reſting. That he was remarkable, even in his earlieſt years, may eaſily be ſuppoſed; for to uſe his own words in his Life of Sydenham, ‘"That the ſtrength of his underſtanding, the accuracy of his diſcernment, and ardour of his curioſity, might have been remarked from his infancy, by a diligent▪ obſerver, there is no reaſon to doubt. For, there is no inſtance of any man, [10] whoſe hiſtory has been minutely related, that did not in every part of life diſcover the ſame proportion of intellectual vigour."’

In all ſuch inveſtigations it is certainly unwiſe to pay too much attention to incidents which the credulous relate with eager ſatisfaction, and the more ſcrupulous or witty enquirer conſiders only as topicks of ridicule: Yet there is a traditional ſtory of the infant Hercules of toryiſm, ſo curiouſly charac⯑teriſtick, that I ſhall not withold it. It was communicated to me in a letter from Miſs Mary Adye, of Lichfield.

‘"When Dr. Sacheverel was at Lichfield, Johnſon was not quite three years old. My grandfather Hammond obſerved him at the cathedral perched upon his father's ſhoulders, liſtening, and gaping at the much celebrated preacher. Mr. Hammond aſked Mr. Johnſon how he could poſſibly think of bringing ſuch an infant to church, and in the midſt of ſo great a croud. He anſwered, becauſe it was impoſſible to keep him at home; for, young as he was, he believed he had caught the publick ſpirit and zeal for Sacheverel, and would have ſtaid for ever in the church, ſatisfied with beholding him."’

Nor can I omit a little inſtance of that jealous independence of ſpirit, and impetuoſity of temper, which never forſook him. The fact was acknow⯑ledged to me by himſelf, upon the authority of his mother. One day, when the ſervant who uſed to be ſent to ſchool to conduct him home, had not come in time, he ſet out by himſelf, though he was then ſo near-ſighted, that he was obliged to ſtoop down on his hands and knees to take a view of the kennel before he ventured to ſtep over it. His ſchoolmiſtreſs, afraid that he might miſs his way, or fall into the kennel, or be run over by a cart, followed him at ſome diſtance. He happened to turn about and perceive her. Feel⯑ing her careful attention as an inſult to his manlineſs, he ran back to her in a rage, and beat her, as well as his ſtrength would permit.

Of the ſtrength of his memory, for which he was all his life eminent to a degree almoſt incredible, the following early inſtance was told me in his preſence at Lichfield, in 1776, by his ſtep-daughter, Mrs. Lucy Porter, as related to her by his mother. When he was a child in petticoats, and had learnt to read, Mrs. Johnſon one morning put the common prayer-book into his hands, pointed to the collect for the day, and ſaid, ‘"Sam, you muſt get this by heart."’ She went up ſtairs, leaving him to ſtudy it: But by the time ſhe had reached the ſecond floor, ſhe heard him following her. ‘"What's the matter?"’ ſaid ſhe. ‘"I can ſay it,"’ he replied; and repeated it diſtinctly, though he could not have read it over more than twice.

[11] But there has been another ſtory of his infant precocity generally circulated, and generally believed, the truth of which I am to refute upon his own authority. It is told ⁹, that, when a child of three years old, he chanced to tread upon a duckling, the eleventh of a brood, and killed it; upon which, it is ſaid, he dictated to his mother the following epitaph:

There is ſurely internal evidence that this little compoſition combines in it, what no child of three years old could produce, without an extenſion of its faculties by immediate inſpiration; yet Mrs. Lucy Porter, Dr. Johnſon's ſtep-daughter, poſitively maintained to me, in his preſence, that there could be no doubt of the truth of this anecdote, for ſhe had heard it from his mother. So difficult is it to obtain an authentick relation of facts, and ſuch authority may there be for errour; for he aſſured me, that his father made the verſes, and wiſhed to paſs them for his child's. He added, ‘"my father was a fooliſh old man; that is to ſay, fooliſh in talking of his children ¹."’

Young Johnſon had the misfortune to be much afflicted with the ſcrophula, or king's evil, which disfigured a countenance naturally well formed, and [12] hurt his viſual nerves ſo much, that he did not ſee at all with one of his eyes, though its appearance was little different from that of the other. There is amongſt his prayers, one inſcribed ‘"When my EYE was reſtored to its uſe ²,"’ which aſcertains a defect that many of his friends knew he had, though I never perceived it. I ſuppoſed him to be only near-ſighted; and indeed I muſt obſerve, that in no other reſpect could I diſcern any defect in his viſion; on the contrary, the force of his attention and perceptive quick⯑neſs made him ſee and diſtinguiſh all manner of objects, whether of nature or of art, with a nicety that is rarely to be found. When he and I were travelling in the Highlands of Scotland, and I pointed out to him a moun⯑tain which I obſerved reſembled a cone, he corrected my inaccuracy by ſhewing me, that it was indeed pointed at the top, but that one ſide of it was larger than the other. And the ladies with whom he was acquainted agree, that no man was more nicely and minutely critical in the elegance of female dreſs. When I found that he ſaw the romantick beauties of Iſlam, in Derbyſhire, much better than I did, I told him that he reſembled an able performer upon a bad inſtrument. How falſe and contemp⯑tible then are all the remarks which have been made to the prejudice either of his candour or of his philoſophy, founded upon a ſuppoſition that he was almoſt blind. It has been ſaid, that he contracted this grievous malady from his nurſe. His mother yielding to the ſuperſtitious notion, which, it is wonderful to think, prevailed ſo long in this country, as to the virtue of the regal touch; a notion, which our kings encouraged, and to which a man of ſuch inquiry and ſuch judgement as Carte could give credit▪ carried him to London, where he was actually touched by Queen Anne. Mrs. Johnſon indeed, as Mr. Hector informed me, acted by the advice of the celebrated Sir John Floyer, then a phyſician in Lichfield. Johnſon uſed to talk of this very frankly; and Mrs. Piozzi has preſerved his very pictureſque deſcription of the ſcene, as it remained upon his fancy. Being aſked if he could remember Queen Anne, ‘"He had (he ſaid) a confuſed, but ſomehow a ſort of ſolemn recollection of a lady in diamonds, and a long black hood ³."’ This touch, however, was without any effect. I ventured to ſay to him, in alluſion to the political principles in which he was educated, and of which he ever retained ſome odour, that ‘"his mother had not carried him far enough; ſhe ſhould have taken him to ROME."’

He was firſt taught to read Engliſh by Dame Oliver, a widow, who kept a ſchool for young children in Lichfield. He told me ſhe could read the [13] black letter, and aſked him to borrow for her, from his father, a bible in that character. When he was going to Oxford, ſhe came to take leave of him, brought him, in the ſimplicity of her kindneſs, a preſent of ginger⯑bread, and ſaid he was the beſt ſcholar ſhe had ever had. He delighted in mentioning this early compliment; adding, with a ſmile, that ‘"this was as high a proof of his merit as he could conceive."’ His next inſtructor in Engliſh was a maſter, whom, when he ſpoke of him to me, he fami⯑liarly called Tom Brown, who, ſaid he, ‘"publiſhed a ſpelling-book, and dedicated it to the UNIVERSE;—but, I fear, no copy of it can now be had."’

He began to learn Latin with Mr. Hawkins, uſher, or under-maſter of Lichfield ſchool, ‘"a man (ſaid he) very ſkilful in his little way."’ With him he continued two years, and then roſe to be under the care of Mr. Hunter the head-maſter, who, according to his account, ‘"was very ſevere, and wrong-headedly ſevere. He uſed (ſaid he) to beat us unmercifully; and he did not diſtinguiſh between ignorance and negligence; for he would beat a boy equally for not knowing a thing, as for neglecting to know it. He would aſk a boy a queſtion; and if he did not anſwer it, he would beat him, without conſidering whether he had an opportunity of knowing how to anſwer it. For inſtance, he would call up a boy and aſk him Latin for a candleſtick, which the boy could not expect to be aſked. Now, Sir, if a boy could anſwer every queſtion, there would be no need of a maſter to teach him."’

It is, however, but juſtice to the memory of Mr. Hunter to mention, that though he might err in being too ſevere▪ the ſchool of Lichfield was very reſpectable in his time. The late Dr. Taylor, Prebendary of Weſtminſter, who was educated under him, told me, that he was an excellent maſter, and that his uſhers were moſt of them men of eminence; that Holbrook, one of the moſt ingenious men, beſt ſcholars, and beſt preachers of hiſ age, was uſher during the greateſt part of the time that Johnſon was at ſchool. Then came Hague, of whom as much might be ſaid, with the addition that he was an elegant poet. Hague was ſucceeded by Green, afterwards Biſhop of Lincoln, whoſe character in the learned world is well known. In the ſame form with Johnſon was Congreve, who afterwards became chaplain to Arch⯑biſhop Bou [...]ter, and by that connection obtained good preferment in Ireland. He was a younger ſon of the ancient family of Congreve, in Staſſordſhire, of which the poet was a branch. His brother ſold the eſtate. There was alſo [14] Lowe, afterwards Canon of Windſor; who was tutor to the preſent Marquis Townſhend, and his brother Charles.

Indeed Johnſon was very ſenſible how much he owed to Mr. Hunter. Mr. Langton one day aſked him how he had acquired ſo accurate a know⯑ledge of Latin, in which, I believe, he was exceeded by no man of his time▪ he ſaid, ‘"My maſter whipt me very well. Without that, Sir, I ſhould have done nothing."’ He told Mr. Langton, that while Hunter was flogging his boys unmercifully, he uſed to ſay, ‘"And this I do to ſave you from the gallows."’ Johnſon, upon all occaſions, expreſſed his approbation of enforcing inſtruction by means of the rod. ‘"I would rather (ſaid he) have the rod to be the general terrour to all, to make them learn, than tell a child, if you do thus, or thus, you will be more eſteemed than your brothers or ſiſters. The rod produces an effect which terminates in itſelf. A child is afraid of being whipped, and gets his taſk, and there's an end on't; whereas, by exciting emulation and compariſons of ſuperiority, you lay the foundation of laſting miſchief; you make brothers and ſiſters hate each other."’

Mr. Langton told me, that when Johnſon ſaw ſome young ladies in Lin⯑colnſhire who were remarkably well behaved, owing to their mother's ſtrict diſcipline and ſevere correction, he exclaimed, in one of Shakſpeare's lines a little varied, ‘"Rod, I will honour thee for this thy duty."’

That ſuperiority over his fellows, which he maintained with ſo much dig⯑nity in his march through life, was not aſſumed from vanity and oſtentation, but was the natural and conſtant effect of thoſe extraordinary powers of mind, of which he could not but be conſcious by compariſon; the intellectual difference, which in other caſes of compariſon of characters is often a matter of undecided conteſt, being as clear in his caſe as the ſuperiority of ſtature in ſome men above others. Johnſon did not ſtrut or ſtand on tip-toe: He only did not ſtoop. From his earlieſt years, his ſuperiority was perceived and acknowledged. He was from the beginning [...], a king of men. His ſchoolfellow, Mr. Hector, has obligingly furniſhed me with many par⯑ticulars of his boyiſh days; and aſſured me, that he never knew him corrected at ſchool, but for talking and diverting other boys from their buſineſs. He ſeemed to learn by intuition; for though indolence and pro⯑craſtination were inherent in his conſtitution, whenever he made an exertion he did more than any one elſe. In ſhort, he is a memorable inſtance of what has been often obſerved, that the boy is the man in miniature; and that the diſtinguiſhing characteriſticks of each individual are the ſame, through the whole courſe of life. His favourites uſed to receive very liberal aſſiſtance [15] from him; and ſuch was the ſubmiſſion and deference with which he was treated, ſuch the deſire to obtain his regard, that three of the boys, of whom Mr. Hector was ſometimes one, uſed to come in the morning as his humble attendants, and carry him to ſchool. One in the middle ſtooped, while he ſat upon his back, and one on each ſide ſupported him; and thus he was borne triumphant. Such a proof of the early predominance of intellectual vigour is very remarkable, and does honour to human nature. Talking to me once himſelf of his being much diſtinguiſhed at ſchool, he told me, ‘"they never thought to raiſe me by comparing me to any one; they never ſaid, Johnſon is as good a ſcholar as ſuch a one; but ſuch a one is as good a ſcholar as Johnſon; and this was ſaid but of one, but of Lowe; and I do not think he was as good a ſcholar."’

He diſcovered a great ambition to excel, which rouſed him to counteract his indolence. He was uncommonly inquiſitive; and his memory was ſo tenacious, that he never forgot any thing that he either heard or read. Mr. Hector remembers having recited to him eighteen verſes, which, after a little pauſe, he repeated verbatim, varying only one epithet, by which he improved the line.

He never joined with the other boys in their ordinary diverſions; his only amuſement was in winter, when he took a pleaſure in being drawn upon the ice by a boy barefooted, who pulled him along by a garter fixed round him; no very eaſy operation, as his ſize was remarkably large. His defective ſight, indeed, prevented him from enjoying the common ſports; and he once pleaſantly remarked to me, how wonderfully well he had contrived to be idle without them. Lord Cheſterfield, however, has juſtly obſerved in one of his letters, when earneſtly cautioning a friend againſt the pernicious effects of idleneſs, that active ſports are not to be reckoned idleneſs in young people; and that the liſtleſs torpor of doing nothing, alone deſerves that name. Of this diſmal inertneſs of diſpoſition, Johnſon had all his life too great a ſhare. Mr. Hector relates, that ‘"he could not oblige him more than by ſauntering away the hours of vacation in the fields, during which he was more engaged in talking to himſelf than to his companion."’

Dr. Percy, the Biſhop of Dromore, who was long intimately acquainted with him, and has preſerved a few anecdotes concerning him, regretting that he was not a more diligent collector, informs me, that ‘"when a boy he was immoderately fond of reading romances of chivalry, and he retained his fond⯑neſs for them through life; ſo that (adds his Lordſhip) ſpending part of a ſummer at my parſonage-houſe in the country, he choſe for his regular read⯑ing [14] [...] [15] [...] [16] the old Spaniſh romance of FELIXM [...]TE OF HIRGANIA▪ in folio, which he read quite through. Yet I have heard him attribute to theſe extravagant fictions▪ that unſettled turn of mind which prevented his ever fixing in any profeſſion."’

After having reſided for ſome time at the houſe of his uncle, Gor⯑nelins Ford, Johnſon was, at the age of fifteen, removed to the ſchool of Stourbridge, in Worceſterſhire, of which Mr. Wentworth was then maſter. This ſtep was taken by the advice of his couſin the Reverend Mr. Ford; a man in whom both talents and good diſpoſitions were diſgraced by licen⯑tiouſneſs ⁴, but who was a very able judge of what was right. At this ſchool he did not receive ſo much benefit [...]s was expected. It has been ſaid, that he acted in the capacity of an aſſiſtant to Mr. Wentworth, in teaching the younger boys. ‘"Mr. Wentworth (he told me) was a very able man, but an idle man, and to me very ſevere; but I cannot blame him much. I was then a big boy; he ſaw I did not reverence him; and that he ſhould get no honour by me. I had brought enough with me, to carry me through; and all I ſhould get at his ſchool would be aſcribed to my own labour, or to my former maſter. Yet he taught me a great deal."’

He thus diſcriminated, to Dr. Percy, Biſhop of Dromore, his progreſs at his two grammar-ſchools. ‘"At one, I learnt much in the ſchool, but little from the maſter; in the other, I learnt much from the maſter, but little in the ſchool."’

The Biſhop alſo informs me, that ‘"Dr. Johnſon's father, before he was received at Stourbridge, applied to have him admitted as a ſcholar and aſſiſtant to the Reverend Samuel Lea, M. A. head maſter of Newport ſchool, in Shropſhire, (a very diligent good teacher, at that time in high reputation, under whom Mr. Hollis is ſaid, in the Memoirs of his Life, to have been alſo educated ⁵).’ This application to Mr. Lea was not ſucceſsful; but Johnſon had afterwards the gratification to hear that the old gentleman, who lived to a very advanced age, mentioned it as one of the moſt memorable events of his life, that ‘"he was very near having that great man for his ſcholar."’

He remained at Stourbridge little more than a year, and then returned home▪ where he may be ſaid to have loitered, for two years, in a ſtate very unworthy his uncommon abilities. He had already given ſeveral proofs of his poetical genius, both in his ſchool-exerciſes and in other occaſional [17] compoſitions. Of theſe I have obtained a conſiderable collection, by the favour of Mr. Wentworth, ſon of one of his maſters, and of Mr. Hector, his ſchoolfellow and friend; from which I ſelect the following ſpecimens:

The two years which he ſpent at home, after his return from Stourbridge, he paſſed in what he thought idleneſs, and was ſcolded by his father for his want of ſteady application. He had no ſettled plan of life, nor looked forward at all, but merely lived from day to day. Yet he read a great deal in a deſultory manner, without any ſcheme of ſtudy, as chance threw books in his way, and inclination directed him through them. He uſed to mention one curious inſtance of his caſual reading, when but a boy. Having imagined that his brother had hid ſome apples behind a large folio upon an upper ſhelf in his father's ſhop, he climbed up to ſearch for them. There were no apples; but the large folio proved to be Petrarch, whom he had ſeen mentioned, in ſome preface, as one of the reſtorers of learning. His curioſity having been thus excited, he ſat down with avidity, and read a great part of the book. What he read during theſe two years, he told me, was not works of mere amuſement, ‘"not voyages and travels, but all literature, Sir, all ancient writers, all manly; though but little Greek, only ſome of Anacreon and Heſiod; but in this irregular manner (added he) I had looked into a great many books, which were not commonly known at the Univer⯑ſities, [24] where they ſeldom read any books but what are put into their hands by their tutors; ſo that when I came to Oxford, Dr. Adams, maſter of Pembroke College, told me, I was the beſt qualified for the Univerſity that he had ever known come there."’

In eſtimating the progreſs of his mind during theſe two years, as well as in future periods of his life, we muſt not regard his own haſty confeſſion of idleneſs; for we ſee, when he explains himſelf, that he was acquiring various ſtores; and, indeed, he himſelf concluded the account, with ſaying, ‘"I would not have you think I was doing nothing then."’ He might, perhaps, have ſtudied more aſſiduouſly; but it may be doubted, whether ſuch a mind as his was not more enriched by roaming at large in the fields of literature, than if it had been confined to any ſingle ſpot. The analogy between body and mind is very general, and the parallel will hold as to their food, as well as any other particular. The fleſh of animals who feed excurſively, is allowed to have a higher flavour than that of thoſe who are cooped up. May there not be the ſame difference between men who read as their taſte prompts, and men who are confined in cells and colleges to ſtated taſks?

That a man in Mr. Michael Johnſon's circumſtances ſhould think of ſend⯑ing his ſon to the expenſive Univerſity of Oxford, at his own charge, ſeems very improbable. The ſubject was too delicate to queſtion Johnſon upon: But I have been aſſured by Dr. Taylor, that the ſcheme never would have taken place, had not a gentleman of Shropſhire, one of his ſchoolfellows, ſpontaneouſly undertaken to ſupport him at Oxford, in the character of his companion; though, in fact, he never received any aſſiſtance whatever from that gentleman.

He, however, went to Oxford, and was entered a Commoner of Pembroke College, on the 31ſt of October, 1728, being then in his nineteenth year.

The Reverend Dr. Adams, who afterwards preſided over Pembroke College with univerſal eſteem, told me he was preſent, and gave me ſome account of what paſſed on the night of Johnſon's arrival at Oxford. On that evening, his father, who had anxiouſly accompanied him, found means to have him introduced to Mr. Jorden, who was to be his tutor. His being put under any tutor, reminds us of what Wood ſays of Robert Burton, authour of the ‘"Anatomy of Melancholy,"’ when elected ſtudent of Chriſt Church; ‘"for form's ſake, though he wanted not a tutor, he was put under the tuition of Dr. John Bancroft, afterwards Biſhop of Oxon ⁹."’

[25] His father ſeemed very full of the merits of his ſon, and told the company he was a good ſcholar, and a poet, and wrote Latin verſes. His figure and manner appeared ſtrange to them; but he behaved modeſtly, and sat ſilent, till upon ſomething which occurred in the courſe of converſation, he ſuddenly ſtruck in and quoted Macrobius; and thus he gave the firſt impreſſion of that more extenſive reading in which he had indulged himſelf.

His tutor, Mr. Jorden, fellow of Pembroke, was not, it ſeems, a man of ſuch abilities as we ſhould conceive requiſite for the inſtructor of Samuel Johnſon, who gave me the following account of him. ‘"He was a very worthy man, but a heavy man, and I did not profit much by his inſtructions. Indeed, I did not attend him much. The firſt day after I came to college, I waited upon him, and then ſtaid away four. On the ſixth, Mr. Jorden aſked me why I had not attended. I anſwered, I had been ſliding in Chriſt-Church meadow. And this I ſaid with as much non-chalance as I am now¹ talking to you. I had no notion that I was wrong or irreverent to my tutor."’ BOSWELL. ‘"That, Sir, was great fortitude of mind."’ JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir▪ ſtark inſenſibility ²."’

The fifth of November was at that time kept with great ſolemnity at Pembroke College, and exerciſes upon the ſubject of the day were required. Johnſon neglected to perform his, which is much to be regretted; for his vivacity of imagination, and force of language, would probably have pro⯑duced ſomething ſublime upon the gunpowder plot. To apologiſe for his neglect, he gave in a ſhort copy of verſes, entitled Somnium, containing a common thought; ‘"that the Muſe had come to him in his ſleep, and whiſ⯑pered that it did not become him to write on ſuch ſubjects as politicks; he ſhould confine himſelf to humbler themes:"’ but the verſification was truly Virgilian.

He had a love and reſpect for Jorden, not for his literature, but for his worth. ‘"Whenever (ſaid he) a young man becomes Jorden's pupil, he becomes his ſon."’

Having given ſuch a ſpecimen of his poetical powers, he was aſked by Mr. Jorden to tranſlate Pope's Meſſiah into Latin verſe, as a Chriſtmas exer⯑ciſe. He performed it with uncommon rapidity, and in ſo maſterly a manner, [26] that he obtained great applauſe from it, which ever after kept him high in the eſtimation of his College, and, indeed, of all the Univerſity.

It is ſaid, that Mr. Pope expreſſed himſelf concerning it in terms of ſtrong approbation. Dr. Taylor told me, that it was firſt printed for old Mr. Johnſon, without the knowledge of his ſon, who was very angry when he heard of it. A miſcellany of Poems, collected by a perſon of the name of Huſbands, was publiſhed at Oxford in 1731. In that miſcellany Johnſon's Tranſlation of the Meſſiah appeared, with this modeſt motto from Scaliger's Poeticks, ‘"Ex alieno ingenio Poeta, ex ſuo tantum verſificator."’

I am not ignorant that critical objections have been made to this and other ſpecimens of Johnſon's Latin Poetry. I acknowledge myſelf not competent to decide on a queſtion of ſuch extreme nicety. But I am ſatisfied with the juſt and diſcriminative eulogy pronounced upon it by my friend Mr. Courtenay.

The ‘"morbid melancholy"’ which was lurking in his conſtitution, and to which we may aſcribe thoſe particularities, and that averſion to regular life, which, at a very early period, marked his character, gathered ſuch ſtrength in his twentieth year, as to afflict him in a dreadful manner. While he was at Lichfield, in the College vacation of the year 1729, he felt him⯑ſelf overwhelmed with an horrible hypochondria, with perpetual irritation, fretfulneſs, and impatience; and with a dejection, gloom, and deſpair, which made exiſtence miſery. From this diſmal malady he never afterwards was perfectly relieved; and all his labours, and all his enjoyments, were but tem⯑porary interruptions of its baleful influence. How wonderful, how unſearch⯑able are the ways of GOD! Johnſon, who was bleſt with all the powers of genius and underſtanding in a degree far above the ordinary ſtate of human nature, was at the ſame time viſited with a diſorder ſo afflictive, that they who know it by dire experience, will not envy his exalted endowments. That it was, in ſome degree, occaſioned by a defect in his nervous ſyſtem, that inex⯑plicable part of our frame, appears highly probable. He told Mr. Paradiſe that he was ſometimes ſo languid and inefficient, that he could not diſtin⯑guiſh the hour upon the town-clock.

Johnſon, upon the firſt violent attack of this diſorder, ſtrove to overcome it by forcible exertions. He frequently walked to Birmingham and back again, and tried many other expedients, but all in vain. His expreſſion concerning it to me was, ‘"I did not then know how to manage it."’ His diſtreſs became ſo intolerable, that he applied to Dr. Swinfen, phyſician in Lichfield, his godfather, and put into his hands a ſtate of his caſe, written in Latin. Dr. Swinfen was ſo much ſtruck with the extraordinary acuteneſs, reſearch, and eloquence of this paper, that in his zeal for his godſon he ſhewed it to ſeveral people. His daughter, Mrs. Deſmoulins, who was many years humanely ſupported in Dr. Johnſon's houſe in London, told me, that upon his diſcovering that Dr. Swinfen had communicated his caſe, he was ſo much offended, that he was never afterwards fully reconciled to him. He indeed had good reaſon to be offended; for though Dr. Swinfen's motive was good, he inconſiderately betrayed a matter deeply intereſting and of great delicacy, which had been entruſted to him in confidence; and expoſed a [28] complaint of his young friend and patient, which, in the ſuperficial opinion of the generality of mankind, is attended with contempt and diſgrace.

But let not little men triumph upon knowing that Johnſon was an HYPOCHONDRIACK, was ſubject to what the learned, philoſophical, and pious Dr. Cheyne has ſo well treated, under the title of ‘"The Engliſh Malady."’ Though he ſuffered ſev [...]ely from it, he was not therefore degraded. The powers of his great mind might be troubled, and their full exerciſe ſuſpended at times, but the mind itſelf was ever entire. As a proof of this, it is only neceſſary to conſider, that, when he was at the very worſt, he compoſed that ſtate of his own caſe, which ſhewed an uncommon vigour, not only of fancy and taſte, but of judgement. I am aware that he himſelf was too ready to call ſuch a complaint by the name of madneſs; in conformity with which notion, he has traced its gradations, with exquiſite nicety, in one of the chapters of his RASSELAS. But there is ſurely a clear diſtinction between a diſorder which affects only the imagination and ſpirits, while the judge⯑ment is ſound, and a diſorder by which the judgement itſelf is impaired. This diſtinction was made to me by the late Profeſſor Gaubius of Leyden, phyſician to the Prince of Orange, in a converſation which I had with him ſeveral years ago, and he expanded it thus: ‘"If (ſaid he) a man tells me that he is grievouſly diſturbed, for that he imagines he ſees a ruffian coming againſt him with a drawn ſword, though at the ſame time he is conſcious it is a deluſion, I pronounce him to have a diſordered imagination; but if a man tells me that he ſees this, and in conſternation calls to me to look at it, I pronounce him to be mad."’

It is a common effect of low ſpirits or melancholy, to make thoſe who are afflicted with it imagine that they are actually ſuffering thoſe evils which happen to be mo [...] [...]rongly preſented to their minds. Some have fancied themſelves to be deprived of the uſe of their limbs, ſome to labour under acute diſeaſes, others to be in extreme poverty, when, in truth, there was not the leaſt reality in any of the ſuppoſitions; ſo that when the vapours were diſpelled, they were convinced of the deluſion. To Johnſon, whoſe ſupreme enjoyment was the exerciſe of his reaſon, the diſturbance or obſcuration of that faculty was the evil moſt to be dreaded. Inſanity, therefore, was the object of his moſt diſmal apprehenſion; and he fancied himſelf ſeized by it, or approaching to it, at the very time when he was giving proofs of a more than ordinary ſoundneſs and vigour of judgement. That his own diſeaſed imagination ſhould have ſo far deceived him, is ſtrange; but it is ſtranger ſtill that ſome of his friends ſhould have given credit to his groundleſs [29] opinion, when they had ſuch undoubted proofs that it was totally fallacious; though it is by no means ſurpriſing that thoſe who wiſh to depreciate him, ſhould, ſince his death, have laid hold of this circumſtance, and inſiſted upon it with very unfair aggravation.

Amidſt the oppreſſion and diſtraction of a diſeaſe which very few have felt in its full extent, but many have experienced in a ſlighter degree, Johnſon, in his writings, and in his converſation, never failed to diſplay all the varieties of intellectual excellence. In his march through this world to a better, his mind ſtill appeared grand and brilliant, and impreſſed all around him with the truth of Virgil's noble ſentiment—‘"Igneus eſt ollis vig [...]et caeleſtis origo."’

The hiſtory of his mind as to religion is an important article. I have mentioned the early impreſſions made upon his tender imagination by his mother, who continued her pious care with aſſiduity, but, in his opinion, not with judgement. ‘"Sunday (ſaid he) was a heavy day to me when I was a boy. My mother confined me on that day, and made me read 'The Whole Duty of Man,' from a great part of which I could derive no inſtruc⯑tion. When, for inſtance, I had read the chapter on theft, which from my infancy I had been taught was wrong, I was no more convinced that theft was wrong than before; ſo there was no acceſſion of knowledge. A boy ſhould be introduced to ſuch books, by having his attention directed to the arrangement, to the ſtile, and other excellencies of compoſition; that the mind being thus engaged by an amuſing variety of objects, may not grow weary."’

He communicated to me the following particulars upon the ſubject of his religious progreſs. ‘"I fell into an inattention to religion, or an indifference about it, in my ninth year. The church at Lichfield, in which we had a ſeat, wanted reparation, ſo I was to go and find a ſeat in other churches; and having bad eyes, and being aukward about this, I to go and read in the fields on Sunday. This habit continued till my fourteenth year; and ſtill I find a great reluctance to go to church. I then became a ſort of lax talker againſt religion, for I did not much think againſt it; and this laſted till I went to Oxford, where it would not be ſuffered. When at Oxford, I took up 'Law's Serious Call to the Unconverted,' expecting to find it a dull book, (as ſuch books generally are,) and perhaps to laugh at it. But I found Law quite an overmatch for me; and this was the firſt occaſion of my thinking in earneſt of religion, after I became capable of rational inquiry ⁴."’ From this time [30] forward, religion was the predominant object of his thoughts; though, with the juſt ſentiments of a conſcientious chriſtian, he lamented that his practice of its duties fell far ſhort of what it ought to be.

This inſtance of a mind ſuch as that of Johnſon being firſt diſpoſed, by an unexpected incident, to think with anxiety of the momentous concerns of eternity, and of ‘"what he ſhould do to be ſaved,"’ may for ever be produced in oppoſition to the ſuperficial and ſometimes profane contempt that has been thrown upon thoſe occaſional impreſſions which it is certain many chriſtians have experienced; though it muſt be acknowledged that weak minds, from an erroneous ſuppoſition that no man is in a ſtate of grace who has not felt a particular converſion, have, in ſome caſes, brought a degree of ridicule upon them; a ridicule, of which it is inconſiderate or unfair to make a general application.

How ſeriouſly Johnſon was impreſſed with a ſenſe of religion, even in the vigour of his youth, appears from the following paſſage in his minutes kept by way of diary: ‘"Sept. 7, 1736. I have this day entered upon my 28th year. Mayeſt thou, O GOD, enable me, for JESUS CHRIST'S ſake, to ſpend this in ſuch a manner, that I may receive comfort from it at the hour of death, and in the day of judgement! Amen."’

[31] The particular courſe of his reading while at Oxford, and during the time of vacation which he paſſed at home, cannot be traced. Enough has been ſaid of his irregular mode of ſtudy. He told me, that from his earlieſt years he loved to read poetry, but hardly ever read any poem to an end; that he read Shakſpeare at a period ſo early, that the ſpeech of the Ghoſt in Hamlet terrified him when he was alone; that Horace's Odes were the com⯑poſitions in which he took moſt delight, and it was long before he liked his Epiſtles and Satires. He told me what he read ſolidly at Oxford was Greek; not the Grecian hiſtorians, but Homer and Euripides, and now and then a little Epigram; that the ſtudy of which he was moſt fond was Metaphyſicks, but he had not read much, even in that way. I always thought that he did himſelf injuſtice in his account of what he had read, and that he muſt have been ſpeaking with reference to the vaſt portion of ſtudy which is poſſible, and to which a few ſcholars in the whole hiſtory of literature have attained; for when I once aſked him whether a perſon whoſe name I have now for⯑gotten, ſtudied hard, he anſwered ‘"No, Sir. I do not believe he ſtudied hard. I never knew a man who ſtudied hard. I conclude, indeed, from the effects, that ſome men have ſtudied hard, as Bentley and Clarke."’ Trying him by that criterion upon which he formed his judgement of others, we may be abſolutely certain, both from his writings and his converſation, that his read⯑ing was very extenſive. Dr. Adam Smith, than whom few are better judges on this ſubject, once obſerved to me that ‘"Johnſon knew more books than any man alive."’ He had a peculiar facility in ſeizing at once what was valuable in any book, without ſubmitting to the labour of peruſing it from beginning to end. He had, from the irritability of his conſtitution, at all times, an impatience and hurry when he either read or wrote. A certain apprehenſion, ariſing from novelty, made him write his firſt exerciſe at College twice over; but he never took that trouble with any other compo⯑ſition; and we ſhall ſee that his moſt excellent works were ſtruck off at a heat, with rapid exertion.

Yet he appears, from his early notes or memorandums, in my poſſeſſion, to have at various times attempted, or at leaſt planned, a methodical courſe of ſtudy, according to computation, of which he was all his life fond, as it fixed his attention ſteadily upon ſomething without, and prevented his mind from preying upon itſelf. Thus I find in his hand-writing the number of lines in each of two of Euripides's Tragedies, of the Georgicks of Virgil, of the firſt ſix books of the Aeneid, of Horace's Art of Poetry, of three of the books of Ovid's Metamorphoſis, of ſome parts of Theocritus, and of the tenth [32] Satire of Juvenal; and a table, ſhewing at the rate of various numbers day, (I ſuppoſe verſes to be read) what would be, in each caſe, the tota amount in a week, month, and year.

No man had a more ardent love of literature, or a higher reſpect for it than Johnſon. His apartment in Pembroke College was that upon the ſecond floor, over the gateway. The enthuſiaſts of learning will ever contemplate it with veneration. One day, while he was ſitting in it quite alone, Dr. Panting then maſter of the College, whom he called ‘"a fine Jacobite fellow,"’ over⯑heard him uttering this ſoliloquy in his ſtrong emphatick voice: ‘"Well, I have a mind to ſee what is done in other places of learning. I'll go and viſit the Univerſities abroad. I'll go to France and Italy. I'll go to Padua.—And I'll mind my buſineſs. For an Athenian blockhead is the worſt of all blockheads ⁵."’

Dr. Adams told me, that Johnſon, while he was at Pembroke College, ‘"was careſſed and loved by all about him, was a gay and frolickſome fellow, and paſſed there the happieſt part of his life."’ But this is a ſtriking proof of the fallacy of appearances, and how little any of us know of the real internal ſtate even of thoſe whom we ſee moſt frequently; for the truth is, that he was then depreſſed by poverty, and irritated by diſeaſe. When I mentioned to him this account as given me by Dr. Adams, he ſaid, ‘"Ah, Sir, I was mad and violent. It was bitterneſs which they miſtook for frolick. I was miſerably poor, and I thought to fight my way by my literature and my wit; ſo I diſregarded all power and all authority."’

The Biſhop of Dromore obſerves in a letter to me, ‘"The pleaſure he took in vexing the tutors and fellows has been often mentioned. But I have heard him ſay, what ought to be recorded to the honour of the preſent vene⯑rable maſter of that College, the Reverend William Adams, D. D. who was then very young, and one of the junior fellows; that the mild but judicious expoſtulations of this worthy man, whoſe virtue awed him, and whoſe learn⯑ing he revered, made him really aſhamed of himſelf, 'though I fear (ſaid he) I was too proud to own it.'’

‘"I have heard from ſome of his cotemporaries that he was generally ſeen lounging at the College gate, with a circle of young ſtudents round him, whom he was entertaining with wit, and keeping from their ſtudies, if not [33] ſpiriting them up to rebellion againſt the College diſcipline, which in his maturer years he ſo much extolled."’

He very early began to attempt keeping notes or memorandums, by way of a diary of his life. I find, in a parcel of looſe leaves, the following ſpirited reſolution to contend againſt his natural indolence: ‘"Oct. 1729. Deſidiae valedixi; ſyrenis iſtius cantibus ſurdam poſthac aurem obverſurus.—I bid fare⯑well to Sloth, being reſolved henceforth not to liſten to her ſyren ſtrains."’ I have alſo in my poſſeſſion a few leaves of another Libellus, or little book, entitled ANNALES, in which ſome of the early particulars of his hiſtory are regiſtered in Latin.

I do not find that he formed any cloſe intimacies with his fellow-collegians. But Dr. Adams told me, that he contracted a love and regard for Pem⯑broke College, which he retained to the laſt. A ſhort time before his death he ſent to that College a preſent of all his works, to be depoſited in their library, and he had thoughts of leaving to it his houſe at Lichfield; but his friends who were about him very properly diſſuaded him from it, and he be⯑queathed it to ſome poor relations. He took a pleaſure in boaſting of the many eminent men who had been educated at Pembroke. In this liſt are found the names of Spenſer, Mr. Hawkins the Poetry Profeſſor, Mr. Shenſtone, Sir William Blackſtone, and others ⁶, not forgetting the celebrated popular preacher, Mr. George Whitefield, of whom, though Dr. Johnſon did not think very highly, it muſt be acknowledged that his eloquence was powerful, his views pious and charitable, his aſſiduity almoſt incredible; and, that ſince his death, the integrity of his character has been fully vindicated. Being himſelf a poet, Johnſon was peculiarly happy in mentioning how many of the ſons of Pembroke were poets; adding, with a ſmile of ſportive triumph, ‘"Sir, we are a neſt of ſinging birds."’

He was not, however, blind to what he thought the defects of his own College; and I have, from the information of Dr. Taylor, a very ſtrong inſtance of that rigid honeſty which he ever inflexibly preſerved. Taylor had obtained his father's conſent to be entered of Pembroke, that he might be with his ſchoolfellow Johnſon, with whom, though ſome years older than himſelf, he was very intimate. This would have been a great comfort to Johnſon. But he fairly told Taylor that he could not, in conſcience, ſuffer him to enter where he knew he could not have an able tutor. He then made inquiry all round the Univerſity, and having found that Mr. Bateman, of [34] Chriſt-Church, was the tutor of higheſt reputation, Taylor was entered of that College. Mr. Bateman's lectures were ſo excellent, that Johnſon uſed to come and get-them at ſecond-hand from Taylor, till his poverty being ſo extreme, that his ſhoes were worn out, and his feet appeared through them, he ſaw that this humiliating circumſtance was perceived by the Chriſt-church⯑men, and he came no more. He was too proud to accept of money, and ſomebody having ſet a pair of new ſhoes at his door, he threw them away with indignation. How muſt we feel when we read ſuch an anecdote of Samuel Johnſon!

His ſpirited refuſal of an eleemoſynary ſupply of ſhoes, aroſe, no doubt, from a proper pride. But, conſidering his aſcetick diſpoſition at times, as acknowledged by himſelf in his Meditations, and the exaggeration with which ſome have treated the peculiarities of his character, I ſhould not wonder to hear it aſcribed to a principle of ſuperſtitious mortification; as we are told by Turſellinus, in his Life of St. Ignatius Loyola, that this intrepid founder of the order of Jeſuits, when he arrived at Goa, after having made a ſevere pilgrimage through the eaſtern deſerts, perſiſted in wearing his miſerable ſhattered ſhoes, and when new ones were offered him, rejected them as an unſuitable indulgence.

The res anguſta domi prevented him from having the advantage of a com⯑plete academical education. The friend to whom he had truſted for ſupport had deceived him. His debts in College, though not great, were increaſing; and his ſcanty remittances from Lichfield, which had all along been made with great difficulty, could be ſupplied no longer, his father having fallen into a ſtate of inſolvency. Compelled, therefore, by irreſiſtible neceſſity, he left the College in autumn, 1731, without a degree, having been a member of it little more than three years.

Dr. Adams, the worthy and reſpectable maſter of Pembroke College, has generally had the reputation of being Johnſon's tutor. The fact, however, is, that in 1731 Mr. Jorden quitted the College, and his pupils were tranſ⯑ferred to Dr. Adams; ſo that had Johnſon returned, Dr. Adams would have been his tutor. It is to be wiſhed, that this connection had taken place. His equal temper, mild diſpoſition, and politeneſs of manners, might have inſen⯑ſibly ſoftened the harſhneſs of Johnſon, and infuſed into him thoſe more delicate charities, that petite morale, in which, it muſt be confeſſed, our great moraliſt was more deficient than his beſt friends could fully juſtify. Dr. Adams paid Johnſon this high compliment. He ſaid to me at Oxford, in 1776, ‘"I was his nominal tutor, but he was above my mark."’ When I [35] repeated it to Johnſon, his eyes flaſhed with grateful ſatisfaction, and he exclaimed, ‘"That was liberal and noble."’

And now (I had almoſt ſaid poor) Samuel Johnſon returned to his native city, deſtitute, and not knowing how he ſhould gain even a decent livelihood. His father's misfortunes in trade rendered him unable to ſupport his ſon; and for ſome time there appeared no means by which he could maintain himſelf. In the December of this year his father died.

The ſtate of poverty in which he died, appears from a note in one of Johnſon's little diaries of the following year, which ſtrongly diſplays his ſpirit and virtuous dignity of mind. ‘"1732, Julii 15. Undecim aureos depoſui, quo die quicquid ante matris funus (quod ſerum ſit precor) de paternis bonis ſperari licet, viginti ſcilicet libras accepi. Uſque adeo mihi fortuna fingenda eſt. Interea, ne paupertate vires animi langueſcant, nec in flagitia egeſtas abigat, cavendum.—I layed by eleven guineas on this day, when I received twenty pounds, being all that I have reaſon to hope for out of my father's effects, previous to the death of my mother; an event which I pray GOD may be very remote. I now, therefore, ſee that I muſt make my own fortune. Meanwhile, let me take care that the powers of my mind may not be debilitated by poverty, and that indigence do not force me into any criminal act."’

Johnſon was ſo far fortunate, that the reſpectable character of his parents, and his own merit, had, from his earlieſt years, ſecured him a kind reception in the beſt families at Lichfield. Among theſe I can mention Mr. Howard, Dr. Swinfen, Mr. Simpſon, Mr. Levett, Captain Garrick, father of the great ornament of the Britiſh ſtage; but above all, Mr. Gilbert Walmſley ⁷, Regiſter of the Prerogative Court of Lichfield, whoſe character, long after his deceaſe, Dr. Johnſon has, in his life of Edmund Smith, thus drawn in the glowing colours of gratitude:

In theſe families he paſſed much time in his early years. In moſt of them, he was in the company of ladies, particularly at Mr. Walmſley's, whoſe wife and ſiſters-in-law, of the name of Aſton, and daughters of a baronet, were remarkable for good breeding; ſo that the notion which has been induſtriouſly circulated and believed, that he never was in good company till late in life, and, conſequently, had been confirmed in coarſe and ferocious manners by long habits, is wholly without foundation. Some of the ladies have aſſured me, they recollected him well when a young man, as diſtinguiſhed for his complaiſance.

And that this politeneſs was not merely occaſional and temporary, or con⯑fined to the circles of Lichfield, is aſcertained by the teſtimony of a lady, who, in a paper with which I have been favoured by a daughter of his intimate friend and phyſician, Dr. Lawrence, thus deſcribes Dr. Johnſon ſome years afterwards:

In the ſorlorn ſtate of his circumſtances he accepted of an offer to be employed as uſher in the ſchool of Market-Boſworth, in Leiceſterſhire, to which it appears, from one of his little fragments of a diary, that he went on foot, on the 16th of July,—‘"Julii 16. Boſvortiam pedes petii."’ But it is not true, as has been erroneouſly related, that he was aſſiſtant to the famous Anthony Blackwall, whoſe merit has been honoured by the teſtimony of Biſhop Hurd, who was his ſcholar; for Mr. Blackwall died on the 8th of April, 1730 ⁹, more than a year before Johnſon left the Univerſity.

This employment was very irkſome to him in every reſpect, and he com⯑plained grievouſly of it in his letters to his friend Mr. Hector, who was now ſettled as a ſurgeon at Birmingham. The letters are loſt; but Mr. Hector recollects his writing ‘"that the poet had deſcribed the dull ſameneſs of his exiſtence in theſe words, 'Vitam continet una dies' (one day contains the whole [38] of my life); that it was unvaried as the note of the cuckow; and that he did not know whether it was more diſagreeable for him to teach, or the boys to learn, the grammar rules."’ His general averſion to this painful drudgery was greatly enhanced by a diſagreement between him and Sir Woolſton Dixey, the patron of the ſchool, in whoſe houſe, I have been told, he officiated as a kind of domeſtick chaplain, ſo far, at leaſt, as to ſay grace at table, but was treated with what he repreſented as intolerable harſhneſs; and, after ſuffering for a few months ſuch complicated miſery, he relinquiſhed a ſituation which all his life afterwards he recollected with the ſtrongeſt averſion, and even a degree of horrour. But it is probable that at this period, whatever uneaſi⯑neſs he may have endured, he laid the foundation of much future eminence by application to his ſtudies.

Being now again totally unoccupied, he was invited by Mr. Hector to paſs ſome time with him at Birmingham, as his gueſt, at the houſe of Mr. Warren, with whom Mr. Hector lodged and boarded. Mr. Warren was the firſt eſtabliſhed bookſeller in Birmingham, and was very attentive to Johnſon, who he ſoon found could be of much ſervice to him in his trade, by his knowledge of literature; and he even obtained the aſſiſtance of his pen in furniſhing ſome numbers of a periodical Eſſay printed in the newſpaper, of which Warren was proprietor. After very diligent inquiry, I have not been able to recover thoſe early ſpecimens of that particular mode of writing by which Johnſon afterwards ſo greatly diſtinguiſhed himſelf.

He continued to live as Mr. Hector's gueſt for about ſix months, and then hired lodgings in another part of the town, finding himſelf as well ſituated at Birmingham as he ſuppoſed he could be any where, while he had no ſettled plan of life, and very ſcanty means of ſubſiſtence. He made ſome valuable acquaintances there, amongſt whom were Mr. Porter, a mercer, whoſe widow he afterwards married, and Mr. Taylor, who by his ingenuity in mechanical inventions, and his ſucceſs in trade, acquired an immenſe fortune. But the comfort of being near Mr. Hector, his old ſchoolfellow and intimate friend, was Johnſon's chief inducement to continue here.

In what manner he employed his pen at this period, or whether he derived from it any pecuniary advantage, I have not been able to aſcertain. He probably got a little money from Mr. Warren; and we are certain, that he executed here one piece of literary labour, of which Mr. Hector has favoured me with a minute account. Having mentioned that he had read at Pembroke College a Voyage to Abyſſinia, by Lobo, a Portugueſe jeſuit, and that he thought an abridgement and tranſlation of it from the French into Engliſh [39] might be an uſeful and profitable publication, Mr. Warren and Mr. Hector joined in urging him to undertake it. He accordingly agreed; and the book not being to be found in Birmingham, he borrowed it of Pembroke College. A part of the work being very ſoon done, one Oſborn, who was Mr. Warren's printer, was ſet to work with what was ready, and Johnſon engaged to ſupply the preſs with copy as it ſhould be wanted; but his con⯑ſtitutional indolence ſoon prevailed, and the work was at a ſtand. Mr. Hector, who knew that a motive of humanity would be the moſt prevailing argument with his friend, went to Johnſon, and repreſented to him, that the printer could have no other employment till this undertaking was finiſhed, and that the poor man and his family were ſuffering. Johnſon upon this exerted the powers of his mind, though his body was relaxed. He lay in bed with the book, which was a quarto, before him, and dictated while Hector wrote. Mr. Hector carried the ſheets to the preſs▪ and corrected almoſt all the proof ſheets, very few of which were even ſeen by Johnſon. In this manner, with the aid of Mr. Hector's active friendſhip, the book was completed, and was publiſhed in 1735, with LONDON upon the title-page, though it was in reality printed at Birmingham, a device too common with provincial publiſhers. For this work he had from Mr. Warren only the ſum of five guineas.

This being the firſt proſe work of Johnſon, it is a curious object of inquiry how much may be traced in it of that ſtyle which marks his ſub⯑ſequent writings with ſuch peculiar excellence; with ſo happy an union of force, vivacity, and perſpicuity. I have peruſed the book with this view, and have found that here, as I believe in every other tranſlation, there is in the work itſelf no veſtige of the tranſlator's own ſtyle; for the language of tranſ⯑lation being adapted to the thoughts of another perſon, inſenſibly follows their caſt, and, as it were, runs into a mould that is ready prepared.

Thus, for inſtance, taking the firſt ſentence that occurs at the opening of the book, p. 4. ‘"I lived here above a year, and completed my ſtudies in divinity; in which time ſome letters were received from the fathers in Ethiopia, with an account that Sultan Segned, Emperour of Abyſſinia, was converted to the church of Rome; that many of his ſubjects had followed his example, and that there was a great want of miſſionaries to improve theſe proſperous beginnings. Every body was very deſirous of ſeconding the zeal of our fathers, and of ſending them the aſſiſtance they requeſted; to which we were the more encouraged, becauſe the Emperour's letter informed our Provincial, that we might eaſily enter his dominions by the way of Dancala; [40] but▪ unhappily, the ſecretary wrote Geila for Dancala, which coſt two of our fathers their lives."’ Every one acquainted with Johnſon's manner will be ſenſible that there is nothing of it here, but that this ſentence might have been compoſed by any other man.

But, in the Preface, the Johnſonian ſtyle begins to appear; and though uſe had not yet taught his wing a permanent and equable flight, there are parts of it which exhibit his beſt manner in full vigour. I had once the pleaſure of examining it with Mr. Edmund Burke, who confirmed me in this opinion, by his ſuperious critical ſagacity, and was, I remember, much delighted with the following ſpecimen:

Here we have an early example of that brilliant and energetick expreſſion, which, upon innumerable occaſions in his ſubſequent life, juſtly impreſſed the world with the higheſt admiration.

Nor can any one, converſant with the writings of Johnſon, fail to diſcern his hand in this paſſage of the Dedication to John Warren, Eſq. of Pem⯑brokeſhire, though it is aſcribed to Warren the bookſeller. ‘"A generous and elevated mind is diſtinguiſhed by nothing more certainly than an eminent [41] degree of curioſity; nor is that curioſity ever more agreeably or uſefully em⯑ployed, than in examining the laws and cuſtoms of foreign nations. I hope, therefore, the preſent I now preſume to make, will not be thought improper; which, however, it is not my buſineſs as a dedicator to commend, nor as a bookſeller to depreciate."’

It is reaſonable to ſuppoſe, that his having been thus accidentally led to a particular ſtudy of the hiſtory and manners of Abyſſinia, was the remote occaſion of his writing, many years afterwards, his admirable philoſophical tale, the principal ſcene of which is laid in that country.

Johnſon returned to Lichfield early in 1734, and in Auguſt that year he made an attempt to procure ſome little ſubſiſtence by his pen; for he publiſhed propoſals for printing by ſubſcription the Latin poems of Politian: ‘"Angeli Politiani Poemata Latina, quibus, Notas, cum hiſtoriâ Latinae poeſeos, à Petrarchae aevo ad Politiani tempora deductâ, et vitâ Politiani fuſius quam antihac enarratâ, addidit SAM. JOHNSON ^*."’

It appears that his brother Nathanael had taken up his father's trade; for it is mentioned, that ‘"ſubſcriptions are taken in by the Editor, or N. Johnſon, bookſeller, of Lichfield,"’ Notwithſtanding the merit of Johnſon, and the cheap price at which this tranſlation, with its accompanyments, was offered, there were not ſubſcribers enough to inſure a ſufficient ſale; ſo the work never appeared, and, probably, never was executed.

We find him again this year at Birmingham, and there is preſerved the following letter from him to Mr. Edward Cave ¹, the original compiler and editor of the Gentleman's Magazine:

Mr. Cave has put a note on this letter, ‘"Anſwered Dec. 2."’ But whether any thing was done in conſequence of it we are not informed.

Johnſon had, from his early youth, been ſenſible to the influence of female charms. When at Stourbridge ſchool, he was much enamoured of Olivia Lloyd, a young quaker, to whom he wrote a copy of verſes, which I have not been able to recover; and I am aſſured by Miſs Seward, that he con⯑ceived a tender paſſion for Miſs Lucy Porter, daughter of the lady whom he afterwards married. Miſs Porter was ſent very young on a viſit to Lichfield, where Johnſon had frequent opportunities of ſeeing and admiring her; and he addreſſed to her the following verſes, on her preſenting him with a noſe⯑gay of myrtle:

His juvenile attachments to the fair ſex were, however, very tranſient; and it is certain, that he formed no criminal connection whatſoever. Mr. Hector, who lived with him in his younger days in the utmoſt intimacy and ſocial freedom, has aſſured me, that even at that ardent ſeaſon his conduct was ſtrictly virtuous in that reſpect▪ and that though he loved to exhilarate him⯑ſelf with wine, he never knew him intoxicated but once.

In a man whom religious education has ſecured from licentious indul⯑gences, the paſſion of love, when once it has ſeized him, is exceedingly ſtrong; being unimpaired by diſſipation, and totally concentrated in one object. This was experienced by Johnſon▪ when he became the ſervent admirer of Mrs. Porter, after her firſt huſband's death. Miſs Porter told me, that when he was firſt introduced to her mother, his appearance was very forbidding: He was then lean and lank, ſo that his immenſe ſtructure of bones was hideouſly ſtriking to the eye, and the ſcars of the ſcrophula were deeply viſible. He alſo wore his hair, which was ſtraight and ſtiff, and ſepa⯑rated behind; and he often had, ſeemingly, convulſive ſtarts and odd geſticulations, which tended to excite at once ſurpriſe and ridicule. Mrs. Porter was ſo much engaged by his converſation that ſhe overlooked all theſe external diſadvantages, and ſaid to her daughter, ‘"this is the moſt ſenſible man that I ever ſaw in my life."’

[44] Though Mrs. Porter was double the age of Johnſon, and her perſon and manner, as deſcribed to me by the late Mr. Garrick, were by no means pleaſing to others, ſhe muſt have had a ſuperiority of underſtanding and talents, as ſhe certainly inſpired him with a more than ordinary paſſion; and ſhe having ſignified her willingneſs to accept of his hand, he went to Lichfield to aſk his mother's conſent to the marriage, which he could not but be con⯑ſcious was a very imprudent ſcheme, both on account of their diſparity of years, and her want of fortune. But Mrs. Johnſon knew too well the ardour of her ſon's temper, and was too tender a parent to oppoſe his inclinations.

I know not for what reaſon the marriage ceremony was not performed at Birmingham; but a reſolution was taken that it ſhould be at Derby, for which place the bride and bridegroom ſet out on horſeback, I ſuppoſe in very good humour. But though Mr. Topham Beauclerk uſed archly to mention Johnſon's having told him, with much gravity, ‘"Sir, it was a love-marriage upon both ſides,"’ I have had from my illuſtrious friend the following curious9th July. account of their journey to church upon the nuptial morn. ‘"Sir, ſhe had read the old romances, and had got into her head the fantaſtical notion that a woman of ſpirit ſhould uſe her lover like a dog. So, Sir, at firſt ſhe told me that I rode too faſt, and ſhe could not keep up with me; and, when I rode a little ſlower, ſhe paſſed me, and complained that I lagged behind. I was not to be made the ſlave of caprice; and I reſolved to begin as I meant to end. I therefore puſhed on briſkly, till I was fairly out of her ſight. The road lay between two hedges, ſo I was ſure ſhe could not miſs it; and I con⯑trived that ſhe ſhould ſoon come up with me. When ſhe did, I obſerved her to be in tears."’

This, it muſt be allowed, was a ſingular beginning of connubial felicity; but there is no doubt that Johnſon, though he thus ſhewed a manly firmneſs, proved a moſt affectionate and indulgent huſband to the laſt moment of Mrs. Johnſon's life; and in his ‘"Prayers and Meditations,"’ we find very remark⯑able evidence that his regard and fondneſs for her never ceaſed, even after her death.

He now ſet up a private academy, for which purpoſe he hired a large houſe, well ſituated near his native city. In the Gentleman's Magazine for 1736, there is the following advertiſement: ‘"At Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordſhire, young gentlemen are boarded and taught the Latin and Greek languages, by SAMUEL JOHNSON."’ But the only pupils that were put under his care were the celebrated David Garrick and his brother George, and a [45] Mr. Offely, a young gentleman of good fortune, who died early. As yet, his name had nothing of that celebrity which afterwards commanded the higheſt attention and reſpect of mankind. Had ſuch an advertiſement appeared after the publication of his LONDON, or his RAMBLER, or his DICTIONARY, how would it have burſt upon the world! with what eagerneſs would the great and the wealthy have embraced an opportunity of putting their ſons under the learned tuition of SAMUEL JOHNSON. The truth, how⯑ever, is, that he was not ſo well qualified for being a teacher of elements, and a conductor in learning by regular gradations, as men of inferiour powers of mind. His own acquiſitions had been made by fits and ſtarts, by violent irruptions into the regions of knowledge; and it could not be expected that his impatience would be ſubdued, and his impetuoſity reſtrained, ſo as to fit him for a quiet guide to novices. The art of communicating inſtruction, of whatever kind, is much to be valued; and I have ever thought that thoſe who devote themſelves to this employment, and do their duty with diligence and ſucceſs, are entitled to very high reſpect from the community, as Johnſon himſelf often maintained. Yet I am of opinion, that the greateſt abilities are not only not required for this office, but render a man leſs fit for it.

While we acknowledge the juſtneſs of Thomſon's beautiful remark,

we muſt conſider that this delight is perceptible only by ‘"a mind at eaſe,"’ a mind at once calm and clear; but that a mind gloomy and impetuous like that of Johnſon, cannot be fixed for any length of time in minute attention, and muſt be ſo frequently irritated by unavoidable ſlowneſs and errour in the advances of ſcholars, as to perform the duty with little pleaſure to the teacher, and no great advantage to the pupils. Good temper is a moſt eſſential requi⯑ſite in a preceptor. Horace paints the character as bland:

Johnſon was not more ſatisfied with his ſituation as the maſter of an academy, than with that of the uſher of a ſchool; we need not wonder, there⯑fore, that he did not keep his academy above a year and a half. From Mr. Garrick's account he did not appear to have been profoundly reverenced by his pupils. His oddities of manner, and uncouth geſticulations, could not but be the ſubject of merriment to them; and, in particular, the young rogues uſed to liſten at the door of his bed-chamber, and peep through the [46] key-hole, that they might turn into ridicule his tumultuous and aukward fondneſs for Mrs. Johnſon, whom he uſed to name by the familiar appel⯑lation of Tetty or Tetſy, which, like Betty or Betſy, is provincially uſed as a contraction for Elizabeth, her chriſtian name, but which to us ſeems ludicrous, when applied to a woman of her age and appearance. Mr. Garrick deſcribed her to me as very fat, with a boſom of more than ordinary protuberance, with ſwelled cheeks, of a florid red, produced by thick painting, and increaſed by the liberal uſe of cordials; flaring and fantaſtick in her dreſs, and affected both in her ſpeech and her general behaviour. I have ſeen Garrick exhibit her, by his exquiſite talent for mimickry, ſo as to excite the heartieſt burſts of laughter; but he, probably, as is the caſe in all ſuch repre⯑ſentations, conſiderably aggravated the picture.

That Johnſon well knew the moſt proper courſe to be purſued in the inſtruc⯑tion of youth, is authentically aſcertained by the following paper in his own hand-writing, given about this period to a relation, and now in the poſſeſ⯑ſion of Mr. John Nichols:

While Johnſon kept his academy, there can be no doubt that he was in⯑ſenſibly furniſhing his mind with various knowledge; but I have not diſcovered that he wrote any thing except a great part of his tragedy of IRENE. Mr. Peter Garrick; the elder brother of David, told me that he remembered Johnſon's borrowing the Turkiſh Hiſtory of him, in order to form his play from it. When he had finiſhed ſome part of it, he read what he had done to Mr. Walmſley, who objected to his having already brought his heroine into great diſtreſs, and aſked him ‘"how can you poſſibly contrive to plunge her into deeper calamity?"’ Johnſon, in ſly alluſion to the ſuppoſed oppreſſive pro⯑ceedings of the court of which Mr. Walmſley was regiſter, replied, ‘"Sir, I can put her into the Spiritual Court!"’

Mr. Walmſley, however, was well pleaſed with this proof of Johnſon's abilities as a dramatick writer, and adviſed him to finiſh the tragedy, and produce it on the ſtage.

[48] Johnſon now thought of trying his fortune in London, the great field of genius and exertion, where talents of every kind have the fulleſt ſcope, and the higheſt encouragement. It is a memorable circumſtance that his pupil David Garrick went thither at the ſame time, with intention to complete his education, and follow the profeſſion of the law, from which he was ſoon diverted by his decided preference for the ſtage.

This joint expedition of thoſe two eminent men to the metropolis, was many years afterwards noticed in an allegorical poem on Shakſpeare's Mulberry Tree, by Mr. Lovibond, the ingenious authour of ‘"The Tears of Old May-day."’

They were recommended to Mr. Colſon, an eminent mathematician and maſter of an academy, by the following letter from Mr. Walmſley:

How he employed himſelf upon upon his firſt coming to London is not particularly known. I never heard that he found any protection or encourage⯑ment by the means of Mr. Colſon, to whoſe academy David Garrick went. Mrs. Lucy Porter told me, that Mr. Walmſley gave him a letter of intro⯑duction to Lintot his bookſeller, and that Johnſon wrote ſome things for him; but I imagine this to be a miſtake, for I have diſcovered no trace of it, and I am pretty ſure he told me, that Mr. Cave was the firſt publiſher by whom his pen was engaged in London.

[49] He had a little money when he came to town, and he knew how he could live in the cheapeſt manner. His firſt lodgings were at the houſe of Mr. Norris, a ſtaymaker, in Exeter-ſtreet, adjoining Catharine-ſtreet, in the Strand. ‘"I dined (ſaid he) very well for eight-pence, with very good company, at the Pine Apple in New-ſtreet, juſt by. Several of them had travelled. They expected to meet every day; but did not know one another's names. It uſed to coſt the reſt a ſhilling, for they drank wine; but I had a cut of meat for ſix-pence, and bread for a penny, and gave the waiter a penny; ſo that I was quite well ſerved, nay, better than the reſt, for they gave the waiter nothing."’

He at this time, I believe, abſtained entirely from fermented liquors; a practice to which he rigidly conformed for many years together, at different periods of his life.

His OFELLUS in the Art of living in London, I have heard him relate, was an Iriſh painter, whom he knew at Birmingham, and who had practiſed his own precepts of oeconomy for ſeveral years in the Britiſh capital. He aſſured Johnſon, who, I ſuppoſe, was then meditating to try his fortune in London, but was apprehenſive of the expence, ‘"that thirty pounds a year was enough to enable a man to live there without being contemptible. He allowed ten pounds for clothes and linen. He ſaid a man might live in a garret at eighteen-pence a week; few people would inquire where he lodged; and if they did, it was eaſy to ſay, 'Sir, I am to be found at ſuch a place.' By ſpending three-pence in a coffee-houſe, he might be for ſome hours every day in very good com⯑pany; he might dine for ſix-pence, breakfaſt on bread and milk for a penny, and do without ſupper. On clean-ſhirt-day he went abroad, and paid viſits."’ I have heard him more than once talk of this frugal friend, whom he recol⯑lected with eſteem and kindneſs, and did not like to have any one ſmile at the recital. ‘"This man (ſaid he, gravely,) was a very ſenſible man, who perfectly underſtood common affairs: a man of a great deal of knowledge of the world, freſh from life, not ſtrained through books. He borrowed a horſe and ten pounds at Birmingham. Finding himſelf maſter of ſo much money, he ſet off for Weſt Cheſter, in order to get to Ireland. He returned the horſe, and probably the ten pounds too, after he got home."’

Conſidering Johnſon's narrow circumſtances in the early part of his life, and particularly at the intereſting aera of his launching into the ocean of London, it is not to be wondered at, that an actual inſtance, proved by expe⯑rience, of the poſſibility of enjoying the intellectual luxury of ſocial life, upon a very ſmall income, ſhould deeply engage his attention, and be ever recol⯑lected [50] by him as a circumſtance of much importance. He amuſed himſelf, I remember, by computing how much more expence was abſolutely neceſſary to live upon the ſame ſcale with that which his friend deſcribed, when the value of money was diminiſhed by the progreſs of commerce. It may be eſtimated that double the money might now with difficulty be ſufficient.

Amidſt this cold obſcurity, there was one brilliant circumſtance to cheer him; he was well acquainted with Mr. Henry Hervey, one of the branches of the noble family of that name, who had been quartered at Lichfield as an officer of the army, and had at this time a houſe in London, where Johnſon was frequently entertained, and had an opportunity of meeting genteel company. Not very long before his death, he mentioned this, among other particulars of his life, which he was kindly communicating to me; and he deſcribed this early friend ‘"Harry Hervey,"’ thus: ‘"He was a vicious man, but very kind to me. If you call a dog HERVEY, I ſhall love him."’

He told me he had now written only three acts of his IRENE, and that he retired for ſome time to lodgings at Greenwich, where he proceeded in it ſomewhat farther, and uſed to compoſe, walking in the Park; but did not ſtay long enough at that place to finiſh it.

At this period we find the following letter from him to Mr. Edward Cave, which, as a link in the chain of his literary hiſtory, it is proper to inſert:

It ſhould ſeem from this letter, though ſubſcribed with his own name, that he had not yet been introduced to Mr. Cave. We ſhall preſently ſee what was done in conſequence of the propoſal which it contains.

In the courſe of the ſummer he returned to Lichfield, where he had left Mrs. Johnſon, and there he at laſt finiſhed his tragedy, which was not executed with his rapidity of compoſition upon other occaſions, but was ſlowly and painfully elaborated. A few days before his death, while burning a great maſs of papers, he picked out from among them the original unformed ſketch of this tragedy, in his own hand-writing, and gave it to Mr. Langton, by whoſe favour a copy of it is now in my poſſeſſion. It contains fragments of the intended plot, and ſpeeches for the different perſons of the drama, partly in the raw materials of proſe, partly worked up into verſe; as alſo a variety of hints for illuſtration borrowed from the Greek, Roman, and modern writers. The hand-writing is very difficult to be read, even by thoſe who were beſt acquainted with Johnſon's mode of penmanſhip, which at all times was very particular. The King having graciouſly accepted of this manuſcript as a literary curioſity, Mr. Langton made a fair and diſtinct copy of it, which he ordered to be bound up with the original and the printed tragedy; and the volume is depoſited in the King's library. His Majeſty was pleaſed to permit Mr. Langton to take a copy of it for himſelf.

The whole of it is rich in thought and imagery, and happy expreſſions; and of the disjecta membra ſcattered throughout, and as yet unarranged, a good dramatick poet might avail himſelf with conſiderable advantage. I ſhall give my readers ſome ſpecimens of different kinds, diſtinguiſhing them by the Italick character.

A ſmall part only of this intereſting admonition is preſerved in the play, and is varied, I think, not to advantage:

This laſt paſſage is worked up in the tragedy itſelf, as follows:

Thus in the tragedy:

I ſhall ſelect one other paſſage, on account of the doctrine which it illuſ⯑trates. IRENE obſerves, ‘"that the Supreme Being will accept of virtue, whatever outward circumſtances it may be accompanied with, and may be delighted with varieties of worſhip;—but is anſwered, that variety cannot affect that Being, who [54] infinitely happy in his own perfections, wants no external gratifications; nor can infinite truth be delighted with falſhood; that though he may guide or pity thoſe he leaves in darkneſs, he abandons thoſe who ſhut their eyes againſt the beams of day."’

Johnſon's reſidence at Lichfield, on his return to it at this time, was only for three months; and as he had as yet ſeen but a ſmall part of the wonders of the metropolis, he had little to tell his townſmen. He related to me the fol⯑lowing minute anecdote of this period: ‘"In the laſt age, when my mother lived in London, there were two ſets of people, thoſe who gave the wall, and thoſe who took it; the peaceable and the quarrelſome. When I returned to Lichfield, after having been in London, my mother aſked me, whether I was one of thoſe who gave the wall, or thoſe who took it. Now it is fixed that every man keeps to the right; or, if one is taking the wall, another yields it; and it is never a diſpute ⁴."’

He now removed to London with Mrs. Johnſon; but her daughter, who had lived with them at Edial, was left with her relations in the country. His lodgings were for ſome time in Woodſtock-ſtreet, near Hanover-ſquare, and afterwards in Caſtle-ſtreet, near Cavendiſh-ſquare. As there is ſomething pleaſingly intereſting, to many, in tracing ſo great a man through all his different habitations, I ſhall, before this work is concluded, preſent my readers with an exact liſt of his lodgings and houſes, in order of time, which, in placid condeſcenſion to my reſpectful curioſity, he one evening dictated to me, but without ſpecifying how long he lived at each. In the progreſs of his life I ſhall have occaſion to mention ſome of them as connected with particular incidents, or with the writing of particular parts of his works. To ſome, this minute attention may appear trifling; but when we conſider the punctilious exactneſs with which the different houſes in which Milton reſided have been traced by the writers of his life, a ſimilar enthuſiaſm may be pardoned in the biographer of Johnſon.

His tragedy being by this time, as he thought, completely finiſhed and fit for the ſtage, he was very deſirous that it ſhould be brought forward. Mr. Peter Garrick told me, that Johnſon and he went together to the Foun⯑tain tavern, and read it over, and that he afterwards ſolicited Mr. Fleetwood, the patentee of Drury-lane theatre, to have it acted at his houſe; but Mr. Fleetwood would not accept it, probably becauſe it was not patroniſed by [55] ſome man of high rank; and it was not acted till 1749, when his friend David Garrick was manager of that theatre.

‘"THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE,"’ begun and carried on by Mr. Edward Cave, under the name of SYLVANUS URBAN, had attracted the notice and eſteem of Johnſon, in an eminent degree, before he came to London as an adventurer in literature. He told me, that when he firſt ſaw St. John's Gate, the place where that deſervedly popular miſcellany was originally printed, he ‘"beheld it with reverence."’ I ſuppoſe, indeed, that every young authour has had the ſame kind of feeling for the magazine or periodical pub⯑lication which has firſt entertained him, and in which he has firſt had an opportunity to ſee himſelf in print, without the riſk of expoſing his name. I myſelf recollect ſuch impreſſions from ‘"THE SCOTS MAGAZINE,"’ which was begun at Edinburgh in the year 1739, and has been ever conducted with judge⯑ment, accuracy, and propriety. I yet cannot help thinking of it with an affectionate regard. Johnſon has dignified the Gentleman's Magazine, by the importance with which he inveſts the life of Cave; but he has given it ſtill greater luſtre by the various admirable Eſſays which he wrote for it.

Though Johnſon was often ſolicited by his friends to make a complete liſt of his writings, and talked of doing it, I believe with a ſerious intention that they ſhould all be collected on his own account, he put it off from year to year, and at laſt died without having done it perfectly. I have one in his own hand⯑writing, which contains a certain number; I indeed doubt if he could have recollected every one of them, as they were ſo numerous, ſo various, and ſcattered in ſuch a multiplicity of unconnected publications; nay, ſeveral of them publiſhed under the names of other perſons, to whom he liberally con⯑tributed from the abundance of his mind. We muſt, therefore, be content to diſcover them, partly from occaſional information given by him to his friends, and partly from internal evidence ⁵.

His firſt performance in the Gentleman's Magazine, which for many years was his principal reſource for employment and ſupport, was a copy of Latin verſes, in March, 1738, addreſſed to the editor in ſo happy a ſtyle of com⯑pliment, that Cave muſt have been deſtitute both of taſte and ſenſibility, had had he not felt himſelf highly gratified.

[57]It appears that he was now enliſted by Mr. Cave as a regular coadjutor in his magazine, by which he probably obtained a tolerable livelihood. At what time, or by what means, he had acquired a competent knowledge both of French and Italian, I do not know; but he was ſo well ſkilled in them, as to be ſufficiently qualified for a tranſlator. That part of his labour which con⯑ſiſted in emendation and improvement of the productions of other contri⯑butors, like that employed in levelling ground, can be perceived only by thoſe who had an opportunity of comparing the original with the altered copy. What we certainly know to have been done by him in this way, was the Debates in both houſes of Parliament, under the name of ‘"The Senate of [58] Lilliput,"’ ſometimes with feigned denominations of the ſeveral ſpeakers, ſometimes with denominations formed of the letters of their real names, in the manner of what is called anagram, ſo that they might eaſily be decy⯑phered. Parliament then kept the preſs in a kind of myſterious awe, which made it neceſſary to have recourſe to ſuch devices. In our time it has acquired an unreſtrained freedom, ſo that the people in all parts of the king⯑dom have a fair, open, and exact report of the actual proceedings of their repreſentatives and legiſlators; which in our conſtitution is highly to be valued, though, unqueſtionably, there has of late been too much reaſon to complain of the petulance with which obſcure ſcribblers have preſumed to treat men of the moſt reſpectable character and ſituation.

This important article of the Gentleman's Magazine was, for ſeveral years, executed by Mr. William Guthrie, a man who deſerves to be reſpectably recorded in the literary annals of this country. He was deſcended of an ancient family in Scotland; but having a ſmall patrimony, and being an adhe⯑rent of the unfortunate houſe of Stuart, he could not accept of any office in the ſtate; he therefore came to London, and employed his talents and learn⯑ing as an ‘"Authour by profeſſion."’ His writings in hiſtory, criticiſm, and politicks, had conſiderable merit ⁷. He was the firſt Engliſh hiſtorian who had recourſe to that authentick ſource of information, the Parliamentary Journals; and ſuch was the power of his political pen, that, at an early period, government thought it worth their while to keep it quiet by a penſion, which he enjoyed till his death. Johnſon eſteemed him enough to wiſh that his life ſhould be written. The debates in Parliament, which were brought home and digeſted by Guthrie, whoſe memory, though ſurpaſſed by others who have ſince followed him in the ſame department, was yet very quick and tenacious, were ſent by Cave to Johnſon for his reviſion; and, after ſome⯑time, when Guthrie had attained to greater variety of employment, and the ſpeeches were more and more enriched by the acceſſion of Johnſon's genius it was reſolved that he ſhould do the whole himſelf, from the ſcanty notes furniſhed by perſons employed to attend in both houſes of Parliament. Some⯑times, however, as he himſelf told me, he▪ had nothing more communi⯑cated to him but the names of the ſeveral ſpeakers, and the part which they had taken in the debate.

[59] Thus was Johnſon employed, during ſome of the beſt years of his life, as a mere literary labourer ‘"for gain, not glory,"’ ſolely to obtain an honeſt ſupport. He however indulged himſelf in occaſional little ſallies, which the French ſo happily expreſs by the term jeux d'eſprit, and which will be noticed in their order, in the progreſs of this work.

But what firſt diſplayed his tranſcendent powers, and ‘"gave the world aſſurance of the MAN,"’ was his ‘"LONDON, a Poem, in Imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal,"’ which came out in May this year, and burſt forth with a ſplendour, the rays of which will for ever encircle his name. Boileau had imitated the ſame ſatire with great ſucceſs, applying it to Paris; but an attentive compariſon will ſatisfy every reader, that he is much excelled by the Engliſh Juvenal. Oldham had alſo imitated it, and applied it to London; all which performances concur to prove, that great cities, in every age, and in every country, will furniſh ſimilar topicks of ſatire. Whether Johnſon had previouſly read Oldham's imitation, I do not know; but it is not a little remarkable, that there is ſcarcely any coincidence found between the two performances, though upon the very ſame ſubject. The only in⯑ſtances are, in deſcribing London as the ſink of foreign worthleſſneſs:

and,

The particulars which Oldham has collected, both as exhibiting the hor⯑rours of London, and of the times, contraſted with better days, are different from thoſe of Johnſon, and in general well choſen, and well expreſt ⁸.

[60] There are, in Oldham's imitation, many proſaick verſes and bad rhymes, and his poem ſets out with a ſtrange inadvertent blunder:

It is plain he was not going to leave his friend; his friend was going to leave him. A young lady at once corrected this with good critical ſagacity to

There is one paſſage in the original, better transfuſed by Oldham than by Johnſon:

which is an exquiſite remark on the galling meanneſs and contempt annexed to poverty: JOHNSON'S imitation is,

OLDHAM'S, though leſs elegant, is more juſt:

Where, or in what manner this poem was compoſed, I am ſorry that I neglected to aſcertain, with precision, from Johnſon's own authority. He has marked upon his corrected copy of the firſt edition of it, ‘"Written in 1738;"’ and, as it was publiſhed in the month of May in that year, it is evident that much time was not employed in preparing it for the preſs. The hiſtory of its publication I am enabled to give in a very ſatisfactory manner; and judging from myſelf; and many of my friends, I truſt that it will not be unintereſting to my readers.

[61] We may be certain, though it is not expreſsly named in the following letters to Mr. Cave in 1738, that they all relate to it:

To us who have long known the manly force, bold ſpirit, and maſterly verſification of this poem, it is a matter of curioſity to obſerve the diffidence with which its authour brought it forward into publick notice, while he is ſo cautious as not to avow it to be his own production; and with what humility he offers to allow the printer to ‘"alter any ſtroke of ſatire which he might diſlike."’ That any ſuch alteration was made, we do not know. If we did, we could not but feel an indignant regret; but how painful is it to ſee that a writer of ſuch vigourous powers of mind was actually in ſuch diſtreſs, that the ſmall profit which ſo ſhort a poem, however excellent, could yield, was courted as a ‘"relief."’

It has been generally ſaid, I know not with what truth, that Johnſon offered his ‘"LONDON"’ to ſeveral bookſellers, none of whom would pur⯑chaſe it. To this circumſtance Mr. Derrick alludes in the following lines of his ‘"FORTUNE, A RHAPSODY:"’

But we have ſeen that the worthy, modeſt, and ingenious Mr. Robert Dodſley had taſte enough to perceive its uncommon merit, and thought it creditable to have a ſhare in it. The fact is, that, at a future conference, he bargained for the whole property of it, for which he gave Johnſon ten guineas, who told me, ‘"I might, perhaps, have accepted of leſs; but that Paul Whitehead had a little before got ten guineas for a poem; and I would not take leſs than Paul Whitehead."’

I may here obſerve, that Johnſon appeared to me to undervalue Paul Whitehead upon every occaſion when he was mentioned, and, in my opinion, did not do him juſtice; but when it is conſidered that Paul Whitehead was a member of a riotous and profane club, we may account for Johnſon's having a prejudice againſt him. Paul Whitehead was, indeed, unfortunate in being not only ſlighted by Johnſon, but violently attacked by Churchill, who utters the following imprecation:

yet I ſhall never be perſuaded to think meanly of the authour of ſo brilliant and pointed a ſatire as ‘"MANNERS."’

Johnſon's ‘"London"’ was publiſhed in May, 1738 ²; and it is remark⯑able, that it came out on the ſame morning with Pope's ſatire, entitled ‘"1738;"’ ſo that England had at once is Juvenal and Horace as poetical monitors. The Reverend Dr. Douglas, now Biſhop of Carliſle, to whom I am indebted for ſome obliging communications, was then a ſtudent at [65] Oxford, and remembers well the effect which ‘"London"’ produced. Every body was delighted with it; and there being no name to it, the firſt buz of the literary circles was ‘"here is an unknown poet, greater even than Pope."’ And it is recorded in the Gentleman's Magazine of that year ³, that it ‘"got to the ſecond edition in the courſe of a week."’

One of the warmeſt patrons of this poem on its firſt appearance was General OGLETHORPE, whoſe ‘"ſtrong benevolence of ſoul"’ was unabated during the courſe of a very long life; though it is painful to think, that he had but too much reaſon to become cold and callous, and diſcontented with the world, from the neglect which he experienced of his publick and private worth, by thoſe in whoſe power it was to gratify ſo gallant a veteran with marks of diſtinction. This extraordinary perſon was as remarkable for his learning and taſte, as for his other eminent qualities; and no man was more prompt, active, and generous in encouraging merit. I have heard Johnſon gratefully acknowledge, in his preſence, the kind and effectual ſupport which he gave to his ‘"London,"’ though unacquainted with its authour.

POPE, who then filled the poetical throne without a rival, it may reaſonably be preſumed, muſt have been particularly ſtruck by the ſudden appearance of ſuch a poet; and, to his credit, let it be remembered, that his feelings and conduct on the occaſion were candid and liberal. He requeſted Mr. Richardſon, ſon of the painter, to endeavour to find out who this new authour was. Mr. Richardſon, after ſome inquiry, having informed him that he had diſcovered only that his name was Johnſon, and that he was ſome obſcure man, Pope ſaid, ‘"He will ſoon be deterré ⁴."’ We ſhall preſently ſee, from a note written by Pope, that he was himſelf afterwards more ſucceſsful in his inquiries than his friend.

That in this juſtly-celebrated poem may be found a few rhymes which the critical preciſion of Engliſh proſody at this day would diſallow, cannot be denied; but with this ſmall imperfection, which in the general blaze of its excellence is not perceived, till the mind has ſubſided into cool attention, it is, undoubtedly, one of the nobleſt productions in our language, both for ſentiment and expreſſion. The nation was then in that ferment againſt the court and the miniſtry, which ſome years after ended in the downfall of Sir Robert Walpole; and as it has been ſaid, that Tories are Whigs when out of place, and Whigs, Tories when in place; ſo, as a whig adminiſtration ruled with what force it could, a tory oppoſition had all the animation and all the [66] eloquence of reſiſtance to power, aided by the common topicks of patriotiſm, liberty, and independence! Accordingly, we find in Johnſon's ‘"London"’ the moſt ſpirited invectives againſt tyranny and oppreſſion, the warmeſt pre⯑dilection for his own country, and the pureſt love of virtue; interſperſed with traits of his own particular character and ſituation, not omitting his prejudices as a ‘"true-born Engliſhman ⁵,"’ not only againſt foreign countries, but againſt Ireland and Scotland. On ſome of theſe topicks I ſhall quote a few paſſages:

We may eaſily conceive with what feeling a great mind like his, cramped and galled by narrow circumſtances, uttered this laſt line, which he marked by capitals. The whole of the poem is eminently excellent, and there are in it ſuch proofs of a knowledge of the world, and of a mature acquaintance with life, as cannot be contemplated without wonder, when we conſider that he was then only in his twenty-ninth year, and had yet been ſo little in the ‘"buſy haunts of men."’

Yet, while we admire the poetical excellence of this poem, candour obliges us to allow, that the flame of patriotiſm and zeal for popular reſiſtance with which it is fraught, had no juſt cauſe. There was, in truth, no ‘"oppreſſion;"’ the ‘"nation"’ was not ‘"cheated."’ Sir Robert Walpole was a wiſe and a benevolent miniſter, who thought that the happineſs and proſperity of a com⯑mercial country like ours, would be beſt promoted by peace, which he [67] accordingly maintained, with credit, during a very long period. Johnſon him⯑ſelf afterwards honeſtly acknowledged the merit of Walpole, whom he called ‘"a fixed ſtar;"’ while he characteriſed his opponent, Pitt, as ‘"a meteor."’ But Johnſon's juvenile poem was naturally impregnated with the fire of oppo⯑ſition, and upon every account was univerſally admired.

Though thus elevated into fame, and conſcious of uncommon powers, he had not that buſtling confidence, or, I may rather ſay, that animated ambition, which one might have ſuppoſed would have urged him to endea⯑vour at riſing in life. But ſuch was his inflexible dignity of character, that he could not ſtoop to court the great; without which, hardly any man has made his way to high ſtation. He could not expect to produce many ſuch works as his ‘"LONDON,"’ and he felt the hardſhip of writing for bread; he was, therefore, willing to reſume the office of a ſchoolmaſter, ſo as to have a ſure, though moderate income for his life; and an offer being made to him of a ſchool in Staffordſhire ⁶, provided he could obtain the degree of Maſter of Arts, Dr. Adams was applied to, by a common friend, to know whether that could be granted him as a favour from the Univerſity of Oxford. But though he had made ſuch a figure in the literary world, it was then thought too great a favour to be aſked.

Pope, without any knowledge of him but from his ‘"London,"’ recom⯑mended him to Earl Gower, who endeavoured to procure for him a degree from Dublin, by the following letter to a friend of Dean Swift:

It was, perhaps no ſmall diſappointment to Johnſon that this reſpectable application had not the deſired effect; yet how much reaſon has there been, both for himſelf and his country, to rejoice that it did not ſucceed, as he might probably have waſted in obſcurity thoſe hours in which he afterwards produced his incomparable works.

About this time he made one other effort to emancipate himſelf from the drudgery of authourſhip. He applied to Dr. Adams, to conſult Dr. Smalbroke of the Commons, whether a perſon might be permitted to practice as an advocate there, without a doctor's degree in Civil Law. ‘"I am (ſaid he) a total ſtranger to theſe ſtudies; but whatever is a profeſſion, and maintains numbers, muſt be within the reach of common abilities, and ſome degree of induſtry."’ Dr. Adams was much pleaſed with Johnſon's deſign to employ his talents in that manner, being confident he would have attained to great eminence. And, indeed, I cannot conceive a man better qualified to make a diſtinguiſhed figure as a lawyer; for, he would have brought to his pro⯑feſſion a rich ſtore of various knowledge, an uncommon acuteneſs, and a command of language, in which few could have equalled, and none have [69] ſurpaſſed him. He who could diſplay eloquence and wit in defence of the deciſion of the Houſe of Commons upon Mr. Wilkes's election for Middle⯑ſex, and of the unconſtitutional taxation of our fellow ſubjects in America, muſt have been a powerful advocate in any cauſe. But here, alſo, the want of a degree was an inſurmountable bar.

He was, therefore, under the neceſſity of perſevering in that courſe, into which he had been forced; and we find, that his propoſal from Green⯑wich to Mr. Cave, for a tranſlation of Father Paul Sarpi's Hiſtory, was accepted ⁷.

Some ſheets of this tranſlation were printed off, but the deſign was dropt; for it happened, oddly enough, that another perſon of the name of Samuel Johnſon, Librarian of St. Martin's in the Fields, and Curate of that pariſh, engaged in the ſame undertaking, and was patroniſed by the Clergy, particu⯑larly by Dr. Pearce, afterwards Biſhop of Rocheſter. Several light ſkirmiſhes paſſed between the rival tranſlators, in the newſpapers of the day; and the conſequence was, that they deſtroyed each other, for neither of them went on with the work. It is much to be regretted, that the able performance of that celebrated genius FRA PAOLO, loſt the advantage of being incorporated into Britiſh literature by the maſterly hand of Johnſon.

I have in my poſſeſſion, by the favour of Mr. John Nichols, a paper in Johnſon's hand-writing, entitled ‘"Account between Mr. Edward Cave and Sam. Johnſon, in relation to a verſion of Father Paul, &c. begun Auguſt the 2d, 1738;"’ by which it appears, that from that day to the 21ſt of April, [70] Johnſon received for this work 49l. 7s. in ſums of one, two, three, and ſome⯑times four guineas at a time, moſt frequently two. And it is curious to obſerve the minute and ſcrupulous▪ accuracy with which Johnſon has paſted upon it a ſlip of paper, which he has entitled ‘"Small Account,"’ and which contains one article, ‘"Sept. 9th, Mr. Cave laid down 2s. 6d."’ There is ſub⯑joined to this account, a liſt of ſome ſubſcribers to the work, partly in Johnſon's hand-writing, partly in that of another perſon; and there follows a leaf or two on which are written a number of characters which have the appearance of a ſhort hand, which, perhaps, Johnſon was then trying to learn.

But although he correſponded with Mr. Cave concerning a tranſlation of Crouſaz's Examen of Pope's Eſſay on Man, and gave advice as one anxious for its ſucceſs, I was long ago conivnced by a peruſal of the Preface, [72] that this tranſlation was erroneouſly aſcribed to him; and I have found this point aſcertained, beyond all doubt, by the following article in Dr. Birch's Manuſcripts in the Britiſh Muſeum:

Indeed Mrs. Carter has lately acknowledged to Mr. Seward, that ſhe was the tranſlator of the Examen.

It is remarkable, that Johnſon's laſt quoted letter to Mr. Cave concludes with a fair confeſſion that he had not a dinner; and it is no leſs remarkable, that, though in this ſtate of want himſelf, his benevolent heart was not inſen⯑ſible to the neceſſities of an humble labourer in literature, as appears from the very next letter:

I muſt not omit to mention, that this Mr. Macbean was a native of Scotland.

In the Gentleman's Magazine of this year, Johnſon gave a Life of Father Paul; * and he wrote the Preface to the Volume, † which, though prefixed to it when bound, is always publiſhed with the Appendix, and is therefore the laſt compoſition belonging to it. The ability and nice adaptation with which he sould draw up a prefatory addreſs, was one of his peculiar excellencies.

[73] It appears too, that he paid a friendly attention to Mrs. Elizabeth Carter; for, in a letter from Mr. Cave to Dr. Birch, November 28, this year, I find ‘"Mr. Johnſon adviſes Miſs C. to undertake a tranſlation of Boethius de Cons. becauſe there is proſe and verſe, and to put her name to it when publiſhed."’ This advice was not followed, probably from an apprehenſion that the work was not ſufficiently popular for an extenſive ſale. How well Johnſon himſelf could have executed a tranſlation of this philoſophical poet, we may judge from a ſpecimen which he has given in the Rambler ^‡:

In 1739, beſide the aſſiſtance which he gave to the Parliamentary Debates, his writings in the Gentleman's Magazine were, ‘"The Life of Boerhaave, *"’ in which it is to be obſerved, that he diſcovers that love of chymiſtry which never forſook him; ‘"An Appeal to the Publick in behalf of the Editor; †"’ ‘"An Addreſs to the Reader; †"’ ‘"An Epigram both in Greek and Latin to Eliza, *"’ and alſo Engliſh verſes to her; * and, ‘"A Greek Epigram to Dr. Birch. *"’ It has been erroneouſly ſuppoſed, that an Eſſay publiſhed in that Magazine this year, entitled ‘"The Apotheoſis of Milton,"’ was written by Johnſon; and on that ſuppoſition it has been improperly inſerted in the edition of his works by the bookſellers, after his deceaſe. Were there no poſitive teſtimony as to this point, the ſtyle of the performance, and the name of Shakſpeare not being mentioned in an Eſſay profeſſedly reviewing the principal Engliſh poets, would aſcertain it not to be the production of Johnſon. But [74] there is here no occaſion to reſort to internal evidence; for my Lord Biſhop of Carliſle has aſſured me, that it was written by Guthrie. His ſeparate pub⯑lications were, ‘"A Complete Vindication of the Licenſers of the Stage, from the malicious and ſcandalous Aſperſions of Mr. Brooke, Authour of Guſtavus Vaſa, *"’ being an ironical Attack upon them for their Suppreſſion of that Tragedy; and, ‘"Marmor Norfolcienſe; or an Eſſay on an ancient prophetical Inſcription in monkiſh Rhyme, lately diſcovered near Lynne in Norfolk, by PROBUS BRITANNICUS. *"’ In this performance, he, in a feigned inſcription, ſuppoſed to have been found in Norfolk, the county of Sir Robert Walpole, then the obnoxious prime miniſter of this country, inveighs againſt the Brunſwick ſucceſſion, and the meaſures of government conſequent upon it. To this ſuppoſed prophecy he added a Commentary, making each expreſſion apply to the times, with warm Anti-Hanoverian zeal.

This anonymous pamphlet, I believe, did not make ſo much noiſe as was expected, and, therefore, had not a very extenſive circulation. Sir John Hawkins relates, that ‘"warrants were iſſued, and meſſengers employed to apprehend the authour; who, though he had forborne to ſubſcribe his name to the pamphlet, the vigilance of thoſe in purſuit of him had diſcovered;"’ and we are informed, that he lay concealed in Lambeth-marſh till the ſcent after him grew cold. This, however, is altogether without foundation; for Mr. Steele, one of the Secretaries of the Treaſury, who, amidſt a variety of important buſineſs, politely obliged me with his attention to my inquiry, informs me, that ‘"he directed every poſſible ſearch to be made in the records of the Treaſury and Secretary of State's Office, but could find no trace whatever of any warrant having been iſſued to apprehend the authour of this pamphlet."’

‘"Marmor Norfolcienſe"’ became exceedingly ſcarce, ſo that I, for many years, endeavoured in vain to procure a copy of it. At laſt I was indebted to the malice of one of Johnſon's numerous petty adverſaries, who, in 1775, publiſhed a new edition of it, ‘"with Notes and a Dedication to SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D. by TRIBUNUS;"’ in which ſome puny ſcribbler invidiouſly attempted to found upon it a charge of inconſiſtency againſt its authour, becauſe he had accepted of a penſion from his preſent Majeſty, and had written in ſupport of the meaſures of government. As a mortification to ſuch impotent malice, of which there are ſo many inſtances towards men of emi⯑nence, I am happy to relate, that this telum imbelle did not reach its exalted object, till about a year after it thus appeared, when I mentioned it to him, ſuppoſing that he knew of the re-publication. To my ſurprize, he had not [75] yet heard of it. He requeſted me to go directly and get it for him, which I did. He looked at it and laughed, and ſeemed to be much diverted with the feeble efforts of his unknown adverſary, who, I hope, is alive to read this account. ‘"Now (ſaid he) here is ſomebody who thinks he has vexed me ſadly; yet, if it had not been for you, you rogue, I ſhould probably never have ſeen it."’

As Mr. Pope's note concerning Johnſon, alluded to in a former page, refers both to his ‘"London,"’ and his ‘"Marmor Norfolcienſe,"’ I have deferred inſerting it till now. I am indebted for it to Dr. Percy, the Biſhop of Dromore, who permitted me to copy it from the original in his poſſeſſion. It was preſented to his Lordſhip by Sir Joſhua Reynolds, to whom it was given by the ſon of Mr. Richardſon the painter, the perſon to whom it is addreſſed. I have tranſcribed it with minute exactneſs, that the peculiar mode of writing, and imperfect ſpelling of that celebrated poet, may be exhibited to the curious in literature. It juſtifies Swift's epithet of ‘"paper⯑ſparing Pope,"’ for it is written on a ſlip no larger than a common meſſage⯑card, and was ſent to Mr. Richardſon, along with the Imitation of Juvenal.

Johnſon had been told of this note by Pope; and Sir Joſhua Reynolds informed him of the compliment which it contained, but, from delicacy, avoided ſhewing him the paper itſelf. When Sir Joſhua obſerved to Johnſon that he ſeemed very deſirous to ſee Pope's note, he anſwered, ‘"Who would not be proud to have ſuch a man as Pope ſo ſolicitous in inquiring about him?"’

The infirmity to which Mr. Pope alludes, appeared to me alſo, as I have elſewhere⁵ obſerved, to be of the convulſive kind, and of the nature of that diſtemper called St. Vitus's dance; and in this opinion I am confirmed by the [76] deſcription which Sydenham gives of that diſeaſe. ‘"This diſorder is a kind of convulſion. It manifeſts itſelf by halting or unſteadineſs of one of the legs, which the patient draws after him like an ideot. If the hand of the ſame ſide be applied to the breaſt, or any other part of the body, he cannot keep it a moment in the ſame poſture, but it will be drawn into a different one by a convulſion, notwithſtanding all his efforts to the contrary."’ Sir Joſhua Reynolds, however, is of a different opinion, and has favoured me with the following paper.

While we are on this ſubject, my readers may not be diſpleaſed with another anecdote, communicated to me by the ſame friend, from the relation of Mr. Hogarth.

Johnſon uſed to be a pretty frequent viſiter at the houſe of Mr. Richardſon, authour of Clariſſa, and other novels of extenſive reputation. Mr. Hogarth came one day to ſee Richardſon, ſoon after the execution of Dr. Cameron, for having taken arms for the houſe of Stuart in 1745-6; and being a warm partiſan of George the Second, he obſerved to Richardſon, that certainly there muſt have been ſome very unfavourable circumſtances lately diſcovered in this particular caſe, which had induced the King to approve of an execution [77] for rebellion ſo long after the time when it was committed, as this had the appearance of putting a man to death in cold blood ⁶, and was very unlike his Majeſty's uſual clemency. While he was talking, he perceived a perſon ſtanding at a window in the room, ſhaking his head, and rolling himſelf about in a ſtrange ridiculous manner. He concluded that he was an ideot, whom his relations had put under the care of Mr. Richardſon, as a very good man. To his great ſurprize, however, this figure ſtalked forwards to where he and Mr. Richardſon were ſitting, and all at once took up the argument, and burſt out into an invective againſt George the Second, as one, who, upon all occaſions, was unrelenting and barbarous; mentioning many inſtances, par⯑ticularly, that when an officer of high rank had been acquitted by a Court Martial, George the Second had, with his own hand, ſtruck his name oſf the liſt. In ſhort, he diſplayed ſuch a power of eloquence, that Hogarth looked at him with aſtoniſhment, and actually imagined that this ideot had been at the moment inſpired. Neither Hogarth nor Johnſon were made known to each other at this interview.

In 1740 he wrote for the Gentleman's Magazine the ‘"Preface, †"’ ‘"Life of Admiral Drake, *"’ and the firſt parts of thoſe of ‘"Sir Francis Blake, *"’ and of ‘"Philip Baretier, *"’ both which he finiſhed the year after. He alſo wrote an ‘"Eſſay on Epitaphs, †"’ and an ‘"Epitaph on Philips, a Muſician, *"’ which was afterwards publiſhed with ſome other pieces of his, in Mrs. Williams's Miſcellanies. This Epitaph is ſo exquiſitely beautiful, that I remember even Lord Kames, ſtrangely prejudiced as he was againſt Dr. Johnſon, was compelled to allow it very high praiſe. It has been aſcribed to Mr. Garrick, from its appearing at firſt with the ſignature G; but I have heard Mr. Garrick declare, that it was written by Dr. Johnſon, and give the following account of the manner in which it was compoſed. Johnſon and he were ſitting together; when, amongſt other things, Garrick repeated an Epitaph upon this Philips by a Dr. Wilkes, in theſe words:

Johnſon ſhook his head at theſe common-place funereal lines, and ſaid to Garrick, ‘"I think, Davy, I can make a better."’ Then, ſtirring about his tea for a little while, in a ſtate of meditation, he almoſt extempore produced the following verſes:

At the ſame time that Mr. Garrick favoured me with this anecdote, he repeated a very pointed Epigram by Johnſon, on George the Second and Colley Cibber, which has never yet appeared, and of which I know not the exact date. Dr. Johnſon afterwards gave it to me himſelf.

In 1741 he wrote for the Gentleman's Magazine ‘"the Preface, †"’ ‘"Conclu⯑ſion of his Lives of Drake and Baretier, *"’ ‘"A free Tranſlation of the Jeſts of Hierocles, with an Introduction; †"’ and, I think, the following pieces: ‘"Debate on the Propoſal of Parliament to Cromwell, to aſſume the Title of King, abridged, methodiſed, and digeſted; †"’ ‘"Tranſlation of Abbé Guyon's Diſſertation on the Amazons; †"’ ‘"Tranſlation of Fontenelle's Panegyrick on Dr. Morin. †"’ Two notes upon this appear to me undoubtedly his. He this year, and the two following, wrote the Parliamentary Debates. He told me himſelf, that he was the ſole compoſer of them for thoſe three years only. [79] He was not, however, preciſely exact in his ſtatement, which he mentioned from haſty recollection; for it is ſufficiently evident, that his compoſition of them began November 19, 1740, and ended February 23, 1742-3.

It appears from ſome of Cave's letters to Dr. Birch, that Cave had better aſſiſtance for that branch of his Magazine, than has been generally ſuppoſed; and that he was indefatigable in getting it made as perfect as he could.

Thus, 21ſt July, 1735, ‘"I trouble you with the incloſed, becauſe you ſaid you could eaſily correct what is herein given for Lord C—ld's ſpeech. I beg you will do ſo as ſoon as you can for me, becauſe the month is far advanced."’

And, 15th July, 1737. ‘"As you remember the Debates ſo far as to per⯑ceive the ſpeeches already printed are not exact, I beg the favour that you will peruſe the incloſed, and, in the beſt manner your memory will ſerve, correct the miſtaken paſſages, or add any thing that is omitted. I ſhould be very glad to have ſomething of the Duke of N—le's ſpeech, which would be particularly of ſervice.’

‘"A gentleman has Lord Bathurſt's ſpeech to add ſomething to."’

And, July 3, 1744, ‘"You will ſee what ſtupid, low, abominable ſtuff is put⁷ upon your noble and learned friend's⁸ character, ſuch as I ſhould quite reject, and endeavour to do ſomething better towards doing juſtice to the character. But as I cannot expect to attain my deſires in that reſpect, it would be a great ſatisfaction to me, as well as an honour to our work, to have the favour of the genuine ſpeech. It is a method that ſeveral have been pleaſed to take, as I could ſhew, but I think myſelf under a reſtraint. I ſhall ſay ſo far, that I have had ſome by a third hand, which I underſtood well enough to come from the firſt; others by penny-poſt, and others by the ſpeakers themſelves, who have been pleaſed to viſit St. John's Gate, and ſhew particular marks of their being pleaſed ⁹."’

There is no reaſon, I believe, to doubt the veracity of Cave. It is, how⯑ever, remarkable, that none of theſe letters are in the years during which Johnſon alone furniſhed the Debates, and one of them is in the very year after he ceaſed from that labour. Johnſon told me, that as ſoon as he found that the ſpeeches were thought genuine, he determined that he would write no more of them, for ‘"he would not be acceſſary to the propagation of falſhood."’ And ſuch was the tenderneſs of his conſcience, that a ſhort time before his [80] death he expreſſed a regret for his having been the authour of fictions, which had paſſed for realities.

He nevertheleſs agreed with me in thinking, that the Debates which he had framed were to be valued as Orations upon queſtions of publick importance. They have accordingly been collected in volumes, properly arranged, and recommended to the notice of parliamentary ſpeakers by a Preface, written by no inferiour hand ¹. I muſt, however, obſerve, that although there is in thoſe Debates a wonderful ſtore of political information, and very powerful eloquence, I cannot agree that they exhibit the manner of each particular ſpeaker, as Sir John Hawkins ſeems to think. But, indeed, what opinion can we have of his judgement, and taſte in publick ſpeaking, who preſumes to give, as the characteriſticks of two celebrated orators, ‘"the deep-mouthed rancour of Pulteney, and the yelping pertinacity of Pitt ²."’

This year I find that his tragedy of IRENE had been for ſome time ready for the ſtage, and that his neceſſities made him deſirous of getting as much as he could for it, without delay; for there is the following letter from Mr. Cave to Dr. Birch, in the ſame volume of manuſcripts in the Britiſh Muſeum from whence I copied thoſe above quoted. They were moſt obligingly pointed out to me by Sir William Muſgrave, one of the Curators of that noble repoſitory.

I have already mentioned that ‘"Irene"’ was not brought into publick notice till Garrick was manager of Drury-lane theatre.

[81] In 1742 he wrote for the Gentleman's Magazine the ‘"Preface, †"’ the ‘"Parliamentary Debates, *"’ ‘"Eſſay on the Account of the Conduct of the Ducheſs of Marlborough, *"’ then the popular topick of converſation. This Eſſay is a ſhort but maſterly performance. We find him▪ in No. 13 of his Rambler, cenſuring a profligate ſentiment in that ‘"Account;"’ and again inſiſting upon it ſtrenuouſly in converſation ^{8 46}. ‘"An Account of the Life of Peter Burman, *"’ I believe chiefly taken from a foreign publication; as, indeed, he could not himſelf know much about Burman; ‘"Additions to his Life of Baretier; *"’ ‘"The Life of Sydenham, *"’ afterwards prefixed to Dr. Swan's edition of his works; ‘"Propoſals for printing Bibliotheca Harleiana, or a Catalogue of the Library of the Earl of Oxford. *"’ His account of that celebrated collection of books, in which he diſplays the importance to literature, of what the French call a catalogue raiſonnée, when the ſubjects of it are extenſive and various, and it is executed with ability, cannot fail to impreſs all his readers with admiration of his philological attainments. It was afterwards prefixed to the firſt volume of the Catalogue, in which the Latin accounts of books were written by him. He was employed in this buſineſs by Mr. Thomas Oſborne the bookſeller, who purchaſed the library for 13,000l. a ſum, which Mr. Oldys ſays, in one of his manuſcripts, was not more than the binding of the books had coſt; yet, as Dr. Johnſon aſſured me, the ſlowneſs of the ſale was ſuch, that there was not much gained by it. It has been confidently related, with many embelliſhments, that Johnſon one day knocked Oſborne down in his ſhop, with a folio, and put his foot upon his neck. The ſimple truth I had from Johnſon himſelf. ‘"Sir, he was imper⯑tinent to me, and I beat him. But it was not in his ſhop: it was in my own chamber."’

A very diligent obſerver may trace him where we ſhould not eaſily ſup⯑poſe him to be found. I have no doubt that he wrote the little abridgement entitled ‘"Foreign Hiſtory,"’ in the Magazine for December. To prove it, I ſhall quote the introduction. ‘"As this is that ſeaſon of the year in which Nature may be ſaid to command a ſuſpenſion of hoſtilities, and which ſeems intended, by putting a ſhort ſtop to violence and ſlaughter, to afford time for malice to relent, and animoſity to ſubſide; we can ſcarce expect any other accounts than of plans, negociations and treaties, of propoſals for peace, and preparations for war."’ As alſo this paſſage: ‘"Let thoſe who deſpiſe the capacity of the Swiſs, tell us by what wonderful policy, or by what happy [82] conciliation of intereſts, it is brought to paſs, that in a body made up of different communities and different religions, there ſhould be no civil com⯑motions, though the people are ſo warlike, that to nominate and raiſe an army is the ſame."’

I am obliged to Mr. Aſtle for his ready permiſſion to copy the two follow⯑ing letters, of which the originals are in his poſſeſſion. Their contents ſhew that they were written about this time, and that Johnſon was now engaged in preparing an hiſtorical account of the Britiſh Parliament.

[84] I would alſo aſcribe to him an ‘"Eſſay on the Deſcription of China, from the French of Du Halde. †"’

His writings in the Gentleman's Magazine in 1743, are, the Preface, † the Parliamentary Debates, † ‘"Conſiderations on the Diſpute between Crouſaz and Warburton, on Pope's Eſſay on Man, †"’ in which, while he defends Crouſaz, he ſhews an admirable metaphyſical acuteneſs and temperance in controverſy; ‘"Ad Lauram parituram Epigramma ⁷; *"’ and, ‘"A Latin Tranſlation of Pope's Verſes on his Grotto; *"’ and, as he could employ his pen with equal ſucceſs upon a ſmall matter as a great, I ſuppoſe him to be the authour of an advertiſement for Oſborn, concerning the great Harleian Catalogue.

But I ſhould think myſelf much wanting, both to my illuſtrious friend and my readers, did I not introduce here, with more than ordinary reſpect, an exquiſitely beautiful Ode, which has not been inſerted in any of the collections of Johnſon's poetry, written by him at a very early period, as Mr. Hector informs me, and inſerted in the Gentleman's Magazine of this year.

Johnſon had now an opportunity of obliging his ſchoolfellow Dr. James, of whom he once obſerved, ‘"no man brings more mind to his profeſſion."’ James publiſhed this year his ‘"Medicinal Dictionary,"’ in three volumes folio. Johnſon, as I underſtood from him, had written, or aſſiſted in writing, the propoſals for this work; and being very fond of the ſtudy of phyſick, in which James was his maſter, he furniſhed ſome of the articles. He, however, certainly wrote for it the Dedication to Dr. Mead,† which is con⯑ceived with great addreſs, to conciliate the patronage of that very eminent man ⁸.

It has been circulated, I know not with what authenticity, that Johnſon conſidered Dr. Birch as a dull writer, and ſaid of him, ‘"Tom Birch is as briſk as a bee in converſation; but no ſooner does he take a pen in his hand, than [86] it becomes a torpedo to him, and benumbs all his faculties."’ That the literature of this country is much indebted to Birch's activity and diligence, muſt certainly be acknowledged. We have ſeen that Johnſon honoured him with a Greek Epigram; and his correſpondence with him, during many years, proves that he had no mean opinion of him.

His circumſtances were at this time much embarraſſed; yet his affection for his mother was ſo warm, and ſo liberal, that he took upon himſelf a debt of hers, which, though ſmall in itſelf, was then conſiderable to him. This appears from the following letter which he wrote to Mr. Levett, of Lichfield, the original of which lies now before me.

It does not appear that he wrote any thing in 1744 for the Gentleman's Magazine, but the Preface. † His life of Baretier was now re-publiſhed in a pamphlet by itſelf. But he produced one work this year, fully ſufficient to maintain the high reputation which he had acquired. This was ‘"THE LIFE OF RICHARD SAVAGE; *"’ a man, of whom it is difficult to ſpeak impartially, without wondering that he was for ſome time the intimate companion of Johnſon; for his character was marked by profligacy, inſolence, and ingra⯑titude ⁹: yet, as he undoubtedly had a warm and vigorous, though unregulated mind, had ſeen life in all its varieties, and been much in the company of the ſtateſmen and wits of his time, he could communicate to Johnſon an abun⯑dant ſupply of ſuch materials as his philoſophical curioſity moſt eagerly deſired; and as Savage's misfortunes and miſconduct had reduced him to the loweſt ſtate of wretchedneſs as a writer for bread, his viſits to St. John's Gate naturally brought Johnſon and him together ¹.

[88] It is melancholy to reflect, that Johnſon and Savage were ſometimes in ſuch extreme indigence, that they could not pay for a lodging; ſo that they have wandered together whole nights in the ſtreets. Yet in theſe almoſt incredible ſcenes of diſtreſs, we may ſuppoſe that Savage mentioned many of the anecdotes with which Johnſon afterwards enriched the life of his unhappy companion, and thoſe of other Poets.

He mentioned to Sir Joſhua Reynolds, that one night in particular, when Savage and he walked round St. James's-ſquare for want of a lodging, they were not at all depreſſed by their ſituation, but in high ſpirits and brimful of patriotiſm, traverſed the ſquare for ſeveral hours, inveighed againſt the miniſter, and ‘"reſolved they would ſtand by their country."’

I am afraid, however, that by aſſociating with Savage, who was habituated to the diſſipation and licentiouſneſs of the Town, Johnſon, though his good principles remained ſteady, did not entirely preſerve that conduct, for which, in days of greater ſimplicity, he was remarked by his friend Mr. Hector; but was imperceptibly led into ſome indulgences which occaſioned much diſtreſs to his virtuous mind.

That Johnſon was anxious that an authentick and favourable account of his extraordinary friend ſhould firſt get poſſeſſion of the publick attention, is evident from a letter which he wrote in the Gentleman's Magazine for Auguſt of the year preceding its publication.

In February, 1744, it accordingly came forth from the ſhop of Roberts, between whom and Johnſon I have not traced any connection, except the caſual one of this publication. In this work, although it muſt be allowed that its moral is the reverſe of—‘"Reſpicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo,"’ a very uſeful leſſon is inculcated, to guard men of warm paſſions from a too free indulgence of them; and the various incidents are related in ſo clear and animated a manner, and illuminated throughout with ſo much philoſophy, that it is one of the moſt intereſting narratives in the Engliſh language. Sir Joſhua Reynolds told me, that upon his return from Italy he met with it in Devonſhire, knowing nothing of its authour, and began to read it while he was ſtanding with his arm leaning againſt a chimney-piece. It ſeized his attention ſo ſtrongly, that, not being able to lay down the book till he had finiſhed it, when he attempted to move, he found his arm totally benumbed. The rapidity with which this work was compoſed, is a wonderful circumſtance. Johnſon has been heard to ſay, ‘"I wrote forty-eight of the printed octavo pages of the Life of Savage at a ſitting; but then I ſat up all night ²."’

He exhibits the genius of Savage to the beſt advantage, in the ſpecimens of his poetry which he has ſelected, ſome of which are of uncommon merit. [90] We, indeed, occaſionally find ſuch vigour and ſuch point, as might make us ſuppoſe that the generous aid of Johnſon had been imparted to his friend. Mr. Thomas Warton made this remark to me; and, in ſupport of it, quoted from the poem entitled ‘"The Baſtard,"’ a line in which the fancied ſupe⯑riority of one ‘"ſtamped in Nature's mint with extaſy,"’ is contraſted with a regular lawful deſcendant of ſome great and ancient family:

but the fact is, that this poem was publiſhed ſome years before Johnſon and Savage were acquainted.

It is remarkable, that in this biographical diſquiſition there appears a very ſtrong ſymptom of Johnſon's prejudice againſt players; a prejudice, which may be attributed to the following cauſes: firſt, the imperfection of his organs, which were ſo defective that he was not ſuſceptible of the fine impreſſions which theatrical excellence produces upon the generality of mankind; ſecondly, the cold rejection of his tragedy; and, laſtly, the brilliant ſucceſs of Garrick, who had been his pupil, who had come to London at the ſame time with him, not in a much more proſperous ſtate than himſelf, and whoſe talents he undoubtedly rated low, compared with his own. His being outſtripped by his pupil in the race of immediate fame, as well as of fortune, probably made him feel ſome indignation, as thinking that whatever might be Garrick's merits in his art, the reward was too great when compared with what the moſt ſucceſsful efforts of literary labour could attain. At all periods of his life Johnſon uſed to talk contemptuouſly of players; but in this work he ſpeaks of them with peculiar acrimony; for which, perhaps, there was formerly too much reaſon from the licentious and diſſolute manners of thoſe engaged in that profeſſion. It is but juſtice to add, that in our own time ſuch a change has taken place, that there is no longer room for ſuch an unfavourable diſtinction.

His ſchoolfellow and friend, Dr. Taylor, told me a pleaſant anecdote of Johnſon's triumphing over his pupil David Garrick. When that great actor had played ſome little time at Goodman's-fields, Johnſon and Taylor went to ſee him perſorm, and afterwards paſſed the evening at a tavern with him and old Giffard. Johnſon, who was ever depreciating ſtage-players, after cen⯑ſuring ſome miſtakes in emphaſis which Garrick had committed in the courſe of that night's acting, ſaid, ‘"the players, Sir, have got a kind of rant, with which they run on, without any regard either to accent or emphaſis."’ Both Garrick and Giffard were offended at this ſarcaſm, and endeavoured to refute it; upon which Johnſon rejoined, ‘"Well now, I'll give you ſomething to ſpeak, with which you are little acquainted, and then we ſhall ſee how juſt [91] my obſervation is. That ſhall be the criterion. Let me hear you repeat the ninth Commandment, ‘"Thou ſhalt not bear falſe witneſs againſt thy neigh⯑bour."’’ Both tried at it, ſaid Dr. Taylor, and both miſtook the emphaſis, which ſhould be upon not and falſe witneſs. Johnſon put them right, and enjoyed his victory with great glee.

His ‘"Life of Savage"’ was no ſooner publiſhed, than the following liberal praiſe was given to it, in ‘"The Champion,"’ a periodical paper: ‘"This pamphlet is, without flattery to its authour, as juſt and well written a piece as of its kind I ever ſaw; ſo that at the ſame time that it highly deſerves, it certainly ſtands very little in need of this recommendation. As to the hiſtory of the unfortunate perſon, whoſe memoirs compoſe this work, it is certainly penned with equal accuracy and ſpirit, of which I am ſo much the better judge, as I know many of the facts mentioned to be ſtrictly true, and very fairly related. Beſides, it is not only the ſtory of Mr. Savage, but innume⯑rable incidents relating to other perſons, and other affairs, which renders this a very amuſing, and, withal, a very inſtructive and valuable performance. The authour's obſervations are ſhort, ſignificant, and juſt, as his narrative is remarkably ſmooth and well diſpoſed. His reflections open to all the receſſes of the human heart; and, in a word, a more juſt or pleaſant, a more engaging or a more improving treatiſe, on all the excellencies and defects of human nature, is ſcarce to be found in our own, or, perhaps, any other language."’ This paper is well known to have been written by the celebrated Henry Fielding. But, I ſuppoſe, Johnſon was not informed of his being indebted to him for this civility; for if he had been appriſed of that circumſtance, as he was very ſenſible of praiſe, he probably would not have ſpoken with ſo little reſpect of Fielding, as we ſhall find he afterwards did.

Johnſon's partiality for Savage made him entertain no doubt of his ſtory, however extraordinary and improbable. It never occurred to him to queſtion his being the ſon of the Counteſs of Macclesfield, of whoſe unrelenting bar⯑barity he ſo loudly complained, and the particulars of which are related in ſo ſtrong and affecting a manner in Johnſon's life of him. Johnſon was certainly well warranted in publiſhing his narrative, however offenſive it might be to the Lady and her relations, becauſe her alledged unnatural and cruel conduct to her ſon, and ſhameful avowal of guilt, were ſtated in a life of Savage now lying before me, which came out ſo early as 1727, and no attempt had been made to confute it, or to puniſh the authour or printer as a libeller: but, for the honour of human nature, we ſhould be glad to find the ſhocking tale not true; and, from a reſpectable gentleman connected with the Lady's family, I [92] have received ſuch information and remarks, as joined to my own inquiries, will, I think, render it at leaſt ſomewhat doubtful, eſpecially when we con⯑ſider that it muſt have originated from the perſon himſelf who went by the name of Richard Savage.

If the maxim falſum in uno, falſum in omnibus, were to be received without qualification, the credit of Savage's narrative, as conveyed to us, would be annihilated; for it contains ſome aſſertions which, beyond a queſtion, are not true.

1. In order to induce a belief that Earl Rivers, on account of a criminal connection with whom, Lady Macclesfield is ſaid to have been divorced from her huſband, by Act of Parliament ³, had a peculiar anxiety about the child which ſhe bore to him, it is alledged, that his Lordſhip gave him his own name, and had it duly recorded in the regiſter of St. Andrew's, Holborn. I have carefully inſpected that regiſter, but no ſuch entry is to be found.

2. It is ſtated, that ‘"Lady Macclesfield having lived for ſome time upon very uneaſy terms with her huſband, thought a publick confeſſion of adultery the moſt obvious and expeditious method of obtaining her liberty;"’ and Johnſon, aſſuming this to be true, ſtigmatiſes her with indignation, as ‘"the wretch who had, without ſcruple, proclaimed herſelf an adultereſs."’ But I have peruſed the Journals of both houſes of Parliament at the period of her divorce, and there find it authentically aſcertained, that ſo far from voluntarily ſubmitting to the ignominious charge of adultery, ſhe made a ſtrenuous defence by her Counſel; the bill having been firſt moved 15th January, 1697, in the Houſe of Lords, and proceeded on, (with various applications for time to bring up witneſſes at a diſtance, &c.) at intervals, till the 3d of March, when it paſſed. It was brought to the Commons, by a meſſage from the Lords, the 5th of March, proceeded on the 7th, 10th, 11th, 14th, and 15th, on which day, after a full examination of witneſſes on both ſides, and hearing of Counſel, it was reported without amendments, paſſed, and carried to the Lords.

That Lady Macclesfield was convicted of the crime of which ſhe was accuſed, cannot be denied; but the queſtion now is, whether the perſon calling himſelf Richard Savage was her ſon.

It has been ſaid, that when Earl Rivers was dying, and anxious to provide for all his natural children, he was informed by Lady Macclesfield that her ſon by him was dead. Whether, then, ſhall we believe that this was a malignant lie, invented by a mother to prevent her own child from receiving [93] the bounty of his father, which was accordingly the conſequence, if the perſon whoſe life Johnſon wrote, was her ſon; or ſhall we not rather believe that the perſon who then aſſumed the name of Richard Savage was an impoſtor, being in reality the ſon of the ſhoemaker, under whoſe wife's care Lady Macclesfield's child was placed; that after the death of the real Richard Savage, he attempted to perſonate him, and that the fraud being known to Lady Macclesfield, he was therefore repulſed by her with juſt reſentment.

There is a ſtrong circumſtance in ſupport of the laſt ſuppoſition, though it has been mentioned as an aggravation of Lady Macclesfield's unnatural conduct, and that is, her having prevented him from obtaining the benefit of a legacy left to him by Mrs. Lloyd his god-mother. For if there was ſuch a legacy left, his not being able to obtain payment of it, muſt be imputed to his con⯑ſciouſneſs that he was not the real perſon. The juſt inference ſhould be, that by the death of Lady Macclesfield's child before its god-mother, the legacy became lapſed, and therefore that Johnſon's Richard Savage was an impoſtor. If he had a title to the legacy, he could not have found any difficulty in recovering it; for had the executors reſiſted his claim, the whole coſts, as well as the legacy, muſt have been paid by them, if he had been the child to whom it was given.

The talents of Savage, and the mingled fire, rudeneſs, pride, mean⯑neſs, and ferocity of his character ⁴, concur in making it credible that he was fit to plan and carry on an ambitious and daring ſcheme of impoſ⯑ture, ſimilar inſtances of which have not been wanting in higher ſpheres, in the hiſtory of different countries, and have had a conſiderable degree of ſucceſs.

Yet, on the other hand, to the companion of Johnſon, (who through whatever medium he was conveyed into this world,—be it ever ſo doubtful ‘"To whom related, or by whom begot,"’ was, unqueſtionably, a man of no common endowments,) we muſt allow the weight of general repute as to his Status or parentage, though illicit; and ſuppoſing him to be an impoſtor, it ſeems ſtrange that Lord Tyrconnel, the nephew of Lady Macclesfield, ſhould [94] patroniſe him, and even admit him as a gueſt in his family ⁵. Laſtly, it muſt ever appear very ſuſpicious, that three different accounts of the Life of Richard Savage, one publiſhed in ‘"The Plain Dealer,"’ in 1724, another in 1727, and another by the powerful pen of Johnſon, in 1749, and all of them while Lady Macclesfield was alive, ſhould, notwithſtanding the ſevere attacks upon her, have been ſuffered to paſs without any publick and effectual contradiction.

I have thus endeavoured to ſum up the evidence upon the caſe, as fairly as I can; and the reſult ſeems to be, that the world muſt vibrate in a ſtate of uncertainty as to what was the truth.

This digreſſion, I truſt, will not be cenſured, as it relates to a matter exceedingly curious, and very intimately connected with Johnſon, both as a man and an authour ⁶.

He this year wrote the ‘"Preface to the Harleian Miſcellany. *"’ The ſelection of the pamphlets of which it was compoſed was made by Mr. Oldys, a man of eager curioſity and indefatigable diligence, who firſt exerted that ſpirit of [95] inquiry into the literature of the old Engliſh writers, by which the works of our great dramatick poet have of late been ſo ſignally illuſtrated.

In 1745 he publiſhed a pamphlet entitled ‘"Miſcellaneous Obſervations on the Tragedy of Macbeth, with Remarks on Sir T. H's (Sir Thomas Hanmer's) Edition of Shakſpeare. *"’ To which he affixed, propoſals for a new edition of that poet.

As we do not trace any thing elſe publiſhed by him during the courſe of this year, we may conjecture that he was occupied entirely with that work. But the little encouragement which was given by the publick to his anony⯑mous propoſals for the execution of a taſk which Warburton was known to have undertaken, probably damped his ardour. His pamphlet, however, was highly eſteemed, and was fortunate enough to obtain the approbation even of the ſupercilious Warburton himſelf, who, in the Preface to his Shakſpeare publiſhed two years afterwards, thus mentioned it: ‘"As to all thoſe things which have been publiſhed under the titles of Eſſays, Remarks, Obſervations, &c. on Shakſpeare, if you except ſome critical notes on Macbeth, given as a ſpecimen of a projected edition, and written, as appears, by a man of parts and genius, the reſt are abſolutely below a ſerious notice."’

Of this flattering diſtinction ſhewn to him by Warburton, a very grateful remembrance was ever entertained by Johnſon, who ſaid, ‘"He praiſed me at a time when praiſe was of value to me."’

In 1746 it is probable that he was ſtill employed upon his Shakſpeare, which perhaps he laid aſide for a time, upon account of the high expectations which were formed of Warburton's edition of that great poet. It is ſomewhat curious, that his literary career appears to have been almoſt totally ſuſpended in the years 1745 and 1746, thoſe years which were marked by a civil war in Great-Britain, when a raſh attempt was made to reſtore the Houſe of Stuart to the throne. That he had a tenderneſs for that unfortunate Houſe, is well known; and ſome may fancifully imagine, that a ſympathethick anxiety impeded the exertion of his intellectual powers: but I am inclined to think, that he was, during this time, ſketching the outlines of his great philo⯑logical work.

None of his letters during thoſe years are extant, ſo far as I can diſcover. This is much to be regretted. It might afford ſome entertainment to ſee how he then expreſſed himſelf to his private friends, concerning ſtate affairs. Dr. Adams informs me, that ‘"at this time a favourite object which he had in contemplation was 'The Life of Alfred,' in which, from the warmth with [96] which he ſpoke about it, he would, I believe, had he been maſter of his own will, have engaged himſelf, rather than on any other ſubject."’

In 1747 it is ſuppoſed that the Gentleman's Magazine for May was enriched by him with five ſhort poetical pieces, diſtinguiſhed by three aſteriſks. The firſt is a tranſlation, or rather a paraphraſe, of a Latin Epitaph on Sir Thomas Hanmer. Whether the Latin was his, or not, I have never heard, though I ſhould think it probably was, if it be certain that he wrote the Engliſh; as to which my only cauſe of doubt is, that his ſlighting character of Hanmer as an editor, in his ‘"Obſervations on Macbeth,"’ is very different from that in the Epitaph. It may be ſaid, that there is the ſame contrariety between the character in the Obſervations, and that in his own Preface to Shakſpeare; but a conſiderable time elapſed between the one publication and the other, whereas the Obſervations and the Epitaph came cloſe together. The others are, ‘"To Miſs—, on her giving the Authour a gold and ſilk net-work Purſe of her own weaving;"’ ‘"Stella in Mourning;"’ ‘"The Winter's Walk;"’ ‘"An Ode;"’ and, ‘"To Lyce, an elderly Lady."’ I am not poſitive that all theſe were his productions; but as ‘"The Winter's Walk,"’ has never been con⯑troverted to be his, and all of them have the ſame mark, it is reaſonable to conclude that they are all written by the ſame hand. Yet to the Ode, in which we find a paſſage very characteriſtick of him, being a learned deſcrip⯑tion of the gout,

there is the following note: ‘"The authour being ill of the gout:"’ but Johnſon was not attacked with that diſtemper till at a very late period of his life. May not this, however, be a poetical fiction? Why may not a poet ſuppoſe himſelf to have the gout, as well as ſuppoſe himſelf to be in love, of which we have innumerable inſtances, and which has been admirably ridiculed by Johnſon in his ‘"Life of Cowley?"’ I have alſo ſome difficulty to believe that he could produce ſuch a group of conceits as appear in the verſes to Lyce, in which he claims for this ancient perſonage as good a right to be aſſimi⯑lated to heaven, as nymphs whom other poets have flattered; he therefore ironically aſcribes to her the attributes of the ſky, in ſuch ſtanzas as this:

[97] But as at a very advanced age he could condeſcend to trifle in namby pamby rhymes to pleaſe Mrs. Thrale and her daughter, he may have, in his earlier years, compoſed ſuch a pieoe as this.

It is remarkable, that in this firſt edition of ‘"The Winter's Walk,"’ the concluding line is much more Johnſonian than it was afterwards printed; for in ſubſequent editions after praying Stella to ‘"ſnatch him to her arms,"’ he ſays,

Whereas in the firſt edition it is

A horrour at life in general is more conſonant with Johnſon's habitual gloomy caſt of thought.

I have heard him repeat with great energy the following verſes, which appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine for April this year; but I have no authority to ſay they were his own. Indeed one of the beſt criticks of our age ſuggeſts to me, that the word indifferently being uſed in the ſenſe of without concern, renders it improbable that they ſhould have been his com⯑poſition.

[98] This year his old pupil and friend, David Garrick, having become joint patentee and manager of Drury-lane theatre, Johnſon honoured his opening of it with a Prologue, * which for juſt and manly dramatick criticiſm, on the whole range of the Engliſh ſtage, as well as for poetical excellence, is unrivalled. Like the celebrated Epilogue to the ‘"Diſtreſſed Mother,"’ it was, during the ſeaſon, often called for by the audience. The moſt ſtriking and brilliant paſſages of it have been ſo often repeated, and are ſo well recollected by all the lovers of the drama and of poetry, that it would be ſuperfluous to point them out. In the Gentleman's Magazine for December this year, he inſerted an ‘"Ode on Winter,"’ which is, I think, an admirable ſpecimen of his genius for lyrick poetry.

But the year 1747 is diſtinguiſhed as the epoch, when Johnſon's arduous and important work, his DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, was announced to the world, by the publication of its Plan or Proſpectus.

How long this immenſe undertaking had been the object of his contem⯑plation, I do not know. I once aſked him by what means he had attained to that aſtoniſhing knowledge of our language, by which he was enabled to realiſe a deſign of ſuch extent, and accumulated difficulty. He told me, that ‘"it was not the effect of particular ſtudy; but that it had grown up in his mind inſenſibly."’ I have been informed by Mr. James Dodſley, that ſeveral years before this period, when Johnſon was one day ſitting in his brother Robert's ſhop, he heard his brother ſuggeſt to him, that a Dictionary of the Engliſh Language would be a work that would be well received by the publick; that Johnſon ſeemed at firſt to catch at the propoſition, but, after a pauſe, ſaid, in his abrupt deciſive manner, ‘"I believe I ſhall not undertake it."’ That he, however, had beſtowed much thought upon the ſubject, before he publiſhed his ‘"Plan,"’ is evident from the enlarged, clear, and accurate views which it exhibits; and we find him mentioning in that tract, that many of the writers whoſe teſtimonies were to be produced as authorities, were ſelected by Pope, which proves that he had been furniſhed, probably by Mr. Robert Dodſley, with whatever hints that eminent poet had contributed [99] towards a great literary project, that had been the ſubject of important con⯑ſideration in a former reign.

The bookſellers who contracted with Johnſon, ſingle and unaided, for the execution of a work, which in other countries has not been effected but by the co-operating exertions of many, were Mr. Robert Dodſley, Mr. Charles Hitch, Mr. Andrew Millar, the two Meſſieurs Longman, and the two Meſſieurs Knapton. The price ſtipulated was fifteen hundred and ſeventy-five pounds.

The ‘"Plan"’ was addreſſed to Philip Dormer, Earl of Cheſterfield, then one of his Majeſty's Principal Secretaries of State, a nobleman who was very ambitious of literary diſtinction, and who, upon being informed of the deſign, had expreſſed himſelf in terms very favourable to its ſucceſs. There is, perhaps, in every thing of any conſequence, a ſecret hiſtory which it would be amuſing to know, could we have it authentically communicated. Johnſon told me ³, ‘"Sir, the way in which the Plan of my Dictionary came to be inſcribed to Lord Cheſterfield, was this: I had neglected to write it by the time appointed. Dodſley ſuggeſted a deſire to have it addreſſed to Lord Cheſterfield. I laid hold of this as a pretext for delay, that it might be better done, and let Dodſley have his deſire. I ſaid to my friend Dr. Bathurſt, 'Now if any good comes of my addreſſing to Lord Cheſterfield, it will be aſcribed to deep policy, when, in fact, it was only a caſual excuſe for lazineſs."’

It is worthy of obſervation, that the ‘"Plan"’ has not only the ſubſtantial merit of comprehenſion, perſpicuity, and preciſion, but that the language of it is unexceptionably excellent, it being altogether free from that inflation of ſtyle, and thoſe uncommon but apt and energetick words, which in ſome of his writings have been cenſured with more petulance than juſtice; and never was there a more dignified ſtrain of compliment, than that in which he courts the attention of one whom he had been perſuaded to believe would be a reſpect⯑able patron.

‘"With regard to queſtions of purity or propriety, (ſays he) I was once in doubt whether I ſhould not attribute to myſelf too much in attempting to decide them, and whether my province was to extend beyond the propoſition of the queſtion, and the diſplay of the ſuffrages on each ſide; but I have been ſince determined by your Lordſhip's opinion, to interpoſe my own judgement, and ſhall therefore endeavour to ſupport what appears to me moſt conſonant to [98] [...] [99] [...] [100] grammar and reaſon. Auſonius thought that modeſty forbade him to plead inability for a taſk to which Caeſar had judged him equal: 'Cur me poſſe negem poſſe quod ille putat? ² And I may hope, my Lord, that ſince you, whoſe authority in our language is ſo generally acknowledged, have commiſſioned me to declare my own opinion, I ſhall be conſidered as exerciſing a kind of vicarious juriſdiction, and that the power which might have been denied to my own claim, will be readily allowed me as the delegate of your Lordſhip."’

This paſſage proves, that Johnſon's addreſſing his ‘"Plan"’ to Lord Cheſter⯑field was not merely in conſequence of the reſult of a report by means of Dodſley, that the Earl favoured the deſign; but that there had been a par⯑ticular communication with his Lordſhip concerning it. Dr. Taylor told me, that Johnſon ſent his ‘"Plan"’ to him in manuſcript, for his peruſal; and that when it was lying upon his table, Mr. William Whitehead happened to pay him a viſit, and being ſhewn it, was highly pleaſed with ſuch parts of it as he had time to read, and begged to take it home with him, which he was allowed to do; that from him it got into the hands of a noble Lord, who carried it to Lord Cheſterfield. When Taylor obſerved this might be an advantage, Johnſon replied, ‘"No, Sir; it would have come out with more bloom, if it had not been ſeen before by any body."’

The opinion conceived of it by another noble authour, appears from the following extract of a letter from the Earl of Orrery to Dr. Birch:

That he was fully aware of the arduous nature of the undertaking, he acknowledges, and ſhews himſelf perfectly ſenſible of it in the concluſion of his ‘[101]"Plan;"’ but he had a noble conſciouſneſs of his own abilities, which enabled him to go on with undaunted ſpirit.

Dr. Adams found him one day buſy at his Dictionary, when the following dialogue enſued. ‘"ADAMS. This is a great work, Sir. How are you to get all the etymologies? JOHNSON. Why, Sir, here is a ſhelf with Junius, and Skinner, and others; and there is a Welch gentleman who has publiſhed a collection of Welch proverbs, who will help me with the Welch. ADAMS. But, Sir, how can you do this in three years? JOHNSON. Sir, I have no doubt that I can do it in three years. ADAMS. But the French Academy, which conſiſts of forty members, took forty years to compile their Dictionary. JOHNSON. Sir, thus it is. This is the proportion. Let me ſee; forty times forty is ſixteen hundred. As three to ſixteen hundred, ſo is the proportion of an Engliſhman to a Frenchman."’ With ſo much eaſe and pleaſantry could he talk of that prodigious labour which he had undertaken to execute.

The publick has had, from another pen, a long detail of what had been done in this country by prior Lexicographers, and no doubt Johnſon was wiſe to avail himſelf of them, ſo far as they went; but the learned, yet judicious reſearch of etymology, the various, yet accurate diſplay of definition, and the rich collection of authorities, were reſerved for the ſuperiour mind of our great philologiſt. For the mechanical part, he employed, as he told me, ſix amanuenſes; and let it be remembered by the natives of North-Britain, to whom he is ſuppoſed to have been ſo hoſtile, that five of them were of that country. There were two Meſſieurs Macbean; Mr. Shiels, the writer of the Lives of the Poets to which the name of Cibber is affixed; Mr. Stewart, ſon of Mr. George Stewart, bookſeller at Edinburgh; and, a Mr. Maitland. The ſixth of theſe humble aſſiſtants was Mr. Peyton, who, I believe, taught French, and publiſhed ſome elementary tracts.

To all theſe painful labourers, Johnſon ſhewed a never-ceaſing kindneſs, ſo far as they ſtood in need of it. The elder Mr. Macbean had afterwards the honour of being Librarian to Archibald, Duke of Argyle, for many years, but was left without a ſhilling. Johnſon wrote for him a Preface to ‘"A Syſtem of ancient Geography;"’ and, by the favour of Lord Thurlow, got him admitted a poor brother of the Charterhouſe. For Shiels, who died of a conſumption, he had much tenderneſs; and it has been thought that ſome choice ſentences in the Lives of the Poets were ſupplied by him. Peyton, when reduced to penury, had frequent aid from the bounty of Johnſon, who at laſt was at the expence of burying both him and his wife.

[102] While the Dictionary was going forward, Johnſon lived part of the time in Holborn, part in Gough-ſquare, Fleet-ſtreet; and he had an upper room fit⯑ted up like a counting-houſe for the purpoſe, in which he gave to the copyiſts their ſeveral taſks. The words, partly taken from other dictionaries, and partly ſupplied by himſelf, having been firſt written down with ſpaces left between them, he delivered in writing their etymologies, definitions, and various ſignifications. The authorities were copied from the books them⯑ſelves, in which he had marked the paſſages with a black-lead pencil, the traces of which could eaſily be effaced. I have ſeen ſeveral of them, in which that trouble had not been taken; ſo that they were juſt as when uſed by the copyiſts. It is remarkable, that he was ſo attentive in the choice of the paſſages in which words were authoriſed, that one may read page after page of his Dictionary with improvement and pleaſure; and it ſhould not paſs unobſerved, that he has quoted no authour whoſe writings had a tendency to hurt ſound religion and morality.

The neceſſary expence of preparing a work of ſuch magnitude for the preſs, muſt have been a conſiderable deduction from the price ſtipulated to be paid for the copy-right. I underſtand that nothing was allowed by the bookſellers on that account; and I remember his telling me, that a large portion of it having, by miſtake, been written upon both ſides of the paper, ſo as to be inconvenient for the compoſitor, it coſt him twenty pounds to have it tranſcribed upon one ſide only.

He is now to be conſidered as ‘"tugging at his oar,"’ as engaged in a ſteady continued courſe of occupation, ſufficient to employ all his time for ſome years, and which was the beſt preventive of that conſtitutional melancholy which was ever lurking about him, ready to trouble his quiet. But his enlarged and lively mind could not be ſatisfied without more diverſity of employment, and the pleaſure of animated relaxation. He therefore not only exerted his talents in occaſional compoſition very different from Lexicography, but formed a club in Ivy-lane, Paternoſter-row, with a view to enjoy literary diſcuſſion, and amuſe his evening hours. The members aſſociated with him in this little ſociety were his beloved friend Dr. Richard Bathurſt, Mr. Hawkeſworth, afterwards well known by his writings, Mr. John Hawkins, an attorney ⁵, and a few others of different profeſſions.

[103] In the Gentleman's Magazine for May of this year he wrote a ‘"Life of Lord Roſcommon, *"’ with Notes, which he afterwards much improved, indented the notes into text, and inſerted it amongſt his Lives of the Engliſh Poets.

Mr. Dodſley this year brought out his PRECEPTOR, one of the moſt valuable books for the improvement of young minds that has appeared in any language; and to this meritorious work Johnſon furniſhed ‘"The Preface, *"’ containing a general ſketch of the book, with a ſhort and perſpicuous recommendation of each article; as alſo, ‘"The Viſion of Theodore the Hermit, found in his Cell, *"’ a moſt beautiful allegory of human life, under the figure of aſcending the mountain of Exiſtence. The Biſhop of Dromore heard Dr. Johnſon ſay, that he thought this was the beſt thing he ever wrote.

In January, 1749, he publiſhed ‘"THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES, being the Tenth Satire of Juvenal imitated."’ He, I believe, compoſed it the preceding year ⁶. Mrs. Johnſon, for the ſake of country air, had lodgings at Hampſtead, to which he reſorted occaſionally, and there the greateſt part, if not the whole, of this Imitation was written. The fervid rapidity with which it was produced, is ſcarcely credible. I have heard him ſay, that he compoſed ſeventy lines of it in one day, without putting one of them upon paper till they were finiſhed. I remember when I once regretted to him that he had not given us more of Juvenal's Satires, he ſaid he probably ſhould give more, for he had them all in his head; by which I underſtood, that he had the originals and correſpondent alluſions floating in his mind, which he could, when he pleaſed, embody and render permanent without much labour. Some of them, however, he obſerved, were too groſs for imitation.

The profits of a ſingle poem, however excellent, appear to have been very ſmall in the laſt reign, compared with what a publication of the ſame ſize has ſince been known to yield. I have mentioned, upon Johnſon's own authority▪ that for his LONDON he had only ten guineas; and now, after his fame was eſtabliſhed, he got for his ‘"Vanity of human Wiſhes"’ but five guineas more, as is proved by an authentick document in my poſſeſſion ⁷.

[104] It will be obſerved, that he reſerves to himſelf the right of printing one edition of this ſatire, which was his practice upon occaſion of the ſale of all his writings; it being his fixed intention to publiſh at ſome period, for his own profit, a complete collection of his works.

His ‘"Vanity of human Wiſhes"’ has leſs of common life, but more of a philoſophick dignity than his ‘"London."’ More readers, therefore, will be delighted with the pointed ſpirit of ‘"London,"’ than with the profound reflection of ‘"The Vanity of human Wiſhes."’ Garrick, for inſtance, obſerved, in his ſprightly manner, with more vivacity than regard to juſt diſcrimination, as is uſual with wits, ‘"When Johnſon lived much with the Herveys, and ſaw a good deal of what was paſſing in life, he wrote his 'London,' which is lively and eaſy. When he became more retired, he gave us his 'Vanity of human Wiſhes,' which is as hard as Greek. Had he gone on to imitate another ſatire, it would have been as hard as Hebrew ⁸."’

But ‘"The Vanity of human Wiſhes"’ is, in the opinion of the beſt judges, as high an effort of ethick poetry as any language can ſhew. The inſtances of variety of diſappointment are choſen ſo judiciouſly, and painted ſo ſtrongly, that, the moment they are read, they bring conviction to every thinking mind. That of the ſcholar muſt have depreſſed the too ſanguine expectations of many an ambitious ſtudent ⁹. That of the warrior, Charles of Sweden, is, I think, as highly finiſhed a picture as can poſſibly be conceived.

[105] Were all the other excellencies of this poem annihilated, it muſt ever have our grateful reverence from its noble concluſion; in which we are conſoled with the aſſurance that happineſs may be attained, if we ‘"apply our hearts"’ to piety:

Garrick being now veſted with theatrical power by being manager of Drury⯑lane theatre, he kindly and generouſly made uſe of it to bring out Johnſon's tragedy, which had been long kept back for want of encouragement. But in this benevolent purpoſe he met with no ſmall difficulty from the temper of Johnſon, which could not brook that a drama which he had formed with much ſtudy, and had been obliged to keep more than the nine years of Horace, [106] ſhould be reviſed and altered at the pleaſure of an actor. Yet Garrick knew well, that without ſome alterations it would not he fit for the ſtage. A violent diſpute having enſued between them, Garrick applied to the Reverend Dr. Taylor to interpoſe. Johnſon was at firſt very obſtinate. ‘"Sir, (ſaid he) the fellow wants me to make Mahomet run mad, that be may have an oppor⯑tunity of toſſing his hands and kicking his heels ¹."’ He was, however, at laſt, with difficulty, prevailed on to comply with Garrick's wiſhes, ſo as to allow of ſome changes; but ſtill there were not enough.

Dr. Adams was preſent the firſt night of the repreſentation of IRENE, and gave me the following account: ‘"Before the curtain drew up, there were catcalls whiſtling, which alarmed Johnſon's friends. The Prologue, which was written by himſelf in a manly ſtrain, ſoothed the audience ², and the play went off tolerably till it came to the concluſion, when Mrs. Pritchard, the heroine of the piece, was to be ſtrangled upon the ſtage, and was to ſpeak two lines with the bow-ſtring round her neck. The audience cried out ‘"Murder, murder."’ She ſeveral times attempted to ſpeak, but in vain. At laſt ſhe was obliged to go off the ſtage alive."’ This paſſage was afterwards ſtruck out, and ſhe was carried off to be put to death behind the ſcenes, as the play now has it. The Epilogue was written by Sir William Young. I know not how Johnſon's play came to be thus graced by the pen of a perſon then ſo eminent in the political world.

[107] Notwithſtanding all the ſupport of ſuch performers as Garrick, Barry, Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Pritchard, and every advantage of dreſs and decoration, the tragedy of Irene did not pleaſe the publick. Mr. Garrick's zeal carried it through for nine nights, ſo that the authour had his three nights' profits; and from a receipt ſigned by him, now in the hands of Mr. James Dodſley, it appears that his friend Mr. Robert Dodſley gave him one hundred pounds for the copy, with his uſual reſervation of the right of one edition.

IRENE, conſidered as a poem, is intitled to the praiſe of ſuperiour excellence. Analyſed into parts, it will furniſh a rich ſtore of noble ſentiments, fine imagery, and beautiful language; but it is deficient in pathos, in that delicate power of touching the human feelings, which is the principal end of the drama. Indeed Garrick has complained to me, that Johnſon not only had not the faculty of producing the impreſſions of tragedy, but that he had not the ſenſibility to perceive them. His great friend Mr. Walmſley's prediction, that he would ‘"turn out a fine tragedy-writer,"’ was, therefore, ill founded. Johnſon was wiſe enough to be convinced that he had not the talents neceſ⯑ſary to write ſucceſsfully for the ſtage, and never made another attempt in that ſpecies of compoſition.

When aſked how he felt upon the ill ſucceſs of his tragedy, he replied, ‘"Like the Monument;"’ meaning that he continued firm and unmoved as that column. And let it be remembered, as an admonition to the genus irritabile of dramatick writers, that this great man, inſtead of peeviſhly com⯑plaining of the bad taſte of the town, ſubmitted to its deciſion without a murmur. He had, indeed, upon all occaſions a great deference for the general opinion: ‘"A man (ſaid he) who writes a book, thinks himſelf wiſer or wittier than the reſt of mankind; he ſuppoſes that he can inſtruct or amuſe them, and the publick to whom he appeals, muſt, after all, be the judges of his pretenſions."’

On occaſion of his play being brought upon the ſtage, Johnſon had a fancy that as a dramatick authour his dreſs ſhould be more gay than what he ordi⯑narily wore; he therefore appeared behind the ſcenes, and even in one of the ſide boxes, in a ſcarlet waiſtcoat, with rich gold lace. His neceſſary attendance while his play was in rehearſal, and during its performance, brought him acquainted with many of the performers of both ſexes, which produced a more favourable opinion of their profeſſion than he ha [...] [...]arſhly expreſſed in his Life of Savage. With ſome of them he kept up an acquaintance as long as he and they lived, and was ever ready to ſhew them acts of kindneſs. He for a conſiderable time uſed to frequent the Green Room, and ſeemed to take [108] delight in diſſipating his gloom, by mixing in the ſprightly chit-chat of the motley circle then to be found there. Mr. David Hume related to me from Mr. Garrick, that Johnſon at laſt denied himſelf this amuſement, from con⯑ſiderations of rigid virtue; ſaying, ‘"I'll come no more behind your ſcenes, David; for the ſilk ſtockings and white boſoms of your actreſſes excite my amorous propenſities."’

In 1750 he came forth in the character for which he was eminently qualified, a majeſtick teacher of moral and religious wiſdom. The vehicle which he choſe was that of a periodical paper, which he knew had been, upon former occaſions, employed with great ſucceſs. The Tatler, Spectator, and Guar⯑dian, were the laſt of the kind publiſhed in England, which had ſtood the teſt of a long trial; and ſuch an interval had now elapſed ſince their publi⯑cation, as made him juſtly think that, to many of his readers, this form of inſtruction would, in ſome degree, have the advantage of novelty. A few days before the firſt of his Eſſays came out, there ſtarted another competitor for ſame in the ſame form, under the title of ‘"The Tatler Revived,"’ which I believe was ‘"born but to die."’ Johnſon was, I think, not very happy in the choice of his title, ‘"The Rambler,"’ which certainly is not ſuited to a ſeries of grave and moral diſcourſes; which the Italians have literally, but ludicrouſly, tranſlated by Il Vagabondo; and which has been lately aſſumed as the denomination of a vehicle of licentious tales, ‘"The Rambler's Maga⯑zine."’ He gave Sir Joſhua Reynolds the following account of its getting this name: ‘"What muſt be done, Sir, will be done. When I was to begin publiſhing that paper, I was at a loſs how to name it. I ſat down at night upon my bedſide, and reſolved that I would not go to ſleep till I had fixed its title. The Rambler ſeemed the beſt that occurred, and I took it ³.’

With what devout and conſcientious ſentiments this paper was undertaken, is evidenced by the following prayer, which he compoſed and offered up on the occaſion: ‘"Almighty GOD, the giver of all good things, without whoſe [109] help all labour is ineffectual, and without whoſe grace all wiſdom is folly; grant, I beſeech Thee, that in this undertaking thy Holy Spirit may not be with-held from me, but that I may promote thy glory, and the ſalvation of myſelf and others: grant this, O LORD, for the ſake of thy ſon JESUS CHRIST. Amen ⁴."’

The firſt paper of the Rambler was publiſhed on Tueſday the 20th of March, 1750; and its authour was enabled to continue it, without interrup⯑tion, every Tueſday and Friday, till Saturday the 17th of March, 1752, on which day it cloſed. This is a ſtrong confirmation of the truth of a remark of his, which I have had occaſion to quote elſewhere ⁵, that ‘"a man may write at any time, if he will ſet himſelf doggedly to it;"’ for, notwithſtanding his conſtitutional indolence, his depreſſion of ſpirits, and his labour in carrying on his Dictionary, he anſwered the ſtated calls of the preſs twice a week from the ſtores of his mind, during all that time having received no aſſiſtance, except four billets in No. 10 by Miſs Mulſo, now Mrs. Chapone; No. 30, by Mrs. Catharine Talbot; No. 97, by Mr. Samuel Richardſon, whom he deſcribes in an introductory note as ‘"An authour who has enlarged the knowledge of human nature, and taught the paſſions to move at the command of virtue;"’ and Numbers 44 and 100, by Mrs. Elizabeth Carter.

Poſterity will be aſtoniſhed when they are told, upon the authority of Johnſon himſelf, that many of theſe diſcourſes, which we ſhould ſuppoſe had been laboured with all the ſlow attention of literary leiſure, were writen in haſte as the moment preſſed, without even being read over by him before they were printed. It can be accounted for only in this way; that by reading and medi⯑tation, and a very cloſe inſpection of life, he had accumulated a great fund of miſcellaneous knowledge, which, by a peculiar promptitude of mind, was ever ready at his call, and which he had conſtantly accuſtomed himſelf to clothe in the moſt apt and energetick expreſſion. Sir Joſhua Reynolds once aſked him by what means he had attained his extraordinary accuracy and flow of language. He told him, that he had early laid it down as a fixed rule to do his beſt on every occaſion, and in every company; to impart whatever he knew in the moſt forcible language he could put it in; and that by conſtant practice, and never ſuffering any careleſs expreſſions to eſcape him, or attempt⯑ing to deliver his thoughts without arranging them in the cleareſt manner, it became habitual to him.

Yet he was not altogether unprepared as a periodical writer; for I have in my poſſeſſion a ſmall duodecimo volume, in which he has written, in the [110] form of Mr. Locke's Common-Place Book, a variety of hints for eſſays on different ſubjects. He has marked upon the firſt blank leaf of it, ‘"To the 128th page, collections for the RAMBLER;"’ and in another place, ‘"In fifty-two there were ſeventeen provided; in 97—21; in 190—25."’ At a ſubſe⯑quent period (probably after the work was finiſhed) he added, ‘"In all, taken of provided materials, 30."’

Sir John Hawkins, who is unlucky upon all occaſions, tells us, that ‘"this method of accumulating intelligence had been practiſed by Mr. Addiſon, and is humourouſly deſcribed in one of the Spectators, wherein he feigns to have dropped his paper of notanda, conſiſting of a diverting medley of broken ſentences and looſe hints, which he tells us he had collected, and meant to make uſe of. Much of the ſame kind is Johnſon's Adverſaria ⁶."’ But the truth is, that there is no reſemblance at all between them. Addiſon's note was a fiction, in which unconnected fragments of his lucubrations were pur⯑poſely jumbled together, in as odd a manner as he could, in order to produce a laughable effect. Whereas Johnſon's abbreviations are all diſtinct, and applicable to each ſubject of which the head is mentioned.

For inſtance, there is the following ſpecimen:

This, it will be obſerved, is the ſketch of No. 196 of the Rambler. I ſhall gratify my readers with another ſpecimen:

Here we ſee the embryo of No. 45 of the Adventurer; and it is a con⯑firmation of what I have mentioned, that the papers in that collection marked T. were written by Johnſon.

This ſcanty preparation of materials will not, however, much diminiſh our wonder at the extraordinary fertility of his mind: for the proportion which they bear to the number of eſſays which he wrote, is very ſmall; and it is remarkable, that thoſe for which he had made no preparation, are as rich and as highly finiſhed, as thoſe for which the hints were lying by him. It is alſo to be obſerved, that the papers formed from his hints are worked up with ſuch ſtrength and elegance, that we almoſt loſe ſight of the hints, which become like ‘"drops in the bucket."’ Indeed, in ſeveral inſtances, he has made a very ſlender uſe of them, ſo that many of them remain ſtill unapplied ⁸.

[113] As the Rambler was entirely the work of one man, there was, of courſe, ſuch an uniformity in its texture, as very much to exclude the charm of variety; and the grave and often ſolemn caſt of thinking, which diſtinguiſhed it from other periodical papers, made it, for ſome time, not generally liked. So ſlowly did this excellent work, of which twelve editions have now iſſued from the preſs, gain upon the world at large, that even in the cloſing number the authour ſays, ‘"I have never been much a favourite of the publick."’

Yet, very ſoon after its commencement, there were who felt and acknow⯑ledged its uncommon excellence. Verſes in its praiſe appeared in the newſ⯑papers; and the editor of the Gentleman's Magazine mentions, in October, his having received ſeveral letters to the ſame purpoſe from the learned. ‘"The Student, or Oxford and Cambridge Miſcellany,"’ in which Mr. Bonnell Thornton and Mr. Colman were the principal writers, deſcribes it as ‘"a work that exceeds any thing of the kind ever publiſhed in this kingdom, ſome of the Spectators excepted,—if indeed they may be excepted."’ And after⯑wards, ‘"May the publick favours crown his merits, and may not the Engliſh, under the auſpicious reign of GEORGE the Second, neglect a man, who, had he lived in the firſt century, would have been one of the greateſt favourites of AUGUSTUS."’ This flattery of the monarch had no effect. It is too well known, that the ſecond George never was an Auguſtus to learning or genius.

Johnſon told me, with an amiable fondneſs, a little pleaſing circumſtance relative to this work. Mrs. Johnſon, in whoſe judgement and taſte he had great confidence, ſaid to him, after a few numbers of the Rambler had come out, ‘"I thought very well of you before; but I did not imagine you could have written any thing equal to this."’ Diſtant praiſe, from whatever quarter, is not ſo delightful as that of a wife whom a man loves and eſteems. Her approbation may be ſaid to ‘"come home to his boſom;"’ and being ſo near, its effect is moſt ſenſible and permanent.

Mr. James Elphinſton, who has ſince publiſhed various works, and who was ever eſteemed by Johnſon as a worthy man, happened to be in Scotland while the Rambler was coming out in ſingle papers at London. With a laudable zeal at once for the improvement of his countrymen and the repu⯑tation of his friend, he ſuggeſted and took the charge of an edition of thoſe Eſſays at Edinburgh, which followed progreſſively the London publication ⁹.

[114] The following letter written at this time, though not dated, will ſhow how much pleaſed Johnſon was with this publication, and what kindneſs and regard he had for Mr. Elphinſton.

[115] Soon after this he wrote to the ſame gentleman another letter, upon a mournful occaſion.

[116] The Rambler has increaſed in fame as in age. Soon after its firſt folio edition was concluded, it was publiſhed in four octavo volumes; and its authour lived to ſee ten numerous editions of it in London, beſide thoſe of Ireland and Scotland.

I profeſs myſelf to have ever entertained a profound veneration for the aſtoniſhing force and vivacity of mind, which the Rambler exhibits. That Johnſon had penetration enough to ſee, and ſeeing would not diſguiſe the general miſery of man in this ſtate of being, may have given riſe to the ſuper⯑ficial notion of his being too ſtern a philoſopher. But men of reflection will be ſenſible that he has given a true repreſentation of human exiſtence, and that he has, at the ſame time, with a generous benevolence, diſplayed every conſolation which our ſtate affords us; not only thoſe ariſing from the hopes of futurity, but ſuch as may be attained in the immediate progreſs through life. He has not depreſſed the ſoul to deſpondency and indifference. He has every where inculcated ſtudy, labour, and exertion. Nay, he has ſhewn, in a very odious light, a man whoſe practice is to go about darkening the views of others, by perpetual complaints of evil, and awakening thoſe conſiderations of danger and diſtreſs, which are, for the moſt part, lulled into a quiet oblivion. This he has done very ſtrongly in his character of Suſpirius ², from which Goldſmith took that of Croaker, in his comedy of ‘"The Good-natured Man,"’ as Johnſon told me he acknowledged to him, and which is, indeed, very obvious.

To point out the numerous ſubjects which the Rambler treats with a dig⯑nity and perſpicuity which are there united in a manner which we ſhall in vai [...] look for any where elſe, would take up too large a portion of my book, a [...] would, I truſt, be ſuperfluous, conſidering how univerſally thoſe volumes [...] now diſſeminated. Even the moſt condenſed and brilliant ſentences [...] they contain, and which have very properly been ſelected under the [...] of ‘"BEAUTIES ³,"’ are of conſiderable bulk. But I may ſhortly obſerve, that the Rambler furniſhes ſuch an aſſemblage of diſcourſes on▪ practical religion and moral duty, of critical inveſtigations, and allegorical and oriental [117] tales, that no mind can be thought very deficient that has, by conſtant ſtudy and meditation, aſſimilated to itſelf all that may be found there. No. 7, written in Paſſion-week on abſtraction and ſelf-examination, and No. 110, on peni⯑tence and the placability of the Divine Nature, cannot be too often read. No. 54, on the effect which the death of a friend ſhould have upon us, though rather too diſpiriting, may be occaſionally very medicinal to the mind. Every one muſt ſuppoſe the writer to have been deeply impreſſed by a real ſcene; but he told me that was not the caſe, which ſhews how well his fancy could conduct him to the houſe of mourning. Some of theſe more ſolemn papers, I doubt not, particularly attracted the notice of Dr. Young, the authour of ‘"The Night Thoughts,"’ of whom my eſtimation is ſuch, as to reckon his applauſe an honour even to Johnſon. I have ſeen ſome volumes of Dr. Young's copy of the Rambler, in which he has marked the paſſages which he thought particularly excellent, by folding down a corner of the page; and ſuch as he rated in a ſuper-eminent degree, are marked by double folds. I am ſorry that ſome of the volumes are loſt. Johnſon was pleaſed when told of the minute attention with which Young had ſignified his approbation of his Eſſays.

I will venture to ſay, that in no writings whatever can be found more bark and ſteel for the mind, if I may uſe the expreſſion; more that can brace and invigorate every manly and noble ſentiment. No. 32 on patience, even under extreme miſery, is wonderfully lofty, and as much above the rant of ſtoiciſm, as the Sun of Revelation is brighter than the twilight of Pagan phi⯑loſophy. I never read the following ſentence without feeling my frame thrill: ‘"I think there is ſome reaſon for queſtioning whether the body and mind are not ſo proportioned, that the one can bear all which can be inflicted on the other; whether virtue cannot ſtand its ground as long as life, and whether a ſoul well principled will not be ſooner ſeparated than ſubdued."’

Though inſtruction be the predominant purpoſe of the Rambler, yet it is enlivened with a conſiderable portion of amuſement. Nothing can be more erroneous than the notion which ſome perſons have entertained, that Johnſon was then a retired authour, ignorant of the world; and, of conſequence, that he wrote only from his imagination when he deſcribed characters and manners. He ſaid to me, that before he wrote that work, he had been ‘"running about the world,"’ as he expreſſed it, more than almoſt any body; and I have heard him relate, with much ſatisfaction, that ſeveral of the characters in the Rambler were drawn ſo naturally, that when it firſt circulated in numbers, a club in one of the towns in Eſſex imagined themſelves to be ſeverally exhibited in it, and were much incenſed againſt a perſon who, they ſuſpected, had thus [118] made them objects of publick notice; nor were they quieted till authenticl aſſurance was given them, that the Rambler was written by a perſon who had never heard of any one of them. Some of the characters are believed to hav been actually drawn from the life, particularly that of Proſpero from Garrick who never entirely forgave its pointed ſatire. For inſtances of fertility of fancy, and accurate deſcription of real life, I appeal to No. 19, a man who wanders from one profeſſion to another, with moſt plauſible reaſons for every change. No. 34, female faſtidiouſneſs and timorous refinement. No. 82, Virtuoſo who has collected curioſities. No. 88, petty modes of entertaining company, and conciliating kindneſs. No. 182, fortune-hunting. No. 194—195 a tutor's account of the follies of his pupil. No. 197—198, legacy-hunting He has given a ſpecimen of his nice obſervation of the mere external appear⯑ances of life, in this paſſage in No. 179, againſt affectation, that frequent and moſt diſguſting quality: ‘"He that ſtands to contemplate the crouds that fil the ſtreets of a populous city, will ſee many paſſengers whoſe air and motion it will be difficult to behold without contempt and laughter; but if he examine what are the appearances that thus powerfully excite his riſibility, he will find among them neither poverty nor diſeaſe, nor any involuntary or painful defect The diſpoſition to deriſion and inſult, is awakened by the ſoftneſs of foppery the ſwell of inſolence, the livelineſs of levity, or the ſolemnity of grandeur by the ſprightly trip, the ſtately ſtalk, the formal ſtrut, and the lofty mien by geſtures intended to catch the eye, and by looks elaborately formed a evidences of importance."’

Every page of the Rambler ſhews a mind teeming with claſſical alluſion and poetical imagery: illuſtrations from other writers are, upon all occaſions ſo ready, and mingle ſo eaſily in his periods, that the whole appears of one uniform vivid texture.

The ſtyle of this work has been cenſured by ſome ſhallow criticks as involved and turgid, and abounding with antiquated and hard words. So ill founded is the firſt part of this objection, that I will challenge all who may honour this book with a peruſal, to point out any Engliſh writer whoſe lan⯑guage conveys his meaning with equal force and perſpicuity. It muſt, in⯑deed, be allowed, that the ſtructure of his ſentences is expanded, and often has ſomewhat of the inverſion of Latin; and that he delighted to ex⯑preſs familiar thoughts in philoſophical language; being in this the reverſe of Socrates, who, it was ſaid, reduced philoſophy to the ſimplicity of common life. But let us attend to what he himſelf ſays in his concluding paper: ‘"When common words were leſs pleaſing to the ear, or leſs diſtinct in their [119] ſignification, I have familiariſed the terms of philoſophy, by applying them to popular ideas ⁴."’ And, as to the ſecond part of this objection, upon a late careful reviſion of the work, I can with confidence ſay, that it is amazing how few of thoſe words, for which it has been unjuſtly characteriſed, are actually to be found in it; I am ſure, not the proportion of one to each paper. This idle charge has been echoed from one babbler to another, who have confounded Johnſon's Eſſays with Johnſon's Dictionary; and becauſe he thought it right in a Lexicon of our language to collect many words which had fallen into diſuſe, but were ſupported by great authorities, it has been imagined that all of theſe have been interwoven into his own compoſitions. That ſome of them have been adopted by him unneceſſarily, may, perhaps, be allowed; but, in general they are evidently an advantage, for without them his ſtately ideas would be confined and cramped. ‘"He that thinks with more extent than another, will want words of larger meaning ⁵."’ He once told me, that he had formed his ſtyle upon that of Sir William Temple, and upon Chambers's Propoſal for his Dictionary. He certainly was miſtaken; or if he imagined at firſt that he was imitating Temple, he was very unſucceſsful; for nothing can be more unlike than the ſimplicity of Temple, and the richneſs of Johnſon. Their ſtyles differ as plain cloth and brocade. Temple, indeed, ſeems equally erroneous in ſuppoſing that he himſelf had formed his ſtyle upon Sandys's Hiſtory of all Religions.

The ſtyle of Johnſon was, undoubtedly, much formed upon that of the great writers in the laſt century, Hooker, Bacon, Sanderſon, Hakewell, and others; thoſe ‘"GIANTS,"’ as they were well characteriſed by one whoſe authority, were I to name him, would ſtamp a reverence on the opinion.

We may, with the utmoſt propriety, apply to his learned ſtyle that paſſage of Horace, a part of which he has taken as the motto to his Dictionary:

To ſo great a maſter of thinking, to one of ſuch vaſt and various know⯑ledge as Johnſon, might have been allowed a liberal indulgence of that licence which Horace claims in another place:

Yet Johnſon aſſured me, that he had not taken upon him to add more than four or five words to the Engliſh language, of his own formation; and he was very much offended at the general licence by no means ‘"modeſtly taken"’ in his time, not only to coin new words, but to uſe many words in ſenſes quite different from their eſtabliſhed meaning, and thoſe frequently very fantaſtical.

Sir Thomas Brown, whoſe life Johnſon wrote, was remarkably fond of Anglo-Latian diction; and to his example we are to aſcribe Johnſon's ſome⯑times indulging himſelf in this kind of phraſeology ⁸. Johnſon's comprehenſion [121] of mind was the mould for his language. Had his conceptions been nar⯑rower, his expreſſion would have been eaſier. His ſentences have a dignified march; and, it is certain, that his example has given a general elevation to the language of his country, for many of our beſt writers have approached very near to him; and, from the influence which he has had upon our compo⯑ſition, ſcarcely any thing is written now that is not better expreſſed than was uſual before he appeared to lead the national taſte.

This circumſtance, the truth of which muſt ſtrike every critical reader, has been ſo happily enforced by Mr. Courtenay, in his ‘"Moral and Literary Character of Dr. Johnſon,"’ that I cannot prevail on myſelf to withhold it, notwithſtanding his, perhaps, too great partiality for one of his friends:

Johnſon's language, however, muſt be allowed to be too maſculine for the delicate gentleneſs of female writing. His ladies, therefore, ſeem ſtrangely formal, even to ridicule; and ſeem well denominated by the names which he has given them, as, Miſella, Zozima, Properantia, Rhodoclia.

It has of late been the faſhion to compare the ſtyle of Addiſon and Johnſon, and to depreciate, I think very unjuſtly, the ſtyle of Addiſon as nerveleſs and feeble, becauſe it has not the ſtrength and energy of that of Johnſon. Their proſe may be balanced like the poetry of Dryden and Pope. Both are excellent, though in different ways. Addiſon writes with the eaſe of a gen⯑tleman. His readers fancy that a wiſe and accompliſhed companion is talking to them, ſo that he inſinuates his ſentiments and taſte into their minds by an imperceptible influence. Johnſon writes like a teacher. He dictates to his readers as if from an academical chair. They attend with awe and admi⯑ration; and his precepts are impreſſed upon them by his commanding [123] eloquence. Addiſon's ſtyle, like a light wine, pleaſes every body from the firſt. Johnſon's, like a liquor of more body, ſeems too ſtrong at firſt, but, by degrees, is highly reliſhed; and ſuch is the melody of his periods, ſo much do they captivate the ear, and ſeize upon the attention, that there is ſcarcely any writer, however inconſiderable, who does not aim, in ſome degree, at the ſame ſpecies of excellence. But let us not ungratefully undervalue that beautiful ſtyle, which has pleaſingly conveyed to us much inſtruction and entertainment. Though comparatively weak, when oppoſed to Johnſon's Herculean vigour, let us not call it poſitively feeble. Let us remember the character of his ſtyle, as given by Johnſon himſelf: ‘"What he attempted, he performed; he is never feeble, and he did not wiſh to be energetick; he is never rapid, and he never ſtagnates. His ſentences have neither ſtudied amplitude, nor affected brevity: his periods, though not diligently rounded, are voluble and eaſy. Whoever wiſhes to attain an Engliſh ſtyle, familiar but not coarſe, and elegant but not oſtentatious, muſt give his days and nights to the volumes of Addiſon ¹."’

Though the Rambler was not concluded till the year 1752, I ſhall, under this year, ſay all that I have to obſerve upon it. Some of the tranſlations of the mottos by himſelf, are admirably done. He acknowledges to have received ‘"elegant tranſlations"’ of many of them from Mr. James Elphinſton▪ and ſome are very happily tranſlated by a Mr. F. Lewis, of whom I never heard more, except that Johnſon thus deſcribed him to Mr. Malone: ‘"Sir, he lived in London, and hung looſe upon ſociety."’ The concluding paper of his Rambler is at once dignified and pathetick. I cannot, however, but wiſh, that he had not ended it with an unneceſſary Greek verſe, tranſlated alſo into an Engliſh couplet. It is too much like the conceit of thoſe drama⯑tick poets, who uſed to conclude each act with a rhyme; and the expreſſion in the firſt line of his couplet, ‘"Celeſtial powers,"’ though proper in Pagan poetry, is ill ſuited to Chriſtianity, with a conformity to which he conſoles himſelf. How much better would it have been, to have ended with the proſe ſentence, ‘"I ſhall never envy the honours which wit and learning obtain in any other cauſe, if I can be numbered among the writers who have given ardour to virtue, and confidence to truth."’

His friend Dr. Birch being now engaged in preparing an edition of Raleigh's ſmaller pieces, Dr. Johnſon wrote the following letter to that gentleman:

His juſt abhorrence of Milton's political notions was ever ſtrong. But this did not prevent his warm admiration of Milton's great poetical merit, to which he has done illuſtrious juſtice, beyond all who have written upon the ſubject. And this year he not only wrote a Prologue, which was ſpoken by Mr. Garrick before the acting of Comus at Drury-lane theatre, for the benefit of Milton's grand-daughter, but took a very zealous intereſt in the ſucceſs of the charity. On the day preceding the performance, he publiſhed the following letter in the ‘"General Advertiſer,"’ addreſſed to the printer of that paper:

In 1751 we are to conſider him as carrying on both his Dictionary and Rambler. But he alſo wrote ‘"The Life of Cheynel, *"’ in the miſcellany called ‘"The Student;"’ and the Reverend Dr. Douglas having, with uncom⯑mon acuteneſs, clearly detected a groſs forgery and impoſition upon the publick by William Lauder, a Scotch ſchoolmaſter, who had, with equal impudence and ingenuity, repreſented Milton as a plagiary from certain modern Latin poets, Johnſon, who had been ſo far impoſed upon as to furniſh a Preface and Poſtſcript to his work, now dictated a letter for Lauder, addreſſed to Dr. Douglas, acknowledging his fraud in terms of ſuitable contrition ³.

This extraordinary attempt of Lauder was no ſudden effort. He had brooded over it for many years; and to this hour it is uncertain what his principal motive was, unleſs it were a vain notion of his ſuperiority, in being able, by whatever means, to deceive mankind. To effect this, he produced certain paſſages from Grotius, Maſenius, and others, which had a faint reſem⯑blance to ſome parts of the ‘"Paradiſe Loſt."’ In theſe he interpolated ſome [126] fragments of Hog's Latin tranſlation of that poem, alledging that the maſs thus fabricated was the archetype from which Milton copied. Theſe fabrications he publiſhed from time to time in the Gentleman's Magazine; and, exulting in his fancied ſucceſs, he in 1750 ventured to collect them into a pamphlet, entitled ‘"An Eſſay on Milton's Uſe and Imitation of the Moderns in his Paradiſe Loſt."’ To this pamphlet Johnſon wrote a Preface, in full perſuaſion of Lauder's honeſty, and a Poſtſcript recommending, in the moſt perſuaſive terms, a ſubſcription for the relief of a grand-daughter of Milton, of whom he thus ſpeaks: ‘"It is yet in the power of a great people to reward the poet whoſe name they boaſt, and from their alliance to whoſe genius, they claim ſome kind of ſuperiority to every other nation of the earth; that poet, whoſe works may poſſibly be read when every other monu⯑ment of Britiſh greatneſs ſhall be obliterated; to reward him, not with pictures or with medals, which, if he ſees, he ſees with contempt, but with tokens of gratitude, which he, perhaps, may even now conſider as not un⯑worthy the regard of an immortal ſpirit."’ Surely this is inconſiſtent with ‘"enmity towards Milton,"’ which Sir John Hawkins imputes to Johnſon upon this occaſion, adding, ‘"I could all along obſerve that Johnſon ſeemed to approve not only of the deſign, but of the argument; and ſeemed to exult in a perſuaſion, that the reputation of Milton was likely to ſuffer by this diſcovery. That he was not privy to the impoſture, I am well per⯑ſuaded; but that he wiſhed well to the argument, may be inferred from the Preface, which indubitably was written by Johnſon."’ Is it poſſible for any man of clear judgement to ſuppoſe that Johnſon, who ſo nobly praiſed the poetical excellence of Milton in a Poſtſcript to this very ‘"diſcovery,"’ as he then ſuppoſed it, could, at the ſame time, exult in a perſuaſion that the great poet's reputation was likely to ſuffer by it? This is an inconſiſtency of which Johnſon was incapable; nor can any thing more be fairly inferred from the Preface, than that Johnſon, who was alike diſtinguiſhed for ardent curioſity and love of truth, was pleaſed with an inveſtigation by which both were grati⯑fied. That he was actuated by theſe motives, and certainly by no unworthy deſire to depreciate our great epick poet, is evident from his own words; for, after mentioning the general zeal of men of genius and literature ‘"to advance the honour, and diſtinguiſh the beauties of Paradiſe Loſt,"’ he ſays, ‘"Among the inquiries to which this ardour of criticiſm has naturally given occaſion, none is more obſcure in itſelf, or more worthy of rational curioſity, than a retroſpection of the progreſs of this mighty genius in the conſtruction of his work; a view of the fabrick gradually riſing, perhaps, from ſmall beginnings, [127] till its foundation reſts in the centre, and its turrets ſparkle in the ſkies; to trace back the ſtructure through all its varieties, to the ſimplicity of its firſt plan; to find what was firſt projected, whence the ſcheme was taken, how it was improved, by what aſſiſtance it was executed, and from what ſtores the materials were collected; whether its founder dug them from the quarries of Nature, or demoliſhed other buildings to embelliſh his own."’—Is this the lan⯑guage of one who wiſhed to blaſt the laurels of Milton?

Though Johnſon's circumſtances were at this time far from being eaſy, his humane and charitable diſpoſition was conſtantly exerting itſelf. Mrs. Anna Williams, daughter of a very ingenious Welſh phyſician, and a woman of more than ordinary talents and literature, having come to London in hopes of being cured of a cataract in both her eyes, which afterwards ended in total blindneſs, was kindly received as a conſtant viſitor at his houſe while Mrs. Johnſon lived; and after her death having come under his roof in order to have an operation upon her eyes performed with more comfort to her than in lodgings, ſhe had an apartment from him during the reſt of her life, at all times when he had a houſe.

In 1752 he was almoſt entirely occupied with his Dictionary. The laſt paper of his Rambler was publiſhed March 2, this year; after which, there was a ceſſation for ſome time of any exertion of his talents as an eſſayiſt. But, in the ſame year, Dr. Hawkeſworth, who was his warm admirer, and a ſtudious imitator of his ſtyle, and then lived in great intimacy with him, began a periodical paper, entitled ‘"THE ADVENTURER,"’ in connection with other gentlemen, one of whom was Johnſon's much-loved friend, Dr. Bathurſt; and, without doubt, they received many valuable hints from his converſation, moſt of his friends having been ſo aſſiſted in the courſe of their works.

That there ſhould be a ſuſpenſion of his literary labours during a part of the year 1752, will not ſeem ſtrange, when it is conſidered that ſoon after cloſing his Rambler, he ſuffered a loſs which, there there can be no doubt, affected him with the deepeſt diſtreſs. For on the 17th of March, O. S. his wife died. Why Sir John Hawkins ſhould unwarrantably take upon him even to ſuppoſe that Johnſon's fondneſs for her was diſſembled [meaning ſimulated or aſſumed], and to aſſert, that if it was not the caſe, ‘"it was a leſſon he had learned by rote,"’ I cannot conceive; unleſs it proceeded from a want of ſimilar feelings in his own breaſt. To argue from her being much older than Johnſon, or any other circumſtances, that he could not really love her, is abſurd; for love is not a ſubject of reaſoning, but of ſeeling, and therefore there are no common principles upon which one can perſuade another con⯑cerning [128] it. Every man feels for himſelf, and knows how he is affected by particular qualities in the perſon he admires, the impreſſions of which are too minute and delicate to be ſubſtantiated in language.

That his love for her was of the moſt ardent kind, and, during the long period of fifty years, was unimpaired by the lapſe of time, is evident from various paſſages in the ſeries of his Prayers and Meditations, publiſhed by the Reverend Mr. Strahan, as well as from other memorials, one of which I ſelect, as ſtrongly marking the tenderneſs and ſenſibility of his mind.

Her wedding-ring, when ſhe became his wife, was, after her death, pre⯑ſerved by him as long as he lived with an affectionate care, in a little round wooden box, in the inſide of which he paſted a ſlip of paper, thus inſcribed by him in fair characters, as follows:

After his death, Mr. Francis Barber, his faithful ſervant and reſiduary lega⯑tee, offered this memorial of tenderneſs to Mrs. Lucy Porter, Mrs. Johnſon's daughter; but ſhe having declined to accept of it, he had it enamelled as a mourning-ring for his old maſter, and preſented it to his wife, Mrs. Barber, who now has it.

The ſtate of mind in which a man muſt be upon the death of a woman whom he ſincerely loves, had been in his contemplation many years before. In his IRENE, we find the following fervent and tender ſpeech of Demetrius, addreſſed to his Aſpaſia:

[129] I have, indeed, been told by Mrs. Deſmoulins, who, before her marriage, lived for ſome time with Mrs. Johnſon at Hampſtead, that ſhe indulged her⯑ſelf in country air and nice living, at an unſuitable expence, while her huſband was drudging in the ſmoke of London, and that ſhe by no means treated him with that complacency which is the moſt engaging quality in a wife. But all this is perfectly compatible with his fondneſs for her, eſpecially when it is remembered that he had a high opinion of her underſtanding, and that the impreſſion which her beauty, real or imaginary, had originally made upon his fancy, being continued by habit, had not been effaced, though ſhe herſelf was doubtleſs much altered for the worſe. The dreadful ſhock of ſeparation took place in the night; and he immediately diſpatched a letter to his friend, the Reverend Dr. Taylor, which, as Taylor told me, expreſſed grief in the ſtrongeſt manner he had ever read; ſo that it is much to be regretted it has not been preſerved. The letter was brought to Dr. Taylor, at his houſe in the Cloyſters, Weſtminſter, about three in the morning; and as it ſignified an earneſt deſire to ſee him, he got up, and went to Johnſon as ſoon as he was dreſſed, and found him in tears and in extreme agitation. After being a little while together, Johnſon requeſted him to join with him in prayer. He then prayed extempore, as did Dr. Taylor; and thus, by means of that piety which was ever his primary object, his troubled mind was, in ſome degree, ſoothed and compoſed.

The next day he wrote as follows:

That his ſufferings upon the death of his wife were ſevere, beyond what are commonly endured, I have no doubt, ſrom the information of many who were then about him, to none of whom I give more credit than to Mr. [130] Francis Barber, his faithful negro ſervant ⁴, who came into his family about a fortnight after the diſmal event. Theſe ſufferings were aggravated by the melancholy inherent in his conſtitution; and although he probably was not oftener in the wrong than ſhe was, in the little diſagreements which ſometimes troubled his married ſtate, during which, he owned to me, that the gloomy irri⯑tability of his exiſtence was more painful to him than ever, he might very natu⯑rally, after her death, be tenderly diſpoſed to charge himſelf with ſlight omiſſions and offences, the ſenſe of which would give him much uneaſineſs. Accord⯑ingly we find, about a year after her deceaſe, that he thus addreſſed the Supreme Being: ‘"O LORD, who giveſt the grace of repentance, and heareſt the prayers of the penitent, grant that by true contrition I may obtain forgive⯑neſs of all the ſins committed, and of all duties neglected in my union with the wife whom thou haſt taken from me; for the neglect of joint devotion, patient exhortation, and mild inſtruction ⁵."’ The kindneſs of his heart, not⯑withſtanding the impetuoſity of his temper, is well known to his friends; and I cannot trace the ſmalleſt foundation for the following dark and uncharitable aſſertion by Sir John Hawkins: ‘"The apparition of his departed wife was altogether of the terrifick kind, and hardly afforded him a hope that ſhe was in a ſtate of happineſs ⁶."’ That he, in conformity with the opinion of many of the moſt able, learned, and pious Chriſtians in all ages, ſuppoſed that there was a middle ſtate after death, previous to the time at which departed ſouls are finally received to eternal felicity, appears, I think, unqueſtionably from his devotions: ‘"And, O LORD, ſo far as it may be lawful in me, I commend to thy fatherly goodneſs the ſoul of my departed wife; beſeeching thee to grant her whatever is beſt in her preſent ſtate, and finally to receive her to eternal hap⯑pineſs ⁷."’ But this ſtate has not been looked upon with horrour, but only as leſs gracious.

[131] He depoſited the remains of Mrs. Johnſon in the church of Bromley in Kent, to which he was probably led by the reſidence of his friend Hawkeſworth at that place. The funeral ſermon which he compoſed for her, which was never preached, but having been given to Dr. Taylor, has been publiſhed ſince his death, is a performance of uncommon excellence, and full of rational and pious comfort to ſuch as are depreſſed by that ſevere affliction which Johnſon felt when he wrote it. When it is conſidered that it was written in ſuch an agitation of mind, and in the ſhort interval between her death and burial, it cannot be read without wonder.

From Mr. Francis Barber I have had the following authentick and artleſs account of the ſituation in which he found him recently after his wife's death: ‘He was in great affliction. Mrs. Williams was then living in his houſe, which was in Gough-ſquare. He was buſy with the Dictionary. Mr. Shiels, and ſome others of the gentlemen who had formerly written for him, uſed to come about him. He had then little for himſelf, but fre⯑quently ſent money to Mr. Shiels when in diſtreſs. The friends who viſited him at that time, were chiefly Dr. Bathurſt, and Mr. Diamond, an apothecary in Cork-ſtreet, Burlington-gardens, with whom he and Mrs. Williams generally dined every Sunday. There was a talk of his going to Iceland with him, which would probably have happened had he lived. There were alſo Mr. Cave, Dr. Hawkeſworth, Mr. Ryland, merchant on Tower-hill, Mrs. Maſters the poeteſs, who lived with Mr. Cave, Mrs. Carter, and ſometimes Mrs. Macaulay; alſo, Mrs. Gardiner, wife of a tallow-chandler on Snow-hill, not in the learned way, but a worthy good woman; Mr. (now Sir Joſhua) Reynolds; Mr. Millar, Mr. Dodſley, Mr. Bouquet, Mr. Payne of Paternoſter-row, bookſellers; Mr. Strahan the printer, the Earl of Orrery, Lord Southwell, Mr. Garrick.’

Many are, no doubt, omitted in this catalogue of his friends, and, in par⯑ticular, his humble friend Mr. Robert Levet, an obſcure practiſer in phyſick amongſt the lower people, his fees being ſometimes very ſmall ſums, ſome⯑times whatever proviſions his patients could afford him, but of ſuch extenſive practice in that way, that Mrs. Williams has told me, his walk was from Houndſditch to Marybone. It appears from Johnſon's diary, that their acquaintance commenced about the year 1746; and ſuch was Johnſon's predi⯑lection for him, and fanciful eſtimation of his moderate abilities, that I have heard him ſay he ſhould not be ſatisfied, though attended by all the College of Phyſicians, unleſs he had Mr. Levet with him. Ever ſince I was acquainted with Dr. Johnſon, and many years before, as I have been aſſured by thoſe who knew him earlier, Mr. Levet had an apartment in his houſe, or his chambers, [132] and waited upon him every morning, through the whole courſe of his late and tedious breakfaſt. He was of a ſtrange groteſque appearance, ſtiff and formal in his manner, and ſeldom ſaid a word while any company was preſent.

The circle of his friends, indeed, at this time was extenſive and various, far beyond what has been generally imagined. To trace his acquaintance with each particular perſon, if it could be done, would be a taſk, of which the labour would not be repaid by the advantage. But exceptions are to be made; one of which muſt be a friend ſo eminent as Sir Joſhua Reynolds, who was truly his dulce decus, and with whom he maintained an uninterrupted intimacy to the laſt hour of his life. When Johnſon lived in Caſtle-ſtreet, Cavendiſh-ſquare, he uſed frequently to viſit two ladies, who lived oppoſite to him, Miſs Cotterells, daughters of Admiral Cotterell. Reynolds uſed alſo to viſit there, and thus they met. Mr. Reynolds, as I have obſerved above, had, from the firſt reading of his Life of Savage, conceived a very high admiration of Johnſon's powers of writing. His converſation no leſs delighted him; and he cultivated his acquaintance with the laudable zeal of one who was am⯑bitious of general improvement. Sir Joſhua, indeed, was lucky enough at their very firſt meeting to make a remark, which was ſo much above the common-place ſtyle of converſation, that Johnſon at once perceived that Reynolds had the habit of thinking for himſelf. The ladies were regretting the death of a friend, to whom they owed great obligations; upon which Reynolds obſerved, ‘"You have, however, the comfort of being relieved from a burthen of gratitude."’ They were ſhocked a little at this alleviating ſuggeſtion, as too ſelfiſh; but Johnſon defended it in his clear and forcible manner, and was much pleaſed with the mind, the fair view of human nature, which it exhibited, like ſome of the reflections of Rochefaucault. The conſequence was, that he went home with Reynolds, and ſupped with him.

Sir Joſhua has told me a pleaſant characteriſtical anecdote of Johnſon about the time of their firſt acquaintance. When they were one evening together at the Miſs Cotterells, the then Ducheſs of Argyle and another lady of high rank came in. Johnſon thinking that the Miſs Cotterells were too much engroſſed by them, and that he and his friend were neglected, as low com⯑pany of whom they were ſomewhat aſhamed, grew angry; and reſolving to ſhock their ſuppoſed pride, by making their great viſiters imagine that his friend and he were low indeed, he addreſſed himſelf in a loud tone to Mr. Reynolds, ſaying, ‘"How much do you think you and I could get in a week, if we were to work as hard as we could?"’ as if they had been common mechanicks.

[133] His acquaintance with Bennet Langton, Eſq. of Langton, in Lincolnſhire, another much valued friend, commenced ſoon after the concluſion of his Rambler, which that gentleman, then a youth, had read with ſo much admi⯑ration, that he came to London chiefly with the view of endeavouring to be introduced to its authour. By a fortunate chance he happened to take lodgings in a houſe where Mr. Levet frequently viſited; and having mentioned his wiſh to his landlady, ſhe introduced him to Mr. Levet, who readily obtained Johnſon's permiſſion to bring Mr. Langton to him; as, indeed, Johnſon, during the whole courſe of his life, had no ſhyneſs, real or affected, but was eaſy of acceſs to all who were properly recommended, and even wiſhed to ſee numbers at his levee, as his morning circle of company might, with ſtrict propriety, be called. Mr. Langton was exceedingly ſurprized when the ſage firſt appeared. He had not received the ſmalleſt intimation of his figure, dreſs, or manner. From peruſing his writings, he fancied he ſhould ſee a decent, well-dreſt, in ſhort, a remarkably decorous philoſopher. Inſtead of which, down from his bed-chamber, about noon, came, as newly riſen, a huge uncouth figure, with a little dark wig which ſcarcely covered his head, and his clothes hanging looſe about him. But his converſation was ſo rich, ſo animated, and ſo forcible, and his religious and political notions ſo con⯑genial with thoſe in which Mr. Langton had been educated, that he conceived for him that veneration and attachment which he ever preſerved. Johnſon was not the leſs ready to love Mr. Langton, for his being of a very ancient family; for I have heard him ſay, with pleaſure, ‘"Langton, Sir, has a grant of a warren from Henry the Second; and Cardinal Stephen Langton, in King John's reign, was of this family."’

Mr. Langton afterwards went to purſue his ſtudies at Trinity College, Oxford, where he formed an acquaintance with his fellow-ſtudent, Mr. Topham Beauclerk, who, though their opinions and modes of life were ſo different, that it ſeemed utterly improbable that they ſhould at all agree, had ſo ardent a love of literature, ſo acute an underſtanding, ſuch elegance of manners, and ſo well diſcerned the excellent qualities of Mr. Langton, that they became intimate friends.

Johnſon, ſoon after this acquaintance began, paſſed a conſiderable time at Oxford. He at firſt thought it ſtrange that Langton ſhould aſſociate ſo much with one who had the character of being looſe, both in his principles and practice; but, by degrees, he himſelf was faſcinated. Mr. Beauclerk's being of the St. Albans' family, and having, in ſome particulars, a reſemblance to Charles the Second, contributed, in Johnſon's imagination, to throw a luſtre [134] upon his other qualities; and, in a ſhort time, the moral, pious Johnſon, and the gay, diſſipated Beauclerk, were companions. ‘"What a coalition! (ſaid Garrick, when he heard of this;) I ſhall have my old friend to bail out of the Round-houſe."’ But I can bear teſtimony that it was a very agreeable aſſo⯑ciation. Beauclerk was too polite, and valued learning and wit too much, to offend Johnſon by ſallies of infidelity or licentiouſneſs; and Johnſon delighted in the good qualities of Beauclerk, and hoped to correct the evil. Innu⯑merable were the ſcenes in which Johnſon was amuſed by theſe young men. Beauclerk could take more liberty with him, than any body with whom I ever ſaw him; but, on the other hand, Beauclerk was not ſpared by his reſpectable companion, when reproof was proper. Beauclerk had ſuch a propenſity to ſatire, that at one time Johnſon ſaid to him, ‘"You never open your mouth but with intention to give pain; and you have often given me pain, not from the power of what you ſaid, but from ſeeing your intention."’ At another time applying to him, with a ſlight alteration, a line of Pope, he ſaid, ‘"Thy love of folly, and thy ſcorn of fools—Every thing thou doſt ſhews the one, and every thing thou ſay'ſt the other."’ At another time he ſaid to him, ‘"Thy body is all vice, and thy mind all virtue."’ Beauclerk not ſeeming to reliſh the compliment, Johnſon ſaid, ‘"Nay, Sir, Alexander the Great, marching in triumph into Babylon, could not have deſired to have had more ſaid to him."’

Johnſon was ſome time with Beauclerk at his houſe at Windſor, where he was entertained with experiments in natural philoſophy. One Sunday, when the weather was very fine, Beauclerk enticed him, inſenſibly, to ſaunter about all the morning. They went into a church-yard, in the time of divine ſervice, and Johnſon laid himſelf down at his eaſe upon one of the tomb-ſtones. ‘"Now, Sir, (ſaid Beauclerk) you are like Hogarth's Idle Apprentice."’ When Johnſon got his penſion, Beauclerk ſaid to him, in the humorous phraſe of Falſtaff, ‘"I hope you'll now purge, and live cleanly like a gentleman."’

One night when Beauclerk and Langton had ſupped at a tavern in London, and ſat till about three in the morning, it came into their heads to go and knock up Johnſon, and ſee if they could prevail on him to join them in a ramble. They rapped violently at the door of his chambers in the Temple, till at laſt he appeared in his ſhirt, with his little black wig on the top of his head, inſtead of a nightcap, and a poker in his hand, imagining, probably, that ſome ruffians were coming to attack him. When he diſcovered who they were, and was told their errand, he ſmiled, and with great good humour agreed to their propoſal: ‘"What, is it you, you dogs! I'll have a friſk with [135] you."’ He was ſoon dreſt, and they ſallied forth together into Covent-Garden, where the green-grocers and fruiterers were beginning to arrange their hampers, juſt come in from the country. Johnſon made ſome attempts to help them; but the honeſt gardeners ſtared ſo at his figure and manner, and odd inter⯑ference, that he ſoon ſaw his ſervices were not reliſhed. They then repaired to one of the neighbouring taverns, and made a bowl of that liquor called Biſhop, which Johnſon had always liked; while in joyous contempt of ſleep, from which he had been rouſed, he repeated the feſtive lines,

They did not ſtay long, but walked down to the Thames, took a boat, and rowed to Billingſgate. Beauclerk and Johnſon were ſo well pleaſed with their amuſement, that they reſolved to perſevere in diſſipation for the reſt of the day: but Langton deſerted them, being engaged to breakfaſt with ſome young ladies. Johnſon ſcolded him for ‘"leaving his ſocial friends, to go and ſit with a ſet of wretched un-idea'd girls."’ Garrick being told of this ramble, ſaid to him ſmartly, ‘"I heard of your frolick t'other night. You'll be in the Chronicle."’ Upon which Johnſon afterwards obſerved, ‘"He durſt not do ſuch a thing. His wife would not let him!"’

He entered upon the year 1753 with his uſual piety, as appears from the following prayer tranſcribed from that part of his diary which he burnt a few days before his death:

He now relieved the drudgery of his Dictionary, and the melancholy of his grief, by taking an active part in the compoſition of ‘"The Adventurer,"’ in which he began to write April 10, marking his eſſays with the ſignature T, by which moſt of his papers in that collection are diſtinguiſhed: thoſe, how⯑ever, which have that ſignature and alſo that of Myſargyrus, were not written by him, but, as I ſuppoſe, by Dr. Bathurſt. Indeed Johnſon's energy of [136] thought and richneſs of language, are ſtill more deciſive marks than any ſigna⯑ture. As a proof of this, my readers, I imagine, will not doubt that No. 39, on ſleep, is his; for it not only has the general texture and colour of his ſtyle, but the authours with whom he was peculiarly converſant are readily introduced in it in curſory alluſion. The tranſlation of a paſſage in Statius quoted in that paper, and marked C. B. is certainly the performance of Dr. Charles Bathurſt▪ How much this amiable man actually contributed to ‘"The Adventurer,"’ can⯑not be known. Let me add, that Hawkeſworth's imitations of Johnſon are ſometimes ſo happy, that it is extremely difficult to diſtinguiſh them, with certainty, from the compoſitions of his great archetype. Hawkeſworth was his cloſeſt imitator, a circumſtance of which that writer would once have been proud to be told; though, when he had become elated by having riſen into ſome degree of conſequence, he, in a converſation with me, had the provoking effrontery to ſay he was not ſenſible of it.

Johnſon was truly zealous for the ſucceſs of ‘"The Adventurer;"’ and very ſoon after his engaging in it, he wrote the following letter

The conſequence of this letter was, Dr. Warton's enriching the collection with ſeveral admirable eſſays.

Johnſon's ſaying ‘"I have no part in the paper beyond now and then a motto,"’ may ſeem inconſiſtent with his being the authour of the papers marked T. But he had, at this time, written only one number; and beſides, even at any after period, he might have uſed the ſame expreſſion, conſider⯑ing it as a point of honour not to own them; for Mrs. Williams told me, that ‘"as he had given thoſe eſſays to Dr. Bathurſt, who ſold them at two guineas each, he never would own them; nay, he uſed to ſay he did not write them: but the fact was, that he dictated them, while Bathurſt wrote."’ I read to him Mrs. Williams's account; he ſmiled, and ſaid nothing.

I am not quite ſatisfied with the caſuiſtry by which the productions of one perſon are thus paſſed upon the world for the productions of another. I allow that not only knowledge, but powers and qualities of mind may be com⯑municated; but the actual effect of individual exertion never can be tranſ⯑ferred, with truth, to any other than its own original cauſe. One perſon's child may be made the child of another perſon by adoption, as among the Romans, or by the ancient Jewiſh mode of a wife having children borne to her upon her knees, by her handmaid. But theſe were children in a different ſenſe from that of nature. It was clearly underſtood that they were not of the blood of their nominal parents. So in literary children, an authour may give the profits and fame of his compoſition to another man, but cannot make that other the real authour. A Highland gentleman, a younger branch of a family, once conſulted me if he could not validly purchaſe the Chieftainſhip of his family, from the Chief who was willing to ſell it. I told him it was impoſſible for him to acquire, by purchaſe, a right to be a different perſon from what he really was; for that the right of Chieftainſhip attached to the blood of primo-geniture, and, therefore, was incapable of being transferred. I added, that though Eſau ſold his birth-right, or the advantages belonging to it, he ſtill remained the firſt-born of his parents; and that whatever agreement a Chief might make with any of the clan, the Herald's Office could not admit of the metamorphoſis, or with any decency atteſt that the younger was the elder; but I did not convince the worthy gentleman.

[138] Johnſon's papers in the Adventurer are very fimilar to thoſe of the Rambler; but being rather more varied in their ſubjects, and being mixed with eſſays by other writers, upon topicks more generally attractive than even the moſt elegant ethical diſcourſes, the ſale of the work, at firſt, was more extenſive. Without meaning, however, to depreciate the Adventurer, I muſt obſerve, that as the value of the Rambler came, in the progreſs of time, to be better known, it grew upon the publick eſtimation, and that its ſale has far exceeded that of any other periodical papers ſince the reign of Queen Anne.

In one of the books of his diary I find the following entry:

He this year favoured Mrs. Lennox with a Dedication to the Earl of Orrery, of her ‘"Shakſpeare Illuſtrated."’

In 1754 I can trace nothing publiſhed by him, except his numbers of the Adventurer, and ‘"The Life of Edward Cave,"’ in the Gentleman's Maga⯑zine for February. In biography there can be no queſtion that he excelled, beyond all who have attempted that ſpecies of compoſition; upon which, indeed, he ſet the higheſt value. To the minute ſelection of characteriſtical circumſtances, for which the ancients were remarkable, he added a philo⯑ſophical reſearch, and the moſt perſpicuous and energetick language. Cave was certainly a man of eſtimable qualities, and was eminently diligent and ſucceſsful in his own buſineſs, which, doubtleſs, entitled him to reſpect. But he was peculiarly fortunate in being recorded by Johnſon, who, of the narrow life of a printer and publiſher, without any digreſſions or adventitious circum⯑ſtances, has made an intereſting and agreeable narrative.

The Dictionary, we may believe, afforded Johnſon full occupation this year. As it approached to its concluſion, he probably worked with redoubled vigour, as ſeamen increaſe their exertion and alacrity when they have a near proſpect of their haven.

Lord Cheſterfield, to whom Johnſon had paid the high compliment of addreſſing to his Lordſhip the Plan of his Dictionary, had behaved to him in ſuch a manner as to excite his contempt and indignation. The world has been for many years amuſed with a ſtory confidently told, and as confidently repeated with additional circumſtances, that a ſudden diſguſt was taken by Johnſon upon occaſion of his having been one day kept long in waiting in his Lord⯑ſhip's [139] antechamber, for which the reaſon aſſigned was, that he had company with him; and that at laſt, when the door opened, out walked Colley Cibber; and that Johnſon was ſo violently provoked when he found for whom he had been ſo long excluded, that he went away in a paſſion, and never would return. I remember having mentioned this ſtory to George Lord Lyttelton, who told me, he was very intimate with Lord Cheſterfield; and holding it as a well⯑known truth, defended Lord Cheſterfield, by ſaying, that ‘"Cibber, who had been introduced familiarly by the back-ſtairs, had probably not been there above ten minutes."’ It may ſeem ſtrange even to entertain a doubt concern⯑ing a ſtory ſo long and ſo widely current, and thus implicitly adopted, if not ſanctified, by the authority which I have mentioned; but Johnſon himſelf aſſured me, that there was not the leaſt foundation for it. He told me, that there never was any particular incident which produced a quarrel between Lord Cheſterfield and him; but that his Lordſhip's continued neglect was the reaſon why he reſolved to have no connection with him. When the Dictionary was upon the eve of publication, Lord Cheſterfield, who, it is ſaid, had flattered himſelf with expectations that Johnſon would dedicate the work to him, attempted, in a courtly manner, to ſooth, and inſinuate himſelf with the ſage, conſcious, as it ſhould ſeem, of the cold indifference with which he had treated its learned authour; and further attempted to conciliate him, by writing two papers in ‘"The World,"’ in recommendation of the work; and it muſt be confeſſed, that they contain ſome ſtudied compliments, ſo finely turned, that if there had been no previous offence, it is probable that Johnſon would have been highly delighted. Praiſe, in general, was pleaſing to him; but by praiſe from a man of rank and elegant accompliſhments, he was peculiarly gratified.

His Lordſhip ſays, ‘"I think the publick in general, and the republick of letters in particular, are greatly obliged to Mr. Johnſon, for having undertaken, and executed, ſo great and deſirable a work. Perfection is not to be expected from man: but if we are to judge by the various works of Johnſon already publiſhed, we have good reaſon to believe, that he will bring this as near to perfection as any one man could do. The Plan of it, which he publiſhed ſome years ago, ſeems to me to be a proof of it. Nothing can be more rationally imagined, or more accurately and elegantly expreſſed. I therefore recommend the previous peruſal of it to all thoſe who intend to buy the Dictionary, and who, I ſuppoſe, are all thoſe who can afford it.’

This courtly device failed of its effect. Johnſon, who thought that ‘"all was falſe and hollow,"’ deſpiſed the honeyed words, and was even indignant that Lord Cheſterfield ſhould, for a moment, imagine, that he could be the dupe of ſuch an artifice. His expreſſion to me concerning Lord Cheſterfield, upon this occaſion, was, ‘"Sir, after making great profeſſions, he had, for many years, taken no notice of me; but when my Dictionary was coming out, he fell a ſcribbling in the World about it. Upon which, I wrote him a letter, expreſſed in civil terms, but ſuch as might ſhew him that I did not mind what he ſaid or wrote, and that I had done with him."’

This is that celebrated letter, of which ſo much has been ſaid, and about which curioſity has been ſo long excited, without being gratified. I for many years ſolicited Johnſon to favour me with a copy of it, that ſo excellent a [141] compoſition might not be loſt to poſterity. He delayed from time to time to give it me; till at laſt in 1781, when we were on a viſit at Mr. Dilly's, at Southill in Bedfordſhire, he was pleaſed to dictate it to me from memory. He afterwards found among his papers a copy of it, with its title and cor⯑rections, in his own hand-writing. This he gave to Mr. Langton; adding, that if it were to come into print, he wiſhed it to be from that copy. By Mr. Langton's kindneſs, I am enabled to enrich my work with a perfect tranſcript of what the world has ſo eagerly deſired to ſee.

‘"While this was the talk of the town, (ſays Dr. Adams, in a letter to me) I happened to viſit Dr. Warburton, who finding that I was acquainted with Johnſon, deſired me earneſtly to carry his compliments to him, and to tell him, that he honoured him for his manly behaviour in rejecting theſe conde⯑ſcenſions of Lord Cheſterfield, and for reſenting the treatment he had received from him, with a proper ſpirit. Johnſon was viſibly pleaſed with this compliment, [143] for he had always a high opinion of Warburton."’—Indeed, the force of mind which appeared in this letter, was congenial with that which Warburton himſelf amply poſſeſſed.

There is a curious minute circumſtance which ſtruck me, in comparing the various editions of Johnſon's imitations of Juvenal. In the tenth Satire, one of the couplets upon the vanity of wiſhes even for literary diſtinction ſtood thus:

But after experiencing the uneaſineſs which Lord Cheſterfield's fallacious patronage made him feel, he diſmiſſed the word garret from the ſad group, and in all the ſubſequent editions the line ſtands

That Lord Cheſterfield muſt have been mortified by the lofty contempt, and polite, yet keen ſatire with which Johnſon exhibited him to himſelf in this letter, it is impoſſible to doubt. He, however, with that gloſſy duplicity which was his conſtant ſtudy, affected to be quite unconcerned. Dr. Adams mentioned to Mr. Robert Dodſley that he was ſorry Johnſon had written his letter to Lord Cheſterfield. Dodſley, with the true feelings of trade, ſaid ‘"he was very ſorry too; for that he had a property in the Dictionary, to which his Lordſhip's patronage might have been of conſequence."’ He then told Dr. Adams, that Lord Cheſterfield had ſhewn him the letter. ‘"I ſhould have imagined (replied Dr. Adams) that Lord Cheſterfield would have concealed it."’ ‘"Poh! (ſaid Dodſley) do you think a letter from Johnſon could hurt Lord Cheſterfield? Not at all, Sir. It lay upon his table, where any body might ſee it. He read it to me; ſaid, 'this man has great powers,' pointed out the ſevereſt paſſages, and obſerved how well they were expreſſed."’ This air of indifference, which impoſed upon the worthy Dodſley, was certainly nothing but a ſpecimen of that diſſimulation which Lord Cheſterfield inculcated as one of the moſt eſſential leſſons for the conduct of life. His Lordſhip endeavoured to juſtify himſelf to Dodſley from the charges brought againſt him by Johnſon; but we may judge of the flimſineſs of his defence, from his having excuſed his neglect of Johnſon, by ſaying that ‘"he had heard he had changed his lodgings, and did not know where he lived;"’ as if there could have been the ſmalleſt difficulty to inform himſelf of that circumſtance, by [144] inquiring in the literary circle with which his Lordſhip was well acquainted, and was, indeed, himſelf one of its ornaments.

Dr. Adams expoſtulated with Johnſon, and ſuggeſted, that his not being admitted when he called on him, was, probably, not to be imputed to Lord Cheſterfield; for his Lordſhip had declared to Dodſley, that ‘"he would have turned off the beſt ſervant he ever had, if he had known that he denied him to a man who would have been always more than welcome;"’ and, in confirmation of this, he inſiſted on Lord Cheſterfield's general affability and eaſineſs of acceſs, eſpecially to literary men. ‘"Sir, (ſaid Johnſon) that is not Lord Cheſter⯑field; he is the proudeſt man this day exiſting."’ ‘"No, (ſaid Dr. Adams) there is one perſon, at leaſt, as proud; I think, by your own account, you are the prouder man of the two."’ ‘"But mine (replied Johnſon, inſtantly) was defenſive pride."’ This, as Dr. Adams well obſerved, was one of thoſe happy turns for which he was ſo remarkably ready.

Johnſon having now explicitly avowed his opinion of Lord Cheſterfield, did not refrain from expreſſing himſelf concerning that nobleman with pointed freedom: ‘"This man (ſaid he) I thought had been a Lord among wits; but, I find, he is only a wit among Lords!"’ And when his Letters to his natural ſon were publiſhed, he obſerved, that ‘"they teach the morals of a whore, and the manners of a dancing-maſter ²."’

The character of a ‘"reſpectable Hottentot,"’ in Lord Cheſterfield's letters, has been generally underſtood to be meant for Johnſon, and I have no doubt that it was. But I remember when the Literary Property of thoſe letters was [145] conteſted in the Court of Seſſion in Scotland, and Mr. Henry Dundas, one of the Counſel for the proprietors, read this character as an exhibition of Johnſon, Sir David Dalrymple, Lord Hailes, one of the Judges, maintained, with ſome warmth, that it was not intended as a portrait of Johnſon, but of a late noble Lord, diſtinguiſhed for abſtruſe ſcience. I have heard Johnſon himſelf talk of the character, and ſay that it was meant for George Lord Lyttelton, in which I could by no means agree; for his Lordſhip had nothing of that violence which is a conſpicuous feature in the compoſition. Finding that my illuſtrious friend could bear to have it ſuppoſed that it might be meant for him, I ſaid, laughingly, that there was one trait which unqueſtionably did not belong to him; ‘"he throws his meat any where but down his throat."’ ‘"Sir, (ſaid he) Lord Cheſterfield never ſaw me eat in his life."’

On the 6th of March came out Lord Bolingbroke's works, publiſhed by Mr. David Mallet. The wild and pernicious ravings, under the name of ‘"Philoſophy,"’ which were thus uſhered into the world, gave great offence to all well-principled men. Johnſon, hearing of their tendency, which nobody diſputed, was rouſed with a juſt indignation, and pronounced this memorable ſentence upon the noble authour and his editor. ‘"Sir, he was a ſcoundrel, and a coward: a ſcoundrel, for charging a blunderbuſs againſt religion and morality; a coward, becauſe he had not reſolution to fire it off himſelf, but left half a crown to a beggarly Scotchman, to draw the trigger after his death!"’ Garrick, who I can atteſt from my own knowledge, had his mind ſeaſoned with pious reverence, and ſincerely diſapproved of the infidel writings of ſeveral, whom, in the courſe of his almoſt univerſal gay intercourſe with men of eminence, he treated with external civility, diſtinguiſhed himſelf upon this occaſion. Mr. Pelham having died on the very day on which Lord Bolingbroke's works came out, he wrote an elegant Ode on his death, beginning

in which is the following ſtanza:

[146] Johnſon this year found an interval of leiſure to make an excurſion to Oxford, for the purpoſe of conſulting the libraries there. Of this, and of many inte⯑reſting circumſtances concerning him, during a part of his life when he con⯑verſed but little with the world, I am enabled to give a particular account, by the liberal communications of the Reverend Mr. Thomas Warton, who has obligingly furniſhed me with ſeveral of our common friend's letters, which he has illuſtrated with notes. Theſe I ſhall inſert in their proper places.

Of his converſation while at Oxford at this time, Mr. Warton has preſerved and communicated to me the following memorial, which, though not written [147] with all the care and attention which that learned and elegant writer beſtows on thoſe compoſitions which he intends for the publick eye, is ſo happily expreſſed in an eaſy ſtyle, that I ſhould injure it by any alteration:

The following letter was written by Dr. Johnſon to Mr. Chambers, of Lincoln College, now Sir Robert Chambers, one of the Judges in India ⁷:

[150] The degree of Maſter of Arts, which, it has been obſerved, could not be obtained for him at an early period of his life, was now conſidered as an honour of conſiderable importance, in order to grace the title-page of his Dictionary; and his character in the-literary world being by this time deſervedly high, his friends thought that if proper exertions were made, the Univerſity of Oxford would pay him the compliment.

In 1755 we behold him to great advantage; his degree of Maſter of Arts conferred upon him, his Dictionary publiſhed, his correſpondence animated, his benevolence exerciſed.

As the publick will doubtleſs be pleaſed to ſee the whole progreſs of this well-earned academical honour, I ſhall inſert the Chancellor of Oxford's letter to the Univerſity ⁴, the diploma, and Johnſon's letter of thanks to the Vice-Chancellor.

Dr. Adams told me, that this ſcheme of a Bibliotheque was a ſerious one; for upon his viſiting him one day, he found his parlour floor covered with parcels of foreign and Engliſh literary journals, and he told Dr. Adams he meant to undertake a Review. ‘"How, Sir, (ſaid Dr. Adams, can you think of doing it alone? All branches of knowledge muſt be conſidered in it. Do you know Mathematicks? Do you know Natural Hiſtory?"’ Johnſon anſwered, ‘"Why, Sir, I muſt do as well as I can. My chief purpoſe is to give my countrymen a view of what is doing in literature upon the continent; and I ſhall have, in a good meaſure, the choice of my ſubject, for I ſhall ſelect ſuch books as I beſt underſtand."’ Dr. Adams ſuggeſted, that as Dr. Maty had juſt then finiſhed his Bibliotheque Britannique, which was a well executed work, giving foreigners an account of Britiſh publications, he might, with great advantage, aſſume him as an aſſiſtant. ‘"He, (ſaid Johnſon,) the little black dog! I'd throw him into the Thames."’ The ſcheme, however, was dropped.

In one of his little memorandum-books I find the following hints for his intended Review or Literary Journal: ‘"The Annals of Literature, foreign as well as domeſtick. Imitate Le Clerk—Bayle—Barbeyrac. Infelicity of Jour⯑nals in England. Works of the learned. We cannot take in all. Some⯑times copy from foreign Journaliſts. Always tell."’

Mr. Charles Burney, who has ſince diſtinguiſhed himſelf ſo much in the ſcience of Muſick, and obtained a Doctor's degree from the Univerſity of Oxford, had been driven from the capital by bad health, and was now reſiding at Lynn Regis, in Norfolk. He had been ſo much delighted with Johnſon's Rambler, and the Plan of his Dictionary, that when the great work was announced in the newſpapers as nearly finiſhed, he wrote to Dr. Johnſon, begging to be informed when and in what manner his Dictionary would be publiſhed; intreating, if it ſhould be by ſubſcription, or he ſhould have any books at his own diſpoſal, to be favoured with ſix copies for himſelf and friends.

In anſwer to this application, Dr. Johnſon wrote the following letter, of which (to uſe Dr. Burney's own words) ‘"if it be remembered that it was written to an obſcure young man, who at this time had not much diſtinguiſhed him⯑ſelf even in his own profeſſion, but whoſe name could never have reached the authour of THE RAMBLER, the politeneſs and urbanity may be oppoſed to ſome of the ſtories which have been lately circulated of Dr. Johnſon's natural rudeneſs and ferocity."’

Mr. Andrew Millar, bookſeller in the Strand, took the principal charge of conducting the publication of Johnſon's Dictionary; and as the patience of the proprietors was repeatedly tried and almoſt exhauſted, by their expecting that the work would be completed within the time which Johnſon had ſanguinely ſuppoſed, the learned authour was often goaded to diſpatch, more eſpecially as he had received all the copy-money, by different drafts, a conſiderable time before he had finiſhed his taſk. When the meſſenger who carried the laſt ſheet to Millar returned, Johnſon aſked him, ‘"Well, what did he ſay?"’—‘"Sir, (anſwered the meſſenger) he ſaid, thank GOD I have done with him.▪’ ‘"I am glad (replied Johnſon, with a ſmile,) that he thanks GOD for any thing ⁸."’ It [160] is remarkable, that thoſe with whom Johnſon chiefly contracted for his literary labours were Scotchmen, Mr. Millar and Mr. Strahan. Millar, though himſelf no great judge of literature, had good ſenſe enough to have for his friends very able men to give him their opinion and advice in the purchaſe of copy-right; the conſequence of which was his acquiring a very large fortune, with great liberality. Johnſon ſaid of him, ‘"I reſpect Millar, Sir; he has raiſed the price of literature."’ The ſame praiſe may be juſtly given to Pancoek, the eminent bookſeller of Paris. Mr. Strahan's liberality, judgement, and ſucceſs, are well known.

The Dictionary, with a Grammar and Hiſtory of the Engliſh Language, being now at length publiſhed, in two volumes folio, the world contemplated with wonder ſo ſtupendous a work atchieved by one man, while other countries had thought ſuch undertakings fit only for whole academies. Vaſt as his powers were, I cannot but think that his imagination deceived him, when he ſuppoſed that by conſtant application he might have performed the taſk in three years. Let the Preface be attentively peruſed, in which is given, in a clear, ſtrong, and glowing ſtyle, a comprehenſive, yet particular view of what he had done; and it will be evident, that the time he employed upon it was comparatively ſhort. I am unwilling to ſwell my book with long quotations from what is in every body's hands; and I believe there are few proſe compoſitions in the Engliſh language that are read with more delight, or are more impreſſed upon the memory, than that preliminary diſcourſe. One of its excellencies has always ſtruck me with peculiar admiration; I mean the perſpicuity with which he has expreſſed abſtract ſcientifick notions. As an inſtance of this, I ſhall quote the following ſentence: ‘"When the radical idea branches out into parallel ramifi⯑cations, how can a conſecutive ſeries be formed of ſenſes in their own nature collateral?"’ We have here an example of what has been often ſaid, and I believe with juſtice, that there is for every thought a certain nice adaptation of words which none other could equal, and which, when a man has been ſo fortunate as to hit, he has attained, in that particular caſe, to the perfection of language.

The extenſive reading which was abſolutely neceſſary for the accumulation of authorities, and which alone may account for Johnſon's retentive mind being enriched with a very large and various ſtore of knowledge and imagery, muſt have occupied ſeveral years. The Preface furniſhes an eminent inſtance of a double talent, of which Johnſon was fully conſcious. Sir Joſhua Reynolds [163] has heard him ſay, ‘"There are two things which I am confident I can do very well: one is an introduction to any literary work, ſtating what it is to contain, and how it ſhould be executed in the moſt perfect manner; the other is a concluſion, ſhewing from various cauſes why the execution has not been equal to what the authour promiſed to himſelf and to the publick."’

How ſhould puny ſcribblers be abaſhed and diſappointed, when they find him diſplaying a perfect theory of lexicographical excellence, yet at the ſame time candidly and modeſtly allowing that he ‘"had not ſatisfied his own expectations."’ Here was a fair occaſion for the exerciſe of Johnſon's modeſty, when he was called upon to compare his own arduous performance, not with thoſe of other individuals, (in which caſe his inflexible regard to truth would have been violated, had he affected diffidence,) but with ſpeculative perfection; as he, who can outſtrip all his competitors in the race, may yet be ſenſible of his deficiency when he runs againſt time. Well might he ſay, that ‘"the Engliſh Dictionary was written with little aſſiſtance of the learned;"’ for he told me, that the only aid which he received was a paper containing twenty etymo⯑logies, ſent to him by a perſon then unknown, who he was afterwards informed was Dr. Pearce, Biſhop of Rocheſter. The etymologies, though they exhibit learning and judgement, are not, I think, entitled to the firſt praiſe amongſt the various parts of this immenſe work. The definitions have always appeared to me ſuch aſtoniſhing proofs of acuteneſs of intellect and preciſion of lan⯑guage, as indicate a genius of the higheſt rank. This it is which marks the ſuperiour excellence of Johnſon's Dictionary over others equally or even more voluminous, and muſt have made it a work of much greater mental labour than mere Lexicons, or Word Books, as the Dutch call them. They, who will make the experiment of trying how they can define a few words of whatever nature, will ſoon be ſatisfied of the unqueſtionable juſtice of this obſervation, which I can aſſure my readers is founded upon much ſtudy, and upon com⯑munication with more minds than my own.

A few of his definitions muſt be admitted to be erroneous. Thus, Wind⯑ward and Leeward, though directly of oppoſite meaning, are defined identically the ſame way; as to which inconſiderable ſpecks it is enough to obſerve, that his Preface announces that he was aware there might be many ſuch in ſo immenſe a work; nor was he at all diſconcerted when an inſtance was pointed out to him. A lady once aſked him how he came to define Paſtern the knee of a horſe: inſtead of making an elaborate defence, as ſhe expected, he at once anſwered, ‘"Ignorance, Madam, pure ignorance."’ His definition of Network has been often quoted with ſportive malignity, as obſcuring a thing [164] in itſelf very plain. But to theſe frivolous cenſures no other anſwer is neceſ⯑ſary than that with which we are furniſhed by his own Preface. ‘"To explain, requires the uſe of terms leſs abſtruſe than that which is to be explained, and ſuch terms cannot always be found. For as nothing can be proved but by ſuppoſing ſomething intuitively known, and evident without proof, ſo nothing can be defined but by the uſe of words too plain to admit of definition. Some⯑times eaſier words are changed into harder; as, burial, into ſepulture or interment; dry, into deſiecative; dryneſs, into ſiccity or aridity; fit, into paroxyſm; for, the eaſieſt word, whatever it be, can never be tranſlated into one more eaſy."’

His introducing his own opinions, and even prejudices, under general definitions of words, while at the ſame time the original meaning of the words is not explained, as his Tory, Whig, Penſion, Oats, Exciſe, and a few more, cannot be fully defended, and muſt be placed to the account of capricious and humourous indulgence. Talking to me upon this ſubject when we were at Aſhbourne in 1777, he mentioned a ſtill ſtronger inſtance of the predomi⯑nance of his private feelings in the compoſition of this work, than any now to be found in it. ‘"You know, Sir, Lord Gower forſook the old Jacobite intereſt. When I came to the word Renegado, after telling that it meant 'one who deſerts to the enemy, a revolter,' I added, Sometimes we ſay a GOWER. Thus it went to the preſs; but the printer had more wit than I, and ſtruck it out."’

Let it, however, be remembered, that this indulgence does not diſplay itſelf only in ſarcaſm towards others, but ſometimes in playful alluſion to the notions commonly entertained of his own laborious taſk. Thus: ‘"Grub-ſtreet, the name of a ſtreet in London, much inhabited by writers of ſmall hiſtories, dictionaries, and temporary poems; whence any mean production is called Grub-ſtreet."’—‘"Lexicographer, a writer of dictionaries, a harmleſs drudge."’

At the time when he was concluding his very eloquent Preface, Johnſon's mind appears to have been in ſuch a ſtate of depreſſion, that we cannot con⯑template without wonder the vigorous and ſplendid thoughts which ſo highly diſtinguiſh that performance. ‘"I (ſays he) may ſurely be contented without the praiſe of perfection, which if I could obtain in this gloom of ſolitude, what would it avail me? I have protracted my work till moſt of thoſe whom I wiſhed to pleaſe, have ſunk into the grave; and ſucceſs and miſcarriage are empty ſounds. I therefore diſmiſs it with frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from cenſure or from praiſe."’ That this indifference was rather [165] a temporary than an habitual feeling, appears, I think, from his letters to Mr. Warton; and however he may have been affected for the moment, certain it is that the honours which his great work procured him, both at home and abroad, were very grateful to him. His friend the Earl of Corke and Orrery, being at Florence, preſented it to the Academia della Cruſca. That Academy ſent Johnſon their Vocabulario, and the French Academy ſent him their Dictionnaire, which Mr. Langton had the pleaſure to convey to him.

It muſt undoubtedly ſeem ſtrange, that the concluſion of his Preface ſhould be expreſſed in terms ſo deſponding, when it is conſidered that the authour was then only in his forty-ſixth year. But we muſt aſcribe its gloom to that miſerable dejection of ſpirits to which he was conſtitutionally ſubject, and which was aggravated by the death of his wife two years before. I have heard it ingeniouſly obſerved by a lady of rank and elegance, that ‘"his melan⯑choly was then at its meridian."’ It pleaſed GOD to grant him almoſt thirty years of life after this time; and once, when he was in a placid frame of mind, he was obliged to own to me that he had enjoyed happier days, and had had many more friends, ſince that gloomy hour than before.

It is a ſad ſaying, that ‘"moſt of thoſe whom he wiſhed to pleaſe had ſunk into the grave,"’ and his caſe at forty-five was ſingularly unhappy, unleſs the circle of his friends was very narrow. I have often thought, that as longevity is generally deſired, and, I believe, generally expected, it would be wiſe to be continually adding to the number of our friends, that the loſs of ſome may be ſupplied by others. Friendſhip, ‘"the wine of life,"’ ſhould, like a well⯑ſtocked cellar, be thus continually renewed; and it is conſolatory to think, that although we can ſeldom add what will equal the generous firſt-growths of our youth, yet friendſhip becomes inſenſibly old in much leſs time than is com⯑monly imagined▪ and not many years are required to make it very mellow and pleaſant. Warmth will, no doubt, make a conſiderable difference. Men of affectionate temper and bright fancy will coaleſce a great deal ſooner than thoſe who are cold and dull.

The propoſition which I have now endeavoured to illuſtrate was, at an after period of his life, the opinion of Johnſon himſelf. He ſaid to Sir Joſhua Reynolds, ‘"If a man does not make new acquaintance as he advances through life, he will ſoon find himſelf left alone. A man, Sir, ſhould keep his friend⯑ſhip in conſtant repair."’

The celebrated Mr. Wilkes, whoſe notions and habits of life were very oppoſite to his, but who was ever eminent for literature and vivacity, ſallied forth with a little Jeu d' Eſprit upon the following paſſage in his Grammar of [166] the Engliſh Tongue, prefixed to the Dictionary: ‘"H ſeldom, perhaps never, begins any but the firſt ſyllable."’ In an eſſay printed in the Publick Adver⯑tiſer, this lively writer enumerated many inſtances in oppoſition to this remark; for example, ‘"The authour of this obſervation muſt be a man of a quick appre-henſion, and of a moſt compre-henſive genius."’ The poſition is un⯑doubtedly expreſſed with too much latitude.

This light ſally, we may ſuppoſe, made no great impreſſion on our Lexi⯑cographer, for we find that he never altered the paſſage.

He had the pleaſure of being treated in a very different manner by his old pupil Mr. Garrick, in the following complimentary Epigram:

Johnſon this year gave at once a proof of his benevolence, quickneſs of apprehenſion, and admirable art of compoſition, in the aſſiſtance which he gave to Mr. Zachariah Williams, father of the blind lady whom he had humanely received under his roof. Mr. Williams had followed the profeſſion of phyſick in Wales; but having a very ſtrong propenſity to the ſtudy of natural philoſophy, had made many ingenious advances towards a diſcovery of the longitude, and repaired to London in hopes of obtaining the great par⯑liamentary reward. He failed of ſucceſs; but Johnſon having made himſelf [167] maſter of his principles and experiments, wrote for him a pamphlet, publiſhed in quarto, with the following title; ‘"An Account of an Attempt to aſcertain the Longitude at Sea, by an exact Theory of the Variation of the magnetical Needle; with a Table of the Variations at the moſt remarkable Cities in Europe, from the year 1660 to 1860."’ To diffuſe it more extenſively, it was accompanied with an Italian tranſlation on the oppoſite page, which it is ſuppoſed was the work of Signor Baretti, an Italian of conſiderable literature, who having come to England a few years before, had been employed in the capacity both of a language-maſter and an authour, and formed an intimacy with Dr. Johnſon. This pamphlet Johnſon preſented to the Bodleian Library ⁴. On a blank leaf of it is paſted a paragraph cut out of a newſpaper, con⯑taining an account of the death and character of Williams, plainly written by Johnſon ⁵.

In July this year he had formed ſome ſcheme of mental improvement, the particular purpoſe of which does not appear. But we find in his ‘"Prayers and Meditations,"’ p. 24, a prayer entitled ‘"On the Study of Philoſophy▪ as an Inſtrument of living;"’ and after it follows a note, ‘"This ſtudy was not purſued."’

In 1756 Johnſon found that the great fame of his Dictionary had not ſet him above the neceſſity of ‘"making proviſion for the day that was paſſing over him."’ No royal or noble patron extended a munificent hand to give independence to the man who had conferred ſtability on the language of his country. We may feel indignant that there ſhould have been ſuch unworthy neglect; but we muſt, at the ſame time, congratulate ourſelves, that to this very neglect, operating to rouſe the natural indolence of his conſtitution, we owe many valuable productions, which otherwiſe, perhaps, might never have appeared.

He had ſpent, during the progreſs of the work, the money for which he had contracted to write his Dictionary. We have ſeen that the reward of his labour was only fifteen hundred and ſeventy-five pounds; and when the expence of amanuenſes and paper, and other articles are deducted, his clear profit was [168] very inconſiderable. I once ſaid to him ‘"I am ſorry, Sir, you did not get more for your Dictionary."’ His anſwer was, ‘"I am ſorry too. But it was very well. The bookſellers are generous liberal-minded men."’ He, upon all occaſions, did ample juſtice to their character in this reſpect. He conſidered them as the patrons of literature; and, indeed, although they have eventually been conſiderable gainers by his Dictionary, it is to them that we owe its having been undertaken and carried through at the riſk of great expence, for they were not abſolutely ſure of being indemnified.

On the firſt day of this year we find from his private devotions, that he had then recovered from ſickneſs ⁶; and in February that his eye was reſtored to its uſe ⁷. The pious gratitude with which he acknowledges mercies upon every occaſion is very edifying; as is the humble ſubmiſſion which he breathes when it is the will of his heavenly Father to try him with afflictions. As ſuch diſpoſitions become the ſtate of man here, and are the true effects of religious diſcipline, we cannot but venerate in Johnſon one of the moſt exerciſed minds that our holy religion hath ever formed. If there be any thoughtleſs enough to ſuppoſe ſuch exerciſe the weakneſs of a great underſtanding, let them look up to Johnſon, and be convinced that what he ſo earneſtly practiſed muſt have a rational foundation.

His works this year were, an abſtract or epitome, in octavo, of his folio Dictionary, and a few eſſays in a monthly publication, entitled, ‘"THE UNIVERSAL VISITER."’ Chriſtopher Smart, with whoſe unhappy vacillation of mind he ſincerely ſympathiſed, was one of the ſtated undertakers of this miſcellany; and it was to aſſiſt him that Johnſon ſometimes employed his pen. All the eſſays marked with two aſteriſks have been aſcribed to him; but I am confident, from internal evidence, that of theſe, neither ‘"The Life of Chaucer,"’ ‘"Reflections on the State of Portugal,"’ nor an ‘"Eſſay on Architecture,"’ were written by him. I am equally confident, upon the ſame evidence, that he wrote ‘"Further Thoughts on Agriculture, †"’ being the ſequel of a very inferiour eſſay on the ſame ſubject, and which, though carried on as if by the ſame hand, is both in thinking and expreſſion ſo far above it, and ſo ſtrikingly peculiar, as to leave no doubt of its true parent; and that he alſo wrote ‘"A Diſſertation on the State of Literature and Authours, †"’ and ‘"A Diſſertation on the Epitaphs written by Pope. †"’ The laſt of theſe, indeed, he afterwards added to his ‘"Idler."’ Why the eſſays truly written by him are marked in the ſame manner with ſome he did not write, I cannot explain; but with diference to thoſe who have aſcribed to him the three eſſays which [169] I have rejected, they want all the characteriſtical marks of Johnſonian compoſition.

He engaged alſo to ſuperintend and contribute largely to another monthly publication, entitled ‘"THE LITERARY MAGAZINE, OR UNIVERSAL REVIEW;"’ the firſt number of which came out in May this year. What were his emolu⯑ments from this undertaking, and what other writers were employed in it, I have not diſcovered. He continued to write in it, with intermiſſions, till the fifteenth number; and I think that he never gave better proofs of the force, acuteneſs, and vivacity of his mind, than in this miſcellany, whether we conſider his original eſſays, or his reviews of the works of others. The ‘"Preliminary Addreſs"’ to the publick is a proof how this great man could embelliſh even ſo trite a thing as the plan of a magazine with the graces of ſuperiour compoſition.

His original eſſays are, ‘"An Introduction to the political State of Great-Britain; †"’ ‘"Remarks on the Militia Bill; †"’ ‘"Obſervations on his Britan⯑nick Majeſty's Treaties with the Empreſs of Ruſſia and the Landgrave of Heſſe Caſſel; †’ ‘"Obſervations on the preſent State of Affairs; †"’ and, ‘"Memoirs of Frederick III. King of Pruſſia. †"’ In all theſe he diſplays extenſive political knowledge and ſagacity, expreſſed with uncommon energy and perſpicuity, without any of thoſe words which he ſometimes took a plea⯑ſure in adopting, in imitation of Sir Thomas Browne, of whoſe ‘"Chriſtian Morals"’ he this year gave an edition, with his ‘"Life*"’ prefixed to it, which is one of Johnſon's beſt biographical performances. In one inſtance only in theſe eſſays has he indulged his Browniſm. Dr. Robertſon, the hiſtorian, men⯑tioned it to me, as having at once convinced him that Johnſon was the authour of the ‘"Memoirs of the King of Pruſſia."’ Speaking of the pride which the old King, the father of his hero, took in being maſter of the talleſt regiment in Europe, he ſays, ‘"To review this towering regiment was his daily pleaſure, and to perpetuate it was ſo much his care, that when he met a tall woman he immediately commanded one of his Titanian retinue to marry her, that they might propagate procerity."’ For this Anglo-Latian word procerity, Johnſon had, however, the authority of Addiſon.

His reviews are of the following books: ‘"Birch's Hiſtory of the Royal Society; †"’ ‘"Murphy's Gray's-Inn Journal †"’ ‘"Warton's Eſſay on the Writings and Genius of Pope. Vol. I. †"’ ‘"Hampton's Tranſlation of Polybius; †"’ ‘"Blackwell's Memoirs of the Court of Auguſtus; †"’ ‘"Ruſſel's Natural Hiſtory of Aleppo; †"’ ‘"Sir Iſaac Newton's Arguments in Proof of a Deity; †"’ ‘"Borlaſe's Hiſtory of the Iſles of Scilly; †"’ ‘"Home's Experi⯑ments [170] on Bleaching; †"’ ‘"Browne's Chriſtian Morals; †"’ ‘"Hales on diſtilling Sea-Water, Ventilators in Ships, and curing an ill Taſte in Milk; †"’ ‘"Lucas's Eſſay on Waters; †"’ ‘"Keith's Catalogue of the Scottiſh Biſhops; †"’ ‘"Browne's Hiſtory of Jamaica; †"’ ‘"Philoſophical Tranſactions. Vol. XLIX. †"’ ‘"Mrs. Lennox's Tranſlation of Sully's Memoirs; *"’ ‘"Miſcellanies by Elizabeth Harriſon; †"’ ‘"Evans's Map and Account of the middle Colonies in Ame⯑rica; †"’ ‘"Letter on the Caſe of Admiral Byng; *"’ ‘"Appeal to the People concerning Admiral Byng; *"’ ‘"Hanway's Eight Days Journey, and Eſſay on Tea; *"’ ‘"The Cadet, a military Treatiſe; †"’ ‘"Some further Particulars in Relation to the Caſe of Admiral Byng, by a Gentleman of Oxford; *"’ ‘"The Conduct of the Miniſtry relating to the preſent War impartially examined; †"’ ‘"A Free Inquiry into the Nature and Origin of Evil. *"’ All theſe, from internal evidence, were written by Johnſon; ſome of them I know he avowed, and have marked them with an aſteriſk accordingly. Mr. Thomas Davies, indeed, aſcribed to him the Review of Mr. Burke's ‘"Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful;"’ and Sir John Hawkins, with equal diſ⯑cernment, has inſerted it in his collection of Johnſon's works. Whereas it has no reſemblance to Johnſon's compoſition, and is well known to have been written by Mr. Murphy, who has acknowledged it to me and many others.

It is worthy of remark, in juſtice to Johnſon's political character, which has been miſrepreſented as abjectly ſubmiſſive to power, that his ‘"Obſerva⯑tions on the preſent State of Affairs,"’ glow with as animated a ſpirit of conſtitutional liberty as can be found any where. Thus he begins, ‘"The time is now come, in which every Engliſhman expects to be informed of the national affairs, and in which he has a right to have that expectation gratified. For whatever may be urged by miniſters, or thoſe whom vanity or intereſt make the followers of miniſters, concerning the neceſſity of confidence in our governours, and the preſumption of prying with profane eyes into the receſſes of policy, it is evident that this reverence can be claimed only by counſels yet unexecuted, and projects ſuſpended in deliberation. But when a deſign has ended in miſcarriage or ſucceſs, when every eye and every ear is witneſs to general diſcontent, or general ſatisfaction, it is then a proper time to diſen⯑tangle confuſion and illuſtrate obſcurity, to ſhew by what cauſes every event was produced, and in what effects it is likely to terminate; to lay down with diſtinct particularity what rumour always huddles in general exclamation, or perplexes by indigeſted narratives; to ſhew whence happineſs or calamity is derived, and whence it may be expected; and honeſtly to lay before the people what inquiry can gather of the paſt, and conjecture can eſtimate of the future."’

[171] Here we have it aſſumed as an incontrovertible principle, that in this country the people are the ſuperintendants of the conduct and meaſures of thoſe by whom government is adminiſtered, of the beneficial effect of which the preſent reign afforded an illuſtrious example, when addreſſes from all parts of the kingdom controuled an audacious attempt to introduce a new power ſubverſive of the crown.

A ſtill ſtronger proof of his patriotick ſpirit appears in his review of an ‘"Eſſay on Waters, by Dr. Lucas;"’ of whom, after deſcribing him as a man well known to the world for his daring defiance of power, when he thought it exerted on the ſide of wrong, he thus ſpeaks: ‘"The Iriſh miniſters drove him from his native country by a proclamation, in which they charged him with crimes of which they never intended to be called to the proof, and oppreſſed him by methods equally irreſiſtible by guilt and innocence.’

‘"Let the man thus driven into exile for having been the friend of his country, be received in every other place as a confeſſor of liberty; and let the tools of power be taught in time, that they may rob, but cannot impoveriſh."’

Some of his reviews in this magazine are very ſhort accounts of the pieces noticed, and I mention them only that Dr. Johnſon's opinion of the works may be known; but many of them are examples of elaborate criticiſm, in the moſt maſterly ſtyle. In his review of the ‘"Memoirs of the Court of Auguſtus,"’ he has the reſolution to think and ſpeak from his own mind, regardleſs of the cant tranſmitted from age to age, in praiſe of the ancient Romans. Thus: ‘"I know not why any one but a ſchool-boy in his declamation ſhould whine over the Com⯑mon-wealth of Rome, which grew great only by the miſery of the reſt of man⯑kind. The Romans, like others, as ſoon as they grew rich, grew corrupt; and in their corruption ſold the lives and freedoms of themſelves, and of one another."’ Again, ‘"A people, who while they were poor robbed mankind; and as ſoon as they became rich, robbed one another."’ In his review of the Miſcellanies in proſe and verſe, publiſhed by Elizabeth Harriſon, but written by many hands, he gives an eminent proof at once of his orthodoxy and candour. ‘"The authours of the eſſays in proſe ſeem generally to have imitated, or tried to imitate, the copiouſneſs and luxuriance of Mrs. Rowe. This, however, is not all their praiſe; they have laboured to add to her brightneſs of imagery, her purity of ſentiments. The poets have had Dr. Watts before their eyes; a writer, who, if he ſtood not in the firſt claſs of genius, compenſated that defect by a ready application of his powers to the promotion of piety. The attempt to employ the ornaments of romance in the decoration of religion, was, I think, firſt made by Mr. Boyle's Martyrdom of Theodora; but Boyle's philoſophical [172] ſtudies did not allow him time for the cultivation of ſtyle; and the completion of the great deſign was reſerved for Mrs. Rowe. Dr. Watts was one of the firſt who taught the Diſſenters to write and ſpeak like other men, by ſhewing them that elegance might conſiſt with piety. They would have both done honour to a better ſociety, for they had that charity which might well make their failings be forgotten, and with which the whole Chriſtian world might wiſh for communion. They were pure from all the hereſies of an age, to which every opinion is become a favourite that the univerſal church has hitherto deteſted!’

‘"This praiſe, the general intereſt of mankind requires to be given to writers who pleaſe and do not corrupt, who inſtruct and do not weary. But to them all human eulogies are vain, whom I believe applauded by angels, and num⯑bered with the juſt."’

His defence of tea againſt Mr. Jonas Hanway's violent attack upon that elegant and popular beverage, ſhews how very well a man of genius can write upon the ſlighteſt ſubject, when he writes, as the Italians ſay, can amore: I ſuppoſe no perſon ever enjoyed with more reliſh the infuſion of that fragrant leaf than Johnſon. The quantities which he drank of it at all hours were ſo great, that his nerves muſt have been uncommonly ſtrong, not to have been extremely relaxed by ſuch an intemperate uſe of it. He aſſured me, that he never felt the leaſt inconvenience from it; which is a proof that the fault of his conſti⯑tution was rather a too great tenſion of fibres, than the contrary. Mr. Hanway wrote an angry anſwer to Johnſon's review of his Eſſay on Tea, and Johnſon, after a full and deliberate pauſe, made a reply to it; the only inſtance, I believe, in the whole courſe of his life, when he condeſcended to oppoſe any thing that was written againſt him. I ſuppoſe when he thought of any of his little antagoniſts, he was ever juſtly aware of the high ſentiment of Ajax in Ovid:

But, indeed, the good Mr. Hanway laid himſelf ſo open to ridicule, that Johnſon's animadverſions upon his attack were chiefly to make ſport.

The generoſity with which he pleads the cauſe of Admiral Byng is highly to the honour of his heart and ſpirit. Though Voltaire affects to be witty upon the fate of that unfortunate officer, obſerving that he was ſhot ‘"pour encourager les autres,"’ the nation has long been ſatisfied that his life was ſacrificed [173] to the political fervour of the times. In the vault belonging to the Torrington family, in the church of Southill, in Bedfordſhire, there is the following Epitaph upon his monument, which I have tranſcribed:

Johnſon's moſt exquiſite critical eſſay in the Literary Magazine, and indeed any where, is his review of Soame Jennings's ‘"Inquiry into the Origin of Evil."’ Jennings was poſſeſſed of lively talents, and a ſtyle eminently pure and eaſy, and could very happily play with a light ſubject, either in proſe or verſe; but when he ſpeculated on that moſt difficult and excruciating queſtion, the Origin of Evil, he ‘"ventured far beyond his depth,"’ and, accordingly, was expoſed by Johnſon, both with acute argument and brilliant wit. I remem⯑ber when the late Mr. Bicknell's humourous performance, entitled ‘"The Muſical Travels of Joel Collyer,"’ in which a ſlight attempt is made to ridicule Johnſon, was aſcribed to Soame Jennings, ‘"Ha! (ſaid Johnſon) I thought I had given him enough of it."’

His triumph over Jennings is thus deſcribed by my friend Mr. Courtenay in his ‘"Poetical Review of the literary and moral Character of Dr. Johnſon,"’ a performance of ſuch merit, that had I not been honoured with a very kind and partial notice in it, I ſhould echo the ſentiments of men of the firſt taſte loudly in its praiſe:

This year Mr. William Payne, brother of the reſpectable bookſeller of that name, publiſhed ‘"An Introduction to the Game of Draughts,"’ to which Johnſon contributed a Dedication to the Earl of Rochford, * and a Preface, * both of which are admirably adapted to the treatiſe to which they are prefixed. Johnſon, I believe, did not play at draughts after leaving College, by which he ſuffered, for it would have afforded him an innocent ſoothing relief from the melancholy which diſtreſſed him ſo often. I have heard him regret that he had not learnt to play at cards; and the game of draughts we know is pecu⯑liarly calculated to fix the attention without ſtraining it. There is a compoſure and gravity in draughts which inſenſibly tranquilliſes the mind; and, accord⯑ingly, the Dutch are fond of it, as they are of ſmoaking, of the ſedative [175] influence of which, though he himſelf never ſmoaked, he had a high opinion ⁹. Beſides, there is in draughts ſome exerciſe of the faculties; and, accordingly, Johnſon wiſhing to dignify the ſubject in his Dedication with what is moſt eſtimable in it, obſerves, ‘"Triflers may find or make any thing a trifle; but ſince it is the great characteriſtic [...] of a wiſe man to ſee events in their cauſes, to obviate conſequences, and aſcertain contingencies, your Lordſhip will think nothing a trifle by which the mind is inured to caution, foreſight, and cir⯑cumſpection."’

As one of the little occaſional advantages which he did not diſdain to take by his pen, as a man whoſe profeſſion was literature, he this year accepted of a guinea from Mr. Robert Dodſley, for writing the introduction to ‘"The London Chronicle,"’ an evening newſpaper; and even in ſo ſlight a per⯑formance exhibited peculiar talents. This Chronicle ſtill ſubſiſts, and from what I obſerved, when I was abroad, has a more extenſive circulation upon the Continent than any of the Engliſh newſpapers. It was conſtantly read by Johnſon himſelf; and it is but juſt to obſerve, that it has all along been diſ⯑tinguiſhed for good ſenſe, accuracy, moderation, and delicacy.

Another inſtance of the ſame nature has been communicated to me by the Reverend Dr. Thomas Campbell, who has done himſelf conſiderable credit by his own writings. ‘"Sitting with Dr. Johnſon one morning alone, he aſked me if I had known Dr. Madden, who was authour of the premium-ſcheme in Ireland. On my anſwering in the affirmative, and alſo that I had for ſome years lived in his neighbourhood, &c. he begged of me that when I returned to Ireland, I would endeavour to procure for him a poem of Dr. Madden's, called 'Boulter's Monument.' The reaſon (ſaid he) why I wiſh for it, is this: when Dr. Madden came to London, he ſubmitted that work to my caſtigation; and I remember I blotted a great many lines, and might have blotted many more, without making the poem the worſe. However, the Doctor was very thankful, and very generous, for he gave me ten guineas, which was to me at that time a great ſum."’

He this year reſumed his ſcheme of giving an edition of Shakſpeare with notes. He iſſued Propoſals of conſiderable length, in which he ſhewed that he perfectly well knew what a variety of reſearch ſuch an undertaking required; but his indolence prevented him from purſuing it with that diligence which alone can collect thoſe ſcattered facts that genius, however acute, penetrating, and luminous, cannot diſcover by its own force. It is remarkable, that at [176] this time his fancied activity was for the moment ſo vigorous, that he promiſed his work ſhould be publiſhed before Chriſtmas, 1757. Yet nine years elapſed before it ſaw the light. His throes in bringing it forth had been ſevere and remittent, and at laſt we may almoſt conclude that the Caeſarian operation was performed by the knife of Churchill, whoſe upbraiding ſatire, I dare ſay, made Johnſon's friends urge him to diſpatch.

About this period he was offered a living of conſiderable value in Lincoln⯑ſhire, if he were inclined to enter into holy orders. It was a rectory in the gift of Mr. Langton, the father of his much valued friend. But he did not accept of it; partly I believe from a conſcientious motive, being perſuaded that his temper and habits rendered him unfit for that aſſiduous and familiar inſtruction of the vulgar and ignorant, which he held to be an eſſential duty in a clergyman; and partly becauſe his love of a London life was ſo ſtrong, that he would have thought himſelf an exile in any other place, particularly if reſiding in the country. Whoever would wiſh to ſee his thoughts upon that ſubject diſplayed in their full force, may peruſe the Adventurer, No. 126.

In 1757 it does not appear that he publiſhed any thing, except ſome of thoſe articles in the Literary Magazine, which have been mentioned. That magazine, after Johnſon ceaſed to write in it, gradually declined, though the popular epithet of Antigallican was added to it; and in July 1758 it expired. He probably prepared a part of his Shakſpeare this year, and he dictated a ſpeech on the ſubject of an Addreſs to the Throne, after the expedition to Rochfort, which was delivered by one of his friends, I know not in what publick meeting. It is printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for October 1785 as his, and bears ſufficient marks of authenticity.

By the favour of Mr. Walker, of the Treaſury, Dublin, I have obtained a copy of the following letter from Johnſon to the venerable authour of ‘"Diſſertations on the Hiſtory of Ireland."’

Mr. Burney having encloſed to him an extract from the review of his Dictionary in the Bibliotheque des Savans ⁴, and a liſt of ſubſcribers to his Shakſpeare, which Mr. Burney had procured in Norfolk, he wrote the following anſwer:

In 1758 we find him, it ſhould ſeem, in as eaſy and pleaſant a ſtate of exiſtence, as conſtitutional unhappineſs ever permitted him to enjoy.

Dr. Burney has kindly favoured me with the following memorandum, which I take the liberty to inſert in his own genuine eaſy ſtyle. I love to exhibit ſketches of my illuſtrious friend by various eminent hands.

‘"Soon after this, Mr. Burney, during a viſit to the capital, had an inter⯑view with him in Gough-ſquare, where he dined and drank tea with him, and was introduced to the acquaintance of Mrs. Williams. After dinner, Mr. Johnſon propoſed to Mr. Burney to go up with him into his garret, which being accepted, he there found about five or ſix Greek folios, a deal writing⯑deſk, and a chair and a half. Johnſon giving to his gueſt the entire ſeat, tottered himſelf on one with only three legs and one arm. Here he gave Mr. Burney Mrs. Williams's hiſtory, and ſhewed him ſome volumes of his Shak⯑ſpeare already printed, to prove that he was in earneſt. Upon Mr. Burney's opening the firſt volume, at the Merchant of Venice, he obſerved to him, that he ſeemed to be more ſevere on Warburton than Theobald. 'O poor Tib.! (ſaid Johnſon) he was ready knocked down to my hands; Warburton ſtands between me and him.' 'But, Sir, (ſaid Mr. Burney,) you'll have Warburton upon your bones, won't you?' 'No, Sir; he'll not come out: he'll only growl in his den.' 'But you think, Sir, that Warburton is a ſupe⯑riour critick to Theobald?'—'O, Sir, he'd make two-and-fifty Theobalds, cut into ſlices! The worſt of Warburton is, that he has a rage for ſaying ſome⯑thing, when there's nothing to be ſaid.'—Mr. Burney then aſked him whether he had ſeen the letter which Warburton had written in anſwer to a pamphlet addreſſed 'To the moſt impudent Man alive.' He anſwered in the negative. Mr. Burney told him it was ſuppoſed to be written by Mallet. The contro⯑verſy now raged between the friends of Pope and Bolingbroke; and Warburton and Mallet were the leaders of the ſeveral parties. Mr. Burney aſked him then [181] if he had ſeen Warburton's book againſt Bolingbroke's Philoſophy? 'No, Sir; I have never read Bolingbroke's impiety, and therefore am not intereſted about its confutation."’

On the fifteenth of April he began a new periodical paper, entitled ‘"THE IDLER, *"’ which came out every Saturday in a weekly newſpaper, called ‘"The Univerſal Chronicle, or Weekly Gazette,"’ publiſhed by Newberry. Theſe eſſays were continued till April 5, 1760. Of one hundred and three, their total number, twelve were contributed by his friends; of which, Numbers 33, 93, and 96, were written by Mr. Thomas Warton; No. 67 by Mr. Langton; and No. 76, 79, and 82 by Sir Joſhua Reynolds; the concluding words of No. 82, ‘"and pollute his canvas with deformity,"’ being added by Johnſon, as Sir Joſhua informed me.

The IDLER is evidently the work of the ſame mind which produced the RAMBLER, but has leſs body, and more ſpirit. It has more variety of real life, and greater facility of language. He deſcribes the miſeries of idleneſs, with the lively ſenſations of one who had felt them; and in his private memo⯑randums while engaged in it, we find ‘"This year I hope to learn diligence ⁷."’ Many of theſe excellent eſſays were written as haſtily as an ordinary letter. Mr. Langton remembers Johnſon, when on a viſit at Oxford, aſking him one evening how long it was till the poſt went out; and on being told about half an hour, he exclaimed, ‘"then we ſhall do very well."’ He upon this inſtantly fat down and finiſhed an Idler, which it was neceſſary ſhould be in London the next day. Mr. Langton having ſignified a wiſh to read it, ‘"Sir, (ſaid he) you ſhall not do more than I have done myſelf."’ He then folded it up, and ſent it off.

Yet there are in the Idler ſeveral papers which ſhew as much profundity of thought, and [...]our of language, as any of this great man's writings. No. 14, ‘"Robbery of time;"’ No. 24, ‘"Thinking;"’ No. 41, ‘"Death of a friend;"’ No. 43, ‘"Flight of time;"’ No. 51, ‘"Domeſtick greatneſs unattainable;"’ No. 52, ‘"Self-denial;"’ No. 58, ‘"Actual, how ſhort of fancied excellence;"’ No. 89, ‘"Phyſical evil moral good;"’ and his concluding paper on ‘"The horrour of the laſt,"’ will prove this aſſertion. I know not why a motto, the uſual trapping of periodical papers, is prefixed to very few of the Idlers, as I have heard Johnſon commend the cuſtom; and he never could be at a loſs for one, his memory being ſtored with innumerable paſſages of the claſſicks. In this ſeries of eſſays he exhibits admirable inſtances of grave humour, of which he had [182] an uncommon ſhare. Nor on ſome occaſions has he repreſſed that power of ſophiſtry which he poſſeſſed in ſo eminent a degree. In No. 11, he treats with the utmoſt contempt the opinion that our mental f [...]culties depend, in ſome degree, upon the weather; an opinion, which they who have never experienced its truth are not to be envied, and of which he himſelf could not but be ſenſible, as the effects of weather upon him were very viſible. Yet thus he declaims: ‘"Surely, nothing is more reproachful to a being endowed with reaſon, than to reſign its powers to the influence of the air, and live in depen⯑dance on the weather and the wind for the only bleſſings which Nature has put into our power, tranquillity and benevolence.—This diſtinction of ſeaſons is produced only by imagination operating on luxury. To temperance, every day is bright; and every hour is propitious to diligence. He that ſhall reſo⯑lutely excite his faculties, or exert his virtues, will ſoon make himſelf ſuperiour to the ſeaſons; and may ſet at defiance the morning miſt and the evening damp, the blaſts of the eaſt, and the clouds of the ſouth."’

Alas! it is too certain, that where the frame has delicate fibres, and there is a fine ſenſibility, ſuch influences of the air are irreſiſtible. He might as well have bid defiance to the ague, the palſy, and all other bodily diſorders. Such boaſting of the force of mind is falſe elevation.

But in this number of his Idler his ſpirits ſeem to run riot; for in the wanton⯑neſs of his diſquiſition he forgets, for a moment, even the reverence for that which he held in high reſpect; and deſcribes ‘"the attendant on a Court,"’ as one ‘"whoſe buſineſs is to watch the looks of a being, weak and fooliſh as himſelf."’

His unqualified ridicule of rhetorical geſture or action is not, ſurely, a teſt of truth; yet we cannot help admiring how well it is adapted to produce the effect which he wiſhed. ‘"Neither the judges of our laws, nor the repre⯑ſentatives of our people, would be much affected by laboured geſticulation, or believe any man the more becauſe he rolled his eyes, or puffed his cheeks, or ſpread abroad his arms, or ſtamped the ground, or thumped his breaſt, or turned his eyes ſometimes to the cieling, and ſometimes to the floor."’

A caſual coincidence with other writers, or an adoption of a ſentiment or image which has been found in the writings of another, and afterwards appears in the mind as one's own, is not unfrequent. The richneſs of Johnſon's fancy, which could ſupply his page abundantly on all occaſions, and the ſtrength of his memory, which at once detected the real owner of any thought, made him leſs liable to the imputation of plagiariſm than, perhaps, any of our [183] writers. In the Idler, however, there is a paper, in which converſation is aſſimilated to a bowl of punch, where there is the ſame train of compariſon as in a poem by Blacklock, in his collection publiſhed in 1756; in which a parallel is ingeniouſly drawn between human life and that liquor. It ends,

To the Idler, when collected in volumes, he added (beſide the Eſſay on Epitaphs, and the Diſſertation on thoſe of Pope,) an Eſſay on the Bravery of the Engliſh common Soldiers.

In 1759, in the month of January, his mother died, at the great age of ninety, an event which deeply affected him, not that ‘"his mind had acquired no firmneſs by the contemplation of mortality ³,"’ but that his reverential affection for her was not abated by years, as indeed he retained all his tender feelings even to the lateſt period of his life. I have been told that he regretted much his not having gone to viſit his mother for ſeveral years previous to her death. But he was conſtantly engaged in literary labours, which confined him to London; and though he had not the comfort of ſeeing his aged parent, he contributed liberally to her ſupport.

Soon after this event, he wrote his ‘"RASSELAS, PRINCE OF ABYSSINIA; *"’ concerning the publication of which Sir John Hawkins gueſſes vaguely and idly, inſtead of having taken the trouble to inform himſelf with authentick pre⯑ciſion. Not to trouble my readers with a repetition of the Knight's reveries, I have to mention, that the late Mr. Strahan the printer told me, that Johnſon [185] wrote it, that with the profits he might defray the expence of his mother's funeral, and pay ſome little debts which ſhe had left. He told Sir Joſhua Reynolds that he compoſed it in the evenings of one week, ſent it to the preſs in portions as it was written, and had never ſince read it over. Mr. Strahan, Mr. Johnſton, and Mr. Dodſley purchaſed it for a hundred pounds, but after⯑wards paid him twenty-five pounds more when it came to a ſecond edition.

Conſidering the large ſums which have been received for compilations, and works requiring not much more genius than compilations, we cannot but wonder at the very low price which he was content to receive for this admirable performance, which, though he had written nothing elſe, would have rendered his name immortal in the world of literature. None of his writings has been ſo extenſively diffuſed over Europe; for it has been tranſlated into moſt, if not all, of the modern languages. This Tale, with all the charms of oriental imagery, and all the force and beauty of which the Engliſh language is capable, leads us through the moſt important ſcenes of human life, and ſhews us that this ſtage of our being is full of ‘"vanity and vexation of ſpirit."’ To thoſe who look no further than the preſent life, or who maintain that human nature has not fallen from the ſtate in which it was created, the inſtruction of this ſublime ſtory will be of no avail. But they who think juſtly, and feel with ſtrong ſenſibility, will liſten with eagerneſs and admiration to its truth and wiſdom. Voltaire's CANDIDE, written to refute the ſyſtem of Optimiſm, which it has accompliſhed with brilliant ſucceſs, is wonderfully ſimilar in its plan and conduct to Johnſon's RASSELAS; inſomuch, that I have heard Johnſon ſay, that if they had not been publiſhed ſo cloſely one after the other that there was not time for imitation, it would have been in vain to deny that the ſcheme of that which came lateſt was taken from the other. Though the propoſition illuſtrated by both theſe works was the ſame, namely, that in our preſent ſtate there is more evil than good, the intention of the writers was very different. Voltaire, I am afraid, meant only by wanton profaneneſs to obtain a ſportive victory over religion, and to diſcredit the belief of a ſuper⯑intending Providence: Johnſon meant, by ſhewing the unſatisfactory nature of things temporal, to direct the hopes of man to things eternal. Raſſelas, as was obſerved to me by a very accompliſhed lady, may be conſidered as a more enlarged and more deeply philoſophical diſcourſe in proſe, upon the intereſting truth, which in his ‘"Vanity of human Wiſhes"’ he had ſo ſucceſſ⯑fully enforced in verſe.

The fund of thinking which this work contains is ſuch, that almoſt every ſentence of it may furniſh a ſubject of long meditation. I am not ſatisfied if a [186] year paſſes without my having read it through; and at every peruſal, my admiration of the mind which produced it is ſo highly raiſed, that I can ſcarcely believe that I had the honour of enjoying the intimacy of ſuch a man.

I reſtrain myſelf from quoting paſſages from this excellent work, or even referring to them, becauſe I ſhould not know what to ſelect, or, rather, what to omit. I ſhall, however, tranſcribe one, as it ſhews how well he could ſtate the arguments of thoſe who believe in the appearance of departed ſpirits, a doctrine which it is a miſtake to ſuppoſe that he himſelf ever poſitively held.

Notwithſtanding the high admiration of Raſſelas, I will not maintain that the ‘"morbid melancholy"’ in Johnſon's conſtitution may not, perhaps, have made life appear to him more inſipid and unhappy than it generally is; for I am ſure that he had leſs enjoyment from it than I have. Yet, whatever additional ſhade his own particular ſenſations may have thrown on his repre⯑ſentation of life, attentive obſervation and cloſe inquiry have convinced me, that there is too much of reality in the gloomy picture. The truth, however, is, that we judge of the happineſs and miſery of life differently at different times, according to the ſtate of our changeable frame. I always remember a remark made to me by a Turkiſh lady, educated in France, ‘"Ma foi, Monſieur, notre bonheur depend du façon que notre ſang circule."’ This have I learnt from a pretty hard courſe of experience, and would, from ſincere benevolence, impreſs upon all who honour this book with a peruſal, that until a ſteady conviction is obtained, that the preſent life is an imperfect ſtate, and only a paſſage to a better, if we comply with the divine ſcheme of progreſ⯑ſive improvement; and alſo that it is a part of the myſterious plan of Provi⯑dence, that intellectual beings muſt ‘"be made perfect through ſuffering;"’ there will be a continual recurrence of diſappointment and uneaſineſs. But [187] if we walk with hope in ‘"the mid-day ſun"’ of revelation, our temper and diſpoſition will be ſuch, that the comforts and enjoyments in our way will be reliſhed, while we patiently ſupport the inconveniencies and pains. After much ſpeculation and various reaſonings, I acknowledge myſelf convinced of the truth of Voltaire's concluſion, ‘"Apres tout c'eſt un monde paſſable."’ But we muſt not think too deeply:

is, in many reſpects, more than poetically juſt. Let us cultivate, under the command of good principles, ‘"La theorie des ſenſations agréables;"’ and, as Mr. Burke once admirably counſelled a grave and anxious gentleman, ‘"live pleaſant."’

The effect of Raſſelas, and of Johnſon's other moral tales, is thus beauti⯑fully illuſtrated by Mr. Courtenay:

It will be recollected, that during all this year he carried on his IDLER ⁵, and, no doubt, was proceeding, though ſlowly, in his edition of Shakſpeare. [188] He, however, from that liberality which never failed, when called upon to aſſiſt other labourers in literature, found time to tranſlate for Mrs. Lennox's Engliſh verſion of Brumoy, ‘"A Diſſertation on the Greek Comedy, †"’ and the General Concluſion of the book. †

I would aſcribe to this year the following letter to a ſon of one of his early friends at Lichfield, Mr. Joſeph Simpſon, Barriſter and authour of a tract entitled ‘"Reflections on the Study of the Law."’

He now refreſhed himſelf by an excurſion to Oxford, of which the follow⯑ing ſhort characteriſtical notice, in his own words, is preſerved: ‘"* * * is now making tea for me. I have been in my gown ever ſince I came here. It was at my firſt coming quite new and handſome. I have ſwum thrice, which I had diſuſed for many years. I have propoſed to Vanſittart⁶ climbing over the wall, but he has refuſed me. And I have clapped my hands till they are ſore, at Dr. King's ſpeech ⁷."’

His negro ſervant, Francis Barber, having left him, and been ſome time at ſea, not preſſed as has been ſuppoſed, but with his own conſent, it appears from a letter to John Wilkes, Eſq. from Dr. Smollet, that his maſter kindly intereſted himſelf in procuring his releaſe from a ſtate of life of which Johnſon always expreſſed the utmoſt abhorrence. He ſaid, ‘"No man will be a ſailor who has contrivance enough to get himſelf into a jail; for being in a ſhip is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned ⁸."’ And at another time, ‘"A man in a jail has more room, better food, and commonly better company ⁹."’

[190] The letter was as follows:

Mr. Wilkes, who upon all occaſions has acted, as a private gentleman, with moſt polite liberality, applied to his friend Sir George Hay, then one of the Lords Commiſſioners of the Admiralty; and Francis Barber was diſcharged, as he has told me, without any wiſh of his own. He recollects the preciſe time to be three days before King George II. died. He found his old maſter in chambers in the Inner Temple, and returned to his ſervice.

What particular new ſcheme of life Johnſon had in view this year, I have not diſcovered; but that he meditated one of ſome ſort, is clear from his private devotions, in which we find ², ‘"the change of outward things which I am now to make;"’ and, ‘"Grant me the grace of thy Holy Spirit, that the courſe which I am now beginning may proceed according to thy laws, and end in the enjoyment of thy favour."’ But he did not, in fact, make any external or viſible change.

[191] At this time there being a competition among the architects of London to be employed in the building of Blackfriars-bridge, a queſtion was very warmly agitated whether ſemicircular or elliptical arches were preferable. In the deſign offered by Mr. Mylne the elliptical form was adopted, and there⯑fore it was the great object of his rivals to attack it. Johnſon's regard for his friend Mr. Gwyn induced him to engage in this controverſy againſt Mr. Mylne ³; and after being at conſiderable pains to ſtudy the ſubject, he wrote three ſeveral letters in the Gazetteer, in oppoſition to his plan.

[192] If it ſhould be remarked that this was a controverſy which lay quite out of Johnſon's way, let it be remembered that after all, his employing his powers of reaſoning and eloquence upon a ſubject which he had ſtudied on the moment, is not more ſtrange than what we often obſerve in lawyers, who, as Quicquid agunt homines is the matter of law-ſuits, are ſometimes obliged to pick up a temporary knowledge of an art or ſcience, of which they under⯑ſtood nothing till their brief was delivered, and appear to be much maſters of it. In like manner, members of the legiſlature frequently introduce and expatiate upon ſubjects of which they have informed themſelves for the occaſion.

In 1760 he wrote ‘"An Addreſs of the Painters to George III. on his Ac⯑ceſſion to the Throne of theſe Kingdoms, †"’ which no monarch ever aſcended with more ſincere congratulations from his people. Two generations of foreign princes had prepared their minds to rejoice in having again a King, who gloried in being ‘"born a Briton."’ He alſo wrote for Mr. Baretti the Dedication † of his Italian and Engliſh Dictionary, to the Marquis of Abreu, then Ambaſſadour Extraordinary from Spain at the Court of Great-Britain.

Johnſon was now either very idle, or very buſy with his Shakſpeare; for I can find no other publick compoſition by him except an account which he gave in the Gentleman's Magazine of Mr. Tytler's acute and able vindi⯑cation of Mary Queen of Scots. * The generoſity of Johnſon's feelings ſhines forth in the following ſentence: ‘"It has now been faſhionable, for near half a century, to defame and vilify the houſe of Stuart, and to exalt and magnify the reign of Elizabeth. The Stuarts have found few apologiſts; for the dead cannot pay for praiſe, and who will, without reward, oppoſe the tide of popularity? Yet there remains ſtill among us, not wholly extinguiſhed, a zeal for truth, a deſire of eſtabliſhing right in oppoſition to faſhion."’

In this year I have not diſcovered a ſingle private letter written by him to any of his friends. It ſhould ſeem, however, that he had at this period a floating intention of writing a hiſtory of the recent and wonderful ſucceſſes of the Britiſh arms in all quarters of the globe; for among his reſolutions or memorandums, September 18, there is, ‘"Send for books for Hiſt. of War ⁴."’ How much is it to be regretted that this intention was not fulfilled. His majeſtick expreſſion would have carried down to the lateſt poſterity the glorious [193] achievements of his country, with the ſame ſervent glow which they pro⯑duced on the mind at the time. He would have been under no temptation to deviate in any degree from truth, which he held very ſacred, or to take a licence which a learned divine told me he once ſeemed, in a converſation, jocu⯑larly to allow to hiſtorians. ‘"There are (ſaid he) inexcuſable lies, and conſecrated lies. For inſtance, we are told that on the arrival of the news of the unfortunate battle of Fontenoy, every heart beat, and every eye was in tears. Now we know that no man eat his dinner the worſe, but there ſhould have been all this concern; and to ſay there was, (ſmiling) may be reckoned a conſecrated lie."’

This year Mr. Murphy having thought himſelf ill treated by the Reverend Dr. Francklin, who was one of the writers of ‘"The Critical Review,"’ pub⯑liſhed an indignant vindication in ‘"A Poetical Epiſtle to Samuel Johnſon, A. M."’ in which he compliments Johnſon in a juſt and elegant manner:

Again, towards the concluſion:

I take this opportunity to relate the manner in which an acquaintance firſt commenced between Dr. Johnſon and Mr. Murphy. During the publica⯑tion of ‘"The Gray's-Inn Journal,"’ a periodical paper which was ſucceſſ⯑fully carried on by Mr. Murphy alone, when a very young man, he happened to be in the country with Mr. Foote; and having mentioned that he was obliged to go to London in order to get ready for the preſs one of the numbers of that Journal, Foote ſaid to him, ‘"You need not go on that account. Here is a French magazine, in which you will find a very pretty oriental tale; tranſlate that, and ſend it to your printer."’ Mr. Murphy having read the tale, was highly pleaſed with it, and followed Foote's advice. When he returned to town, this tale was pointed out to him in the Rambler, from whence it had been tranſlated into the French magazine. Mr. Murphy then waited upon Johnſon, to explain this curious incident. His talents, literature, and gentleman-like manners, were ſoon perceived by Johnſon, and a friendſhip was formed which was never broken.

Johnſon, who was ever awake to the calls of humanity, wrote this year an Introduction* to the proceedings of the Committee for cloathing the French priſoners.

In 1761 Johnſon appears to have done little. He was ſtill, no doubt, pro⯑ceeding in his edition of Shakſpeare; but what advances he made in it cannot be aſcertained. He certainly was at this time not active; for in his ſcrupulous examination of himſelf on Eaſter eve, he laments, in his too rigorous mode of cenſuring his own conduct, that his life, ſince the communion of the pre⯑ceding Eaſter, had been ‘"diſſipated and uſeleſs ⁵."’ He, however, contributed this year the Preface* to ‘"Rolt's Dictionary of Trade and Commerce,"’ in which he diſplays ſuch a clear and comprehenſive knowledge of the ſubject, as might lead the reader to think that its authour had devoted all his life to it. I aſked him, whether he knew much of Rolt, and of his work. ‘"Sir, (ſaid he) I never ſaw the man, and never read the book. The bookſellers wanted a Preface to a Dictionary of Trade and Commerce. I knew very well what ſuch a Dictionary ſhould be, and I wrote a Preface accordingly."’ Rolt, who wrote a great deal for the bookſellers, particularly a Hiſtory of the War, on which, as we have ſeen, Johnſon himſelf once had thoughts of employing his pen, was, as Johnſon told me, a ſingular character. Though not in the leaſt acquainted with him, he uſed to ſay, ‘"I am juſt come from Sam. Johnſon."’ This was a ſufficient ſpecimen of his vanity and impudence. But he gave a more [195] eminent proof of it in our ſiſter kingdom,▪ as Dr. Johnſon informed me. When Akenſide's ‘"Pleaſures of the Imagination"’ firſt came out, he did not put his name to the poem. Rolt went over to Dublin, publiſhed an edition of it, and put his own name to it. Upon the fame of this he lived for ſeveral months, being entertained at the beſt tables as ‘"the ingenious Mr. Rolt."’ His converſation, indeed, did not diſcover much of the fire of a poet; but it was recollected, that both Addiſon and Thomſon were equally dull till excited by wine. Akenſide having been informed of this impoſition, vindicated his right by publiſhing the poem with its real authour's name. Several inſtances of ſuch literary fraud have been detected. The Reverend Dr. Campbell, of St. Andrew's, wrote a book on the authenticity of the Goſpel Hiſtory, the manu⯑ſcript of which he ſent to Mr. Innys, a clergyman in England, who was his countryman and acquaintance. Innys publiſhed it with his own name to it; and before the impoſition was diſcovered, obtained conſiderable promotion, as a reward of his merit. The celebrated Dr. Hugh Blair, and his couſin Mr. George Ballantine, when ſtudents in divinity, wrote a poem, entitled ‘"Redemption,"’ copies of which were handed about in manuſcript. They were, at length, very much ſurprized to ſee a pompous edition of it in folio, dedicated to the Queen, by a Dr. Douglas, as his own. Some years ago a little novel, entitled ‘"The Man of Feeling,"’ was aſſumed by Mr. Eccles, a young Iriſh clergyman, who was afterwards drowned near Bath. He had been at the pains to tranſcribe the whole book, with blottings, interlineations, and corrections, that it might be ſhewn to ſeveral people as an original. It was, in truth, the production of Mr. Henry Mackenzie, an attorney in the Exchequer at Edinburgh, who is the authour of ſeveral other ingenious pieces; but the belief with regard to Mr. Eccles became ſo general, that it was thought neceſſary for Meſſieurs Strahan and Cadell to publiſh an advertiſement in the newſpapers, contradicting the report, and mentioning that they purchaſed the copy right of Mr. Mackenzie. I can conceive this kind of fraud to be very eaſily practiſed with ſucceſsful effrontery. The filiation of a literary per⯑formance is difficult of proof; ſeldom is there any witneſs preſent at its birth. A man, either in confidence or by improper means, obtains poſſeſſion of a copy of it in manuſcript, and boldly publiſhes it as his own. The true authour, in many caſes, may not be able to make his title clear. Johnſon, indeed, from the peculiar features of his literary offspring, might bid defiance to any attempt to appropriate them to others:

[196] He this year lent his friendly aſſiſtance to correct and improve a pamphlet written by Mr. Gwyn, the architect, entitled ‘"Thoughts on the Coronation of George III."’

Johnſon had now for ſome years admitted Mr. Baretti to his intimacy; nor did their friendſhip ceaſe upon their being ſeparated by Baretti's reviſiting his native country, as appears from Johnſon's letters to him.

An inquiry into the ſtate of foreign countries was an object that ſeems at all times to have intereſted Johnſon. Hence Mr. Newbery found no great diffi⯑culty in perſuading him to write the Introduction* to a collection of voyages and travels publiſhed by him under the title of ‘"The World Diſplayed."’ The firſt volume appeared in 1759, and the remaining volumes in ſubſequent years.

In 1762 he wrote for the Reverend Dr. Kennedy, Rector of Bradley in Derbyſhire, in a ſtrain of very courtly elegance, a Dedication to the King* [199] of that gentleman's work, entitled ‘"A complete Syſtem of aſtronomical Chronology, unfolding the Scriptures."’ He had certainly looked at this work before it was printed; for the concluding paragraph is undoubtedly of his compoſition, of which let my readers judge:

‘"Thus have I endeavoured to free Religion and Hiſtory from the darkneſs of a diſputed and uncertain chronology; from difficulties which have hitherto appeared inſuperable, and darkneſs which no luminary of learning has hitherto been able to diſſipate. I have eſtabliſhed the truth of the Moſaical account, by evidence which no tranſcription can corrupt, no negligence can loſe, and no intereſt can pervert. I have ſhewn that the univerſe bears witneſs to the inſpiration of its hiſtorian, by the revolution of its orbs and the ſucceſſion of its ſeaſons; that the ſtars in their courſes fight againſt incredulity, that the works of GOD give hourly confirmation to the law, the prophets, and the goſpel, of which one day telleth another, and one night certifieth another; and that the validity of the ſacred writings never can be denied, while the moon ſhall increaſe and wane, and the ſun ſhall know his going down."’

The following letter, which, on account of its intrinſick merit, it would have been unjuſt both to Johnſon and the publick to have with-held, was obtained for me by the ſolicitation of my friend Mr. Seward:

A lady having at this time ſolicited him to obtain the Archbiſhop of Canterbury's patronage to have her ſon ſent to the Univerſity, one of thoſe ſolicitations which are too frequent, where people, anxious for a particular object, do not conſider propriety, or the opportunity which the perſons whom they ſolicit have to aſſiſt them, he wrote to her the following anſwer; with a copy of which I am favoured by the Reverend Dr. Farmer, Maſter of Emanuel College, Cambridge.

The acceſſion of George the Third to the throne of theſe kingdoms, opened a new and brighter proſpect to men of literary merit, who had been honoured with no mark of royal favour in the preceding reign. His preſent Majeſty's education in this country, as well as his taſte and beneficence, prompted him to be the patron of ſcience and the arts; and early this year Johnſon having been repreſented to him as a very learned and good man, without any certain proviſion, his Majeſty was pleaſed to grant him a penſion [205] of three hundred pounds a year. The Earl of Bute was then prime miniſter, and had the honour to announce this inſtance of his ſovereign's bounty, con⯑cerning which many and various ſtories, all equally erroneous, have been propagated, maliciouſly repreſenting it as a political bribe to Johnſon to deſert his avowed principles, and become the tool of a government which he held to be founded in uſurpation. I have taken care to have it in my power to refute them from the moſt authentick information. Lord Bute has told me, that Mr. Wedderburn, now Lord Loughborough, was the perſon who firſt men⯑tioned this ſubject to him. Lord Loughborough has told me, that the penſion was granted to Johnſon ſolely as the reward of his literary merit, without any ſtipulation whatever, or even tacit underſtanding that he ſhould write for adminiſtration. His Lordſhip added, that he was confident the political tracts which Johnſon afterwards did write, as they were entirely conſonant with his own opinions, would have been written by him, though no penſion had been granted to him.

Mr. Thomas Sheridan and Mr. Murphy, who then lived a good deal both with him and Mr. Wedderburn, have told me, that they previouſly talked with Johnſon upon this matter, and that it was perfectly underſtood by all parties that the penſion was merely honorary. Sir Joſhua Reynolds has told me, that Johnſon called on him after his Majeſty's intention had been notified to him, and ſaid he wiſhed to conſult his friends as to the propriety of his accepting this mark of the royal favour, after the definitions which he had given in his Dictionary of penſion and penſioners. He ſaid he would not have Sir Joſhua's anſwer till next day, when he would call again, and deſired he might think of it. Sir Joſhua anſwered, that he was clear to give his opinion then, that there could be no objection to his receiving from the King a reward for literary merit; and that certainly the definitions in his Dictionary were not applicable to him. Johnſon, it ſhould ſeem, was ſatisfied, for he did not call again till he had accepted the penſion, and had waited on Lord Bute to thank him. He then told Sir Joſhua that Lord Bute ſaid to him expreſsly, ‘"It is not given you for any thing you are to do, but for what you have done."’ His Lordſhip, he ſaid, behaved in the handſomeſt manner. He repeated the words twice, that he might be ſure that Johnſon heard them, and thus ſet his mind perfectly at eaſe. This nobleman, who has been ſo virulently abuſed, acted with great honour in this inſtance, and diſplayed a mind truly liberal. A miniſter of a more narrow and ſelfiſh diſpoſition would have availed him⯑ſelf of ſuch an opportunity to fix an implied obligation on a man of Johnſon's powerful talents to give him his ſupport.

[206] Mr. Murphy and the late Mr. Sheridan ſeverally contended for the diſtinction of having been the firſt who mentioned to Mr. Wedderburn that Johnſon ought to have a penſion. When I ſpoke of this to Lord Loughborough, wiſhing to know if he recollected the prime mover in the buſineſs, he ſaid, ‘"All his friends aſſiſted:"’ and when I told him that Mr. Sheridan ſtrenuouſly aſſerted his claim to it, his Lordſhip ſaid, ‘"He rang the bell."’ And it is but juſt to add, that Mr. Sheridan told me, that when he communicated to Dr. Johnſon that a penſion was to be granted him, he replied, in a fervour of gratitude, ‘"The Engliſh language does not afford me terms adequate to my feelings on this occaſion. I muſt have recourſe to the French. I am penetré with his Majeſty's goodneſs."’ When I repeated this to Dr. Johnſon, he did not con⯑tradict it.

His definitions of penſion and penſioner, partly founded on the ſatirical verſes of Pope, which he quotes, may be generally true; and yet every body muſt allow, that there may be, and have been, inſtances of penſions given and received upon liberal and honourable terms. Thus, then, it is clear, that there was nothing inconſiſtent or humiliating in Johnſon's accepting of a pen⯑ſion ſo unconditionally and ſo honourably offered to him.

This year his friend Sir Joſhua Reynolds paid a viſit of ſome weeks to his native county, Devonſhire, in which he was accompanied by Johnſon, who was much pleaſed with this jaunt, and declared he had derived from it a great acceſſion of new ideas. He was entertained at the ſeats of ſeveral noblemen and gentlemen in the weſt of England; but the greateſt part of the time was paſſed at Plymouth, where the magnificence of the navy, the ſhip-building and all its circumſtances, afforded him a grand ſubject of contemplation. The Commiſſioner of the Dock-yard paid him the compliment of ordering the yacht to convey him and his friend to the Eddyſtone, to which they accord⯑ingly ſailed. But the weather was ſo tempeſtuous that they could not land.

Reynolds and he were at this time the gueſts of Dr. Mudge, the celebrated ſurgeon, and now phyſician of that place, not more diſtinguiſhed for quick⯑neſs of parts and variety of knowledge, than loved and eſteemed for his amiable manners; and here Johnſon formed an acquaintanee with Dr. Mudge's father, that very eminent divine, the Reverend Zachary Mudge, Prebendary of Exeter, who was idoliſed in the weſt, both for his excellence as a preacher and the uniform perfect propriety of his private conduct. He preached a ſermon purpoſely that Johnſon might hear him; and we ſhall ſee afterwards that Johnſon honoured his memory by drawing his character. While Johnſon was at Plymouth, he ſaw a great many of its inhabitants, and was not ſparing [207] of his very entertaining converſation. It was here that he made that frank and truly original confeſſion, that ‘"ignorance, pure ignorance,"’ was the cauſe of a wrong definition in his Dictionary of the word paſtern ⁷, to the no ſmall ſur⯑prize of the Lady who put the queſtion to him; who having the moſt profound reverence for his character, ſo as almoſt to ſuppoſe him endowed with infalli⯑bility, expected to hear an explanation (of what, to be ſure, ſeemed ſtrange to a common reader,) drawn from ſome deep-learned ſource with which ſhe was unacquainted.

Sir Joſhua Reynolds, to whom I am obliged for my information concerning this excurſion, mentions a very characteriſtical anecdote of Johnſon while at Plymouth. Having obſerved that in conſequence of the Dock-yard a new town had ariſen about two miles off as a rival to the old; and knowing from his ſagacity, and juſt obſervation of human nature, that it is certain if a man hates at all, he will hate his next neighbour; he concluded that this new and riſing town could not but excite the envy and jealouſy of the old, in which conjecture he was very ſoon confirmed; he therefore ſet himſelf reſolutely on the ſide of the old town, the eſtabliſhed town, in which his lot was caſt, conſidering it as a kind of duty to ſtand by it. He accordingly entered warmly into its intereſts, and upon every occaſion talked of the dockers, as the inhabitants of the new town were called, as upſtarts and aliens. Plymouth is very plentifully ſupplied with water by a river brought into it from a great diſtance, which is ſo abundant that it runs to waſte in the town. The Dock, or New-town, being totally deſtitute of water, petitioned Plymouth that a ſmall portion of the conduit might be permitted to go to them, and this was now under conſideration. Johnſon, affecting to entertain the paſſions of the place, was violent in oppoſition; and half-laughing at himſelf for his pretended zeal, where he had no concern, exclaimed, ‘"No, no! I am againſt the dockers; I am a Plymouth-man. Rogues! let them die of thirſt. They ſhall not have a drop!"’

In 1763 he furniſhed to ‘"The Poetical Calendar,"’ publiſhed by Fawkes and Woty, a character of Collins, * which he afterwards ingrafted into his entire life of that admirable poet, in the collection of lives which he wrote for the body of Engliſh poetry, formed and publiſhed by the bookſellers of London. His account of the melancholy depreſſion with which Collins was ſeverely afflicted, and which brought him to his grave, is, I think, one of the moſt tender and intereſting paſſages in the whole ſeries of his writings. He alſo favoured Mr. Hoole with the Dedication of his tranſlation of Taſſo to [208] the Queen, * which is ſo happily conceived and elegantly expreſſed, that I can⯑not but point it out to the peculiar notice of my readers.

This is to me a memorable year, for in it I had the happineſs to obtain the acquaintance of that extraordinary man whoſe memoirs I am now writing; an acquaintance which I ſhall ever eſteem as one of the moſt fortunate circum⯑ſtances in my life. Though then but two-and-twenty, I had for ſeveral years read his works with delight and inſtruction, and had the higheſt reverence for their authour, which had grown up in my fancy into a kind of myſterious veneration, by figuring to myſelf a ſtate of ſolėmn elevated abſtraction, in which I ſuppoſed him to live in the immenſe metropolis of London. Mr. Gentleman, a native of Ireland, who paſſed ſome years in Scotland as a player, and as an inſtructor in the Engliſh language, a man whoſe talents and worth were depreſſed by misfortunes, had given me a repreſentation of his figure and manner; and during my firſt viſit to London, which was for three months in 1760, Mr. Derrick the poet, who was Gentleman's friend and countryman, flattered me with hopes that he would introduce me to Johnſon, an honour of which I was very ambitious. But he never found an opportunity, which made me doubt that he had promiſed to do what was not in his power, till Johnſon ſome years afterwards told me, ‘"Derrick, Sir, might very well have intro⯑duced you. I had a kindneſs for Derrick, and am ſorry he is dead."’

In the ſummer of 1761 Mr. Thomas Sheridan was at Edinburgh, and delivered lectures upon the Engliſh Language and Publick Speaking to large and reſpectable audiences. I was often in his company, and heard him frequently expatiate upon Johnſon's extraordinary knowledge, talents, and virtues, repeat his pointed ſayings, deſcribe his particularities, and boaſt of his being his gueſt ſometimes till two or three in the morning. At his houſe I hoped to have many opportunities of ſeeing the ſage, as Mr. Sheridan obligingly aſſured me I ſhould not be diſappointed.

When I returned to London in the end of 1762, to my ſurprize and regret I found an irreconcileable difference had taken place between Johnſon and Sheridan. A penſion of two hundred pounds a year had been given to Sheridan▪ Johnſon, who as has been already mentioned, thought ſlightingly of Sheridan's art, upon hearing that he was alſo penſioned, exclaimed, ‘"What! have they given him a penſion? Then it is time for me to give up mine."’ Whether this proceeded from a momentary indignation, as if it were an affront to his exalted merit that a player ſhould be rewarded in the ſame manner with him, or was the ſudden effect of fit of peeviſhneſs, it was unluckily ſaid, and, indeed, cannot be juſtified. Mr. Sheridan's penſion was [209] granted to him not as a player, but as a ſufferer in the cauſe of government, when he was manager of the Theatre Royal in Ireland, when parties ran high in 1753. And it muſt alſo be allowed that he was a man of literature, and had conſiderably improved the arts of reading and ſpeaking with diſtinctneſs and propriety.

Beſides, Johnſon ſhould have recollected that Mr. Sheridan taught pronun⯑ciation to Mr. Alexander Wedderburn, whoſe ſiſter was married to Sir Harry Erſkine, an intimate friend of Lord Bute, who was the favourite of the King; and ſurely the moſt outrageous Whig will not maintain, that, whatever ought to be the principle in the diſpoſal of offices, a penſion ought never to be granted from any bias of court connection. Mr. Macklin, indeed, ſhared with Mr. Sheridan the honour of inſtructing Mr. Wedderburn; and though it was too late in life for a Caledonian to acquire the genuine Engliſh cadence, yet ſo ſucceſsful were Mr. Wedderburn's inſtructors, and his own unabating endea⯑vours, that he got rid of the coarſe part of his Scotch accent, retaining only as much of the ‘"native wood-note wild,"’ as to mark his country; which, if any Scotchman ſhould affect to forget, I ſhould heartily deſpiſe him. Notwith⯑ſtanding the difficulties which are to be encountered by thoſe who have not had the advantange of an Engliſh education, he by degrees formed a mode of ſpeaking, to which Engliſhmen do not deny the praiſe of elegance. Hence his diſtinguiſhed oratory, which he exerted in his own country as an advocate in the Court of Seſſion, and a ruling elder of the Kirk, has had its fame and ample reward, in much higher ſpheres. When I look back on this noble perſon at Edinburgh, in ſituations ſo unworthy of his brilliant powers, and behold LORD LOUGHBOROUGH at London, the change ſeems almoſt like one of the metamorphoſes in Ovid; and as his two preceptors, by refining his utterance, gave currency to his talents, we may ſay in the words of that poet, ‘"Nam vos mutaſtis."’

I have dwelt the longer upon this remarkable inſtance of ſucceſsful parts and aſſiduity, becauſe it affords animating encouragement to other gentlemen of North-Britain to try their fortunes in the ſouthern part of the iſland, where they may hope to gratify their utmoſt ambition; and now that we are one people by the Union, it would ſurely be illiberal to maintain that they have not an equal title with the natives of any other part of his Majeſty's dominions.

Johnſon complained that a man who diſliked him repeated his ſarcaſm to Mr. Sheridan, without telling him what followed, which was, that after a pauſe he added, ‘"However, I am glad that Mr. Sheridan has a penſion, for he is a very good man."’ Sheridan could never forgive this haſty contemptuous [210] expreſſion. It rankled in his mind; and though I informed him of all that Johnſon ſaid, and that he would be very glad to meet him amicably, he poſitively declined repeated offers which I made, and once went off abruptly from a houſe where he and I were engaged to dine, becauſe he was told that Dr. Johnſon was to be there. I have no ſympathetick feeling with ſuch perſevering reſentment. It is painful when there is a breach between thoſe who have lived together ſocially and cordially; and I wonder that there is not, in all ſuch caſes, a mutual wiſh that it ſhould be healed. I could perceive that Mr. Sheridan was by no means ſatisfied with Johnſon's acknow⯑ledging him to be a good man. That could not ſooth his injured vanity. I could not but ſmile, at the ſame time that I was offended, to obſerve Sheridan in the Life of Swift ⁸, which he afterwards publiſhed, attempting, in the writhings of his reſentment, to depreciate Johnſon, by characteriſing him ‘"A writer of gigantick fame in theſe days of little men;"’ that very Johnſon whom he once ſo highly admired and venerated.

This rupture with Sheridan deprived Johnſon of one of his moſt agreeable reſources for amuſement in his lonely evenings; for Sheridan's well-informed, animated, and buſtling mind never ſuffered converſation to ſtagnate; and Mrs. Sheridan was a moſt agreeable companion to an intellectual man. She was ſenſible, ingenious, unaſſuming, yet communicative. I recollect, with ſatisfaction, many pleaſing hours which I paſſed with her under the hoſpitable roof of her huſband, who was to me a very kind friend. Her novel, entitled ‘"Memoirs of Miſs Sydney Biddulph,"’ contains an excellent moral, while it inculcates a future ſtate of retribution; and what it teaches is impreſſed upon the mind by a ſeries of as deep diſtreſs as can affect humanity. Johnſon paid her this high compliment upon it: ‘"I know not, Madam, that you have a right, upon moral principles, to make your readers ſuffer ſo much."’

Mr. Thomas Davies the actor, who then kept a bookſeller's ſhop in Ruſſel-ſtreet, Covent-garden, told me that Johnſon was very much his friend, and came frequently to his houſe, where he more than once invited me to meet him; but by ſome unlucky accident or other he was prevented from coming to us.

Mr. Thomas Davies was a man of good underſtanding and talents, with the advantage of a liberal education. Though ſomewhat pompous, he was an entertaining companion; and his literary performances have no inconſiderable ſhare of merit. He was a friendly and very hoſpitable man. Both he and his wife, (who has been celebrated for her beauty,) though upon the ſtage [211] for many years, maintained an uniform decency of character; and Johnſon eſteemed them, and lived in as eaſy an intimacy with them as with any family which he uſed to viſit. Mr. Davies recollected ſeveral of Johnſon's remark⯑able ſayings, and was one of the beſt of the many imitators of his voice and manner, while relating them. He increaſed my impatience more and more to ſee the extraordinary man whoſe works I highly valued, and whoſe conver⯑ſation was reported to be ſo peculiarly excellent.

At laſt, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was ſitting in Mr. Davies's back parlour, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs. Davies, Johnſon unexpectedly came into the ſhop; and Mr. Davies having perceived him through the glaſs door of the room in which we were ſitting, advancing towards us,—he announced his aweful approach to me, ſomewhat in the manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addreſſes Hamlet on the appearance of his father's ghoſt, ‘"Look, my Lord, it comes."’ I found that I had a very perfect idea of Johnſon's figure, from the portrait of him painted by Sir Joſhua Reynolds ſoon after he had publiſhed his Dictionary, in the attitude of ſitting in his eaſy chair in deep meditation, which was the firſt picture his friend did for him, which Sir Joſhua has very kindly preſented to me, and from which an engraving has been made for this work. Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and reſpectfully introduced me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his prejudice againſt the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I ſaid to Davies, ‘"Don't tell where I come from."’—‘"From Scotland,"’ cried Davies, roguiſhly. ‘"Mr. Johnſon (ſaid I) I do indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it."’ I am willing to flatter myſelf that I meant this as light pleaſantry to ſooth and conciliate him, and not as any humiliating abaſement at the expence of my country. But however that might be, this ſpeech was ſomewhat unlucky; for with that quickneſs of wit for which he was ſo remark⯑able, he ſeized the expreſſion ‘"come from Scotland,"’ which I uſed in the ſenſe of being of that country; and as if I had ſaid that I had come away from it or left it, retorted, ‘"That, Sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help."’ This ſtroke ſtunned me a good deal; and when we had ſat down, I felt myſelf not a little embarraſſed, and apprehenſive of what might come next. He then addreſſed himſelf to Davies: ‘"What do you think of Garrick? He has refuſed me an order for the play for Miſs Williams, becauſe he knows the houſe will be full, and that an order would be worth three ſhillings."’ Eager to take any opening to get into converſation with him, I ventured to ſay, ‘"O, Sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge ſuch a trifle to you."’ ‘"Sir, (ſaid he, with a ſtern look,) I have known [212] David Garrick longer than you have done; and I know no right you have to talk to me on the ſubject."’ Perhaps I deſerved this check; for it was rather preſumptuous in me, an entire ſtranger, to expreſs any doubt of the juſtice of his animadverſion upon his old acquaintance and pupil ⁹. I now felt my⯑ſelf much mortified, and began to think that the hope which I had long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was blaſted. And, in truth, had not my ardour been uncommonly ſtrong, and my reſolution uncommonly perſe⯑vering, ſo rough a reception might have deterred me for ever from making any further attempts. Fortunately, however, I remained upon the field not wholly diſcomfited; and was ſoon rewarded by hearing ſome of his conver⯑ſation, of which I preſerved the following ſhort minute, without marking the queſtions and obſervations by which it was produced.

Speaking of one who with more than ordinary boldneſs attacked publick meaſures and the royal family, he ſaid, ‘"I think he is ſafe from the law, but he is an abuſive ſcoundrel; and inſtead of applying to my Lord Chief Juſtice to puniſh him, I would ſend half a dozen footmen and have him well ducked."’

It is, however, but juſt to record, that ſome years afterwards, when I reminded him of this ſarcaſm, he ſaid, ‘"Well, but Derrick has now got a character that he need not run away from."’

I was highly pleaſed with the extraordinary vigour of his converſation, and regretted that I was drawn away from it by an engagement at another place. I had, for a part of the evening, been left alone with him, and had ven⯑tured to make an obſervation now and then, which he received very civilly; ſo that I was ſatisfied that though there was a roughneſs in his manner, there was no ill-nature in his diſpoſition. Davies followed me to the door, and when I complained to him a little of the hard blows which the great man had given me, he kindly took upon him to conſole me by ſaying, ‘"Don't be uneaſy. I can ſee he likes you very well."’

A few days afterwards I called on Davies, and aſked him if he thought I might take the liberty of waiting on Mr. Johnſon at his Chambers in the Temple. He ſaid I certainly might, and that Mr. Johnſon would take it as a compliment. So upon Tueſday the 24th, after having been enlivened by the witty ſallies of Meſſieurs Thornton, Wilkes, Churchill and Lloyd, with whom I had paſſed the morning, I boldly repaired to Johnſon. His Cham⯑bers were on the firſt floor of No. 1, Inner Temple-lane, and I entered them with an impreſſion given me by the Reverend Dr. Blair, of Edinburgh, who had been introduced to him not long before, and deſcribed his having ‘"found the giant in his den;"’ an expreſſion, which, when I came to be pretty well acquainted with Johnſon, I repeated to him, and he was diverted at this pictureſque account of himſelf. Dr. Blair had been preſented to him by Dr. James Fordyce. At this time the controverſy concerning the pieces publiſhed by Mr. James Macpherſon, as tranſlations of Oſſian, was at its height. Johnſon had all along denied their authenticity; and, what was ſtill more provoking to their admirers, maintained that they had no merit. The ſubject having been introduced by Dr. Fordyce, Dr. Blair, relying on the internal evidence of their antiquity, aſked Dr. Johnſon whether he thought any man of a modern age could have written ſuch poems? Johnſon replied, ‘"Yes, Sir, many [214] men, many women, and many children."’ Johnſon, at this time, did not know that Dr. Blair had juſt publiſhed a Diſſertation, not only defending their authenticity, but ſeriouſly ranking them with the poems of Homer and Virgil; and when he was afterwards informed of this circumſtance, he expreſſed ſome diſpleaſure at Dr. Fordyce's having ſuggeſted the topick, and ſaid, ‘"I am not ſorry that they got thus much for their pains. Sir, it was like leading one to talk of a book, when the authour is concealed behind the door."’

He received me very courteouſly; but, it muſt be confeſſed, that his apart⯑ment, and furniture, and morning dreſs, were ſufficiently uncouth. His brown ſuit of cloaths looked very ruſty; he had on a little old ſhrivelled unpowdered wig, which was too ſmall for his head; his ſhirt-neck and knees of his breeches were looſe; his black worſted ſtockings ill drawn up; and he had a pair of unbuckled ſhoes by way of ſlippers. But all theſe ſlovenly particu⯑larities were forgotten the moment that he began to talk. Some gentlemen, whom I do not recollect, were ſitting with him; and when they went away, I alſo roſe; but he ſaid to me, ‘"Nay, don't go."’—‘"Sir, (ſaid I) I am afraid that I intrude upon you. It is benevolent to allow me to ſit and hear you."’ He ſeemed pleaſed with this compliment, which I ſincerely paid him, and anſwered, ‘"Sir, I am obliged to any man who viſits me."’ I have preſerved the following ſhort minute of what paſſed this day.

‘"Madneſs frequently diſcovers itſelf merely by unneceſſary deviation from the uſual modes of the world. My poor friend Smart ſhewed the diſturbance of his mind by falling upon his knees and ſaying his prayers in the ſtreet, or in any other unuſual place. Now although, rationally ſpeaking, it is greater madneſs not to pray at all, than to pray as Smart did, I am afraid there are ſo many who do not pray, that their underſtanding is not called in queſtion."’

Concerning this unfortunate poet, Chriſtopher Smart, who was confined in a mad-houſe, he had, at another time, the following converſation with Dr. Burney. JOHNSON. ‘"It ſeems as if his mind had ceaſed to ſtruggle with the diſeaſe; for he grows fat upon it."’ BURNEY. ‘"Perhaps, Sir, that may be from want of exerciſe."’ JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir; he has partly as much exerciſe as he uſed to have, for he digs in the garden. Indeed, before his confinement, he uſed for exerciſe to walk to the alehouſe; but he was carried back again. I did not think he ought to be ſhut up. His infirmities were not noxious to ſociety. He inſiſted on people praying with him; and I'd as lief pray with Kit. Smart as any one elſe. Another charge was, that he did not love clean linen; and I have no paſſion for it."’

[215] ‘"Mankind have a great averſion to intellectual labour; but even ſuppoſing knowledge to be eaſily attainable, more people would be content to be ignorant than would take even a little trouble to acquire it."’

Talking of Garrick, he ſaid, ‘"He is the firſt man in the world for ſprightly converſation."’

When I roſe a ſecond time he again preſſed me to ſtay, which I did.

He told me, that he generally went abroad at four in the afternoon, and ſeldom came home till two in the morning. I took the liberty to aſk if he did not think it wrong to live thus, and not make more uſe of his great talents. He owned it was a bad habit. On reviewing, at the diſtance of many years, my journal of this period, I wonder how, at my firſt viſit, I ventured to talk to him ſo freely, and that he bore it with ſo much indulgence.

Before we parted he was ſo good as to promiſe to favour me with his com⯑pany one evening at my lodgings; and, as I took my leave, ſhook me cordially by the hand. It is almoſt needleſs to add, that I felt no little elation at having now ſo happily eſtabliſhed an acquaintance of which I had been ſo long ambitious.

My readers will, I truſt, excuſe me for being thus minutely circumſtantial, when it is conſidered that the acquaintance of Dr. Johnſon was to me a moſt valuable acquiſition, and laid the foundation of whatever inſtruction and enter⯑tainment they may receive from my collections concerning the great ſubject of the work which they are now peruſing.

I did not viſit him again till Monday, June 13, at which time I recollect no part of his converſation, except that when I told him I had been to ſee Johnſon ride upon three horſes, he ſaid, ‘"Such a man, Sir, ſhould be encouraged; for his performances ſhew the extent of the human powers in [216] one inſtance, and thus tend to raiſe our opinion of the faculties of man. He ſhews what may be attained by perſevering application; ſo that every man may hope, that by giving as much application, although perhaps he may never ride three horſes at a time or dance upon a wire, yet he may be equally expert in whatever profeſſion he has choſen to purſue."’

He again ſhook me by the hand at parting, and aſked me why I did not come oftener to him. Truſting that I was now in his good graces, I anſwered, that he had not given me much encouragement, and reminded him of the check I had received from him at our firſt interview. ‘"Poh, poh! (ſaid he, with a complacent ſmile,) never mind theſe things. Come to me as often as you can. I ſhall be glad to ſee you."’

I had learnt that his place of frequent reſort was the Mitre tavern in Fleet⯑ſtreet, where he loved to ſit up late, and I begged I might be allowed to paſs an evening with him there ſoon, which he promiſed I ſhould. A few days afterwards I met him near Temple-bar, about one o'clock in the morning, and aſked if he would then go to the Mitre. ‘"Sir, (ſaid he) it is too late; they won't let us in. But I'll go with you another night with all my heart."’

A revolution of ſome importance in my plan of life had juſt taken place; for inſtead of procuring a commiſſion in the foot-guards, which was my own inclination, I had, in compliance with my father's wiſhes, agreed to ſtudy the law, and was ſoon to ſet out for Utrecht, to hear the lectures of an excellent Civilian in that Univerſity, and then to proceed on my travels. Though very deſirous of obtaining Dr. Johnſon's advice and inſtructions on the mode of purſuing my ſtudies, I was at this time ſo occupied, ſhall I call it? or ſo diſſipated, by the amuſements of London, that our next meeting was not till Saturday, June 25, when happening to dine at Clifton's eating-houſe, in Butcher-row, I was ſurprized to perceive Johnſon come in and take his ſeat at another table. The mode of dining, or rather being fed at ſuch houſes in London, is well known to many to be particularly unſocial, as there is no Ordinary, or united company, but each perſon has his own meſs, and is under no obligation to hold any intercourſe with any one. A liberal and full-minded man, however, who loves to talk, will break through this churliſh and unſocial reſtraint. Johnſon and an Iriſh gentleman got into a diſpute concerning the cauſe of ſome part of mankind being black. ‘"Why, Sir, (ſaid Johnſon,) it has been accounted for in three ways: either by ſuppo⯑ſing that they are the poſterity of Ham, who was curſed; or that GOD at firſt created two kinds of men, one black and another white; or that by the heat of the ſun the ſkin is ſcorched, and ſo acquires a ſooty hue. This matter has [217] been much canvaſſed among naturaliſts, but has never been brought to any certain iſſue."’ What the Iriſhman ſaid is totally obliterated from my mind; but I remember that he became very warm and intemperate in his expreſ⯑ſions; upon which Johnſon roſe, and quietly walked away. When he had retired, his antagoniſt took his revenge, as he thought, by ſaying ‘"He has a moſt ungainly figure, and an affectation of pompoſity unworthy of a man of genius."’

Johnſon had not obſerved that I was in the room. I followed him, how⯑ever, and he agreed to meet me in the evening at the Mitre. I called on him, and we went thither at nine. We had a good ſupper, and port wine, of which he then ſometimes drank a bottle. The orthodox high-church ſound of the Mitre, the figure and manner of the celebrated Samuel Johnſon, the extra⯑ordinary power and preciſion of his converſation, and the pride ariſing from finding myſelf admitted as his companion, produced a variety of ſenſations, and a pleaſing elevation of mind beyond what I had ever before experienced. I find in my journal the following minute of our converſation, which, though it will give but a very faint notion of what paſſed, is, in ſome degree, a valuable record; and it will be curious in this view, as ſhewing how habitual to his mind were ſome opinions which appear in his works.

‘"Colley Cibber, Sir, was by no means a blockhead; but by arrogating to himſelf too much, he was in danger of loſing that degree of eſtimation to which he was entitled. His friends gave out that he intended his birth-day Odes ſhould be bad: but that was not the caſe, Sir; for he kept them many months by him, and a few years before he died he ſhewed me one of them, with great ſolicitude to render it as perfect as might be, and I made ſome corrections, to which he was not very willing to ſubmit. I remember the following couplet in alluſion to the King and himſelf: 'Perch'd on the eagle's ſoaring wing 'The lowly linnet loves to ſing.' Sir, he had heard ſomething of the fabulous tale of the wren ſitting upon the eagle's wing, and he had applied it to a linnet. Cibber's familiar ſtyle, however, was better than that which Whitehead has aſſumed. Grand nonſenſe is inſupportable. Whitehead is but a little man to inſcribe verſes to players."’

I did not preſume to controvert this cenſure, which was tinctured with his prejudice againſt players; but I could not help thinking that a dramatick poet might with propriety pay a compliment to an eminent performer, as Whitehead has very happily done in his verſes to Mr. Garrick.

[218] ‘"Sir, I do not think Gray a firſt-rate poet. He has not a bold imagination, nor much command of words. The obſcurity in which he has involved him⯑ſelf will not perſuade us that he is ſublime. His Elegy in a church-yard has a happy ſelection of images, but I don't like what are called his great things. His Ode which begins 'Ruin ſeize thee, ruthleſs King, 'Confuſion on thy banners wait,' has been celebrated for its abruptneſs, and plunging into the ſubject all at once. But ſuch arts as theſe have no merit, unleſs when they are original. We admire them only once; and this abruptneſs has nothing new in it. We have had it often before. Nay, we have it in the old ſong of Johnny Armſtrong: 'Is there ever a man in all Scotland 'From the higheſt eſtate to the loweſt degree, &c.' And then, Sir, 'Yes, there is a man in Weſtmoreland, 'And Johnny Armſtrong they do him call.' There, now, you plunge at once into the ſubject. You have no previous narration to lead you to it.—The two next lines in that Ode are, I think, very good: 'Though fann'd by conqueſt's crimſon wing, 'They mock the air with idle ſtate ²."’

Here let it be obſerved, that although his opinion of Gray's poetry was widely different from mine, and I believe from that of moſt men of taſte, by whom it is with juſtice highly admired, there is certainly much abſurdity in the clamour which has been raiſed, as if he had been culpably injurious to the merit of that bard, and had been actuated by envy. Alas! ye little ſhort-ſighted criticks, could Johnſon be envious of the talents of any of his con⯑temporaries? That his opinion on this ſubject was what in private and in publick he uniformly expreſſed, regardleſs of what others might think, we may wonder, and perhaps regret; but it is ſhallow and unjuſt to charge him with expreſſing what he did not think.

[219] Finding him in a placid humour, and wiſhing to avail myſelf of the oppor⯑tunity which I fortunately had of conſulting a ſage, to hear whoſe wiſdom, I conceived in the ardour of youthful imagination, that men filled with a noble enthuſiaſm for intellectual improvement would gladly have reſorted from diſtant lands; I opened my mind to him ingenuouſly, and gave him a little ſketch of my life, to which he was pleaſed to liſten with great attention.

I acknowledged, that though educated very ſtrictly in the principles of religion, I had for ſome time been miſled into a certain degree of infidelity; but that I was come now to a better way of thinking, and was fully ſatisfied of the truth of the Chriſtian revelation, though I was not clear as to every point conſidered to be orthodox. Being at all times a curious examiner of the human mind, and pleaſed with an undiſguiſed diſplay of what had paſſed in it, he called to me with warmth, ‘"Give me your hand; I have taken a liking to you."’ He then began to deſcant upon the force of teſtimony, and the little we could know of final cauſes; ſo that the objections of, why was it ſo? or why was it not ſo? ought not to diſturb us: adding, that he himſelf had at one period been guilty of a temporary neglect of religion, but that it was not the reſult of argument, but mere abſence of thought.

After having given credit to reports of his bigotry, I was agreeably ſur⯑prized when he expreſſed the following very liberal ſentiment, which has the additional value of obviating an objection to our holy religion, founded upon the diſcordant tenets of Chriſtians themſelves: ‘"For my part, Sir, I think all Chriſtians, whether Papiſts or Proteſtants, agree in the eſſential articles, and that their differences are trivial, and rather political than religious."’

We talked of belief in ghoſts. He ſaid, ‘"Sir, I make a diſtinction between what a man may experience by the mere ſtrength of his imagination, and what imagination cannot poſſibly produce. Thus, ſuppoſe I ſhould think that I ſaw a form, and heard a voice cry 'Johnſon, you are a very wicked fellow, and unleſs you repent you will certainly be puniſhed;' my own unwor⯑thineſs is ſo deeply impreſſed upon my mind, that I might imagine I thus ſaw and heard, and therefore I ſhould not believe that an external communication had been made to me. But if a form ſhould appear, and a voice ſhould tell me that a particular man had died at a particular place, and a particular hour, a fact which I had no apprehenſion of, nor any means of knowing, and this fact with all its circumſtances ſhould afterwards be unqueſtionably proved, I ſhould, in that caſe be perſuaded that I had ſupernatural intelligence imparted to me."’

Here it is proper, once for all, to give a true and fair ſtatement of Johnſon's way of thinking upon the queſtion whether departed ſpirits are ever permitted [220] to appear in this world, or in any way to operate upon human life. He has been ignorantly miſrepreſented as weakly credulous upon that ſubject; and therefore, though I feel an inclination to diſdain and treat with ſilent contempt ſo abſurd a notion concerning my illuſtrious friend, yet as I find it has gained ground, it is neceſſary to refute it. The real fact then is, that Johnſon had a very philoſophical mind, and ſuch a rational reſpect for teſtimony, as to make him ſubmit his underſtanding to what was authentically proved, though he could not comprehend why it was ſo. Being thus diſpoſed, he was willing to inquire into the truth of any relation of ſupernatural agency, a general belief of which has prevailed in all nations and ages. But ſo far was he from being the dupe of implicit faith, that he examined the matter with a jealous attention, and no man was more ready to refute its falſhood when he had diſcovered it. Churchill, in his poem entitled ‘"The Ghoſt,"’ availed him⯑ſelf of the abſurd credulity imputed to Johnſon, and drew a caricature of him under the name of ‘"POMPOSO,"’ repreſenting him as one of the believers of the ſtory of a Ghoſt in Cock-lane, which in the year 1762 had gained very general credit in London. Many of my readers, I am convinced, are to this hour under an impreſſion that Johnſon was thus fooliſhly deceived. It will therefore ſurprize them a good deal when they are informed upon undoubted authority, that Johnſon was one of thoſe by whom the impoſture was detected. The ſtory had become ſo popular, that he thought it ſhould be inveſtigated; and in this reſearch he was aſſiſted by the Reverend Dr. Douglas, now Biſhop of Carliſle, the great detecter of impoſtures, who informs me, that after the gentlemen who went and examined into the evidence were ſatisfied of its falſity, Johnſon wrote in their preſence an account of it, which was publiſhed in the newſpapers and Gentleman's Magazine, and undeceived the world ³.

[221] Our converſation proceeded. ‘"Sir, (ſaid he) I am a friend to ſubordi⯑nation, as moſt conducive to the happineſs of ſociety. There is a reciprocal pleaſure in governing and being governed."’

‘"Dr. Goldſmith is one of the firſt men we now have as an authour, and he is a very worthy man too. He has been looſe in his principles, but he is coming right."’

I mentioned Mallet's tragedy of ELVIRA, which had been acted the pre⯑ceding winter at Drury-lane, and that the Honourable Andrew Erſkine, Mr. Dempſter, and myſelf, had joined in writing a pamphlet, entitled ‘"Critical Strictures"’ againſt it ⁴. That the mildneſs of Dempſter's diſpoſition had, however, relented; and he had candidly ſaid, ‘"We have hardly a right to abuſe this tragedy; for, bad as it is, how vain ſhould either of us be to write one not near ſo good."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why no, Sir; this is not juſt reaſoning. You may abuſe a tragedy, though you cannot write one. You may ſcold a carpenter who has made you a bad table, though you cannot make a table. It is not your trade to make tables."’

When I talked to him of the paternal eſtate to which I was heir, he ſaid, ‘"Sir, let me tell you, that to be a Scotch landlord, where you have a number of families dependent upon you, and attached to you, is, perhaps, as high a ſituation as humanity can arrive at. A merchant upon the 'Change of London, with a hundred thouſand pounds, is nothing: an Engliſh duke, [222] with an immenſe fortune, is nothing: he has no tenants▪ who conſider them⯑ſelves as under his patriarchal care, and who will follow him to the field upon any emergency."’

His notion of the dignity of a Scotch landlord had been formed upon what he had heard of the Highland Chiefs; for it is long ſince a lowland landlord has been ſo curtailed in his feudal authority, that he has little more influence over his tenants than an Engliſh landlord; and of late years moſt of the Highland Chiefs have deſtroyed, by means too well known, the princely power which they once enjoyed.

He proceeded: ‘"Your going abroad, Sir, and breaking off idle habits, may be of great importance to you. I would go where there are courts and learned men. There is a good deal of Spain that has not been perambulated. I would have you go thither. A man of inferiour talents to yours may furniſh us with uſeful obſervations upon that country."’ His ſuppoſing me, at that period of life, capable of writing an account of my travels that would deſerve to be read, elated me not a little.

I appeal to every impartial reader whether this faithful detail of his frank⯑neſs, complacency, and kindneſs to a young man, a ſtranger and a Scotchman, does not refute the unjuſt opinion of the harſhneſs of his general demeanour. His occaſional reproofs of folly, impudence, or impiety, and even the ſudden ſallies of his conſtitutional irritability of temper, which have been preſerved for the poignancy of their wit, have produced that opinion among thoſe who have not conſidered that ſuch inſtances, though collected by Mrs. Piozzi into a ſmall volume, and read over in a few hours, were, in fact, ſcattered through a long ſeries of years; years, in which his time was chiefly ſpent in inſtructing and delighting mankind by his writings and converſation, in acts of piety to GOD, and good-will to men.

I complained to him that I had not yet acquired much knowledge, and aſked his advice as to my ſtudies. He ſaid, ‘"Don't talk of ſtudy now. I will give you a plan; but it will require ſome time to conſider of it."’ ‘"It is very good in you, Mr. Johnſon, (I replied) to allow me to be with you thus. Had it been foretold to me ſome years ago that I ſhould paſs an eve⯑ning with the authour of the RAMBLER, how ſhould I have exulted!"’ What I then expreſſed was ſincerely from the heart. He was ſatisfied that it was, and cordially anſwered, ‘"Sir, I am glad we have met. I hope we ſhall paſs many evenings and mornings too, together."’ We finiſhed a couple of bottles of port, and ſat till between one and two in the morning.

[223] He wrote this year in the Critical Review the account of ‘"Telemachus, a Maſk,"’ by the Reverend George Graham, of Eton College. The ſubject of this beautiful poem was particularly intereſting to Johnſon, who had much experience of ‘"the conflict of oppoſite principles,"’ which he deſcribes as, ‘"The contention between pleaſure and virtue, a ſtruggle which will always be continued while the preſent ſyſtem of nature ſhall ſubſiſt: nor can hiſtory or poetry exhibit more than pleaſure triumphing over virtue, and virtue ſub⯑jugating pleaſure."’

As Dr. Oliver Goldſmith will frequently appear in this narrative, I ſhall endeavour to make my readers in ſome degree acquainted with his ſingular character. He was a native of Ireland, and a contemporary with Mr. Burke, at Trinity College, Dublin, but did not then give much promiſe of future celebrity. He, however, obſerved to Mr. Malone, that ‘"though he made no great figure in mathematicks, which was a ſtudy in much repute there, he could turn an Ode of Horace better than any of them."’ He afterwards ſtudied phyſick [...]t Edinburgh, and upon the Continent; and I have been informed, was enabled to purſue his travels on foot, partly by demanding at Univerſities to enter the liſts as a diſputant, by which, according to the cuſtom of many of them, he was entitled to the premium of a crown, when luckily for him his challenge was not accepted; ſo that, as I once obſerved to Dr. Johnſon, he diſputed his paſſage through Europe. He then came to England, and was employed ſucceſſively in the capacities of an uſher to an academy, a corrector of the preſs, a reviewer, and a writer for a newſpaper. He had ſagacity enough to cultivate aſſiduouſly the acquaintance of Johnſon, and his faculties were gradually enlarged by the contemplation of ſuch a model. To me and many others it appeared that he ſtudiouſly copied the manner of Johnſon, though, indeed, upon a ſmaller ſcale.

At this time I think he had publiſhed nothing with his name, though it was pretty generally known that one Dr. Goldſmith was the authour of ‘"An Eſſay on the preſent State of polite Literature,"’ and of ‘"The Citizen of the World,"’ a ſeries of letters ſuppoſed to be written from London by a Chineſe. No man had the art of diſplaying with more advantage as a writer, whatever literary acquiſitions he made. ‘"Nihil quod tetigit non ornavit ⁵."’ His mind reſembled a fertile, but thin ſoil. There was a quick, but not a ſtrong vegetation, of whatever chanced to be thrown upon it. No deep root could be ſtruck. The oak of the foreſt did not grow there; but the elegant [224] ſhrubbery and the fragrant parterre appeared in gay ſucceſſion. It has been generally circulated and believed that he was a mere fool in converſation ⁶; but, in truth, this has been greatly exaggerated. He had, no doubt, a more than common ſhare of that hurry of ideas which we often find in his country⯑men, and which ſometimes produces a laughable confuſion in expreſſing them. He was very much what the French call un etourdi, and from vanity and an eager deſire of being conſpicuous wherever he was, he frequently talked care⯑leſsly without knowledge of the ſubject, or even without thought. His per⯑ſon was ſhort, his countenance coarſe and vulgar, his deportment that of a ſcholar aukwardly affecting the eaſy gentleman. Thoſe who were in any way diſtinguiſhed, excited envy in him to ſo ridiculous an exceſs, that the inſtances of it are hardly credible. When accompanying two beautiful young ladies with their mother on a tour in France, he was ſeriouſly angry that more atten⯑tion was paid to them than to him; and once at the exhibition of the Fantoc⯑cini, in London, when thoſe who ſat next him obſerved with what dexterity a puppet was made to toſs a pike, he could not bear that it ſhould have ſuch praiſe, and exclaimed with ſome warmth, ‘"Pſhaw! I can do it better myſelf."’

He, I am afraid, had no ſettled ſyſtem of any ſort, ſo that his conduct muſt not be ſtrictly ſcrutiniſed; but his affections were ſocial and generous, and when he had money he gave it away very liberally. His deſire of imagi⯑nary conſequence predominated over his attention to truth. When he began to riſe into notice, he ſaid he had a brother who was Dean of Durham, a fiction ſo eaſily detected, that it is wonderful how he ſhould have been ſo inconſiderate as to hazard it. He boaſted to me at this time of the power of his pen in commanding money, which I believe was true in a certain degree, though in the inſtance he gave he was by no means correct. He told me that he had ſold a novel for four hundred pounds. This was his ‘"Vicar of [225] Wakefield."’ But Johnſon informed me, that he had made the bargain for Goldſmith, and the price was ſixty pounds. ‘"And, Sir, (ſaid he) a ſufficient price too, when it was ſold; for then the fame of Goldſmith had not been elevated, as it afterwards was, by his 'Traveller;' and the bookſeller had ſuch faint hopes of profit by his bargain, that he kept the manuſcript by him a long time, and did not publiſh it till after the Traveller had appeared. Then, to be ſure, it was accidentally worth more money."’

Mrs. Piozzi⁷ and Sir John Hawkins⁸ have ſtrangely miſ-ſtated the hiſtory of Goldſmith's ſituation and Johnſon's friendly interference, when this novel was ſold. I ſhall give it authentically from Johnſon's own exact narration:

‘"I received one morning a meſſage from poor Goldſmith that he was in great diſtreſs, and, as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as ſoon as poſſible. I ſent him a guinea, and promiſed to come to him directly. I accordingly went as ſoon as I was dreſt, and found that his landlady had arreſted him for his rent, at which he was in a violent paſſion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glaſs before him. I put the cork into the bottle, deſired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the preſs, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and ſaw its merit; told the landlady I ſhould ſoon return, and having gone to a bookſeller, ſold it for ſixty pounds. I brought Goldſmith the money, and he diſcharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having uſed him ſo ill ⁹."’

My next meeting with Johnſon was on Friday the 1ſt of July, when he and I and Dr. Goldſmith ſupped together at the Mitre. I was before this time pretty well acquainted with Goldſmith, who was one of the brighteſt [226] ornaments of the Johnſonian ſchool. Goldſmith's reſpectful attachment to Johnſon was then at its height; for his own literary reputation had not yet diſtinguiſhed him ſo much as to excite a vain deſire of competition with his great maſter. He had increaſed my admiration of the goodneſs of Johnſon's heart, by incidental remarks in the courſe of converſation, ſuch as, when I mentioned Mr. Levet, whom he entertained under his roof, ‘"He is poor and honeſt, which is recommendation enough to Johnſon;"’ and when I wondered that he was very kind to a man of whom I had heard a very bad character, ‘"He is now become miſerable, and that inſures the protection of Johnſon."’

Goldſmith attempted this evening to maintain, I ſuppoſe from an affectation of paradox, that knowledge was not deſirable on its own account, for it often was a ſource of unhappineſs. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, that knowledge may in ſome caſes produce unhappineſs, I allow. But, upon the whole, know⯑ledge per ſe is certainly an object which every man would wiſh to attain, although, perhaps, he may not take the trouble neceſſary for attaining it."’

Dr. John Campbell, the celebrated political and biographical writer, being mentioned, Johnſon ſaid, ‘"Campbell is a man of much knowledge, and has a good ſhare of imagination. His 'Hermippus Redivivus' is very enter⯑taining, as an account of the Hermetick philoſophy, and as furniſhing a curious hiſtory of the extravagancies of the human mind. If it were merely imaginary, it would be nothing at all. Campbell is not always rigidly careful of truth in his converſation; but I do not believe there is any thing of this careleſſneſs in his books. Campbell is a good man, a pious man. I am afraid he has not been in the inſide of a church for many years ¹; but he never paſſes a church without pulling off his hat. This ſhews that he has good principles. I uſed to go pretty often to Campbell's on a Sunday even⯑ing, till I began to conſider that the ſhoals of Scotchmen who flocked about [227] him might probably ſay, when any thing of mine was well done, 'Ay, ay, he has learnt this of CAWMELL!"’

He talked very contemptuouſly of Churchill's poetry, obſerving, that ‘"it had a temporary currency, only from its audacity of abuſe, and being filled with living names, and that it would ſink into oblivion."’ I ventured to hint that he was not quite a fair judge, as Churchill had attacked him violently. JOHNSON. ‘"Nay, Sir, I am a very fair judge. He did not attack me violently till he found I did not like his poetry; and his attack on me ſhall not prevent me from continuing to ſay what I think of him, from an appre⯑henſion that it may be aſcribed to reſentment. No, Sir, I called the fellow a blockhead at firſt, and I will call him a blockhead ſtill. However, I will acknowledge that I have a better opinion of him now, than I once had; for he has ſhewn more fertility than I expected. To be ſure, he is a tree that cannot produce good fruit: he only bears crabs. But, Sir, a tree that produces a great many crabs is better than a tree which produces only a few."’

In this depreciation of Churchill's poetry I could not agree with him. It is very true that the greateſt part of it is upon the topicks of the day, on which account, as it brought him great fame and profit at the time, it muſt proportionally ſlide out of the publick attention as other occaſional objects ſucceed. But Churchill had extraordinary vigour both of thought and expreſ⯑ſion. His portraits of the players will ever be valuable to the true lovers of the drama; and his ſtrong caricatures of ſeveral eminent men of his age, will not be forgotten by the curious. Let me add, that there are in his works many paſſages which are of a general nature; and his ‘"Prophecy of Famine"’ is a poem of no ordinary merit. It is, indeed, falſely injurious to Scotland; but therefore may be allowed a greater ſhare of invention.

Bonnel Thornton had juſt publiſhed a burleſque ‘"Ode on St. Cecilia's day, adapted to the ancient Britiſh muſick, viz. the ſalt-box, the Jew's-harp, the marrow-bones and cleaver, the hum-ſtrum or hurdy-gurdy, &c."’ Johnſon praiſed its humour, and ſeemed much diverted with it. He repeated the following paſſage:

[228] I mentioned the periodical paper called THE CONNOISSEUR. He ſaid it wanted matter.—No doubt it has not the deep thinking of Johnſon's writings. But ſurely it has juſt views of the ſurface of life, and a very ſprightly man⯑ner. His opinion of THE WORLD was not much higher than of the Con⯑noiſſeur.

Let me here apologize for the imperfect manner in which I am obliged to exhibit Johnſon's converſation at this period. In the early part of my acquaint⯑ance with him, I was ſo wrapt in admiration of his extraordinary colloquial talents, and ſo little accuſtomed to his peculiar mode of expreſſion, that I found it extremely difficult to recollect and record his converſation with its genuine vigour and vivacity. In progreſs of time, when my mind was, at it were, ſtrongly impregnated with the Johnſonian aether, I could, with much more facility and exactneſs, carry in my memory and commit to paper the exuberant variety of his wiſdom and wit.

At this time Miſs Williams, as ſhe was then called, though ſhe did not reſide with him in the Temple under his roof, but had lodgings in Bolt-court, Fleet-ſtreet, had ſo much of his attention, that he every night drank tea with her before he went home, however late it might be, and ſhe always ſat up for him. This, it may be fairly conjectured, was not alone a proof of his regard for her, but of his own unwillingneſs to go into ſolitude before that unſeaſonable hour at which he had habituated himſelf to expect the oblivion of repoſe. Dr. Goldſmith, being a privileged man, went with him this night, ſtrutting away, and calling to me with an air of ſuperiority, like that of an eſoterick over an exoterick diſciple of a ſage of antiquity, ‘"I go to Miſs Williams."’ I confeſs, I then envied him this mighty privilege, of which he ſeemed ſo proud; but it was not long before I obtained the ſame mark of diſtinction.

On Tueſday the 5th of July, I again viſited Johnſon. He told me he had looked into the poems of a certain pretty voluminous modern writer, which had lately come out, but could find no thinking in them. BOSWELL. ‘"Is there not imagination in them, Sir?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, there is in them what was imagination, but it is no more imagination in him, than ſound is ſound in the echo. And his diction too is not his own. We have long ago ſeen white⯑robed innocence, and flower-beſpangled meads."’

Talking of London, he obſerved, ‘"Sir, if you wiſh to have a juſt notion of the magnitude of this city, you muſt not be ſatisfied with ſeeing its great ſtreets and ſquares, but muſt ſurvey the innumerable little lanes and courts. It is not in the ſhewy evolutions of buildings, but in the multiplicity of human [229] habitations which are crouded together, that the wonderful immenſity of London conſiſts."’—I have often amuſed myſelf with thinking how different a place London is to different people. They, whoſe narrow minds are con⯑tracted to the conſideration of ſome one particular purſuit, view it only through that medium. A politician thinks of it merely as the ſeat of government in its different departments; a grazier, as a vaſt market for cattle; a mercantile man, as a place where a prodigious deal of buſineſs is done upon 'Change; a dramatick enthuſiaſt, as the grand ſcene of theatrical entertainments; a man of pleaſure, as an aſſemblage of taverns, and the great emporium for ladies of eaſy virtue. But the intellectual man is ſtruck with it, as compre⯑hending the whole of human life in all its variety, the contemplation of which is inexhauſtible.

On Wedneſday, July 6, he was engaged to ſup with me at my lodgings in Downing-ſtreet, Weſtminſter. But on the preceding night my landlord having behaved very rudely to me and ſome company who were with me, I had reſolved not to remain another night in his houſe. I was exceedingly uneaſy at the aukward appearance I ſuppoſed I ſhould make to Johnſon and the other gentlemen whom I had invited, not being able to receive them at home, and being obliged to order ſupper at the Mitre. I went to Johnſon in the morning, and talked of it as of a ſerious diſtreſs. He laughed, and ſaid, ‘"Conſider, Sir, how inſignificant this will appear a twelvemonth hence."’—Were this conſideration to be applied to moſt of the little vexatious incidents of life, by which our quiet is too often diſturbed, it would prevent many painful ſenſations. I have tried it frequently, with good effect. ‘"There is nothing (continued he) in this mighty misfortune; nay, we ſhall be better at the Mitre."’ I told him that I had been at Sir John Fielding's office, complaining of my landlord, and had been informed, that though I had taken my lodgings for a year, I might, upon proof of his bad behaviour, quit them when I pleaſed, without being under an obligation to pay rent for any longer time than while I poſſeſſed them. The fertility of Johnſon's mind could ſhew itſelf even upon ſo ſmall a matter as this. ‘"Why, Sir, (ſaid he,) I ſuppoſe this muſt be the law, ſince you have been told ſo in Bow-ſtreet. But, if your landlord could hold you to your bargain, and the lodgings ſhould be yours for a year, you may certainly uſe them as you think fit. So, Sir, you may quarter two life-guardmen upon him; or you may ſend the greateſt ſcoundrel you can find into your apartments; or you may ſay that you want to make ſome experiments in natural philoſophy, and may burn a large quantity of aſſafoetida in his houſe."’

[230] I cannot allow any fragment whatever that floats in my memory concerning the great ſubject of this work to be loſt. Though a ſmall particular may appear trifling to ſome, it will be reliſhed by others, while every little ſpark adds ſomething to the general blaze. And to pleaſe the true, candid, warm admirers of Johnſon, and in any degree increaſe the ſplendour of his reputa⯑tion, I bid defiance to the ſhafts of ridicule, or even of malignity; thouſands of them have been diſcharged at my ‘"Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides,"’ yet it ſtill ſails unhurt ‘"along the ſtream of time,"’ and as an attendant upon Johnſon,—‘"Purſues the triumph, and partakes the gale."’

I had as my gueſts this evening at the Mitre tavern, Dr. Johnſon, Dr. Goldſmith, Mr. Thomas Davies, Mr. Eccles, an Iriſh gentleman, for whoſe agreeable company I was obliged to Mr. Davies, and the Reverend Mr. Ogilvie, a Scotch clergyman, authour of ſeveral poems, who was very deſirous of being in company with my illuſtrious friend, while I, in my turn, was proud to have the honour of ſhewing one of my countrymen upon what eaſy terms Johnſon permitted me to live with him.

Goldſmith, as uſual, endeavoured, with too much eagerneſs, to ſhine, and diſputed very warmly with Johnſon againſt the well-known maxim of the Britiſh conſtitution, ‘"the King can do no wrong;"’ affirming, that ‘"what was morally falſe could not be politically true; and as the King might, in the exerciſe of his regal power, command and cauſe the doing of what was wrong, it certainly might be ſaid, in ſenſe and in reaſon, that he could do wrong."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, you are to conſider, that in our conſtitution, according to its true principles, the King is the head; he is ſupreme; he is above every thing, and there is no power by which he can be tried. Therefore it is, Sir, that we hold the King can do no wrong, that whatever may happen to be wrong in government may not be above our reach, by being aſcribed to Majeſty. Redreſs is always to be had againſt oppreſſion, by puniſhing the immediate agents. The King, though he ſhould command, cannot force a Judge to condemn a man unjuſtly; therefore it is the Judge whom we proſecute and puniſh. Political inſtitutions are formed upon the conſideration of what will moſt frequently tend to the good of the whole, although now and then exceptions may occur. Thus it is better in general that a nation ſhould have a ſupreme legiſlative power, although it may at times be abuſed. And then, Sir, there is this conſideration, that if the abuſe be enormous, Nature will riſe up, and claiming her original rights, overturn a corrupt political ſyſtem."’ I mark this animated ſentence with peculiar pleaſure, as a noble inſtance of that truly dignified ſpirit of freedom which ever glowed in his heart, though he was [231] charged with ſlaviſh tenets by ſuperficial obſervers, becauſe he was at all times indignant againſt that falſe patriotiſm, that pretended love of freedom, that unruly reſtleſſneſs, which is inconſiſtent with the ſtable authority of any good government.

This generous ſentiment, which he uttered with great fervour, ſtruck me exceedingly, and ſtirred my blood to that pitch of fancied reſiſtance, the poſſi⯑bility of which I am glad to keep in mind, but to which I truſt I never ſhall be forced.

‘"Great abilities (ſaid he) are not requiſite for an Hiſtorian; for in Hiſtorical compoſition, all the greateſt powers of the human mind are quieſcent. He has facts ready to his hand; ſo there is no exerciſe of invention. Imagination is not required in any high degree; only about as much as is uſed in the lower kinds of poetry. Some penetration, accuracy, and colouring will fit a man for the taſk, if he can give the application which is neceſſary."’

‘"Bayle's Dictionary is a very uſeful work for thoſe to conſult who love the biographical part of literature, which is what I love moſt."’

Talking of the eminent writers in Queen Anne's reign, he obſerved, ‘"I think Dr. Arbuthnot the firſt man among them. He was the moſt univerſal genius, being an excellent phyſician, a man of deep learning, and a man of much humour. Mr. Addiſon was, to be ſure, a great man; his learning was not profound; but his morality, his humour, and his elegance of writing, ſet him very high."’

Mr. Ogilvie was unlucky enough to chooſe for the topick of his converſa⯑tion the praiſes of his native country. He began with ſaying, that there was very rich land round Edinburgh. Goldſmith, who had ſtudied phyſick there, contradicted this, very untruly, with a ſneering laugh. Diſconcerted a little by this, Mr. Ogilvie then took new ground, where, I ſuppoſe, he thought him⯑ſelf perfectly ſafe; for he obſerved, that Scotland had a great many noble wild proſpects. JOHNSON. ‘"I believe, Sir, you have a great many. Norway, too, has noble wild proſpects; and Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble wild proſpects. But, Sir, let me tell you, the nobleſt proſpect which a Scotchman ever ſees, is the high road that leads him to England!"’ This unexpected and pointed ſally produced a roar of applauſe. After all, how⯑ever, thoſe, who admire the rude grandeur of Nature, cannot deny it to Caledonia.

On Saturday, July 9, I found Johnſon ſurrounded with a numerous levee, but have not preſerved any part of his converſation. On the 14th we had another evening by ourſelves at the Mitre. It happening to be a very rainy [232] night, I made ſome common-place obſervations on the relaxation of nerves and depreſſion of ſpirits which ſuch weather occaſioned; adding▪ however, that it was good for the vegetable creation. Johnſon, who, as we have already ſeen, denied that the temperature of the air had any influence on the human frame, anſwered, with a ſmile of ridicule, ‘"Why yes, Sir, it is good for vegetables, and for the animals who eat thoſe animals."’ This obſervation of his aptly enough introduced a good ſupper; and I ſoon forgot, in Johnſon's company, the influence of a moiſt atmoſphere.

Feeling myſelf now quite at eaſe as his companion, though I had all poſſi⯑ble reverence for him, I expreſſed a regret that I could not be ſo eaſy with my father, though he was not much older than him, and certainly had not more learning and greater abilities to depreſs me. I aſked him the reaſon of this. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, I am a man of the world. I live in the world, and I take, in ſome degree, the colour of the world as it moves along. Your father is a Judge in a remote part of the iſland, and all his notions are taken from the old world. Beſides, Sir, there muſt always be a ſtruggle between a father and ſon, while one aims at power and the other at independence."’ I ſaid, I was afraid my father would force me to be a lawyer. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, you need not be afraid of his forcing you to be a laborious practiſing lawyer; that is not in his power. For as the proverb ſays, 'One man may lead a horſe to the water, but twenty cannot make him drink.' He may be diſpleaſed that you are not what he wiſhes you to be; but that diſpleaſure will not go far. If he inſiſts only on your having as much law as is neceſſary for a man of property, and then endeavours to get you into Parliament, he is quite in the right."’

He enlarged very convincingly upon the excellence of rhyme over blank verſe in Engliſh poetry. I mentioned to him that Dr. Adam Smith, in his lectures upon compoſition, when I ſtudied under him in the College of Glaſgow, had maintained the ſame opinion ſtrenuouſly, and I repeated ſome of his arguments. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, I was once in company with Smith, and we did not take to each other; but had I known that he loved rhyme as much as you tell me he does, I ſhould have HUGGED him."’

Talking of thoſe who denied the truth of Chriſtianity, he ſaid, ‘"It is always eaſy to be on the negative ſide. If a man were now to deny that there is ſalt upon the table, you could not reduce him to an abſurdity. Come, let us try this a little further. I deny that Canada is taken, and I can ſupport my denial by pretty good arguments. The French are a much more numerous [233] people than we; and it is not likely that they would allow us to take it. 'But the miniſtry have aſſured us, in all the formality of the Gazette, that it is taken.'—Very true. But the miniſtry have put us to an enormous expence by the war in America, and it is their intereſt to perſuade us that we have got ſomething for our money.—'But the fact is confirmed by thouſands of men who were at the taking of it.'—Ay, but theſe men have ſtill more intereſt in deceiving us. They don't want you ſhould think the French have beat them, but that they have beat the French. Now ſuppoſe you ſhould go over and find that it is really taken, that would only ſatisfy yourſelf; for when you come home we will not believe you. We will ſay you have been bribed.—Yet, Sir, notwithſtanding all theſe plauſible objections, we have no doubt that Canada is really ours. Such is the weight of common teſtimony. How much ſtronger are the evidences of the Chriſtian religion?"’

‘"Idleneſs is a diſeaſe which muſt be combated; but I would not adviſe a rigid adherence to a particular plan of ſtudy. I myſelf have never perſiſted in any plan for two days together. A man ought to read juſt as inclination leads him; for what he reads as a taſk will do him little good. A young man ſhould read five hours in a day, and ſo may acquire a great deal of knowledge."’

To a man of vigourous intellect and ardent curioſity like his own, read⯑ing without a regular plan may be beneficial; though even ſuch a man muſt ſubmit to it, if he would attain a full underſtanding of any of the ſciences.

To ſuch a degree of unreſtrained frankneſs had he now accuſtomed me, that in the courſe of this evening I talked of the numerous reflections which had been thrown out againſt him on account of his having accepted a penſion from his preſent Majeſty. ‘"Why, Sir, (ſaid he, with a hearty laugh,) it is a mighty fooliſh noiſe that they make ². I have accepted of a penſion as a reward which has been thought due to my literary merit; and now that I have this penſion, I am the ſame man in every reſpect that I have ever been; I retain the ſame principles. It is true, that I cannot now curſe (ſmiling) the houſe of Hanover; nor would it be decent for me to drink King James's health in the wine that King George gives me money to pay for. But, Sir, I think that the pleaſure of curſing the houſe of Hanover, and drinking King James's health, are amply overbalanced by three hundred pounds a year."’

[234] There was here, moſt certainly, an affectation of more Jacobitiſm than he really had, and indeed an intention of admitting, for the moment, in a much greater extent than it really exiſted, the charge of diſaffection imputed to him by the world, merely for the purpoſe of ſhewing how dexterouſly he could repel an attack, even though he were placed in the moſt diſadvantageous poſition; for I have heard him declare, that if holding up his right hand would have ſecured victory at Culloden to Prince Charles's army, he was not ſure he would have held it up; ſo little confidence had he in the right claimed by the houſe of Stuart, and ſo fearful was he of the conſequences of another revolution on the throne of Great-Britain; and Mr. Topham Beauclerk aſſured me, he had heard him ſay this before he had his penſion. At another time he ſaid to Mr. Langton, ‘"Nothing has ever offered that has made it worth my while to conſider the queſtion fully."’ He, however, alſo ſaid to the ſame gentleman, talking of King James the Second, ‘"It was become impoſſible for him to reign any longer in this country."’ He no doubt had an early attach⯑ment to the houſe of Stuart; but his zeal had cooled as his reaſon ſtrengthened. Indeed I heard him once ſay, that ‘"after the death of a violent Whig, with whom he uſed to contend with great eagerneſs, he felt his Toryiſm much abated ³."’ I ſuppoſe he meant Mr. Walmſley.

He adviſed me, when abroad, to be as much as I could with the Profeſſors in the Univerſities, and with the Clergy; for from their converſation I might expect the beſt accounts of every thing in whatever country I ſhould be, with the additional advantage of keeping my learning alive.

It will be obſerved, that when giving me advice as to my travels, Dr. Johnſon did not dwell upon cities, and palaces, and pictures, and ſhews, and Arcadian ſcenes. He was of Lord Eſſex's opinion, who adviſes his kinſman Roger Earl of Rutland, ‘"rather to go an hundred miles to ſpeak with one wiſe man, than five miles to ſee a fair town ⁴."’

I deſcribed to him an impudent fellow from Scotland, who affected to be a ſavage, and railed at all eſtabliſhed ſyſtems. JOHNSON. ‘"There is nothing ſurprizing in this, Sir. He wants to make himſelf conſpicuous. He would tumble in a hog-ſtye, as long as you looked at him and called to him to come out. But let him alone, never mind him, and he'll ſoon give it over."’

I added, that the ſame perſon maintained that there was no diſtinction between virtue and vice. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, if the fellow does not think as he [235] ſpeaks, he is lying; and I ſee not what honour he can propoſe to himſelf from having the character of a lyar. But if he does really think that there is no diſtinction between virtue and vice, why, Sir, when he leaves our houſes, let us count our ſpoons."’

Sir David Dalrymple, now one of the Judges of Scotland by the title of Lord Hailes, had contributed much to increaſe my high opinion of Johnſon, on account of his writings, long before I attained to a perſonal acquaintance with him; I, in return, had informed Johnſon of Sir David's eminent cha⯑racter for learning and religion; and Johnſon was ſo much pleaſed, that at one of our evening meetings he gave him for his toaſt. I at this time kept up a very frequent correſpondence with Sir David; and I read to Dr. Johnſon to-night the following paſſage from the letter which I had laſt received from him:

‘"It gives me pleaſure to think that you have obtained the friendſhip of Mr. Samuel Johnſon. He is one of the beſt moral writers which England has produced. At the ſame time, I envy you the free and undiſguiſed converſe with ſuch a man. May I beg you to preſent my beſt reſpects to him, and to aſſure him of the veneration which I entertain for the authour of the Rambler and of Raſſelas? Let me recommend this laſt work to you; with the Rambler you certainly are acquainted. In Raſſelas you will ſee a tender-hearted operator, who probes the wound only to heal it. Swift, on the con⯑trary, mangles human nature. He cuts and ſlaſhes, as if he took pleaſure in the operation, like the tyrant who ſaid, Ita feri ut ſe ſentiat emori."’ Johnſon ſeemed to be much gratified by this juſt and well-turned compliment.

He recommended to me to keep a journal of my life, full and unreſerved. He ſaid it would be a very good exerciſe, and would yield me great ſatisfac⯑tion when the particulars were faded from my remembrance. I was uncom⯑monly fortunate in having had a previous coincidence of opinion with him upon this ſubject, for I had kept ſuch a journal for ſome time; and it was no ſmall pleaſure to me to have this to tell him, and to receive his approba⯑tion. He counſelled me to keep it private, and ſaid I might ſurely have a friend who would burn it in caſe of my death. From this habit I have been enabled to give the world ſo many anecdotes, which would otherwiſe have been loſt to poſterity. I mentioned that I was afraid I put into my journal too many little incidents. JOHNSON. ‘"There is nothing, Sir, too little for ſo little a creature as man. It is by ſtudying little things that we attain the great art of having as little miſery and as much happineſs as poſſible."’

[236] Next morning Mr. Dempſter happened to call on me, and was ſo much ſtruck even with the imperfect account which I gave him of Dr. Johnſon's converſation, that to his honour be it recorded, when I complained that drink⯑ing port and ſitting up late with him, affected my nerves for ſome time after, he ſaid, ‘"One had better be palſied at eighteen, than not keep company with ſuch a man."’

On Tueſday, July 18, I found tall Sir Thomas Robinſon ſitting with Johnſon. Sir Thomas ſaid, that the King of Pruſſia valued himſelf upon three things;—upon being a hero, a muſician, and an authour. JOHNSON. ‘"Pretty well, Sir, for one man. As to his being an authour, I have not looked at his poetry; but his proſe is poor ſtuff. He writes juſt as you might ſuppoſe Voltaire's footboy to do, who has been his amanuenſis. He has ſuch parts as the valet might have, and about as much of the colouring of the ſtyle as might be got by tranſcribing his works."’ When I was at Ferney, I repeated this to Voltaire, in order to reconcile him ſomewhat to Johnſon, whom he, in affecting the Engliſh mode of expreſſion, had previouſly charac⯑teriſed as ‘"a ſuperſtitious dog;"’ but after hearing ſuch a criticiſm on Frederick the Great, with whom he was then on bad terms, he exclaimed, ‘"An honeſt fellow!"’

But I think the criticiſm much too ſevere; for the ‘"Memoirs of the Houſe of Brandenburgh"’ are written as well as many works of that kind. His poetry, for the ſtyle of which he himſelf makes a frank apology, ‘"Jargonnant un François barbare,"’ though fraught with pernicious ravings of infidelity, has, in many places, great animation, and in ſome a pathetick tenderneſs.

Upon this contemptuous animadverſion on the King of Pruſſia, I obſerved to Johnſon, ‘"It would ſeem then, Sir, that much leſs parts are neceſſary to make a King, than to make an Authour; for the King of Pruſſia is confeſſedly the greateſt King now in Europe, yet you think he makes a very poor figure as an Authour."’

Mr. Levet this day ſhewed me Dr. Johnſon's library, which was contained in two garrets over his Chambers, where Lintot, ſon of the celebrated book⯑ſeller of that name, had formerly his printing-houſe. I found a number of good books, but very duſty and in great confuſion. The floor was ſtrewed with manuſcript leaves, in Johnſon's own hand-writing, which I beheld with a degree of veneration, ſuppoſing they perhaps might contain portions of the Rambler, or of Raſſelas. I obſerved an apparatus for chymical experiments, of which Johnſon was all his life very fond. The place ſeemed to be very favourable for retirement and meditation. Johnſon told me, that he went up [237] thither without mentioning it to his ſervant, when he wanted to ſtudy, ſecure from interruption; for he would not allow his ſervant to ſay he was not at home when he really was. ‘"A ſervant's ſtrict regard for truth, (ſaid he) muſt be weakened by ſuch a practice. A philoſopher may know that it is merely a form of denial; but few ſervants are ſuch nice diſtinguiſhers. If I accuſtom a ſervant to tell a lye for me, have I not reaſon to apprehend that he will tell many lies for himſelf?"’ I am, however, ſatisfied that every ſervant, of any degree of intelligence, underſtands ſaying his maſter is not at home, not at all as the affirmation of a fact, but as cuſtomary words, intimating that his maſter wiſhes not to be ſeen; ſo that there can be no bad effect from it.

Mr. Temple, now vicar of St. Gluvias, Cornwall, who had been my inti⯑mate friend for many years, had at this time chambers in Farrar's-buildings, at the bottom of Inner Temple-lane, which he kindly lent me upon my quitting my lodgings, he being to return to Trinity Hall, Cambridge. I found them particularly convenient for me, as they were ſo near Dr. Johnſon's.

On Wedneſday, July 20, Dr. Johnſon, Mr. Dempſter, and my uncle Dr. Boſwell, who happened to be now in London, ſupped with me at theſe Chambers. JOHNSON. ‘"Pity is not natural to man. Children are always cruel. Savages are always cruel. Pity is acquired and improved by the cul⯑tivation of reaſon. We may have uneaſy ſenſations from ſeeing a creature in diſtreſs, without pity; for we have not pity unleſs we wiſh to relieve them. When I am on my way to dine with a friend, and finding it late, have bid the coachman make haſte, if I happen to attend when he whips his horſes, I may feel unpleaſantly that the animals are put to pain, but I do not wiſh him to deſiſt. No, Sir, I wiſh him to drive on."’

Mr. Alexander Donaldſon, bookſeller of Edinburgh, had for ſome time opened a ſhop in London, and ſold his cheap editions of the moſt popular Engliſh books, in defiance of the ſuppoſed common-law right of Literary Property. Johnſon, though he concurred in the opinion which was afterwards ſanctioned by a decree from the Houſe of Lords, that there was no ſuch right, was at this time very angry that the bookſellers of London, for whom he uniformly profeſſed much regard, ſhould ſuffer from an invaſion of what they had ever conſidered to be ſecure, and he was loud and violent againſt Mr. Donaldſon. ‘"He is a fellow who takes advantage of the law to injure his brethren; for, notwithſtanding that the ſtatute ſecures only fourteen years of excluſive right, it has always been underſtood by the trade, that he, who buys the copy-right of a book from the authour, obtains a perpetual property; and [238] upon that belief, numberleſs bargains are made to transfer that property after the expiration of the ſtatutory term. Now Donaldſon, I ſay, takes advantage here, of people who have really an equitable title from uſage; and if we con⯑ſider how few of the books, of which they buy the property, ſucceed ſo well as to bring profit, we ſhould be of opinion that the term of fourteen years is too ſhort; it ſhould be ſixty years."’ DEMPSTER. ‘"Donaldſon, Sir, is anxious for the encouragement of literature. He reduces the price of books, ſo that poor ſtudents may buy them."’ JOHNSON, (laughing.) ‘"Well, Sir, allowing that to be his motive, he is no better than Robin Hood, who robbed the rich in order to give to the poor."’

It is remarkable, that when the great queſtion concerning Literary Property came to be ultimately tried before the ſupreme tribunal of this country, in conſequence of the very ſpirited exertions of Mr. Donaldſon, Dr. Johnſon was zealous againſt a perpetuity; but he thought that the term of the exclu⯑ſive right of authours ſhould be conſiderably enlarged. He was then for grant⯑ing a hundred years.

The converſation now turned upon Mr. David Hume's ſtyle. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, his ſtyle is not Engliſh; the ſtructure of his ſentences is French. Now the French ſtructure and the Engliſh ſtructure may, in the nature of things, be equally good. But if you allow that the Engliſh language is eſtabliſhed, he is wrong. My name might originally have been Nicholſon, as well as Johnſon; but were you to call me Nicholſon now, you would call me very abſurdly."’

Rouſſeau's treatiſe on the inequality of mankind was at this time a faſhion⯑able topick. It gave riſe to an obſervation by Mr. Dempſter, that the advantages of fortune and rank were nothing to a wiſe man, who ought to value only merit. JOHNSON. ‘"If man were a ſavage, living in the woods by himſelf, this might be true; but in civiliſed ſociety we all depend upon each other, and our happineſs is very much owing to the good opinion of mankind. Now, Sir, in civiliſed ſociety, external advantages make us more reſpected. A man with a good coat upon his back meets with a better recep⯑tion than he who has a bad one. Sir, you may analyſe this, and ſay what is there in it? But that will avail you nothing, for it is a part of a general ſyſtem. Pound St. Paul's church into atoms, and conſider any ſingle atom; it is, to be ſure, good for nothing: but, put all theſe atoms together, and you have St. Paul's church. So it is with human felicity, which is made up of many ingredients, each of which may be ſhewn to be very inſignificant. In civiliſed ſociety, perſonal merit will not ſerve you ſo much as money will. [239] Sir, you may make the experiment. Go into the ſtreet, and give one man a lecture on morality, and another a ſhilling, and ſee which will reſpect you moſt. If you wiſh only to ſupport nature, Sir William Petty fixes your allowance at three pounds a year; but as times are much altered, let us call it ſix pounds. This ſum will fill your belly, ſhelter you from the weather, and even get you a ſtrong laſting coat, ſuppoſing it to be made of good bull's hide. Now, Sir, all beyond this is artificial, and is deſired in order to obtain a greater degree of reſpect from our fellow-creatures. And, Sir, if ſix hun⯑dred pounds a year procure a man more conſequence, and, of courſe, more happineſs than ſix pounds a year, the ſame proportion will hold as to ſix thou⯑ſand, and ſo on as far as opulence can be carried. Perhaps he who has a large fortune may not be ſo happy as he who has a ſmall one; but that muſt proceed from other cauſes than from his having the large fortune: for, caeteris paribus, he who is rich in a civilized ſociety, muſt be happier than he who is poor; as riches, if properly uſed, (and it is a man's own fault if they are not,) muſt be productive of the higheſt advantages. Money, to be ſure, of itſelf is of no uſe; for its only uſe is to part with it. Rouſſeau, and all thoſe who deal in paradoxes, are led away by a childiſh deſire of novelty. When I was a boy, I uſed always to chooſe the wrong ſide of a debate, becauſe moſt ingenious things, that is to ſay, moſt new things, could be ſaid upon it. Sir, there is nothing for which you may not muſter up more plau⯑ſible arguments, than thoſe which are urged againſt wealth and other external advantages. Why now, there is ſtealing; why ſhould it be thought a crime? When we conſider by what unjuſt methods property has been often acquired, and that what was unjuſtly got it muſt be unjuſt to keep, where is the harm in one man's taking the property of another from him? Beſides, Sir, when we conſider the bad uſe that many people make of their property, and how much better uſe the thief may make of it, it may be defended as a very allowable practice. Yet, Sir, the experience of mankind has diſcovered ſtealing to be ſo very bad a thing, that they make no ſcruple to hang a man for it. When I was running about this town a very poor fellow, I was a great arguer for the advantages of poverty; but I was, at the ſame time, very ſorry to be poor. Sir, all the arguments which are brought to repreſent poverty as no evil, ſhew it to be evidently a great evil. You never find people labouring to convince you that you may live very happily upon a plen⯑tiful fortune.—So you hear people talking how miſerable a king muſt be; and yet they all wiſh to be in his place."’

It was ſuggeſted that kings muſt be unhappy, becauſe they are deprived of the greateſt of all ſatisfactions, eaſy and unreſerved ſociety. JOHNSON. [240] ‘"That is an ill-founded notion. Being a king does not exclude a man from ſuch ſociety. Great kings have always been ſocial. The King of Pruſſia, the only great king at preſent, is very ſocial. Charles the Second, the laſt King of England who was a man of parts, was ſocial; and our Henrys and Edwards were all ſocial."’

Mr. Dempſter having endeavoured to maintain that intrinſick merit ought to make the only diſtinction amongſt mankind. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, man⯑kind have found that this cannot be. How ſhall we determine the proportion oſ intrinſick merit? Were that to be the only diſtinction amongſt mankind, we ſhould ſoon quarrel about the degrees of it. Were all diſtinctions aboliſhed, the ſtrongeſt would not long acquieſce, but would endeavour to obtain a [...]uperiority by their bodily ſtrength. But, Sir, as ſubordination is very neceſ⯑ſary for ſociety, and contentions for ſuperiority very dangerous, mankind, that is to ſay all civiliſed nations, have ſettled it upon a plain invariable prin⯑ciple. A man is born to hereditary rank; or his being appointed to certain offices, gives him a certain rank. Subordination tends greatly to human hap⯑pineſs. Were we all upon an equality, we ſhould have no other enjoyment than mere animal pleaſure."’

I ſaid, I conſidered diſtinction of rank to be of ſo much importance in civiliſed ſociety, that if I were aſked on the ſame day to dine with the firſt duke in England, and with the firſt man in Britain for genius, I ſhould heſi⯑tate which to prefer. JOHNSON. ‘"To be ſure, Sir, if you were to dine only once, and it were never to be known where you dined, you would chooſe rather to dine with the firſt man for genius; but to gain moſt reſpect, you ſhould dine with the firſt duke in England. For nine people in ten that you meet with, would have a higher opinion of you for having dined with a duke; and the great genius himſelf would receive you better, becauſe you had been with the great duke."’

He took care to guard himſelf againſt any poſſible ſuſpicion that his ſettled principles of reverence for rank and reſpect for wealth were at all owing to mean or intereſted motives; for he aſſerted his own independence as a literary man. ‘"No man (ſaid he) who ever lived by literature, has lived more independently than I have done."’ He ſaid he had taken longer time than he needed to have done in compoſing his Dictionary. He received our com⯑pliments upon that great work with complacency, and told us that the Academy della Cruſca could ſcarcely believe that it was done by one man.

Next morning I found him alone, and have preſerved the following frag⯑ments of his converſation. Of a gentleman who was mentioned, he ſaid, [241] ‘"I have not met with any man for a long time who has given me ſuch general diſpleaſure. He is totally unfixed in his principles, and wants to puzzle other people."’ I ſaid, his principles had been poiſoned by a noted infidel writer, but that he was, nevertheleſs, a benevolent good man. JOHNSON. ‘"We can have no dependance upon that inſtinctive, that conſtitutional goodneſs which is not founded upon principle. I grant you that ſuch a man may be a very amiable member of ſociety. I can conceive him placed in ſuch a ſituation that he is not much tempted to deviate from what is right; and as every man prefers virtue when there is not ſome ſtrong incitement to tranſgreſs its pre⯑cepts, I can conceive him doing nothing wrong. But if ſuch a man ſtood in need of money, I ſhould not like to truſt him; and I ſhould certainly not truſt him with young ladies, for there there is always temptation. Hume, and other ſceptical innovators, are vain men, and will gratify themſelves at any expence. Truth will not afford ſufficient food to their vanity; ſo they have betaken themſelves to errour. Truth, Sir, is a cow which will yield ſuch people no more milk, and ſo they are gone to milk the bull. If I could have allowed myſelf to gratify my vanity at the expence of truth, what fame might I have acquired. Every thing which Hume has advanced againſt Chriſtianity had paſſed through my mind long before he wrote. Always remember this, that after a ſyſtem is well ſettled upon poſitive evidence, a few partial objec⯑tions ought not to ſhake it. The human mind is ſo limited, that it cannot take in all the parts of a ſubject, ſo that there may be objections raiſed againſt any thing. There are objections againſt a plenum, and objections againſt a vacuum; yet one of them muſt certainly be true."’

I mentioned Hume's argument againſt the belief of miracles, that it is more probable that the witneſſes to the truth of them are miſtaken, or ſpeak falſely, than that the miracles ſhould be true. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, the great difficulty of proving miracles ſhould make us very cautious in believing them. But let us conſider; although GOD has made Nature to operate by certain fixed laws, yet it is not unreaſonable to think that he may ſuſpend thoſe laws, in order to eſtabliſh a ſyſtem highly advantageous to mankind. Now the Chriſtian religion is a moſt beneficial ſyſtem, as it gives us light and certainty where we were before in darkneſs and doubt. The miracles which prove it are atteſted by men who had no intereſt in deceiving us; but who, on the contrary, were told that they ſhould ſuffer perſecution, and did▪actually lay down their lives in confirmation of the truth of the facts which they aſſerted. Indeed, for ſome centuries the heathens did not pretend to deny the miracles; but ſaid they were performed by the aid of evil ſpirits. This [242] is a circumſtance of great weight. Then, Sir, when we take the proofs derived from prophecies which have been ſo exactly fulfilled, we have moſt ſatisfactory evidence. Suppoſing a miracle poſſible, as to which, in my opinion, there can be no doubt, we have as ſtrong evidence for the miracles in ſupport of Chriſtianity, as the nature of the thing admits."’

At night, Mr. Johnſon and I ſupped in a private room at the Turk's Head coffee-houſe, in the Strand. ‘"I encourage this houſe (ſaid he); for the miſ⯑treſs of it is a good civil woman, and has not much buſineſs."’

‘"Sir, I love the acquaintance of young people; becauſe, in the firſt place, I don't like to think myſelf growing old. In the next place, young acquaintances muſt laſt longeſt, if they do laſt; and then, Sir, young men have more virtue than old men; they have more generous ſentiments in every reſpect. I love the young dogs of this age: they have more with and humour and knowledge of life than we had; but then the dogs are not ſo good ſcho⯑lars. Sir, in my early years I read very hard. It is a ſad reflection, but a true one, that I knew almoſt as much at eighteen as I do now. My judge⯑ment, to be ſure, was not ſo good; but, I had all the facts. I remember very well, when I was at Oxford, an old gentleman ſaid to me, 'Young man, ply your book diligently now, and acquire a ſtock of knowledge; for when years come upon you, you will find that poring upon books will be but an irkſome taſk."’

This account of his reading, given by himſelf in plain words, ſufficiently confirms what I have already advanced upon the diſputed queſtion as to his application. It reconciles any ſeeming inconſiſtency in his way of talking upon it at different times; and ſhews that idleneſs and reading hard were with him relative terms, the import of which, as uſed by him, muſt be gathered from a compariſon with what ſcholars of different degrees of ardour and aſſiduity have been known to do. And let it be remembered, that he was now talking ſpontaneouſly, and expreſſing his genuine ſentiments; whereas at other times he might be induced from his ſpirit of contradiction, or more properly from his love of argumentative conteſt, to ſpeak lightly of his own application to ſtudy. It is pleaſing to conſider that the old gentleman's gloomy prophecy as to the irkſomeneſs of books to men of an advanced age, which is too often fulfilled, was ſo far from being verified in Johnſon, that his ardour for literature never failed, and his laſt writings had more eaſe and vivacity than any of his earlier productions.

He mentioned to me now, for the firſt time, that he had been diſtreſt by melancholy, and for that reaſon had been obliged to fly from ſtudy and medi⯑tation, [243] to the diſſipating variety of life. Againſt melancholy he recommended conſtant occupation of mind, a great deal of exerciſe, moderation in eating and drinking, and eſpecially to ſhun drinking at night. He ſaid melancholy people were apt to fly to intemperance for relief, but that it ſunk them much deeper in miſery. He obſerved, that labouring men who work hard, and live ſparingly, are ſeldom or never troubled with low ſpirits.

He again inſiſted on the duty of maintaining ſubordination of rank. ‘"Sir, I would no more deprive a nobleman of his reſpect, than of his money. I conſider myſelf as acting a part in the great ſyſtem of ſociety, and I do to others as I would have them to do to me. I would behave to a noble⯑man as I ſhould expect he would behave to me, were I a nobleman and he Sam. Johnſon. Sir, there is one Mrs. Macaulay⁵ in this town, a great repub⯑lican. One day when I was at her houſe, I put on a very grave countenance, and ſaid to her, 'Madam, I am now become a convert to your way of think⯑ing. I am convinced that all mankind are upon an equal footing; and to give you an unqueſtionable proof, Madam, that I am in earneſt, here is a very ſenſible, civil, well-behaved fellow-citizen, your footman; I deſire that he may be allowed to ſit down and dine with us.' I thus, Sir, ſhewed her the abſurdity of the levelling doctrine. She has never liked me ſince. Sir, your levellers wiſh to level down as far as themſelves; but they cannot bear levelling up to themſelves. They would all have ſome people under them; why not then have ſome people above them?"’ I mentioned a certain authour who diſguſted me by his forwardneſs, and by ſhewing no deference to noblemen into whoſe company he was admitted. JOHNSON. ‘"Suppoſe a ſhoemaker ſhould claim an equality with him as he does with a Lord; how would he ſtare. 'Why, Sir, do you ſtare? (ſays the ſhoemaker,) I do great ſervice to ſociety. 'Tis true, I am paid for doing it; but ſo are you, Sir: and I am ſorry to ſay it, better paid than I am, for doing ſomething not ſo neceſſary. For man⯑kind could do better without your books, than without my ſhoes.' Thus, Sir, there would be a perpetual ſtruggle for precedence, were there no fixed invariable rules for the diſtinction of rank, which creates no jealouſy, as it is allowed to be accidental."’

He ſaid, Dr. Joſeph Warton was a very agreeable man, and his ‘"Eſſay on the Genius and Writings of Pope,"’ a very pleaſing book. I wondered that he delayed ſo long to give us the continuation of it. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, [244] Sir, I ſuppoſe he finds himſelf a little diſappointed, in not having been able to perſuade the world to be of his opinion as to Pope."’

We have now been favoured with the concluding volume, in which, to uſe a parliamentary expreſſion, he has explained, ſo as not to appear quite ſo adverſe to the opinion of the world concerning Pope, as was at firſt thought; and we muſt all agree, that his work is a moſt valuable acceſſion to Engliſh literature.

A writer of deſerved eminence being mentioned, Johnſon ſaid, ‘"Why, Sir, he is a man of good parts, but being originally poor, he has got a love of mean company and low jocularity; a very bad thing, Sir. To laugh is good, as to talk is good. But you ought no more to think it enough if you laugh, than you are to think it enough if you talk. You may laugh in as many ways as you talk; and ſurely every way of talking that is practiſed can⯑not be eſteemed."’

I ſpoke of Sir James Macdonald as a young man of moſt diſtinguiſhed merit, who united the higheſt reputation at Eton and Oxford, with the patri⯑archal ſpirit of a great Highland Chieftain. I mentioned that Sir James had ſaid to me, that he had never ſeen Mr. Johnſon, but he had a great reſpect for him, though at the ſame time it was mixed with ſome degree of terrour. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, if he were to be acquainted with me, it might leſſen both."’

The mention of this gentleman led us to talk of the Weſtern Iſlands of Scotland, to viſit which he expreſſed a wiſh that then appeared to me a very romantick fancy, which I little thought would be afterwards realized. He told me, that his father had put Martin's account of thoſe iſlands into his hands when he was very young, and that he was highly pleaſed with it; that he was particularly ſtruck with the St. Kilda man's notion that the high church of Glaſgow had been hollowed out of a rock; a circumſtance to which old Mr. Johnſon had directed his attention. He ſaid, he would go to the Hebrides with me, when I returned from my travels, unleſs ſome very good companion ſhould offer when I was abſent, which he did not think probable; adding, ‘"There are few people to whom I take ſo much to as you."’ And when I talked of my leaving England, he ſaid, with a very affectionate air, ‘"My dear Boſwell, I ſhould be very unhappy at parting, did I think we were not to meet again."’—I cannot too often remind my readers, that although ſuch inſtances of his kindneſs are doubtleſs very flattering to me, yet I hope my recording them will be aſcribed to a better motive than to vanity; for they afford unqueſtionable evidence of his tenderneſs and complacency, which ſome, while they were forced to acknowledge his great powers, have been ſo ſtrenuous to deny.

[245] He maintained, that a boy at ſchool was the happieſt of human beings. I ſupported a different opinion, from which I have never yet varied, that a man is happier; and I enlarged upon the anxiety and ſufferings which are endured at ſchool. JOHNSON. ‘"Ah! Sir, a boy's being flogged is not ſo ſevere as a man's having the hiſs of the world againſt him. Men have a ſolicitude about fame; and the greater ſhare they have of it, the more afraid they are of loſing it."’ I ſilently aſked myſelf, ‘"Is it poſſible that the great Samuel Johnſon really entertains any ſuch apprehenſion, and is not confident that his exalted fame is eſtabliſhed upon a foundation never to be ſhaken?"’

He this evening drank a bumper to Sir David Dalrymple, as a man of worth, a ſcholar, and a wit.—‘"I have (ſaid he) never heard of him except from you; but let him know my opinion of him: for as he does not ſhew himſelf much in the world, he ſhould have the praiſe of the few who hear of him."’

On Tueſday, July 26, I found Mr. Johnſon alone. It was a very wet day, and I again complained of the diſagreeable effects of ſuch weather. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, this is all imagination, which phyſicians encourage; for man lives in air, as a fiſh lives in water; ſo that if the atmoſphere preſs heavy from above, there is an equal reſiſtance from below. To be ſure, bad weather is hard upon people who are obliged to be abroad; and men cannot labour ſo well in the open air in bad weather, as in good: but, Sir, a ſmith or a tailor, whoſe work is within doors, will ſurely do as much in rainy weather as in fair. Some very delicate frames, indeed, may be affected by wet weather, but not com⯑mon conſtitutions."’

We talked of the education of children; and I aſked him what he thought was beſt to teach them firſt. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, it is no matter what you teach them firſt, any more than what leg you ſhall put into your breeches firſt. Sir, you may ſtand diſputing which is beſt to put in firſt, but in the mean time your breech is bare. Sir, while you are conſidering which of two things you ſhould teach your child firſt, another boy has learnt them both."’

On Thurſday, July 28, we again ſupped in private at the Turk's Head coffee-houſe. JOHNSON. ‘"Swift has a higher reputation than he deſerves. His excellence is ſtrong ſenſe; for his humour, though very well, is not remarkably good. I doubt whether the 'Tale of a Tub' be his; for he never owned it, and it is much above his uſual manner ⁶."’

[246] ‘"Thomſon, I think, had as much of the poet about him as moſt writers. Every thing appeared to him through the medium of his favourite purſuit. He could not have viewed thoſe two candles burning but with a poetical eye."’

‘"Has not—a great deal of wit, Sir?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"I do not think ſo, Sir. He is, indeed, continually attempting wit, but he fails. And I have no more pleaſure in hearing a man attempting wit and failing, than in ſeeing a man trying to leap over a ditch and tumbling into it."’

He laughed heartily, when I mentioned to him a ſaying of his concerning Mr. Thomas Sheridan, which Foote took a wicked pleaſure to circulate. ‘"Why, Sir, Sherry is dull, naturally dull; but it muſt have taken him a great deal of pains to become what we now ſee him. Such an exceſs of ſtupidity, Sir, is not in Nature."’—‘"So (ſaid he,) I allowed him all his own merit."’

He now added, ‘"Sheridan cannot bear me. I bring his declamation to a point. I aſk him a plain queſtion, 'What do you mean to teach?' Beſides, Sir, what influence can Mr. Sheridan have upon the language of this great country by his narrow exertions. Sir, it is burning a farthing candle at Dover, to ſhew light at Calais."’

Talking of a young man who was uneaſy from thinking that he was very deficient in learning and knowledge, he ſaid, ‘"A man has no reaſon to com⯑plain who holds a middle place and has many below him; and perhaps he has not ſix of his years above him;—perhaps not one. Though he may not know any thing perfectly, the general maſs of knowledge that he has acquired is conſiderable. Time will do for him all that is wanting."’

The converſation then took a philoſophical turn. JOHNSON. ‘"Human experience, which is conſtantly contradicting theory, is the great teſt of truth. A ſyſtem, built upon the diſcoveries of a great many minds, is always of more ſtrength, than what is produced by the mere workings of any one mind, which, of itſelf, can do little. There is not ſo poor a book in the world but what would be a prodigious effort were it wrought out entirely by a ſingle mind, without the aid of prior inveſtigators. The French writers are ſuper⯑ficial, becauſe they are not ſcholars, and ſo proceed upon the mere power of their own minds; and we ſee how very little power they have."’

‘"As to the Chriſtian religion, Sir, beſides the ſtrong evidence which we have for it, there is a balance in its favour from the number of great men who have been convinced of its truth, after a ſerious conſideration of the queſtion. Grotius was an acute man, a lawyer, a man accuſtomed to examine [247] evinence, and he was convinced. Grotius was not a recluſe, but a man of the world, who certainly had no bias to the ſide of religion. Sir Iſaac Newton ſet out an infidel, and came to be a very firm believer."’

He this evening again recommended to me to perambulate Spain ⁷. I ſaid it would amuſe him to get a letter from me dated at Salamancha. JOHNSON. ‘"I love the Univerſity of Salamancha; for when the Spaniards were in doubt as to the lawfulneſs of their conquering America, the Univerſity of Salamancha gave it as their opinion that it was not lawful."’ He ſpoke this with great emotion, and with that generous warmth which dictated the lines in his ‘"London,"’ againſt Spaniſh encroachment.

I expreſſed my opinion of my friend Derrick as but a poor writer. JOHNSON. ‘"To be ſure, Sir, he is; but you are to conſider that his being a literary man has got for him all that he has. It has made him King of Bath. Sir, he has nothing to ſay for himſelf but that he is a writer. Had he not been a writer, he muſt have been ſweeping the croſſings in the ſtreets, and aſking halfpence from every body that paſt."’

In juſtice, however, to the memory of Mr. Derrick, who was my firſt tutor in the ways of London, and ſhewed me the town in its variety of depart⯑ments, both literary and ſportive, the particulars of which Dr. Johnſon adviſed me to put in writing, it is proper to mention what Johnſon, at a ſub⯑ſequent period, ſaid of him both as a writer and an editor. ‘"Sir, I have often ſaid, that if Derrick's letters had been written by one of a more eſtabliſhed name, they would have been thought very pretty letters ⁸."’ And, ‘"I ſent Derrick to Dryden's relations to gather materials for his life; and I believe he got all that I myſelf ſhould have got ⁹."’

Poor Derrick! I remember him with kindneſs. Yet I cannot with-hold from my readers a pleaſant humourous ſally which could not have hurt him had he been alive, and now is perfectly harmleſs. In his collection of poems, there is one upon entering the harbour of Dublin, his native city, after a long abſence. It begins thus:

[248] And after a ſolemn reflection on his being ‘"numbered with forgotten dead,"’ there is the following ſtanza:

Which was thus happily parodied by Mr. John Home, to whom we owe the beautiful and pathetick tragedy of ‘"Douglas:"’

I doubt much whether the amiable and ingenious authour of theſe burleſque lines will recollect them, for they were produced extempore one evening while he and I were walking together in the dining-room at Eglintoune caſtle, in 1760, and I have never mentioned them to him ſince.

Johnſon ſaid once to me, ‘"Sir, I honour Derrick for his preſence of mind. One night, when Floyd ¹, another poor authour, was wandering about the ſtreets in the night, he found Derrick faſt aſleep upon a bulk; upon being ſuddenly waked, Derrick ſtarted up, 'My dear Floyd, I am ſorry to ſee you in this deſtitute ſtate; will you go home with me to my lodgings?"’

I again begged his advice as to my method of ſtudy at Utrecht. ‘"Come, (ſaid he) let us make a day of it. Let us go down to Greenwich and dine, and talk of it there."’ The following Saturday was fixed for this excurſion.

As we walked along the Strand to-night, arm in arm, a woman of the town accoſted us, in the uſual enticing manner. ‘"No, no, my girl, (ſaid Johnſon,) it won't do."’ He, however, did not treat her with harſhneſs, and we talked of the wretched life of ſuch women; and agreed, that much more miſery than happineſs, upon the whole, is produced by illicit commerce between the ſexes.

On Saturday, July 30, Dr. Johnſon and I took a ſculler at the Temple⯑ſtairs, and ſet out for Greenwich. I aſked him if he really thought a know⯑ledge of the Greek and Latin languages an eſſential requiſite to a good education. JOHNSON. ‘"Moſt certainly, Sir. For thoſe who know them have a very great advantage over thoſe who do not. Nay, Sir, it is won⯑derful what a difference learning makes upon people even in the common [249] intercourſe of life, which does not appear to be much connected with it."’ ‘"And yet, (ſaid I) people will go through the world very well, and carry on the buſineſs of life to good advantage, without learning."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, that may be true in caſes where learning cannot poſſibly be of any uſe; for inſtance, this boy rows us as well without learning, as if he could ſing the ſong of Orpheus to the Argonauts, who were the firſt ſailors."’ He then called to the boy, ‘"What would you give, my lad, to know about the Argonauts?"’ ‘"Sir, (ſaid the boy,) I would give what I have."’ Johnſon was much pleaſed with his anſwer, and we gave him a double fare. Mr. Johnſon then turning to me, ‘"Sir, (ſaid he) a deſire of knowledge is the natural feeling of mankind; and every human being, whoſe mind is not debauched, will be willing to give all that he has to get knowledge."’

We landed at the Old Swan, and walked to Billingſgate, where we took oars, and moved ſmoothly along the ſilver Thames. It was a very fine day. We were entertained with the immenſe number and variety of ſhips that were lying at anchor, and with the beautiful country on each ſide of the river.

I talked of preaching, and of the great ſucceſs which thoſe called Methodiſts² have. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, it is owing to their expreſſing themſelves in a plain [250] and familiar manner, which is the only way to do good to the common people, and which clergymen of genius and learning ought to do from a principle of duty, when it is ſuited to their congregations; a practice, for which they will be praiſed by men of ſenſe. To inſiſt againſt drunkenneſs as a crime, becauſe it debaſes Reaſon, the nobleſt faculty of man, would be of no ſervice to the common people: but to tell them that they may die in a fit of drunkenneſs, and ſhew them how dreadful that would be, cannot fail to make a deep impreſſion. Sir, when your Scotch clergy give up their homely manner, religion will ſoon decay in that country."’ Let this obſervation, as Johnſon meant it, be ever remembered.

I was much pleaſed to find myſelf with Johnſon at Greenwich, which he celebrates in his ‘"London"’ as a favourite ſcene. I had the poem in my pocket, and read the lines aloud with enthuſiaſm:

He remarked that the ſtructure of Greenwich hoſpital was too magnificent for a place of charity, and that its parts were too much detached to make one great whole.

Buchanan, he ſaid, was a very fine poet; and obſerved, that he was the firſt who complimented a lady, by aſcribing to her the different perfections of the heathen goddeſſes; but that Johnſton improved upon this, by making his lady, at the ſame time, free from their defects.

He dwelt upon Buchanan's elegant verſes to Mary Queen of Scots, Nympha Caledoniae, &c. and ſpoke with enthuſiaſm of the beauty of Latin verſe. ‘"All the modern languages (ſaid he) cannot furniſh ſo melodious a line as 'Formoſam reſonare doces Amarillida ſilvas."’

Afterwards he entered upon the buſineſs of the day, which was to give me his advice as to a courſe of ſtudy. And here I am to mention with much [251] regret, that my record of what he ſaid is miſerably ſcanty. I recollect with admiration an animating blaze of eloquence, which rouſed every intellectual power in me to the higheſt pitch, but muſt have dazzled me ſo much, that my memory could not preſerve the ſubſtance of his diſcourſe; for the note which I find of it is no more than this:—‘"He ran over the grand ſcale of human knowledge; adviſed me to ſelect ſome particular branch to excel in, but to acquire a little of every kind."’ The defect of my minutes will be fully ſupplied by a long letter upon the ſubject which he favoured me with, after I had been ſome time at Utrecht, and which my readers will have the pleaſure to peruſe in its proper place.

We walked in the evening in Greenwich Park. He aſked me, I ſuppoſe by way of trying my diſpoſition, ‘"Is not this very fine?"’ Having no exqui⯑ſite reliſh of the beauties of Nature, and being more delighted with ‘"the buſy hum of men,"’ I anſwered, ‘"Yes, Sir; but not equal to Fleet-ſtreet."’ JOHNSON. ‘"You are right, Sir."’

I am aware that many of my readers may cenſure my want of taſte. Let me, however, ſhelter myſelf under the authority of a very faſhionable Baronet in the brilliant world, who, on his attention being called to the fragrance of a May evening in the country, obſerved, ‘"This may be very well; but, for my part, I prefer the ſmell of a flambeau at the play-houſe."’

We ſtaid ſo long at Greenwich, that our ſail up the river, in our return to London, was by no means ſo pleaſant as in the morning; for the night air was ſo cold that it made me ſhiver. I was the more ſenſible of it from having ſat up all the night before, recollecting and writing in my journal what I thought worthy of preſervation; an exertion, which, during the firſt part of my acquaintance with Johnſon, I frequently made. I remember having ſat up four nights in one week, without being much incommoded in the day time.

Johnſon, whoſe robuſt frame was not in the leaſt affected by the cold, ſcolded me, as if my ſhivering had been a paltry effeminacy, ſaying, ‘"Why do you ſhiver?"’ Sir William Scott, of the Commons, told me, that when he complained of a head-ach in the poſt-chaiſe, as they were travelling toge⯑ther to Scotland, Johnſon treated him in the ſame manner: ‘"At your age, Sir, I had no head-ach."’ It is not eaſy to make allowance for ſenſations in others, which we ourſelves have not at the time. We muſt all have experienced how very differently we are affected by the complaints of our neighbours, when we are well and when we are ill. In full health, we can ſcarcely believe that they ſuffer much; ſo faint is the image of pain upon our imagination: when ſoftened by ſickneſs, we readily ſympathize with the ſufferings of others.

[252] We concluded the day at the Turk's Head coffee-houſe very ſocially. He was pleaſed to liſten to a particular account which I gave him of my family, and of its hereditary eſtate, as to the extent and population of which he aſked queſtions, and made calculations; recommending, at the ſame time, a liberal kindneſs to the tenantry, as people over whom the proprietor was placed by Providence. He took delight in hearing my deſcription of the romantick ſeat of my anceſtors. ‘"I muſt be there, Sir, (ſaid he) and we will live in the old caſtle; and if there is not a room in it remaining, we will build one."’ I was highly flattered, but could ſcarcely indulge a hope that Auchinleck would indeed be honoured by his preſence, and celebrated by a deſcription, as it afterwards was, in his ‘"Journey to the Weſtern Iſlands."’

After we had again talked of my ſetting out for Holland, he ſaid ‘"I muſt ſee thee out of England: I will accompany you to Harwich."’ I could not find words to expreſs what I felt upon this unexpected and very great mark of his affectionate regard.

Next day, Sunday, July 31, I told him I had been that morning at a meeting of the people called Quakers, where I had heard a woman preach. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hinder legs. It is not done well; but you are ſurprized to find it done at all."’

On Tueſday, Auguſt 2, (the day of my departure from London having been fixed for the 5th,) Dr. Johnſon did me the honour to paſs a part of the morning with me at my Chambers. He ſaid, that ‘"he always felt an incli⯑nation to do nothing."’ I obſerved, that it was ſtrange to think that the moſt indolent man in Britain had written the moſt laborious work, THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY.

I mentioned an imprudent publication, by a certain friend of his, at an early period of life, and aſked him if he thought it would hurt him. JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir; not much. It may, perhaps, be mentioned at an election."’

I had now made good my title to be a privileged man, and was carried by him in the evening to drink tea with Miſs Williams, whom, though under the misfortune of having loſt her ſight, I found to be agreeable in conver⯑ſation; for ſhe had a variety of literature, and expreſſed herſelf well; but her peculiar value was the intimacy in which ſhe had long lived with Johnſon, by which ſhe was well acquainted with his habits, and knew how to lead him on to talk.

After tea he carried me to what he called his walk, which was a long narrow paved court in the neighbourhood, overſhadowed by ſome trees. There we ſauntered a conſiderable time; and I complained to him that my love of [253] London and of his company was ſuch, that I ſhrunk almoſt from the thought of going away even to travel, which is generally ſo much deſired by young men. He rouſed me by manly and ſpirited converſation. He adviſed me, when ſettled in any place abroad, to ſtudy with an eagerneſs after know⯑ledge, and to apply to Greek an hour every day; and when I was moving about, to read diligently the great book of mankind.

On Wedneſday, Auguſt 3, we had our laſt ſocial evening at the Turk's Head coffee-houſe, before my ſetting out for foreign parts. I had the miſ⯑fortune, before we parted, to irritate him unintentionally. I mentioned to him how common it was in the world to tell abſurd ſtories of him, and to aſcribe to him very ſtrange ſayings. JOHNSON. ‘"What do they make me ſay, Sir?"’ BOSWELL. ‘"Why, Sir, as an inſtance very ſtrange indeed, (laugh⯑ing heartily as I ſpoke,) David Hume told me, you ſaid that you would ſtand before a battery of cannon, to reſtore the Convocation to its full powers."’—Little did I apprehend that he had actually ſaid this; but I was ſoon convinced of my errour; for, with a determined look, he thundered out, ‘"And would I not, Sir? Shall the Preſbyterian Kirk of Scotland have its General Aſſem⯑bly, and the Church of England be denied its Convocation?"’ He was walking up and down the room while I told him the anecdote; but when he uttered this exploſion of high-church zeal, he had come cloſe to my chair, and his eyes flaſhed with indignation. I bowed to the ſtorm, and diverted the force of it, by leading him to expatiate on the influence which religion derived from maintaining the church with great external reſpectability.

I muſt not omit to mention that he this year wrote ‘"The Life of Aſcham, †"’ and the Dedication to the Earl of Shafteſbury, † prefixed to the edition of that writer's Engliſh works, publiſhed by Mr. Bennet.

On Friday, Auguſt 5, we ſet out early in the morning in the Harwich ſtage coach. A fat elderly gentlewoman, and a young Dutchman, ſeemed the moſt inclined among us to converſation. At the inn where we dined, the gentle⯑woman ſaid that ſhe had done her beſt to educate her children; and, particu⯑larly, that ſhe had never ſuffered them to be a moment idle. JOHNSON. ‘"I wiſh, Madam, you would educate me too; for I have been an idle fellow all my life."’ ‘"I am ſure, Sir, (ſaid ſhe) you have not been idle."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Nay, Madam, it is very true; and that gentleman there (pointing to me,) has been idle. He was idle at Edinburgh. His father ſent him to Glaſgow, where he continued to be idle. He then came to London, where he has been very idle; and now he is going to Utrecht, where he will be as idle as [254] ever."’ I aſked him privately how he could expoſe me ſo. JOHNSON. ‘"Poh, poh! (ſaid he) they knew nothing about you, and will think of it no more."’ In the afternoon the gentlewoman talked violently againſt the Roman Catho⯑licks, and of the horrours of the Inquiſition. To the utter aſtoniſhment of all the paſſengers but myſelf, who knew that he could talk upon any ſide of a queſtion, he defended the Inquiſition, and maintained, that ‘"falſe doctrine ſhould be checked on its firſt appearance; that the civil power ſhould unite with the church in puniſhing thoſe who dared to attack the eſtabliſhed religion, and that ſuch only were puniſhed by the Inquiſition."’ He had in his pocket ‘"Pomponius Mela de ſitu Orbis,"’ in which he read occaſionally, and ſeemed very intent upon ancient geography. Though by no means niggardly, his attention to what was generally right was ſo minute, that having obſerved at one of the ſtages that I oſtentatiouſly gave a ſhilling to the coachman, when the cuſtom was for each paſſenger to give only ſix-pence, he took me aſide and ſcolded me, ſaying that what I had done would make the coachman diſſatisfied with all the reſt of the paſſengers, who gave him no more than his due. This was a juſt reprimand; for in whatever way a man may indulge his generoſity or his vanity in ſpending his money, for the ſake of others he ought not to raiſe the price of any article for which there is a conſtant demand.

He talked of Mr. Blacklock's poetry, ſo far as it was deſcriptive of viſible objects; and obſerved, that ‘"as its authour had the misfortune to be blind, we may be abſolutely ſure that ſuch paſſages are combinations of what he has remembered of the works of other writers who could ſee. That fooliſh fellow Spence has laboured to explain philoſophically how Blacklock may have done, by means of his own faculties, what it is impoſſible he ſhould do. The ſolution, as I have given it, is plain. Suppoſe, I know a man to be ſo lame that he is abſolutely incapable to move himſelf, and I find him in a different room from that in which I left him; ſhall I puzzle myſelf with idle conjectures, that, perhaps, his nerves have by ſome unknown change all at once become effective? No, Sir; it is clear how he got into a different room. He was carried."’

Having ſtopped a night at Colcheſter, Johnſon talked of that town with veneration, for having ſtood a ſiege for Charles the Firſt. The Dutch⯑man alone now remained with us. He ſpoke Engliſh tolerably well; and thinking to recommend himſelf to us by expatiating on the ſuperiority of the criminal juriſprudence of this country over that of Holland, he inveighed againſt the barbarity of putting an accuſed perſon to the torture, in order to force a confeſſion. But Johnſon was as ready for this, as for the Inquiſition. [255] ‘"Why, Sir, you do not, I find, underſtand the law of your own country. The torture in Holland is conſidered as a favour to an accuſed perſon; for no man is put to the torture there, unleſs there is as much evidence againſt him as would amount to conviction in England. An accuſed perſon among you, therefore, has one chance more to eſcape puniſhment, than thoſe who are tried among us."’

At ſupper this night he talked of good eating with uncommon ſatisfaction. ‘"Some people (ſaid he,) have a fooliſh way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind my belly very ſtudiouſly, and very carefully; for I look upon it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind any thing elſe."’ He now appeared to me Jean Bull philoſophe, and he was, for the moment, not only ſerious but vehement. Yet I have heard him, upon other occaſions, talk with great contempt of people who were anxious to gratify their palates; and the 206th number of his Rambler is a maſterly eſſay againſt guloſity. His practice, indeed, I muſt acknowledge, may be con⯑ſidered as caſting the balance of his different opinions upon this ſubject; for I never knew any man who reliſhed good eating more than he did. When at table, he was totally abſorbed in the buſineſs of the moment; his looks ſeemed rivetted to his plate; nor would he, unleſs when in very high company, ſay one word, or even pay the leaſt attention to what was ſaid by others, till he had ſatisfied his appetite, which was ſo fierce, and indulged with ſuch intenſe⯑neſs, that while in the act of eating, the veins of his forehead ſwelled, and generally a ſtrong perſpiration was viſible. To thoſe whoſe ſenſations were delicate, this could not but be diſguſting; and it was doubtleſs not very ſuit⯑able to the character of a philoſopher, who ſhould be diſtinguiſhed by ſelf⯑command. But it muſt be owned, that Johnſon, though he could be rigidly abſtemious, was not a temperate man either in eating or drinking. He could refrain, but he could not uſe moderately. He told me, that he had faſted two days without inconvenience, and that he had never been hungry but once. They who beheld with wonder how much he eat upon all occaſions when his dinner was to his taſte, could not eaſily conceive what he muſt have meant by hunger; and not only was he remarkable for the extraordinary quantity which he eat, but he was, or affected to be, a man of very nice diſcernment in the ſcience of cookery. He uſed to deſcant critically on the diſhes which had been at table where he had dined or ſupped, and to recollect very minutely what he had liked. I remember, when he was in Scotland, his praiſing ‘"Gordon's palates,"’ (a diſh of palates at the Honourable Alexander Gordon's,) with a warmth of expreſſion which might have done honour to more important [256] ſubjects. ‘"As for—'s imitation of a made diſh it was a wretched attempt."’ He about the ſame time was ſo much diſpleaſed with the performances of a nobleman's French cook, that he exclaimed with vehemence, ‘"I'd throw ſuch a raſcal into the river;"’ and he then proceeded to alarm a lady at whoſe houſe he was to ſup, by the following manifeſto of his ſkill: ‘"I, Madam, who live at a variety of good tables, am a much better judge of cookery, than any perſon who has a very tolerable cook, but lives much at home; for his palate is gradually adapted to the taſte of his cook; whereas, Madam, in trying by a wider range, I can more exquiſitely judge."’ When invited to dine, even with an intimate friend, he was not pleaſed if ſomething better than a plain dinner was not prepared for him. I have heard him ſay on ſuch an occaſion, ‘"This was a good dinner enough, to be ſure; but it was not a dinner to aſk a man to."’ On the other hand, he was wont to expreſs, with great glee, his ſatiſ⯑faction when he had been entertained quite to his mind. One day when he had dined with his neighbour and landlord in Bolt-court, Mr. Allen, the printer, whoſe old houſekeeper had ſtudied his taſte in every thing, he pro⯑nounced this eulogy, ‘"Sir, we could not have had a better dinner had there been a Synod of Cooks."’

While we were left by ourſelves, after the Dutchman had gone to bed, Dr. Johnſon talked of that ſtudied behaviour which many have recommended and practiſed. He diſapproved of it; and ſaid, ‘"I never conſidered whether I ſhould be a grave man, or a merry man, but juſt let inclination, for the time, have its courſe."’

He flattered me with ſome hopes that he would, in the courſe of the follow⯑ing ſummer, come over to Holland, and accompany me in a tour through the Netherlands.

I teized him with fanciful apprehenſions of unhappineſs. A moth having fluttered round the candle, and burnt itſelf, he laid hold of this little inci⯑dent to admoniſh me; ſaying, with a ſly look, and in a ſolemn but quiet tone, ‘"That creature was its own tormentor, and I believe its name was BOSWELL."’

Next day we got to Harwich to dinner; and my paſſage in the packet⯑boat to Helvoetſluys being ſecured, and my baggage put on board, we dined at our inn by ourſelves. I happened to ſay it would be terrible if he ſhould not find a ſpeedy opportunity of returning to London, and be confined to ſo dull a place. JOHNSON▪ ‘"Don't, Sir, accuſtom yourſelf to uſe big words for little matters. It would not be terrible, though I were to be detained ſome time here."’ The practice of uſing words of diſproportionate magnitude, [257] tude, is, no doubt, too frequent every where; but, I think, moſt remarkable among the French, of which, all who have travelled in France muſt have been ſtruck with innumerable inſtances.

We went and looked at the church, and having gone into it and walked up to the altar, Johnſon, whoſe piety was conſtant and fervent, ſent me to my knees, ſaying, ‘"Now that you are going to leave your native country, recom⯑mend yourſelf to the protection of your Creator and Redeemer."’

After we came out of the church, we ſtood talking for ſome time together of Biſhop Berkeley's ingenious ſophiſtry to prove the non-exiſtence of matter, and that every thing in the univerſe is merely ideal. I obſerved, that though we are ſatisfied his doctrine is not true, it is impoſſible to refute it. I never ſhall forget the alacrity with which Johnſon anſwered, ſtriking his foot with mighty force againſt a large ſtone, till he rebounded from it, ‘"I refute it thus."’ This was a ſtout exemplification of the firſt truths of Pere Bouffier, or the original principles of Reid and of Beattie; without admitting which, we can no more argue in metaphyſicks, than we can argue in mathematicks without axioms. To me it is not conceivable how Berkeley can be anſwered by pure reaſoning. But I know that the nice and difficult taſk was to have been under⯑taken by one of the moſt luminous minds of the preſent age; had not politicks ‘"turned him from calm philoſophy aſide."’ What an admirable diſplay of ſubtilty, united with brilliance, might his contending with Berkeley have afforded us! How muſt we, when we reflect on the loſs of ſuch an intel⯑lectual feaſt, regret that he ſhould be characteriſed as the man,

My revered friend walked down with me to the beach, where we embraced and parted with tenderneſs, and engaged to correſpond by letters. I ſaid, ‘"I hope, Sir, you will not forget me in my abſence."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Nay, Sir, it is more likely you ſhould forget me, than that I ſhould forget you."’ As the veſſel put out to ſea, I kept my eyes upon him for a conſiderable time, while he remained rolling his majeſtick frame in his uſual manner; at laſt I perceived him walk back into the town, and he diſappeared.

Utrecht ſeeming at firſt very dull to me, after the animated ſcenes of London, my ſpirits were grievouſly affected; and I wrote to Johnſon a plaintive and deſponding letter, to which he paid no regard. Afterwards, when I had acquired a firmer tone of mind, I wrote him a ſecond letter, [258] expreſſing much anxiety to hear from him. At length I received the follow⯑ing epiſtle, which was of important ſervice to me, and, I truſt, will be ſo alſo to many others.

I am ſorry to obſerve, that neither in my own minutes, nor in my letters to Johnſon which have been preſerved by him, can I find any information how the poor are maintained in the Seven Provinces. But I ſhall extract from one of my letters what I learnt concerning the other ſubject of his curioſity.

‘"I have made all poſſible enquiry with reſpect to the Friſick language, and find that it has been leſs cultivated than any other of the northern dialects; a certain proof of which is their deficiency of books. Of the old Friſick there are no remains, except ſome ancient laws preſerved by Schotanus in his 'Beſchryvinge van die Heerlykheid van Frieſland;' and his 'Hiſtoria Friſica.' I have not yet been able to find theſe books. Profeſſor Trotz, who formerly was of the Univerſity of Vranyken, in Frieſland, and is at preſent preparing an edition of all the Friſick laws, gave me this information. Of the modern Friſick, or what is ſpoken by the boors at this day, I have procured a ſpeci⯑men. It is 'Giſbert Japix's Rymelerie,' which is the only book that they have. It is amazing, that they have no tranſlation of the bible, no treatiſes of devotion, nor even any of the ballads and ſtory-books which are ſo agree⯑able to country people. You ſhall have Japix by the firſt convenient opportu⯑nity. I doubt not to pick up Schotanus. Mynheer Trotz has promiſed me his aſſiſtance."’

Early in 1764 Johnſon paid a viſit to the Langton family, at their ſeat of Langton, in Lincolnſhire, where he paſſed ſome time, much to his ſatisfac⯑tion. His friend Bennet Langton, it will not be doubted, did every thing in his power to make the place agreeable to ſo illuſtrious a gueſt; and the elder [261] Mr. Langton and his lady, being fully capable of underſtanding his value, were not wanting in attention. He, however, told me, that old Mr. Langton, though a man of conſiderable learning, had ſo little allowance to make for his occaſional ‘"laxity of talk,"’ that becauſe in the courſe of diſcuſſion he ſome⯑times mentioned what might be ſaid in favour of the peculiar tenets of the Romiſh church, he went to his grave believing him to be of that com⯑munion.

Johnſon, during his ſtay at Langton, had the advantage of a good library, and ſaw ſeveral gentlemen of the neighbourhood. I have obtained from Mr. Langton the following particulars of this period.

He was now fully convinced that he could not have been ſatisfied with a country living; for, talking of a reſpectable clergyman in Lincolnſhire, he obſerved, ‘"This man, Sir, fills up the duties of his life well. I approve of him, but could not imitate him."’

To a lady who endeavoured to vindicate herſelf from blame for neglecting ſocial attention to worthy neighbours, by ſaying, ‘"I would go to them if it would do them any good;"’ he ſaid, ‘"What good, Madam, do you expect to have in your power to do them? It is ſhewing them reſpect, and that is doing them good."’

So ſocially accommodating was he, that once when Mr. Langton and he were driving together in a coach, and Mr. Langton complained of being ſick, he inſiſted that they ſhould go out, and ſit on the back of it in the open air, which they did. And being ſenſible how ſtrange the appearance muſt be, obſerved, that a countryman whom they ſaw in a field would probably be thinking, ‘"If theſe two madmen ſhould come down, what would become of me?"’

Soon after his return to London, which was in February, was founded that club which exiſted long without a name, but at Mr. Garrick's funeral became diſtinguiſhed by the title of THE LITERARY CLUB. Sir Joſhua Reynolds had the merit of being the firſt propoſer of it, to which Johnſon acceded, and the original members were, Sir Joſhua Reynolds, Dr. Johnſon, Mr. Edmund Burke, Dr. Nugent, Mr. Beauclerk, Mr. Langton, Dr. Goldſmith, Mr. Chamier, and Sir John Hawkins. They met at the Turk's Head, in Gerard⯑ſtreet, Soho, one evening in every week, at ſeven, and generally continued their converſation till a pretty late hour. This club has been gradually increaſed, and inſtead of aſſembling in the evening, they now dine together at a tavern in Dover⯑ſtreet, once a fortnight, during the meeting of Parliament. Between the time of its formation, and the time at which this work is paſſing through the [262] preſs, (1790,) the following perſons, now dead, were members of it: Mr. Dunning, (afterwards Lord Aſhburton,) Mr. Dyer, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Shipley Biſhop of St. Aſaph, Mr. Veſey, and Mr. Thomas Warton. The preſent members are, Sir Joſhua Reynolds, Mr. Burke, Mr. Langton, Dr. Percy Biſhop of Dromore, Dr. Barnard Biſhop of Killaloe, Dr. Marlay Biſhop of Clonfert, Mr. Fox, Dr. George Fordyce, Sir William Scott, Sir Joſeph Banks, Sir Charles Bunbury, Mr. Windham of Norfolk, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Gibbon, Dr. Adam Smith, Lord Charlemont, Sir Robert Chambers, Sir William Jones, Mr. Colman, Mr. Steevens, Dr. Burney, Dr. Joſeph Warton, Mr. Malone, Lord Oſſory, Lord Spencer, Lord Lucan, Lord Palmerſton, Lord Elliot, Lord Macartney, Mr. Richard Burke, junior, Sir William Hamilton, Dr. Warren, Mr. Courtenay, and the writer of this account.

Sir John Hawkins³ repreſents himſelf as a ‘"ſeceder"’ from this ſociety, and aſſigns as the reaſon of his ‘"withdrawing"’ himſelf from it, that its late hours were inconſiſtent with his domeſtick arrangements. In this he is not accurate; for the fact was, that he one evening attacked Mr. Burke in ſo rude a manner, that all the company teſtified their diſpleaſure; and at their next meeting his reception was ſuch, that he never came again ⁴.

He is equally inaccurate with reſpect to Mr. Garrick, of whom he ſays, ‘"he truſted that the leaſt intimation of a deſire to come among us, would procure him a ready admiſſion; but in this he was miſtaken. Johnſon con⯑ſulted me upon it; and when I could find no objection to receiving him, exclaimed,—'He will diſturb us by his buffoonery;'—and afterwards ſo managed matters, that he was never formally propoſed, and, by conſequence, never admitted ⁵."’

In juſtice both to Mr. Garrick and Dr. Johnſon, I think it neceſſary to rectify this miſ-ſtatement. The truth is, that not very long after the inſti⯑tution of our club, Sir Joſhua Reynolds was ſpeaking of it to Garrick. ‘"I like it much, (ſaid he,) I think I ſhall be of you."’ When Sir Joſhua men⯑tioned this to Dr. Johnſon, he was much diſpleaſed with the actor's conceit. ‘"He'll be of us, (ſaid Johnſon,) how does he know we will permit him? The firſt duke in England has no right to hold ſuch language."’ However, when Garrick was regularly propoſed ſome time afterwards, Johnſon, though he had taken a momentary offence at his arrogance, warmly and kindly ſupported him, and he was accordingly elected, was a moſt agreeable member, and continued to attend our meetings to the time of his death.

[263] Mrs. Piozzi⁶ has alſo given a ſimilar miſrepreſentation of Johnſon's treat⯑ment of Garrick in this particular, as if he had uſed theſe contemptuous expreſſions: ‘"If Garrick does apply, I'll black-ball him.—Surely, one ought to ſit in a ſociety like ours, 'Unelbow'd by a gameſter, pimp, or player."’

I am happy to be enabled by ſuch unqueſtionable authority as that of Sir Joſhua Reynolds, as well as from my own knowledge, to vindicate at once the heart of Johnſon and the ſocial merit of Garrick.

In this year, except what he may have done in reviſing Shakſpeare, we do not find that he laboured much in literature. He wrote a review of Grainger's ‘"Sugar Cane, a Poem,"’ in the London Chronicle. He told me, that Dr. Percy wrote the greateſt part of this review; but, I imagine, he did not recollect it diſtinctly, for it appears to be moſtly, if not altogether, his own. He alſo wrote in the Critical Review, an account† of Goldſmith's excellent poem, ‘"The Traveller."’

The eaſe and independence to which he had at laſt attained by royal muni⯑ficence, increaſed his natural indolence. In his ‘"Meditations"’ he thus accuſes himſelf: ‘"GOOD FRIDAY, April 20, 1764. I have made no reforma⯑tion; I have lived totally uſeleſs, more ſenſual in thought, and more addicted to wine and meat ⁷."’ And next morning he thus feelingly complains: ‘"My indolence, ſince my laſt reception of the ſacrament, has ſunk into groſſer ſluggiſhneſs, and my diſſipation ſpread into wilder negligence. My thoughts have been clouded with ſenſuality; and, except that from the beginning of this year I have, in ſome meaſure, forborne exceſs of ſtrong drink, my appetites have predominated over my reaſon. A kind of ſtrange oblivion has over⯑ſpread me, ſo that I know not what has become of the laſt year; and perceive that incidents and intelligence paſs over me, without leaving any impreſſion."’ He then ſolemnly ſays, ‘"This is not the life to which heaven is promiſed ⁸;"’ and he earneſtly reſolves on amendment.

It was his cuſtom to obſerve certain days with a pious abſtraction; viz. New-year's-day, the day of his wiſe's death, Good Friday, Eaſter-day, and his own birth-day. He this year ſays, ‘"I have now ſpent fifty-five years in reſolving; having, from the earlieſt time almoſt that I can remember, been forming ſchemes of a better life. I have done nothing. The need of doing, therefore, is preſſing, ſince the time of doing is ſhort. O GOD, grant me to [264] reſolve aright, and to keep my reſolutions, for JESUS CHRIST'S ſake. Amen ⁹."’ Such a tenderneſs of conſcience, ſuch a fervent deſire of improvement, will rarely be found. It is, ſurely, not decent in thoſe who are hardened in indif⯑ference to ſpiritual improvement, to treat this pious anxiety of Johnſon with contempt.

About this time he was afflicted with a very ſevere return of the hypochon⯑driack diſorder, which was ever lurking about him. He was ſo ill, as, not⯑withſtanding his remarkable love of company, to be entirely averſe to ſociety, the moſt fatal ſymptom of that malady. Dr. Adams told me, that, as an old friend, he was admitted to viſit him, and that he found him in a deplorable ſtate, ſighing, groaning, talking to himſelf, and reſtleſsly walking from room to room. He then uſed this emphatical expreſſion of the miſery which he felt: ‘"I would conſent to have a limb amputated to recover my ſpirits."’

Talking to himſelf was, indeed, one of his ſingularities ever ſince I knew him. I was certain that he was frequently uttering pious ejaculations, for fragments of the Lord's Prayer have been diſtinctly overheard. His friend Mr. Thomas Davies, of whom Churchill ſays,

when Dr. Johnſon muttered ‘"lead us not into temptation,"’ uſed with wag⯑giſh and gallant humour to whiſper Mrs. Davies, ‘"You, my dear, are the cauſe of this."’

He had another particularity, of which none of his friends ever ventured to aſk an explanation. It appeared to me ſome ſuperſtitious habit, which he had contracted early, and from which he had never called upon his reaſon to diſ-entangle him. This was his anxious care to go out or in at a door or paſſage, by a certain number of ſteps from a certain point, or at leaſt ſo as that either his right or his left foot, (I am not certain which,) ſhould conſtantly make the firſt actual movement when he came cloſe to the door or paſſage. Thus I conjecture: for I have, upon innumerable occaſions, obſerved him ſuddenly ſtop, and then ſeem to count his ſteps with a deep earneſtneſs; and when he had neglected or gone wrong in this ſort of magical movement, I have ſeen him go back again, put himſelf in a proper poſture to begin the ceremony, and, having gone through it, break from his abſtrac⯑tion, walk briſkly on, and join his companion. A ſtrange inſtance of ſome⯑thing of this nature, even when on horſeback, happened when he was in the [265] iſle of Sky ¹. Sir Joſhua Reynolds has obſerved him to go a good way about, rather than croſs a particular alley in Leiceſter-fields; but this Sir Joſhua imputed to his having had ſome diſagreeable recollection aſſociated with it.

That the moſt minute ſingularities which belonged to him, and made very obſervable parts of his appearance and manner, may not be omitted, it is requiſite to mention, that while talking or even muſing as he ſat in his chair, he commonly ſhook his head in a tremulous manner, moving his body back⯑wards and forwards, and rubbing his left knee in the ſame direction, with the palm of his hand. In the intervals of articulating he made various ſounds with his mouth, ſometimes as if ruminating, or what is called chewing the cud, ſometimes giving a half whiſtle, ſometimes making his tongue play backwards from the roof of his mouth, as if clucking like a hen, and ſometimes pro⯑truding it againſt his upper gums in front, as if pronouncing quickly under his breath, too, too, too: all this accompanied ſometimes with a thoughtful look, but more frequently with a ſmile.

I am fully aware how very obvious an occaſion I here give for the ſneer⯑ing jocularity of ſuch as have no reliſh of an exact likeneſs; which, to render complete, he who draws it muſt not diſdain the ſlighteſt ſtrokes. But if witlings ſhould be inclined to attack this account, let them have the candour to quote what I have offered in my defence.

He was for ſome time in the ſummer at Eaſton Maudit, Northamptonſhire, on a viſit to the Reverend Dr. Percy, now Biſhop of Dromore. Whatever diſſatisfaction he felt at what he conſidered as a ſlow progreſs in intellectual improvement, we find that his heart was tender, and his affections warm, as appears from the following very kind letter:

Early in the year 1765 he paid a ſhort viſit to the Univerſity of Cam⯑bridge, with his friend Mr. Beauclerk. There is a lively pictureſque account of his behaviour on this viſit, in the Gentleman's Magazine for March 1785, being an extract of a letter from the late Dr. John Sharp. The two following ſentences are very characteriſtical: ‘"He drank his large potations of tea with me, interrupted by many an indignant contradiction, and many a noble ſenti⯑ment."’—‘"Several perſons got into his company the laſt evening at Trinity, where, about twelve, he began to be very great; ſtripped poor Mrs. Macaulay to the very ſkin, then gave her for his toaſt, and drank her in two bumpers."’

The ſtrictneſs of his ſelf-examination and ſcrupulous Chriſtian humility, appear in his pious meditation on Eaſter-day this year.—‘"I purpoſe again to partake of the bleſſed ſacrament; yet when I conſider how vainly I have hitherto reſolved at this annual commemoration of my Saviour's death, to regulate my life by his laws, I am almoſt afraid to renew my reſolutions ²."’

No man was more gratefully ſenſible of any kindneſs done to him than Johnſon. There is a little circumſtance in his diary this year, which ſhews him in a very amiable light.

‘"July 2. I paid Mr. Simpſon³ ten guineas, which he had formerly lent me in my neceſſity, and for which Tetty expreſſed her gratitude."’

‘"July 8. I lent Mr. Simpſon ten guineas more."’

Here he had a pleaſing opportunity of doing the ſame kindneſs to an old friend, which he had formerly received from him. Indeed his liberality as to money was very remarkable. The next article in his diary is, ‘"July 16, I received ſeventy-five pounds. Lent Mr. Davies twenty-five."’

[267] He appears this year to have been ſeized with a temporary fit of ambition, for he had thoughts both of ſtudying law and of engaging in politicks. His ‘"Prayer before the Study of Law"’ is truly admirable:

His prayer in the view of becoming a politician is entitled, ‘"Engaging in POLITICKS with H—n,"’ no doubt his friend, the Right Honourable William Gerard Hamilton, for whom, during a long acquaintance, he had a great eſteem, and to whoſe converſation he once paid this high compli⯑ment: ‘"I am very unwilling to be left alone, Sir, and therefore I go with my company down the firſt pair of ſtairs, in ſome hopes that they may, per⯑haps, return again. I go with you, Sir, as far as the ſtreet-door."’ In what particular department he intended to engage does not appear, nor can Mr. Hamilton explain. His prayer is in general terms. ‘"Enlighten my under⯑ſtanding with knowledge of right, and govern my will by thy laws, that no deceit may miſlead me, nor temptation corrupt me; that I may always endea⯑vour to do good, and hinder evil ⁵."’ There is nothing upon the ſubject in his diary.

This year was diſtinguiſhed by his being introduced into the family of Mr. Thrale, one of the moſt eminent brewers in England, and Member of Par⯑liament for the borough of Southwark. Foreigners are not a little amazed when they hear of brewers, diſtillers, and men in ſimilar departments of trade, held forth as perſons of conſiderable conſequence. In this great commercial country it is natural that a ſituation which produces much wealth ſhould be conſidered as very reſpectable; and, no doubt, honeſt induſtry is entitled to eſteem. But, perhaps, the too rapid advance of men of low extraction tends to leſſen the value of that diſtinction by birth and gentility, which has ever been found beneficial to the grand ſcheme of ſubordination. Johnſon uſed to give this account of the riſe of Mr. Thrale's father: ‘"He worked at ſix ſhillings a week for twenty years in the great brewery, which afterwards was his own. The proprietor of it had an only daughter, who was married to a [268] nobleman. It was not fit that a peer ſhould continue the buſineſs. On the old man's death, therefore, the brewery was to be ſold. To find a pur⯑chaſer for ſo large a property was a difficult matter; and, after ſome time, it was ſuggeſted, that it would be adviſeable to treat with Thrale, a ſenſible, active, honeſt man, who had been long employed in the houſe, and to transfer the whole to him for thirty thouſand pounds, ſecurity being taken upon the property. This was accordingly ſettled. In eleven years Thrale paid the purchaſe-money. He acquired a large fortune, and lived to be Member of Parliament for Southwark. But what was moſt remarkable was the liberality with which he uſed his riches. He gave his ſon and daughters the beſt education. The eſteem which his good conduct procured him from the nobleman who had married his maſter's daughter, made him be treated with much attention; and his ſon, both at ſchool and at the Univerſity of Oxford, aſſociated with young men of the firſt rank. His allowance from his father, after he left college, was ſplendid; no leſs than a thouſand a year. This, in a man who had riſen as old Thrale did, was a very extraordinary inſtance of generoſity. He uſed to ſay, 'If this young dog does not find ſo much after I am gone as he expects, let him remember that he has had a great deal in my own time."’

The ſon, though in affluent circumſtances, had good ſenſe enough to carry on his father's trade, which was of ſuch extent, that I remember he once told me, he would not quit it for an annuity of ten thouſand a year; ‘"Not (ſaid he,) that I get ten thouſand a year by it, but it is an eſtate to a family."’ Having left daughters only, the property was ſold for the immenſe ſum of one hundred and thirty thouſand pounds; a magnificent proof of what may be done by fair trade in no long period of time.

There may be ſome who think that a new ſyſtem of gentility might be eſtabliſhed, upon principles totally different from what have hitherto prevailed. Our preſent heraldry, it may be ſaid, is ſuited to the barbarous times in which it had its origin. It is chiefly founded upon ferocious merit, upon military excellence. Why, in civiliſed times, we may be aſked, ſhould there not be rank and honours, upon principles, which, independent of long cuſtom, are certainly not leſs worthy, and which, when once allowed to be connected with elevation and precedency, would obtain the ſame dignity in our imagi⯑nation? Why ſhould not the knowledge, the ſkill, the expertneſs, the aſſiduity, and the ſpirited hazards of trade and commerce, when crowned with ſucceſs, be entitled to give thoſe flattering diſtinctions by which man⯑kind are ſo univerſally captivated

[269] Such are the ſpecious, but falſe arguments for a propoſition which always will find numerous advocates, in a nation where men are every day ſtarting up from obſcurity to wealth. To refute them is needleſs. The general ſenſe of mankind cries out, with irreſiſtible force, ‘"Un gentilhomme eſt toujours gentilhomme."’

Mr. Thrale had married Miſs Heſther Lynch Saluſbury, of good Welch extraction, a lady of lively talents, improved by education. That Johnſon's introduction into Mr. Thrale's family, which contributed ſo much to the happineſs of his life, was owing to her deſire for his converſation, is the moſt probable and general ſuppoſition. But it is not the truth. Mr. Murphy, who was intimate with Mr. Thrale, having ſpoken very highly of Dr. Johnſon, he was requeſted to make them acquainted. This being mentioned to Johnſon, he accepted of an invitation to dinner at Thrale's, and was ſo much pleaſed with his reception, both by Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, and they ſo much pleaſed with him, that his invitations to their houſe were more and more frequent, till at laſt he became one of the family, and an apartment was appropriated to him, both in their houſe in Southwark, and in their villa at Streatham.

Johnſon had a very ſincere eſteem for Mr. Thrale as a man of excellent principles, a good ſcholar, well ſkilled in trade, of a ſound underſtanding, and of manners ſuch as preſented the character of a plain independent Engliſh 'Squire. As this family will frequently be mentioned in the courſe of the following pages, and as a falſe notion has prevailed that Mr. Thrale was inferiour, and in ſome degree inſignificant, compared with Mrs. Thrale, it may be proper to give a true ſtate of the caſe from the authority of Johnſon himſelf, in his own words.

‘"I know no man (ſaid he,) who is more maſter of his wife and family than Thrale. If he but holds up a finger, he is obeyed. It is a great miſtake to ſuppoſe that ſhe is above him in literary attainments. She is more flippant; but he has ten times her learning: he is a regular ſcholar; but her learning is that of a ſchool-boy in one of the lower forms."’ My readers may naturally wiſh for ſome repreſentation of the figures of this couple. Mr. Thrale was tall, well proportioned, and ſtately. As for Madam, or my Miſtreſs, by which epithets Johnſon uſed to mention Mrs. Thrale, ſhe was ſhort, plump, and briſk. She has herſelf given us a lively view of the idea which Johnſon had of her per⯑ſon, on her appearing before him in a dark-coloured gown: ‘"You little creatures ſhould never wear thoſe ſort of clothes, however; they are unſuit⯑able [270] in every way. What! have not all inſects gay colours ⁶?"’ Mr. Thrale gave his wife a liberal indulgence, both in the choice of their company, and in the mode of entertaining them. He underſtood and valued Johnſon, with⯑out remiſſion, from their firſt acquaintance to the day of his death. Mrs. Thrale was enchanted with Johnſon's converſation for its own ſake, and had alſo a very allowable vanity in appearing to be honoured with the attention of ſo celebrated a man.

Nothing could be more fortunate for Johnſon than this connection. He had at Mr. Thrale's all the comforts and even luxuries of life; his melancholy was diverted, and his irregular habits leſſened by aſſociation with an agreeable and well-ordered family. He was treated with the utmoſt reſpect, and even affection. The vivacity of Mrs. Thrale's literary talk rouſed him to cheerful⯑neſs and exertion, even when they were alone. But this was not often the caſe; for he found here a conſtant ſucceſſion of what gave him the higheſt enjoy⯑ment, the ſociety of the learned, the witty, and the eminent in every way, who were aſſembled in numerous companies, called forth his wonderful powers, and gratified him with admiration, to which no man could be inſenſible.

In the October of this year he at length gave to the world his edition of Shakſpeare, which, if it had no other merit but that of producing his Preface, in which the excellencies and defects of that immortal bard are diſplayed with a maſterly hand, the nation would have had no reaſon to complain. A blind indiſcriminate admiration of Shakſpeare had expoſed the Britiſh nation to the ridicule of foreigners. Johnſon, by candidly admitting the faults of his poet, had the more credit in beſtowing on him deſerved and indiſputable praiſe; and doubtleſs none of all his panegyriſts have done him half ſo much honour. Their praiſe was, like that of a counſel, upon his own ſide of the cauſe: Johnſon's was like' the grave, well conſidered, and impartial opinion of the judge, which falls from his lips with weight, and is received with reverence. What he did as a commentator has no ſmall ſhare of merit, though his reſearches were not ſo ample, and his inveſtigations ſo acute as they might have been, which we now certainly know from the labours of other able and ingenious criticks who have followed him. He has enriched his edition with a conciſe account of each play, and of its characteriſtick excellence. Many of his notes have illuſtrated obſcurities in the text, and placed paſſages eminent for beauty in a more conſpicuous light; and he has, in general, exhibited ſuch a mode of annotation, as may be beneficial to all ſubſequent editors.

[271] His Shakſpeare was virulently attacked by Mr. William Kenrick, who obtained the degree of LL. D. from a Scotch Univerſity, and wrote for the bookſellers in a great variety of branches. Though he certainly was not with⯑out conſiderable merit, he wrote with ſo little regard to principle and decorum, and in ſo haſty a manner, that his reputation was neither extenſive nor laſting. I remember one evening, when ſome of his works were mentioned, Dr. Goldſmith ſaid, he had never heard' of them; upon which Dr. Johnſon obſerved, ‘"Sir, he is one of the many who have made themſelves publick, without making themſelves known."’

A young ſtudent of Oxford, of the name of Barclay, wrote an anſwer to Kenrick's review of Johnſon's Shakſpeare. Johnſon was at firſt angry that Kenrick's attack ſhould have the credit of an anſwer. But afterwards, con⯑ſidering the young man's good intention, he kindly noticed him, and probably would have done more, had not the young man died.

In his Preface to Shakſpeare, Johnſon treated Voltaire very contemptuouſly, obſerving, upon ſome of his remarks, ‘"Theſe are the petty criticiſms of petty wits."’ Voltaire, in revenge, made an attack upon Johnſon, in one of his numerous literary ſallies, which I remember to have read; but there being no general index to his voluminous works, have ſearched for it in vain, and therefore cannot quote it.

Voltaire was an antagoniſt with whom I thought Johnſon ſhould not diſdain to contend. I preſſed him to anſwer. He ſaid, he perhaps might: but he never did.

Mr. Burney having occaſion to write to Johnſon for ſome receipts for ſubſcriptions to his Shakſpeare, which Johnſon had omitted to deliver, when the money was paid, he availed himſelf of that opportunity of thanking Johnſon for the great pleaſure which he had received from the peruſal of his Preface to Shakſpeare; which although it excited much clamour againſt him at firſt, is now juſtly ranked among the moſt excellent of his writings. To this letter, Johnſon returned the following anſwer:

Trinity College, Dublin, at this time ſurprized Johnſon with a ſpontaneous compliment of the higheſt academical honours, by creating him Doctor of Laws. The diploma, which is in my poſſeſſion, is as follows:

This unſolicited mark of diſtinction, conferred on ſo great a literary cha⯑racter, did much honour to the judgement and liberal ſpirit of that learned body. Johnſon acknowledged the favour in a letter to Dr. Leland, one of their number; but I have not been able to obtain a copy of it.

Both in 1764 and 1765 it ſhould ſeem that he was ſo buſily employed with his edition of Shakſpeare, as to have had little leiſure for any other literary exertion, or, indeed, even for private correſpondence. He did not favour me with a ſingle letter for more than two years, for which it will appear that he afterwards apologiſed.

He was, however, at all times ready to give aſſiſtance to his friends, and others, in reviſing their works, and in writing for them▪ or greatly improving their Dedications. In that courtly ſpecies of compoſition no man excelled Dr. Johnſon. Though the loftineſs of his mind prevented him from ever dedicating in his own▪perſon, he wrote a very great number of Dedications [273] for others. Some of theſe, the perſons who were favoured with them are unwilling ſhould be mentioned, from a too anxious apprehenſion, as I think, that they might be ſuſpected of having received larger aſſiſtance; and ſome, after all the diligence I have beſtowed, have eſcaped my inquiries. He told me, a great many years ago, ‘"he believed he had dedicated to all the Royal Family round;''’ and it was indifferent to him what was the ſubject of the work dedicated, provided it were innocent. He once dedicated ſome Muſick for the German Flute to Edward Duke of York. In writing Dedications for others, he conſidered himſelf as by no means ſpeaking his own ſentiments.

Notwithſtanding his long ſilence, I never omitted to write to him when I had any thing worthy of communicating. I generally kept copies of my letters to him, that I might have a full view of our correſpondence, and never be at a loſs to underſtand any reference in his letters. He kept the greater part of mine very carefully; and a ſhort time before his death was attentive enough to ſeal them up in bundles, and order them to be delivered to me, which was accordingly done. Amongſt them I found one, of which I had not made a copy, and which I own I read with pleaſure at the diſtance of almoſt twenty years. It is dated November, 1765, at the palace of Paſcal Paoli, in Corte, the capital of Corſica, and is full of generous enthu⯑ſiaſm. After giving a ſketch of what I had ſeen and heard in that iſland, it proceeded thus: ‘"I dare to call this a ſpirited tour. I dare to challenge your approbation."’

This letter produced the following anſwer, which I found on my arrival at Paris.

I returned to London in February, and found Dr. Johnſon in a good houſe in Johnſon's-court, Fleet-ſtreet, in which he had accommodated Miſs Williams with an apartment on the ground floor, while Mr. Levett occupied his poſt in the garret: his faithful Francis was ſtill attending upon him. He received me with much kindneſs. The fragments of our firſt converſation, which I have preſerved, are theſe: I told him that Voltaire, in a converſation with me, had diſtinguiſhed Pope and Dryden thus:—‘"Pope drives a handſome chariot, with a couple of neat trim nags; Dryden a coach, and ſix ſtately horſes."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, the truth is, they both drive coaches and ſix; but Dryden's horſes are either galloping or ſtumbling: Pope's go at a ſteady even trot ⁷."’ [275] He ſaid of Goldſmith's Traveller, which had been publiſhed in my abſence, ‘"There has not been ſo fine a poem ſince Pope's time."’

And here it is proper to ſettle, with authentick preciſion, what has long floated in publick report, as to Johnſon's being himſelf the authour of a con⯑ſiderable part of that poem. Much, no doubt, both of the ſentiments and expreſſion, were derived from converſation with him; and it was certainly ſubmitted to his friendly reviſion: but in the year 1783, he, at my requeſt, marked with a pencil the lines which he had furniſhed, which are only line 420,

and the concluding ten lines, except the laſt couplet but one, which I diſtin⯑guiſh by the Italick character:

He added, ‘"Theſe are all of which I can be ſure."’ They bear a ſmall proportion to the whole, which conſiſts of four hundred and thirty-eight verſes. Goldſmith, in the couplet which he inſerted, mentions Luke as a perſon well known, and ſuperficial readers have paſſed it over quite ſmoothly; while thoſe of more attention have been as much perplexed by Luke, as by Lydiat, in ‘"The Vanity of human Wiſhes."’ The truth is, that Goldſmith himſelf was in a miſtake. In the ‘"Reſpublica Hungarica,"’ there is an account of a deſperate rebellion in the year 1514, headed by two brothers, of the name of Zeck, George and Luke. When it was quelled, George, not Luke, was puniſhed by his head being encircled with a red hot iron crown: ‘"coronâ condeſcente ferreâ coronatur."’ The ſame ſeverity of torture was exerciſed on the Earl of Athol, one of the murderers of King James I. of Scotland.

[276] Dr. Johnſon at the ſame time favoured me by marking the lines which he furniſhed to Goldſmith's ‘"Deſerted Village,"’ which are only the four laſt:

Talking of education, ‘"People have now a days, (ſaid he,) got a ſtrange opinion that every thing ſhould be taught by lectures. Now, I cannot ſee that lectures can do ſo much good as reading the books from which the lectures are taken. I know nothing that can be beſt taught by lectures, except where experiments are to be ſhewn. You may teach chymiſtry by lectures.—You might teach making of ſhoes by lectures!"’

At night I ſupped with him at the Mitre tavern, that we might renew our ſocial intimacy at the original place of meeting. But there was now a con⯑ſiderable differencé in his way of living. Having had an illneſs, in which he was adviſed to leave off wine, he had, from that period, continued to abſtain from it, and drank only water, or lemonade.

I told him that a foreign friend of his, whom I had met with abroad, was ſo wretchedly perverted to infidelity, that he treated the hopes of immortality with brutal levity; and ſaid, ‘"As man dies like a dog, let him lie like a dog."’ JOHNSON. ‘"If he dies like a dog, let him lie like a dog."’ I added, that this man ſaid to me, ‘"I hate mankind, for I think myſelf one of the beſt of them, and I know how bad I am."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, he muſt be very ſingular in his opinion, if he thinks himſelf one of the beſt of men; for none of his friends think him ſo."’ He ſaid, ‘"No honeſt man could be a Deiſt; for no man could be ſo after a fair examination of the proofs of Chriſtianity."’ I named Hume. JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir; Hume owned to a clergyman in the biſhoprick of Durham, that he had never read the New Teſtament with atten⯑tion."’ I mentioned Hume's notion, that all who are happy are equally happy; a little miſs with a new gown at a dancing-ſchool ball, a general at the head of a victorious army, and an orator, after having made an eloquent ſpeech in a great aſſembly. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, that all who are happy, are equally happy, is not true. A peaſant and a philoſopher may be equally ſatisfied, but not equally happy. Happineſs conſiſts in the multiplicity of agreeable conſciouſ⯑neſs. A peaſant has not capacity for having equal happineſs with a philoſo⯑pher."’ I remember this very queſtion very happily illuſtrated in oppoſition to [277] Hume, by the Reverend Mr. Robert Brown, at Utrecht. ‘"A ſmall drinking glaſs and a large one, (ſaid he,) may be equally full; but the large one holds more than the ſmall."’

Dr. Johnſon was very kind this evening, and ſaid to me, ‘"You have now lived five-and-twenty years, and you have employed them well."’ ‘"Alas, Sir, (ſaid I,) I fear not. Do I know hiſtory? Do I know mathematicks? Do I know law?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, though you may know no ſcience ſo well as to be able to teach it, and no profeſſion ſo well as to be able to follow it, your general maſs of knowledge of books and men renders you very capable to make yourſelf maſter of any ſcience, or fit yourſelf for any profeſſion."’ I mentioned that a gay friend had adviſed me againſt being a lawyer, becauſe I ſhould be excelled by plodding blockheads. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, in the formulary and ſtatutory part of law, a plodding block⯑head may excel; but in the ingenious and rational part of it a plodding blockhead can never excel."’

I talked of the mode adopted by ſome to riſe in the world, by courting great men, and aſked him whether he had ever ſubmitted to it. JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, I never was near enough to great men to court them. You may be prudently attached to great men, and yet independent. You are not to do what you think wrong; and, Sir, you are to calculate and not pay too dear for what you get. You muſt not give a ſhilling's worth of court for ſix-pence worth of good. But if you can get a ſhilling's worth of good for ſix-pence worth of court, you are a fool if you do not pay court."’

He ſaid, ‘"If convents ſhould be allowed at all, they ſhould only be retreats for perſons unable to ſerve the publick, or who have ſerved it. It is our firſt duty to ſerve ſociety, and, after we have done that, we may attend wholly to the ſalvation of our own ſouls. A youthful paſſion for abſtracted devotion ſhould not be encouraged."’

I introduced the ſubject of ſecond ſight, and other myſterious manifeſtations; the fulfilment of which, I ſuggeſted might happen by chance. JOHNSON. ‘"Yes, Sir; but they have happened ſo often, that mankind have agreed to think them not fortuitous."’

I talked to him a great deal of what I had ſeen in Corſica, and of my intention to publiſh an account of it. He encouraged me by ſaying, ‘"You cannot go to the bottom of the ſubject; but all that you tell us will be new to us. Give us as many anecdotes as you can."’

Our next meeting at the Mitre was on Saturday the 15th of February, when I preſented to him my old and moſt intimate friend, the Reverend Mr. Temple, [278] then of Cambridge. I having mentioned that I had paſſed ſome time with Rouſſeau in his wild retreat, and having quoted ſome remark made by Mr. Wilkes, with whom I had ſpent many pleaſant hours in Italy, Johnſon ſaid, (ſarcaſtically,) ‘"It ſeems, Sir, you have kept very good company abroad, Rouſſeau and Wilkes!"’ Thinking it enough to defend one at a time, I ſaid nothing as to my gay friend, but anſwered with a ſmile, ‘"My dear Sir, you don't call Rouſſeau bad company. Do you really think him a bad man?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, if you are talking jeſtingly of this, I don't talk with you. If you mean to be ſerious, I think him one of the worſt of men; a raſcal, who ought to be hunted out of ſociety, as he has been. Three or four nations have ex⯑pelled him; and it is a ſhame that he is protected in this country."’ BOSWELL. ‘"I don't deny, Sir, but that his novel may, perhaps, do harm; but I cannot think his intention was bad."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, that will not do. We cannot prove any man's intention to be bad. You may ſhoot a man through the head, and ſay you intended to miſs him; but the Judge will order you to be hanged. An alledged want of intention, when evil is committed, will not be allowed in a court of juſtice. Rouſſeau, Sir, is a very bad man. I would ſooner ſign a ſentence for his tranſportation, than that of any felon who has gone from the Old Bailey theſe many years. Yes, I ſhould like to have him work in the plantations."’ BOSWELL. ‘"Sir, do you think him as bad a man as Voltaire?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, it is difficult to ſettle the proportion of iniquity between them."’

This violence ſeemed very ſtrange to me, who had read many of Rouſſeau's animated writings with great pleaſure, and even edification, had been much pleaſed with his ſociety, and was juſt come from the Continent, where he was very generally admired. Nor can I yet allow that he deſerves the very ſevere cenſure which Johnſon pronounced upon him. His abſurd preference of ſavage to civiliſed life, and other ſingularities, are proofs rather of a defect in his underſtanding, than of any depravity in his heart. And notwithſtanding the unfavourable opinion which many worthy men have expreſſed of his ‘"Profeſſion de Foi du Vicaire Savoyard,"’ I cannot help admiring it as the per⯑formance of a man full of ſincere reverential ſubmiſſion to Divine Myſtery, though beſet with perplexing doubts; a ſtate of mind to be▪ viewed with pity rather than with anger.

On his favourite ſubject of ſubordination, Johnſon ſaid, ‘"So far is it from being true that men are naturally equal, that no two people can be half an hour together, but one ſhall acquire an evident ſuperiority over the other."’

[279] I mentioned the advice given us by philoſophers, to conſole ourſelves, when diſtreſſed or embarraſſed, by thinking of thoſe who are in a worfe ſituation than ourſelves. This, I obſerved, could not apply to all, for there muſt be ſome who have nobody worſe than they are. JOHNSON. ‘"Why to be ſure, Sir, there are; but they don't know it. There is no being ſo poor and ſo contemptible, who does not think there is ſomebody ſtill poorer, and ſtill more contemptible."’

As my ſtay in London at this time was very ſhort, I had not many oppor⯑tunities of being with Dr. Johnſon; but I felt my veneration for him in no degree leſſened, by my having ſeen multorum hominum mores et urbes. On the contrary, by having it in my power to compare him with many of the moſt celebrated perſons of other countries, my admiration of his extraordinary mind was increaſed and confirmed.

The roughneſs, indeed, which ſometimes appeared in his manners, was more ſtriking to me now, from my having been accuſtomed to the ſtudied ſmooth complying habits of the Continent; and I clearly recogniſed in him, not without reſpect for his honeſt conſcientious zeal, the ſame indignant and ſarcaſtical mode of treating every▪attempt to unhinge or weaken good principles.

One evening, when a young gentleman teized him with an account of the infidelity of his ſervant, who, he ſaid, would not believe the ſcriptures, becauſe he could not read them in the original tongues, and be ſure that they were not invented. ‘"Why, fooliſh fellow, (ſaid Johnſon,) has he any better authority for almoſt every thing that he believes?"’—‘"Then the vulgar, Sir, never can know they are right, but muſt ſubmit themſelves to the learned."’—JOHNSON. ‘"To be ſure, Sir. The vulgar are the children of the ſtate, and muſt be taught like children."’—‘"Then, Sir, a poor Turk muſt be a Maho⯑metan, juſt as a poor Engliſhman muſt be a Chriſtian?"’—JOHNSON. ‘"Why yes, Sir; and what then? This now is ſuch ſtuff as I uſed to talk to my mother, when I firſt began to think myſelf a clever fellow; and ſhe ought to have whipt me for it."’

Another evening Dr. Goldſmith and I called on him, with the hope of prevailing on him to ſup with us at the Mitre. We found him indiſpoſed, and reſolved not to go abroad. ‘"Come then, (ſaid Goldſmith,) we will not go to the Mitre to-night, ſince we cannot have the big man with us."’ Johnſon then called for a bottle of port, of which Goldſmith and I partook, while our friend, now a water drinker ſat by us. GOLDSMITH. ‘"I think, Mr. Johnſon, you don't go near the theatres now. You give yourſelf no more concern about a new [280] play, than if you had never had any thing to do with the ſtage."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, our taſtes greatly alter. The lad does not care for the child's rattle, and the old man does not care for the young man's whore."’ GOLDSMITH. ‘"Nay, Sir; but your Muſe was not a whore."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, I do not think ſhe was. But as we advance in the journey of life, we drop ſome of the things which have pleaſed us; whether it be that we are fatigued and don't chooſe to carry ſo many things any farther, or that we find other things which we like better."’ BOSWELL. ‘"But, Sir, why don't you give us ſomething in ſome other way?"’ GOLDSMITH. ‘"Ay, Sir, we have a claim upon you."’ JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir, I am not obliged to do any more. No man is obliged to do as much as he can do. A man is to have part of his life to himſelf. If a ſoldier has fought a good many campaigns, he is not to be blamed if he retires to eaſe and tranquillity. A phyſician, who has practiſed long in a great city, may be excuſed if he retires to a ſmall town, and takes leſs practice. Now, Sir, the good I can do by my converſation bears the ſame proportion to the good I can do by my writings, that the practice of a phyſician, retired to a ſmall town, does to his practice in a great city."’ BOSWELL. ‘"But I wonder, Sir, you have not more pleaſure in writing than in not writing."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, you may wonder."’

He talked of making verſes, and obſerved, ‘"The great difficulty is to know when you have made good ones. When compoſing, I have generally had them in my mind, perhaps fifty at a time, walking up and down in my room; and then I have wrote them down, and often, from lazineſs, have written only half lines. I have written a hundred lines in a day. I remember I wrote a hundred lines of ‘"The Vanity of human Wiſhes"’ in a day. Doctor, (turn⯑ing to Goldſmith,) I am not quite idle; I made one line t'other day; but I made no more."’ GOLDSMITH. ‘"Let us hear it; we'll put a bad one to it."’ JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir; I have forgot it."’

Such ſpecimens of the eaſy and playful converſation of the great Dr. Samuel Johnſon are, I think, to be prized; as exhibiting the little varieties of a mind ſo enlarged and ſo powerful when objects of conſequence required its exertions, and as giving us a minute knowledge of his character and modes of thinking.

After I had been ſome time in Scotland, I mentioned to him in a letter that ‘"On my firſt return to my native country, after ſome years of abſence, I was told of a vaſt number of my acquaintance who were all gone to the land of for⯑getfulneſs, and I found myſelf like a man ſtalking over a field of battle, who every moment perceives ſome one lying dead."’ I complained of irreſolution, [281] and mentioned my having made a vow as a ſecurity for good conduct. I wrote to him again, without being able to move his indolence; nor did I hear from him till he had received a copy of my inaugural Exerciſe, or Theſis in Civil Law, which I publiſhed at my admiſſion as an Advocate, as is the cuſtom in Scotland. He then wrote to me as follows:

It appears from his diary, that he was this year at Mr. Thrale's, from before Midſummer till after Michaelmas, and that he afterwards paſſed a month at Oxford. He had then contracted a great intimacy with Mr. Chambers of that Univerſity, now Sir Robert Chambers, one of the Judges in India.

He publiſhed nothing this year in his own name; but the noble Dedication * to the King, of Gwyn's ‘"London and Weſtminſter Improved,"’ was written by him; and he furniſhed the Preface, † and ſeveral of the pieces, which compoſe a volume of Miſcellanies by Mrs. Anna Williams, the blind lady who had an aſylum in his houſe. Of theſe, there are his ‘"Epitaph on Philips, *"’ ‘"Tranſla⯑tion of a Latin Epitaph on Sir Thomas Hanmer; †"’ ‘"Friendſhip, an Ode; *"’ and, ‘"The Ant, *"’ a paraphraſe from the Proverbs, of which I have a copy [286] in his own hand-writing; and, from internal evidence, I aſcribe to him, ‘"To Miſs—on her giving the Authour a gold and ſilk net-work Purſe of her own weaving; †"’ and, ‘"The happy Life. †"’—Moſt of them have evidently received conſiderable additions from his ſuperiour pen, particularly ‘"Verſes to Mr. Richardſon, on his Sir Charles Grandiſon;"’ ‘"The Excur⯑ſion;"’ ‘"Reflections on a Grave digging in Weſtminſter-Abbey."’ There is in this collection a poem ‘"On the Death of Stephen Grey, the Electrician; *"’ which, on reading it, appeared to me to be undoubtedly Johnſon's. I aſked Mrs. Williams whether it was not his. ‘"Sir, (ſaid ſhe, with ſome warmth,) I wrote that poem before I had the honour of Dr. Johnſon's acquaintance."’ I, however was ſo much impreſſed with my firſt notion, that I mentioned it to Johnſon, repeating, at the ſame time, what Mrs. Williams had ſaid. His anſwer was, ‘"It is true, Sir, that ſhe wrote it before ſhe was acquainted with me; but ſhe has not told you that I wrote it all over again, except two lines."’ ‘"The Fountains, †"’ a beautiful little Fairy tale in proſe, written with exquiſite ſimplicity, is one of Johnſon's productions; and I cannot with-hold from Mrs. Thrale the praiſe of being the authour of that admirable poem, ‘"The Three Warnings."’

He wrote this year a letter not intended for publication, which has, per⯑haps, as ſtrong marks of his ſentiment and ſtyle, as any of his compoſitions. The original is in my poſſeſſion. It is addreſſed to the late Mr. William Drummond, bookſeller in Edinburgh, a gentleman of good family, but ſmall eſtate, who took arms for the houſe of Stuart in 1745; and during his con⯑cealment in London till the act of general pardon came out, obtained the acquaintance of Dr. Johnſon, who juſtly eſteemed him as a very worthy man. It ſeems, ſome of the members of the ſociety in Scotland for propagating Chriſtian knowledge had oppoſed the ſcheme of tranſlating the holy ſcriptures into the Erſe or Gaelick language, from political conſiderations of the diſ⯑advantage of keeping up the diſtinction between the Highlanders and the other inhabitants of North-Britain. Dr. Johnſon being informed of this, I ſuppoſe by Mr. Drummond, wrote with a generous indignation as follows:

The opponents of this pious ſcheme being made aſhamed of their conduct, the benevolent undertaking was allowed to go on.

The following letters, though not written till the year after, being chiefly upon the ſame ſubject, are here inſerted.

Mr. Cuthbert Shaw ⁵, alike diſtinguiſhed by his genius, misfortunes, and miſconduct, publiſhed this year a poem, called ‘"The Race, by Mercurius Spur, Eſq."’ in which he whimſically made the living poets of England contend for pre-eminence of fame by running:

In this poem there was the following portrait of Johnſon:

The Honourable Thomas Hervey and his lady having unhappily diſagreed, and being about to ſeparate, Johnſon interfered as their friend, and wrote him a letter of expoſtulation, which I have not been able to find; but the ſubſtance of it is aſcertained by a letter to Johnſon, in anſwer to it, which Mr. Hervey printed. The occaſion of this correſpondence between Dr. Johnſon and Mr. Hervey, was thus related to me by Mr. Beauclerk. ‘"Tom Hervey had a great liking for Johnſon, and in his will had left him a legacy of fifty pounds. One day he ſaid to me, 'Johnſon may want this money now, more than afterwards. I have a mind to give it him directly. Will you be ſo good as to carry a fifty pound note from me to him?' This I poſitively refuſed to do, as he might, perhaps, have knocked me down for inſulting him, and have afterwards put the note in his pocket. But I ſaid, if Hervey would write him a letter, and encloſe a fifty pound note, I ſhould take care to deliver it. He accordingly did write him a letter, mentioning that he was only paying a legacy a little ſooner. To his letter he added, 'P. S. I am going to part with my wife.' Johnſon then wrote to him, ſaying nothing of the note, but remonſtrating with him againſt parting with his wife."’

When I mentioned to Johnſon this ſtory, in as delicate terms as I could, he told me that the fifty pound note was given to him by Mr. Hervey in conſideration of his having written for him a pamphlet againſt Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, who, Mr. Harvey imagined, was the authour of an attack upon him; but that it was afterwards diſcovered to be the work of a garret⯑teer, who wrote ‘"The Fool:"’ ſo the pamphlet againſt Sir Charles was not printed.

In February, 1767, there happened one of the moſt remarkable incidents of Johnſon's life, which gratified his monarchical enthuſiaſm, and which he loved to relate with all its circumſtances, when requeſted by his friends. This was his being honoured by a private converſation with his Majeſty, in the library at the Queen's houſe. He had frequently viſited thoſe ſplendid rooms [292] and noble collection of books ⁶, which he uſed to ſay was more numerous and curious than he ſuppoſed any perſon could have made in the time which the King had employed. Mr. Barnard, the librarian, took care that he ſhould have every accommodation that could contribute to his eaſe and convenience, while indulging his literary taſte in that place; ſo that he had here a very agreeable reſource at leiſure hours.

His Majeſty having been informed of his occaſional viſits, was pleaſed to ſignify a deſire that he ſhould be told when Dr. Johnſon came next to the library. Accordingly, the next time that Johnſon did come, as ſoon as he was fairly engaged with a book, on which, while he ſat by the fire, he ſeemed quite intent, Mr. Barnard ſtole round to the apartment where the King was, and, in obedience to his Majeſty's commands, mentioned that Dr. Johnſon was then in the library. His Majeſty ſaid he was at leiſure, and would go to him; upon which Mr. Barnard took one of the candles that ſtood on the King's table, and lighted his Majeſty through a ſuite of rooms, till they came to a private door into the library, of which his Majeſty had the key. Being entered, Mr. Barnard ſtepped forward haſtily to Dr. Johnſon, who was ſtill in a profound ſtudy, and whiſpered him, ‘"Sir, here is the King."’ Johnſon ſtarted up, and ſtood ſtill. His Majeſty approached him, and at once was courteouſly eaſy ⁷.

His Majeſty began by obſerving, that he underſtood he came ſometimes to the library; and then mentioning his having heard that the Doctor had been [293] lately at Oxford, aſked him if he was not fond of going thither. To which Johnſon anſwered, that he was indeed fond of going to Oxford ſometimes, but was likewiſe glad to come back again. The King then aſked him what they were doing at Oxford. Johnſon anſwered, he could not much commend their diligence, but that in ſome reſpects they were mended, for they had put their preſs under better regulations, and were at that time printing Polybius. He was then aſked whether there were better libraries at Oxford or Cambridge. He anſwered, he believed the Bodleian was larger than any they had at Cam⯑bridge; at the ſame time adding, ‘"I hope, whether we have more books or not than they have at Cambridge, we ſhall make as good uſe of them as they do."’ Being aſked whether All-Souls or Chriſt-Church library was the largeſt, he anſwered, ‘"All-Souls library is the largeſt we have, except the Bodleian."’ ‘"Aye, (ſaid the King,) that is the publick library."’

His Majeſty enquired if he was then writing any thing. He anſwered, he was not, for he had pretty well told the world what he knew, and muſt now read to acquire more knowledge. The King, as it ſhould ſeem with a view to urge him to rely on his own ſtores as an original writer, and to continue his labours, then ſaid, ‘"I do not think you borrow much from any body."’ Johnſon ſaid, he thought he had already done his part as a writer. ‘"I ſhould have thought ſo too, (ſaid the King,) if you had not written ſo well."’—Johnſon obſerved to me, upon this, that ‘"No man could have paid a hand⯑ſomer compliment; and it was fit for a King to pay. It was deciſive."’ When aſked by another friend, at Sir Joſhua Reynolds's, whether he made any reply to this high compliment, he anſwered, ‘"No, Sir. When the King had ſaid it, it was to be ſo. It was not for me to bandy civilities with my ſovereign."’ Perhaps no man who had ſpent his whole life in courts could have ſhewn a more nice and dignified ſenſe of true politeneſs, than Johnſon did in this inſtance.

His Majeſty having obſerved to him that he ſuppoſed he muſt have read a great deal; Johnſon anſwered, that he thought more than he read; that he had read a great deal in the early part of his life, but having fallen into ill health, he had not been able to read much, compared with others: for inſtance, he ſaid he had not read much compared with Dr. Warburton. Upon which the King ſaid, that he heard Dr. Warburton was a man of ſuch general knowledge, that you could ſcarce talk with him on any ſubject on which he was not qualified to ſpeak; and that his learning reſembled Garrick's acting, in its univerſality. His Majeſty then talked of the controverſy between Warburton and Lowth, which he ſeemed to have read, and aſked Johnſon what he thought of it. Johnſon anſwered, ‘"Warburton has moſt general▪ [294] moſt ſcholaſtick learning; Lowth is the more correct ſcholar. I do not know which of them calls names beſt."’ The King was pleaſed to ſay he was of the ſame opinion; adding, ‘"You do not think then, Dr. Johnſon, that there was much argument in the caſe."’ Johnſon ſaid, he did not think there was. ‘"Why truly, (ſaid the King,) when once it comes to calling names, argu⯑ment is pretty well at an end."’

His Majeſty then aſked him what he thought of Lord Lyttelton's hiſtory, which was then juſt publiſhed. Johnſon ſaid, he thought his ſtyle pretty good, but that he had blamed Henry the Second rather too much. ‘"Why, (ſaid the King,) they ſeldom do theſe things by halves."’ ‘"No, Sir, (anſwered Johnſon,) not to Kings."’ But fearing to be miſunderſtood, he proceeded to explain himſelf; and immediately ſubjoined, ‘"That for thoſe who ſpoke worſe of Kings than they deſerved, he could find no excuſe, but that he could more eaſily conceive how ſome might ſpeak better of them than they deſerved, without any ill intention; for, as Kings had much in their power to give, thoſe who were favoured by them would frequently, from gratitude, exagge⯑rate their praiſes; and as this proceeded from a good motive, it was certainly excuſeable, as far as errour could be excuſeable."’

The King then aſked him what he thought of Dr. Hill. Johnſon anſwered, that he was an ingenious man, but had no veracity; and immediately mentioned, as an inſtance of it, an aſſertion of that writer, that he had ſeen objects magnified to a much greater degree by uſing three or four micro⯑ſcopes at a time, than by uſing one. ‘"Now, (added Johnſon,) every one acquainted with microſcopes knows, that the more of them he looks through, the leſs the object will appear."’ ‘"Why, (replied the King,) this is not only telling an untruth, but telling it clumſily; for, if that be the caſe, every one who can look through a microſcope will be able to detect him."’

‘"I now, (ſaid Johnſon to his friends, when relating what had paſſed,) began to conſider that I was depreciating this man in the eſtimation of his ſovereign, and thought it was time for me to ſay ſomething that might be more favourable."’ He added, therefore, that Dr. Hill was, notwithſtanding, a very curious obſerver; and if he would have been contented to tell the world no more than he knew, he might have been a very conſiderable man, and needed not to have recourſe to ſuch mean expedients to raiſe his reputation.

The King then talked of literary journals, mentioned particularly the Journal des Savans, and aſked Johnſon if it was well done. Johnſon ſaid, it was formerly very well done, and gave ſome account of the perſons who [295] began it, and carried it on for ſome years; enlarging at the ſame time, on the nature and uſe of ſuch works. The King aſked him if it was well done now. Johnſon anſwered, he had no reaſon to think that it was. The King then aſked him if there were any other literary journals publiſhed in this kingdom, except the Monthly and Critical Reviews; and on being anſwered there were no other, his Majeſty aſked which of them was the beſt: Johnſon anſwered, that the Monthly Review was done with moſt care, the Critical upon the beſt principles; adding, that the authours of the Monthly Review were enemies to the Church. This the King ſaid he was ſorry to hear.

The converſation next turned on the Philoſophical Tranſactions, when Johnſon obſerved, that they had now a better method of arranging their materials than formerly. ‘"Aye, (ſaid the King,) they are obliged to Dr. Johnſon for that;"’ for his Majeſty had heard and remembered the circum⯑ſtance, which Johnſon himſelf had forgot.

His Majeſty expreſſed a deſire to have the literary biography of this country ably executed, and propoſed to Dr. Johnſon to undertake it. Johnſon ſignified his readineſs to comply with his Majeſty's wiſhes.

During the whole of this interview, Johnſon talked to his Majeſty with profound reſpect, but ſtill in his firm manly manner, with a ſonorous voice, and never in that ſubdued tone which is commonly uſed at the levee and in the drawing-room. After the King withdrew, Johnſon ſhewed himſelf highly pleaſed with his Majeſty's converſation and gracious behaviour. He ſaid to Mr. Barnard, ‘"Sir, they may talk of the King as they will; but he is the fineſt gentleman I have ever ſeen."’ And he afterwards obſerved to Mr. Langton, ‘"Sir, his manners are thoſe of as fine a gentleman as we may ſuppoſe Lewis the Fourteenth or Charles the Second."’

At Sir Joſhua Reynolds's, where a circle of Johnſon's friends was collected round him to hear his account of this memorable converſation, Dr. Joſeph Warton, in his frank and lively manner, was very active in preſſing him to mention the particulars. ‘"Come now, Sir, this is an intereſting matter; do favour us with it."’ Johnſon, with great good humour, complied.

He told them, ‘"I found his Majeſty wiſhed I ſhould talk, and I made it my buſineſs to talk. I find it does a man good to be talked to by his ſovereign. In the firſt place, a man cannot be in a paſſion—"’ Here ſome queſtion interrupted him, which is to be regretted, as he certainly would have pointed out and illuſtrated many circumſtances of advantage, from being in a ſituation, where the powers of the mind are at once excited to vigorous exertion, and tempered by reverential awe.

[296] During all the time in which Dr. Johnſon was employed in relating to the circle at Sir Joſhua Reynold's the particulars of what paſſed between the King and him, Dr. Goldſmith remained unmoved upon a ſopha at ſome diſtance, affecting not to join in the leaſt in the eager curioſity of the com⯑pany. He aſſigned as a reaſon for his gloom and ſeeming inattention, that he apprehended Johnſon had relinquiſhed his purpoſe of furniſhing him with a Prologue to his play, with the hopes of which he had been flattered; but it was ſtrongly ſuſpected that he was fretting with chagrin and envy at the ſingular honour Dr. Johnſon had lately enjoyed. At length, the frankneſs and ſimplicity of his natural character prevailed. He ſprung from the ſopha, advanced to Johnſon, and in a kind of flutter, from imagining himſelf in the ſituation which he had juſt been hearing deſcribed, exclaimed, ‘"Well, you acquitted yourſelf in this converſation better than I ſhould have done; for I ſhould have bowed and ſtammered through the whole of it."’

I received no letter from Johnſon this year; nor have I diſcovered any of the correſpondence⁸ he had, except the two letters to Mr. Drummond, which have been inſerted, for the ſake of connection with that to the ſame gentleman in 1766. His diary affords no light as to his employment at this time. He paſſed three months at Lichfield; and I cannot omit an affecting and ſolemn ſcene there, as related by himſelf:

By thoſe who have been taught to look upon Johnſon as a man of a harſh and ſtern character, let this tender and affectionate ſcene be candidly read; and let them then judge whether more warmth of heart, and grateful kindneſs, is often found in human nature.

We have the following notice in his devotional record:

‘"Auguſt 2, 1767. I have been diſturbed and unſettled for a long time, and have been without reſolution to apply to ſtudy or to buſineſs, being hin⯑dered by ſudden ſnatches ¹."’

He, however, furniſhed Mr. Adams with a Dedication* to the King of that ingenious gentleman's ‘"Treatiſe on the Globes,"’ conceived and expreſſed in ſuch a manner as could not fail to be very grateful to a monarch, diſtin⯑guiſhed for his love of the ſciences.

This year was publiſhed a ridicule of his ſtyle, under the title of ‘"Lexi⯑phanes."’ Sir John Hawkins aſcribes it to Dr. Kenrick; but its authour was one Campbell, a Scotch purſer in the navy. The ridicule conſiſted in apply⯑ing Johnſon's ‘"words of large meaning,"’ to inſignificant matters, as if one ſhould put the armour of Goliath upon a dwarf. The contraſt might be laugh⯑able; but the dignity of the armour muſt remain the ſame in all conſiderate minds. This malicious drollery, therefore, it may eaſily be ſuppoſed, could do no harm to its illuſtrious object.

It appears from his notes of the ſtate of his mind ², that he ſuffered great perturbation and diſtraction in 1768. Nothing of his writing was given to the publick this year, except the Prologue* to his friend Goldſmith's comedy of ‘"The Good-natured Man."’ The firſt lines of this Prologue are ſtrongly characteriſtical of the diſmal gloom of his mind; which in his caſe, as in the caſe of all who are diſtreſſed with the ſame malady of imagination, transfers to others its own feelings. Who could ſuppoſe that it was to introduce a comedy, when Mr. Benſley ſolemnly began,

but this dark ground might make Goldſmith's humour ſhine the more.

[298] In the ſpring of this year, having publiſhed my ‘"Account of Corſica, with the Journal of a Tour to that Iſland,"’ I returned to London, very deſirous to ſee Dr. Johnſon, and hear him upon the ſubject. I found he was at Oxford, with his friend Mr. Chambers, who was now Vinerian Profeſſor, and lived in New Inn Hall. Having had no letter from him ſince that in which he criti⯑ciſed the Latinity of my Theſis, and having been told by ſomebody that he was offended at my having put into my book an extract of his letter to me at Paris; I was impatient to be with him, and therefore followed him to Oxford, where I was entertained by Mr. Chambers, with a civility which I ſhall ever gratefully remember. I found that Dr. Johnſon had ſent a letter to me to Scot⯑land, and that I had nothing to complain of but his being more indifferent to my anxiety than I wiſhed him to be. Inſtead of giving, with the circumſtances of time and place, ſuch fragments of his converſation as I preſerved during this viſit to Oxford, I ſhall throw them together in continuation.

I aſked him whether, as a moraliſt, he did not think that the practice of the law, in ſome degree, hurt the nice feeling of honeſty. JOHNSON. ‘"Why no, Sir, if you act properly. You are not to deceive your clients with falſe repreſentations of your opinion: you are not to tell lies to a judge."’ BOSWELL. ‘"But what do you think of ſupporting a cauſe which you know to be bad?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, you do not know it to be good or bad till the Judge deter⯑mines it. I have ſaid that you are to ſtate facts fairly; ſo that your thinking, or what you call knowing a cauſe to be bad, muſt be from reaſoning, muſt be from your ſuppoſing your arguments to be weak and inconcluſive. But, Sir, that is not enough. An argument which does not convince yourſelf, may convince the Judge to whom you urge it: and if it does convince him, why then, Sir, you are wrong, and he is right. It is his buſineſs to judge; and you are not to be confident in your own opinion that a cauſe is bad, but to ſay all you can for your client, and then hear the Judge's opinion."’ BOSWELL. ‘"But, Sir, does not affecting a warmth when you have no warmth, and appearing to be clearly of one opinion when you are in reality of another opinion, does not ſuch diſſimulation impair one's honeſty? Is there not ſome danger that a lawyer may put on the ſame maſk in common life, in the intercourſe with his friends?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why no, Sir. Every body knows you are paid for affecting warmth for your client; and it is, therefore, properly no diſſimu⯑lation: the moment you come from the bar you reſume your uſual behaviour. Sir, a man will no more carry the artifice of the bar into the common inter⯑courſe of ſociety, than a man who is paid for tumbling upon his hands will continue to tumble upon his hands when he ſhould walk on his feet."’

[299] Talking of ſome of the modern plays, he ſaid ‘"Falſe Delicacy"’ was totally void of character. He praiſed Goldſmith's ‘"Good-natured Man;"’ ſaid, it was the beſt comedy that had appeared ſince ‘"The Provoked Huſ⯑band,"’ and that there had not been of late any ſuch character exhibited on the ſtage as that of Croaker. I obſerved it was the Suſpirius of his Rambler. He ſaid, Goldſmith had owned he had borrowed it from thence. ‘"Sir, (con⯑tinued he,) there is all the difference in the world between characters of nature and characters of manners; and there is the difference between the characters of Fielding and thoſe of Richardſon. Characters of manners are very entertaining; but they are to be underſtood, by a more ſuperficial obſerver, than characters of nature, where a man muſt dive into the receſſes of the human heart."’

It always appeared to me that he eſtimated the compoſitions of Richardſon too highly, and that he had an unreaſonable prejudice againſt Fielding. In comparing thoſe two writers, he uſed this expreſſion; ‘"that there was as great a difference between them as between a man who knew how a watch was made, and a man who could tell the hour by looking on the dial-plate."’ This was a ſhort and figurative ſtate of his diſtinction between drawing characters of nature and characters only of manners. But I cannot help being of opinion, that the neat watches of Fielding are as well conſtructed as the large clocks of Richardſon, and that his dial-plates are brighter-Fielding's characters, though they do not expand themſelves ſo widely in diſ⯑ſertation, are as juſt pictures of human nature, and I will venture to ſay, have more ſtriking features, and nicer touches of the pencil; and though Johnſon uſed to quote with approbation a ſaying of Richardſon's, ‘"that the virtues of Fielding's heroes were the vices of a truly good man,"’ I will venture to add, that the moral tendency of Fielding's writings, though it does not encourage a ſtrained and rarely poſſible virtue, is ever favourable to honour and honeſty, and cheriſhes the benevolent and generous affections. He who is as good as Fielding would make him, is an amiable member of ſociety, and may be led on by more regulated inſtructors, to a higher ſtate of ethical perfection.

Johnſon proceeded: ‘"Even Sir Francis Wronghead is a character of man⯑ners, though drawn with great humour."’ He then repeated, very happily, all Sir Francis's credulous account to Manly of his being with ‘"the great man,"’ and ſecuring a place. I aſked him if the ‘"Suſpicious Huſband"’ did not furniſh a well-drawn character, that of Ranger. JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir; Ranger is juſt a rake, a mere rake, and a lively young fellow, but no character."’

The great Douglas cauſe was at this time a very general ſubject of diſcuſ⯑ſion. I found he had not ſtudied it with much attention, but had only heard [300] parts of it occaſionally. He, however, talked of it, and ſaid, ‘"I am of opinion that poſitive proof of fraud ſhould not be required of the plaintiff, but that the Judges ſhould decide according as probability ſhall appear to preponderate, granting to the defendant the preſumption of filiation to be ſtrong in his favour. And I think too, that a good deal of weight ſhould be allowed to the dying declarations, becauſe they were ſpontaneous. There is a great difference between what is ſaid without our being urged to it, and what is ſaid from a kind of compulſion. If I praiſe a man's book without being aſked my opinion of it, that is honeſt praiſe, to which one may truſt. But if an authour aſks me if I like his book, and I give him ſomething like praiſe, it muſt not be taken as my real opinion.’

He renewed his promiſe of coming to Scotland, and going with me to the Hebrides, but ſaid he would now content himſelf with ſeeing one or two of the moſt curious of them. He ſaid ‘"Macaulay, who writes the account of St. Kilda, ſet out with a prejudice againſt prejudices, and wanted to be a ſmart modern thinker; and yet he affirms for a truth, that when a ſhip arrives there all the inhabitants are ſeized with a cold."’

He expatiated on the advantages of Oxford for learning. ‘"There is here, Sir, (ſaid he,) ſuch a progreſſive emulation. The ſtudents are anxious to appear well to their tutors; the tutors are anxious to have their pupils appear well in the college; the colleges are anxious to have their ſtudents appear well in the Univerſity; and there are excellent rules of diſcipline in every college. That the rules are ſometimes ill obſerved, may be true; but is nothing againſt the ſyſtem. The members of an Univerſity may, for a ſeaſon, be unmindful of their duty. I am arguing for the excellency of the inſtitution."’

Of Guthrie he ſaid, ‘"Sir, he is a man of parts. He has no great regular fund of knowledge; but by reading ſo long, and writing ſo long, he no doubt has picked up a good deal."’

He ſaid he had lately been a long while at Lichfield, but had grown very weary before he left it. BOSWELL. ‘"I wonder at that, Sir; it is your native place▪"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why ſo is Scotland your native place."’

[301] His prejudice againſt Scotland appeared remarkably ſtrong at this time. When I talked of our advancement in literature, ‘"Sir, (ſaid he,) you have learnt a little from us, and you think yourſelves very great men. Hume would never have written Hiſtory, had not Voltaire written it before him. He is an echo of Voltaire."’ BOSWELL. ‘"But, Sir, we have Lord Kames."’ JOHNSON. ‘"You have Lord Kames. Keep him; ha, ha, ha! We don't envy you him. Do you ever ſee Dr. Robertſon?"’ BOSWELL. ‘"Yes, Sir."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Does the dog talk of me?"’ BOSWELL. ‘"Indeed, Sir, he does, and loves you."’ Thinking that I now had him in a corner, and being ſolicitous for the literary fame of my country, I preſſed him for his opinion on the merit of Dr. Robertſon's Hiſtory of Scotland. But, to my ſurprize, he eſcaped.—‘"Sir, I love Robertſon, and I won't talk of his book."’

It is but juſtice both to him and Dr. Robertſon to add, that though he indulged himſelf in this ſally of wit, he had too good taſte not to be fully ſenſible of the merits of that admirable work.

An eſſay, written by Mr. Deane, a divine of the Church of England, maintaining the future life of brutes, by an explication of certain parts of the ſcriptures, was mentioned, and the doctrine inſiſted on by a gentleman who ſeemed fond of curious ſpeculation. Johnſon, who did not like to hear of any thing concerning a future ſtate which was not authoriſed by the regular canons of orthodoxy, diſcouraged this talk; and being offended at its continua⯑tion, he watched an opportunity to give the gentleman a blow of reprehenſion. So, when the poor ſpeculatiſt, with a ſerious metaphyſical penſive face, addreſſed him, ‘"But really, Sir, when we ſee a very ſenſible dog, we don't know what to think of him."’ Johnſon, rolling with joy at the thought, which beamed in his eye, turned quickly round, and replied, ‘"True, Sir: and when we ſee a very fooliſh fellow, we don't know what to think of him."’ He then roſe up, ſtrided to the fire, and ſtood for ſome time laughing and exulting.

I told him that I had ſeveral times, when in Italy, ſeen the experiment of placing a ſcorpion within a circle of burning coals; that it ran round and round in extreme pain; and finding no way to eſcape, retired to the centre, and, like a true Stoick philoſopher, darted its ſting into its head, and thus at once freed itſelf from its woes. ‘"This muſt end 'em."’ I ſaid, this was a curious fact, as it ſhewed deliberate ſuicide in a reptile. Johnſon would not admit the fact. He ſaid, Maupertuis was of opinion that it does not kill itſelf, but dies of the heat; that it gets to the centre of the circle, as the cooleſt place; that its turning its tail in upon its head is merely a convulſion, and that it does not ſting itſelf. He ſaid he would be ſatisfied if the great anatomiſt Morgagni, [302] after diſſecting a ſcorpion upon whom the experiment had been tried, ſhould certify that its ſting had penetrated into its head.

He ſeemed pleaſed to talk of natural philoſophy. ‘"That woodcocks, (ſaid he,) fly over to the northern countries, is proved, becauſe they have been obſerved at ſea. Swallows certainly ſleep all the winter. A number of them conglobulate together, by flying round and round, and then all in a heap throw themſelves under water, and lye in the bed of a river."’ He told us, one of his firſt eſſays was a Latin poem upon the glow-worm. I am ſorry I did not aſk where it was to be found.

Talking of the Ruſſians and the Chineſe, he adviſed me to read Bell's travels. I aſked him whether I ſhould read Du Halde's account of China. ‘"Why yes, (ſaid he,) as one reads ſuch a book; that is to ſay, conſult it."’

He talked of the heinouſneſs of the crime of adultery, by which the peace of families was deſtroyed. He ſaid, ‘"Confuſion of progeny conſtitutes the eſſence of the crime; and therefore a woman who breaks her marriage vows is much more criminal than a man who does it. A man, to be ſure, is criminal in the ſight of GOD: but he does not do his wife a very material injury, if he does not inſult her; if, for inſtance, from mere wantonneſs of appetite, he ſteals privately to her chambermaid. Sir, a wife ought not greatly to reſent this. I would not receive home a daughter who had run away from her huſband on that account. A wife ſhould ſtudy to reclaim her huſband by more attention to pleaſe him. Sir, a man will not, once in a hundred inſtances, leave his wife and go to a harlot, if his wife has not been negligent of pleaſing."’

I aſked him if it was not hard that one deviation from chaſtity ſhould ſo abſo⯑lutely ruin a young woman. JOHNSON. ‘"Why no, Sir; it is the great principle which ſhe is taught. When ſhe has given up that principle, ſhe has given up every notion of female honour and virtue, which are all included in chaſtity."’

A gentleman talked to him of a lady whom he greatly admired and wiſhed to marry, but was afraid of her ſuperiority of talents. ‘"Sir, (ſaid he,) you need not be afraid; marry her. Before a year goes about, you'll find that reaſon much weaker, and that wit not ſo bright."’ Yet the gentleman may be juſtified in his apprehenſion by one of Dr. Johnſon's admirable ſentences in his life of Waller: ‘"He doubtleſs praiſed many whom he would have been afraid to marry; and, perhaps, married one whom he would have been aſhamed to praiſe. Many qualities contribute to domeſtick happineſs, upon which poetry has no colours to beſtow; and many airs and ſallies may delight imagination, which he who flatters them never can approve."’

[303] He praiſed Signor Baretti. ‘"His account of Italy is a very entertaining book; and, Sir, I know no man who carries his head higher in converſation than Baretti. There are ſtrong powers in his mind. He has not, indeed, many hooks; but with what hooks he has he grapples very forcibly."’

At this time I obſerved upon the dial-plate of his watch a ſhort Greek inſcription, taken from the New Teſtament, [...], being the firſt words of our Saviour's ſolemn admonition to the improvement of that time which is allowed us to prepare for eternity; ‘"the night cometh when no man can work."’ He ſome time afterwards laid aſide this dial-plate; and when I aſked him the reaſon, he ſaid, ‘"It might do very well upon a clock which a man keeps in his cloſet; but to have it upon his watch which he carries about with him, and which is often looked at by others, might be cenſured as oſtentatious."’ Mr. Steevens is now poſſeſſed of the dial-plate inſcribed as above.

He remained at Oxford a conſiderable time; I was obliged to go to London, where I received his letter, which had been returned from Scotland.

I anſwered thus:

Upon his arrival in London in May, he ſurprized me one morning with a viſit at my lodgings in Half-Moon-ſtreet, was quite ſatisfied with my expla⯑nation, and was in the kindeſt and moſt agreeable frame of mind. As he had objected to a part of one of his letters being publiſhed, I thought it right to take this opportunity of aſking him explicitly whether it would be improper to publiſh his letters after his death. His anſwer was, ‘"Nay, Sir, when I am dead, you may do as you will."’

He talked in his uſual ſtyle with a rough contempt of popular liberty. ‘"They make a rout about univerſal liberty, without conſidering that all that is to be valued, or indeed can be enjoyed by individuals, is private liberty. Political liberty is good only ſo far as it produces private liberty. Now, Sir, there is the liberty of the preſs, which you know is a conſtant topick. Sup⯑poſe you and I and two hundred more were reſtrained from printing our thoughts: what then? What proportion would that reſtraint upon us bear to the private happineſs of the nation?"’

This mode of repreſenting the inconveniencies of reſtraint as light and inſig⯑nificant, was a kind of ſophiſtry in which he delighted to indulge himſelf, in oppoſition to the extreme laxity for which it has been faſhionable for too many to argue, when it is evident, upon reflection, that the very eſſence of govern⯑ment is reſtraint; and certain it is, that as government produces rational [305] happineſs, too much reſtraint is better than too little. But when reſtraint is unneceſſary, and ſo cloſe as to gall thoſe who are ſubject to it, the people may and ought to remonſtrate; and, if relief is not granted, to reſiſt. Of this manly and ſpirited principle, no man was more convinced than Johnſon himſelf.

About this time Dr. Kenrick attacked him, through my ſides, in a pam⯑phlet, entitled ‘"An Epiſtle to James Boſwell, Eſq. occaſioned by his having tranſmitted the moral Writings of Dr. Samuel Johnſon to Paſcal Paoli, General of the Corſicans."’ I was at firſt inclined to anſwer this pamphlet; but Johnſon, who knew that my doing ſo would only gratify Kenrick, by keeping alive what would ſoon die away of itſelf, would not ſuffer me to take any notice of it.

His ſincere regard for Francis Barber, his faithful negro ſervant, made him ſo deſirous of his further improvement, that he now placed him at a ſchool at Biſhop Stortford, in Hertfordſhire. This humane attention does Johnſon's heart much honour. Out of many letters which Mr. Barber received from his maſter, he has preſerved three, which he kindly gave me, and which I ſhall inſert according to their dates.

Soon afterwards, he ſupped at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in the Strand, with a company whom I collected to meet him. They were Dr. Percy, now Biſhop of Dromore, Dr. Douglas, now Biſhop of Carliſle, Mr. Langton, Dr. Robertſon the Hiſtorian, Dr. Hugh Blair, and Mr. Thomas Davies, who wiſhed much to be introduced to theſe eminent Scotch literati; but on the preſent occaſion he had very little opportunity of hearing them talk, for with an exceſs of prudence, for which Johnſon afterwards found fault with them, they hardly opened their lips, and that only to ſay ſomething which they were [306] certain would not expoſe them to the ſword of Goliah; ſuch was their anxiety for their fame when in the preſence of Johnſon. He was this evening in remarkable vigour of mind, and eager to exert himſelf in converſation, which he did with great readineſs and fluency; but I am ſorry to find that I have preſerved but a ſmall part of what paſſed.

He allowed high praiſe to Thomſon as a poet; but when one of the com⯑pany ſaid he was alſo a very good man, our moraliſt conteſted this with great warmth, accuſing him of groſs ſenſuality and licentiouſneſs of manners. I was very much afraid that in writing Thomſon's life, Dr. Johnſon would have treated his private character with a ſtern ſeverity, but I was agreeably diſ⯑appointed; and I may claim a little merit in it, from my having been at pains to ſend him authentick accounts of the affectionate and generous conduct of that poet to his ſiſters, one of whom, the wife of Mr. Thomſon, ſchool⯑maſter at Lanark, I knew, and was preſented by her with three of his letters, one of which Dr. Johnſon has inſerted in his life.

He was vehement againſt old Dr. Mounſey, of Chelſea College, as ‘"a fellow who ſwore and talked bawdy."’ ‘"I have been often in his company, (ſaid Dr. Percy,) and never heard him ſwear or talk bawdy."’ Mr. Davies, who ſat next to Dr. Percy, having after this had ſome converſation aſide with him, made a diſcovery which, in his zeal to pay court to Dr. Johnſon, he eagerly proclaimed aloud from the foot of the table: ‘"O, Sir, I have found out a very good reaſon why Dr. Percy never heard Mounſey ſwear or talk bawdy; for he tells me, he never ſaw him but at the Duke of Northumberland's table."’ ‘"And ſo, Sir, (ſaid Johnſon loudly, to Dr. Percy,) you would ſhield this man from the charge of ſwearing and talking bawdy, becauſe he did not do ſo at the Duke of Northumberland's table. Sir, you might as well tell us that you had ſeen him hold up his hand at the Old Bailey, and he neither ſwore nor talked bawdy; or that you had ſeen him in the cart at Tyburn, and he neither ſwore nor talked bawdy. And is it thus, Sir, that you preſume to controvert what I have related?"’ Dr. Johnſon's animadver⯑ſion was uttered in ſuch a manner, that Dr. Percy ſeemed to be diſpleaſed, and ſoon afterwards left the company, of which Johnſon did not at that time take any notice.

Swift having been mentioned, Johnſon, as uſual, treated him with little reſpect as an authour. Some of us endeavoured to ſupport the Dean of St. Patrick's, by various arguments. One in particular praiſed his ‘"Conduct of the Allies."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, his 'Conduct of the Allies' is a performance of very little ability."’ ‘"Surely, Sir, (ſaid Dr. Douglas,) you muſt allow it [307] has ſtrong facts."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why yes, Sir; but what is that to the merit of the compoſition? In the Seſſions-paper of the Old Bailey there are ſtrong facts. Houſebreaking is a ſtrong fact; robbery is a ſtrong fact; and murder is a mighty ſtrong fact: but is great praiſe due to the hiſtorian of thoſe ſtrong facts? No, Sir. Swift has told what he had to tell diſtinctly enough, but that is all. He had to count ten, and he has counted it right."’—Then recol⯑lecting that Mr. Davies, by acting as an informer, had been the occaſion of his talking ſomewhat too harſhly to his friend Dr. Percy, for which, probably, when the firſt ebullition was over, he felt ſome compunction, he took an oppor⯑tunity to give him a hit; ſo added, with a preparatory laugh, ‘"Why, Sir, Tom Davies might have written 'the Conduct of the Allies."’ Poor Tom being thus ſuddenly dragged into ludicrous notice in preſence of the Scottiſh Doctors, to whom he was ambitious of appearing to advantage, was grievouſly mortified. Nor did his puniſhment reſt here; for upon ſubſequent occa⯑ſions, whenever he, ‘"ſtateſman all o'er,"’ aſſumed a ſtrutting importance, I uſed to hail him—‘"the Authour of the Conduct of the Allies."’

When I called upon Dr. Johnſon next morning, I found him highly ſatiſ⯑fied with his colloquial proweſs the preceding evening. ‘"Well, (ſaid he,) we had good talk."’ BOSWELL. ‘"Yes, Sir; you toſſed and gored ſeveral perſons."’

The late Alexander Earl of Eglintoune, who loved wit more than wine, and men of genius more than ſycophants, had a great admiration of Johnſon; but from the remarkable elegance of his own manners, was, perhaps, too delicately ſenſible of the roughneſs which ſometimes appeared in Johnſon's beha⯑viour. One evening about this time, when his Lordſhip did me the honour to ſup at my lodgings with Dr. Robertſon and ſeveral other men of literary diſtinction, he regretted that Johnſon had not been educated with more refine⯑ment, and lived more in poliſhed ſociety. ‘"No, no, my Lord, (ſaid Signor Baretti,) do with him what you would, he would always have been a bear."’ ‘"True, (anſwered the Earl, with a ſmile,) but he would have been a dancing bear."’

To obviate all the reflections which have gone round the world to Johnſon's prejudice, by applying to him the epithet of a bear, let me impreſs upon my readers a juſt and happy ſaying of my friend Goldſmith, who knew him well: ‘"Johnſon, to be ſure, has a roughneſs in his manner; but no man alive has a more tender heart. He has nothing of the bear but his ſkin."’

In 1769, ſo far as I can diſcover, the publick was favoured with nothing of his compoſition, either for himſelf or any of his friends. His ‘"Meditations"’ [308] too ſtrongly prove that he ſuffered much both in body and mind; yet was he perpetually ſtriving againſt evil, and nobly endeavouring to advance his intel⯑lectual and devotional improvement. Every generous and grateful heart muſt feel for the diſtreſſes of ſo eminent a benefactor to mankind; and now that his unhappineſs is certainly known, muſt reſpect that dignity of character which prevented him from complaining.

His Majeſty having this year inſtituted the Royal Academy, Johnſon had the honour of being appointed Profeſſor of Ancient Literature. In the courſe of the year he wrote ſome letters to Mrs. Thrale, paſſed ſome part of the ſummer at Oxford and at Lichfield, and when at Oxford wrote the following letter:

I came to London in the autumn, and having informed him that I was going to be married in a few months, I wiſhed to have as much of his con⯑verſation as I could before engaging in a ſtate of life which would probably keep me more in Scotland, and prevent my ſeeing him ſo often as when I was a ſingle man; but I found he was at Brighthelmſtone with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. I was very ſorry that I had not his company with me at the Jubilee, in honour of Shakſpeare, at Stratford-upon-Avon, the great poet's native [309] town. Johnſon's connection both with Shakſpeare and Garrick founded a double claim to his preſence; and it would have been highly gratifying to Mr. Garrick. Upon this occaſion I particularly lamented that he had not that warmth of friendſhip for his brilliant pupil, which we may ſuppoſe would have had a benignant effect on both. When almoſt every man of eminence in the literary world was happy to partake in this feſtival of genius, the abſence of Johnſon could not but be wondered at and regretted. The only trace of him there, was in the whimſical advertiſement of a haberdaſher, who ſold Shakſperian ribbands of various dyes; and, by way of illuſtrating their appro⯑priation to the bard, introduced a line from the celebrated Prologue at the opening of Drury-lane theatre:

From Brighthelmſtone Dr. Johnſon wrote me the following letter, which they who may think that I ought to have ſuppreſſed, muſt have leſs ardent feelings than I have always avowed.

After his return to town, we met frequently, and I continued the practice of making notes of his converſation, though not with ſo much aſſiduity as I wiſh I had done. At this time, indeed, I had a ſufficient excuſe for not being able to appropriate ſo much time to my journal; for General Paoli, after Corſica had been overpowered by the monarchy of France, was now no longer at the head of his brave countrymen, but having with difficulty eſcaped from his native iſland, had ſought an aſylum in Great-Britain; and it was my duty, as well as my pleaſure, to attend much upon him. Such particulars of Johnſon's converſation at this period as I have committed to writing, I ſhall here introduce, without any ſtrict attention to methodical arrangement. Some⯑times ſhort notes of different days ſhall be blended together, and ſometimes a day may ſeem important enough to be ſeparately diſtinguiſhed.

He ſaid, he would not have Sunday kept with rigid ſeverity and gloom, but with a gravity and ſimplicity of behaviour.

I told him that David Hume had made a ſhort collection of Scotticiſms. ‘"I wonder, (ſaid Johnſon,) that he ſhould find them."’

He would not admit the importance of the queſtion concerning the legality of general warrants. ‘"Such a power (he obſerved,) muſt be veſted in every government, to anſwer particular caſes of neceſſity; and there can be no juſt complaint but when it is abuſed, for which thoſe who adminiſter government muſt be anſwerable. It is a matter of ſuch indifference, a matter about which the people care ſo very little, that were a man to be ſent over Britain to offer them an exemption from it at a halfpenny a piece, very few would purchaſe it."’ This was a ſpecimen of that laxity of talking, which I have heard him fairly acknowledge; for, ſurely, while the power of granting general warrants was ſuppoſed to be legal, and the apprehenſion of them hung over our heads, we did not poſſeſs that ſecurity of freedom, congenial to our [311] happy conſtitution, and which, by the intrepid exertions of Mr. Wilkes, has been happily eſtabliſhed.

He ſaid, ‘"The duration of Parliament, whether for ſeven years or for the life of the King, appears to me ſo immaterial, that I would not give half a crown to turn the ſcale the one way or the other. The habeas corpus is the ſingle advantage which our government has over that of other countries."’

On the 30th of September we dined together at the Mitre. I attempted to argue for the ſuperiour happineſs of the ſavage life, upon the uſual fanciful topicks. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, there can be nothing more falſe. The ſavages have no bodily advantages beyond thoſe of civiliſed men. They have not better health; and as to care or mental uneaſineſs, they are not above it, but below it, like bears. No, Sir; you are not to talk ſuch paradox: let me have no more of't. It cannot entertain, far leſs can it inſtruct. Lord Monboddo, one of your Scotch Judges, talked a great deal of ſuch nonſenſe. I ſuffered him; but I will not ſuffer you."’—BOSWELL. ‘"But, Sir, does not Rouſſeau talk ſuch nonſenſe?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"True, Sir; but Rouſſeau knows he is talking nonſenſe, and laughs at the world for ſtaring at him."’ BOSWELL. ‘"How ſo, Sir?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, a man who talks nonſenſe ſo well, muſt know that he is talking nonſenſe. But I am afraid, (chuckling and laughing,) Monboddo does not know that he is talking nonſenſe ³."’ BOSWELL. ‘"Is it wrong then, Sir, to affect ſingularity, in order to make people ſtare?"’ JOHNSON. ‘"Yes, if you do it by propagating errour: and, indeed, it is wrong in any way. There is in human nature a general inclination to make people ſtare; and every wiſe man has himſelf to cure of it, and does cure himſelf. If you wiſh to make people ſtare by doing better than others, why, make them ſtare till they ſtare their eyes out. But conſider how eaſy it is to make people ſtare, by being abſurd. I may do it by going into a drawing-room without my ſhoes. You remember the gentleman in ‘"The Spectator,"’ who had a commiſ⯑ſion of lunacy taken out againſt him for his extreme ſingularity, ſuch as never wearing a wig, but a night-cap. Now, Sir, abſtractedly, the night-cap was beſt; but, relatively, the advantage was overbalanced by his making the boys run after him."’

Talking of a London life, he ſaid, ‘"The happineſs of London is not to be conceived but by thoſe who have been in it. I will venture to ſay, there [312] is more learning and ſcience within the circumference of ten miles from where we now ſit, than in all the reſt of the kingdom."’ BOSWELL. ‘"The only diſadvantage is the great diſtance at which people live from one another."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Yes, Sir; but that is occaſioned by the largeneſs of it, which is the cauſe of all the other advantages."’ BOSWELL. ‘"Sometimes I have been in the humour of wiſhing to retire to a deſart."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, you have deſart enough in Scotland."’

Although I had promiſed myſelf a great deal of inſtructive converſation with him on the conduct of the married ſtate, of which I had then a near proſpect, he did not ſay much upon that topick. Mr. Seward heard him once ſay, that ‘"a man has a very bad chance for happineſs in that ſtate, unleſs he marries a woman of very ſtrong and fixed principles of religion."’ He maintained to me, contrary to the common notion, that a woman would not be the worſe wife for being learned; in which, from all that I have obſerved of Artemiſias, I humbly differed from him. That a woman ſhould be ſenſible and well informed, I allow to be a great advantage; and think that Sir Thomas Over⯑bury ⁴, in his rude verſification, has very judiciouſly pointed out that degree of intelligence which is to be deſired in a female companion:

When I cenſured a gentleman of my acquaintance for marrying a ſecond time, as it ſhewed a diſregard of his firſt wife, he ſaid, ‘"Not at all, Sir. On the contrary, were he not to marry again, it might be concluded that his firſt wife had given him a diſguſt to marriage; but by taking a ſecond wife he pays the higheſt compliment to the firſt, by ſhewing that ſhe made him ſo happy as a married man, that he wiſhes to be ſo a ſecond time.▪’ So ingenious a turn did he give to this delicate queſtion. And yet, on another occaſion, he owned that he once had almoſt aſked a promiſe of Mrs. Johnſon that ſhe would not marry again, but had checked himſelf. Indeed I cannot help thinking, that in his caſe the requeſt would have been unreaſonable; for [313] if Mrs. Johnſon forgot, or thought it no injury to the memory of her firſt love,—the huſband of her youth and the father of her children,—to make a ſecond marriage, why ſhould ſhe be precluded from a third, ſhould ſhe be ſo inclined? In Johnſon's perſevering fond appropriation of his Tetty, even after her deceaſe, he ſeems totally to have overlooked the prior claim of the honeſt Birmingham trader. I preſume that her having been married before had, at times, given him ſome uneaſineſs; for I remember his obſerving upon the marriage of one of our common friends, ‘"He has done a very fooliſh thing, Sir; he has married a widow, when he might have had a maid."’

We drank tea with Mrs. Williams. I had laſt year the pleaſure of ſee⯑ing Mrs. Thrale at Dr. Johnſon's one morning, and had converſation enough with her to admire her talents, and to ſhew her that I was as Johnſonian as herſelf. Dr. Johnſon had probably been kind enough to ſpeak well of me, for this evening he delivered me a very polite card from Mr. Thrale and her, inviting me to Streatham.

On the 6th of October I complied with this obliging invitation, and found, at an elegant villa, ſix miles from town, every circumſtance that can make ſociety pleaſing. Johnſon, though quite at home, was yet looked up to with an awe, tempered by affection, and ſeemed to be equally the care of his hoſt and hoſteſs. I rejoiced at ſeeing him ſo happy.

He played off his wit againſt Scotland with a good humoured pleaſantry, which gave me, though no bigot to national prejudices, an opportunity for a little conteſt with him. I having ſaid that England was obliged to us for gardeners, almoſt all their good gardeners being Scotchmen,—JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, that is becauſe gardening is much more neceſſary amongſt you than with us, which makes ſo many of your people learn it. It is all garden⯑ing with you. Things which grow wild here, muſt be cultivated with great care in Scotland. Pray now, (throwing himſelf back in his chair, and laugh⯑ing,) are you ever able to bring the ſloe to perfection?"’

I boaſted that we had the honour of being the firſt to aboliſh the unhoſpitable, troubleſome, and ungracious cuſtom of giving vails to ſervants. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, you aboliſhed vails, becauſe you were too poor to be able to give them."’

Mrs. Thrale diſputed with him on the merit of Prior. He attacked him powerfully; ſaid, he wrote of love like a man who had never felt it: his love verſes were college verſes: and he repeated the ſong, ‘"Alexis ſhunn'd his fellow ſwains,"’ &c. in ſo ludicrous a manner, as to make us all wonder how any one could have been pleaſed with ſuch fantaſtical ſtuff. Mrs. Thrale ſtood [314] to her gun with great courage, in defence of amorous ditties which Johnſon deſpiſed, till he at laſt ſilenced her by ſaying, ‘"My dear Lady, talk no more of this. Nonſenſe can be defended but by nonſenſe."’

Mrs. Thrale then praiſed Garrick's talent for light gay poetry; and, as a ſpecimen, repeated his ſong in ‘"Florizel and Perdita,"’ and dwelt with pecu⯑liar pleaſure on this line:

JOHNSON. ‘"Nay, my dear Lady, this will never do. Poor David! Smile with the ſimple! What folly is that! And who would feed with the poor that can help it? No, no; let me ſmile with the wiſe, and feed with the rich."’ I repeated this ſally to Garrick, and wondered to find his ſenſibility as a writer not a little irritated by it. To ſooth him, I obſerved, that Johnſon ſpared none of us; and I quoted the paſſage in Horace, in which he com⯑pares one who attacks his friends for the ſake of a laugh, to a puſhing ox that is marked by a bunch of hay put upon his horns: ‘"foenum habet in cornu."’ ‘"Aye, (ſaid Garrick, vehemently,) he has a whole mow of it."’

Talking of hiſtory, Johnſon ſaid, ‘"We may know hiſtorical facts to be true, as we may know facts in common life to be true. Motives are generally unknown. We cannot truſt to the characters we find in hiſtory, unleſs when they are drawn by thoſe who knew the perſons; as thoſe, for inſtance, by Salluſt and by Lord Clarendon."’

He would not allow much merit to Whitefield's oratory. ‘"His popularity, Sir, (ſaid he,) is chiefly owing to the peculiarity of his manner. He would be followed by crowds were he to wear a night-cap in the pulpit, or were he to preach from a tree."’

I know not from what ſpirit of contradiction he burſt out into a violent declamation againſt the Corſicans, of whoſe heroiſm I talked in high terms. ‘"Sir, (ſaid he,) what is all this rout about the Corſicans? They have been at war with the Genoeſe for upwards of twenty years, and have never yet taken their fortified towns. They might have battered down their walls and reduced them to powder in twenty years. They might have pulled the walls in pieces, and cracked the ſtones with their teeth in twenty years."’ It was in vain to argue with him upon the want of artillery: he was not to be reſiſted for the moment.

On the evening of October 10, I preſented Dr. Johnſon to General Paoli. I had greatly wiſhed that two men, for whom I had the higheſt eſteem, ſhould [315] meet. They met with a manly eaſe, mutually conſcious of their own abili⯑ties, and of the abilities of each other. The General ſpoke Italian, and Dr. Johnſon Engliſh, and underſtood one another very well, with a little aid of interpretation from me, in which I compared myſelf to an iſthmus which joins two great continents. Upon Johnſon's approach, the General ſaid, ‘"From what I have read of your works, Sir, and from what Mr. Boſwell has told me of you, I have long held you in great veneration."’ The General talked of languages being formed on the particular notions and manners of a people, without knowing which, we cannot know the language. We may know the direct ſignification of ſingle words; but by theſe no beauty of expreſſion, no ſally of genius, no wit is conveyed to the mind. All this muſt be by alluſion to other ideas. ‘"Sir, (ſaid Johnſon,) you talk of language as if you had never done any thing elſe but ſtudy it, inſtead of governing a nation."’ The General ſaid, ‘"Queſto e un troppo gran complimento,"’ this is too great a com⯑pliment. Johnſon anſwered, ‘"I ſhould have thought ſo, Sir, if I had not heard you talk."’ The General aſked him, what he thought of the ſpirit of infidelity which was ſo prevalent. JOHNSON. ‘"Sir, this gloom of infidelity, I hope, is only a tranſient cloud paſſing through the hemiſphere, which will ſoon be diſſipated, and the ſun break forth with his uſual ſplendour."’ ‘"You think then, (ſaid the General,) that they will change their principles like their clothes."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, if they beſtow no more thought on prin⯑ciples than on dreſs, it muſt be ſo."’ The General ſaid, that ‘"a great part of the faſhionable infidelity was owing to a deſire of ſhewing courage. Men who have no opportunities of ſhewing it as to things in this life, take death and futurity as objects on which to diſplay it."’ JOHNSON. ‘"That is mighty fooliſh affectation. Fear is one of the paſſions of human nature, of which it is im⯑poſſible to diveſt it. You remember that the Emperour Charles V. when he read upon the tomb-ſtone of a Spaniſh nobleman, 'Here lies one who never knew fear,' wittily ſaid, 'Then he never ſnuffed a candle with his fingers."’

He talked a few words of French to the General; but finding he did not do it with facility, he aſked for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the following note:

‘"J'ai lu dans la geographie de Lucas de Linda un Pater-noſter êcrit dans une langue toutàfait differente de l'Italienne, et de toutes autres leſquelles ſe derivent du Latin. L'auteur l'appelle linguam Corſicae ruſticam; elle a peutetre paſſé, peu a peu; mais elle a certainement prevalue autrefois dans les montagnes et dans la campagne. Le même auteur dit la même choſe en parlant de Sardaigne; qu'il y a deux langues dans l'Iſle, une des villes, l'autre de la campagne."’

[316] The General immediately informed him that the lingua ruſtica was only in Sardinia.

Dr. Johnſon went home with me, and drank tea till late in the night. He ſaid, General Paoli had the loftieſt port of any man he had ever ſeen. He denied that military men were always the beſt bred men. Perfect good breeding, he obſerved, conſiſts in having no particular mark of any profeſſion, but a general elegance of manners: whereas, in a military man, you can commonly diſtinguiſh the brand of a ſoldier, l'homme d'epee.

Dr. Johnſon ſhunned to-night any diſcuſſion of the perplexed queſtion of fate and free will, which I attempted to agitate: ‘"Sir, (ſaid he,) we know our will is free, and there's an end of't."’

He honoured me with his company at dinner on the 16th of October, at my lodgings in Old Bond-ſtreet, with Sir Joſhua Reynolds, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Goldſmith, Mr. Murphy, Mr. Bickerſtaff, and Mr. Thomas Davies. Garrick played round him with a fond vivacity, taking hold of the breaſts of his coat, and, looking up in his face with a lively archneſs, complimented him on the good health which he ſeemed then to enjoy; while the ſage, ſhaking his head, beheld him with a gentle complacency. One of the company not being come at the appointed hour, I propoſed, as uſual upon ſuch occa⯑ſions, to order dinner to be ſerved; adding, ‘"Ought ſix people to be kept waiting for one?"’ ‘"Why yes, (anſwered Johnſon, with a delicate huma⯑nity,) if the one will ſuffer more by your ſitting down, than the ſix will do by waiting."’ Goldſmith, to divert the tedious minutes, ſtrutted about, bragging of his dreſs, and I believe was ſeriouſly vain of it, for his mind was wonderfully prone to ſuch impreſſions. ‘"Come, come, (ſaid Garrick,) talk no more of that. You are, perhaps, the worſt—eheh!"’—Goldſmith was eagerly attempting to interrupt him, when Garrick went on, laughing ironically, ‘"Nay, you will always look like a gentleman; but I am talking of being well or ill dreſt."’ ‘"Well, let me tell you, (ſaid Goldſmith,) when my tailor brought home my bloom-coloured coat, he ſaid 'Sir, I have a favour to beg of you. When any body aſks you who made your clothes, be pleaſed to mention John Phielby, at the Harrow, in Water-lane."’ JOHNSON. ‘"Why, Sir, that was becauſe he knew the ſtrange colour would attract crouds to gaze at it, and thus they might hear of him, and ſee how well he could make a coat even of ſo abſurd a colour."’

After dinner, our converſation firſt turned upon Pope. Johnſon ſaid, his characters of men were admirably drawn, thoſe of women not ſo well. He repeated to us, in his forcible melodious manner, the concluding lines of the [317] Dunciad. While he was talking loudly in praiſe of thoſe lines, one of the company ventured to ſay, ‘"Too fine for ſuch a poem:—a poem on what?"’ JOHNSON, (with a diſdainful look,) ‘"Why, on dunces. It was worth while being a dunce then. Ah, Sir, hadſt thou lived in thoſe days! It is not worth while being a dunce now, when there are no wits."’ Bickerſtaff obſerved, as a peculiar circumſtance, that Pope's fame was higher when he was alive than it was then. Johnſon ſaid, his Paſtorals were poor things, though the verſification was fine. He told us, with high ſatisfaction, the anecdote of Pope's inquiring who was the author of his ‘"London,"’ and ſaying he will be ſoon deterré. He obſerved, that in Dryden's poetry there were paſſages drawn from a profundity which Pope could never reach. He repeated ſome fine lines on love, by the former, (which I have now forgotten,) and gave great applauſe to the character of Zimri. Goldſmith ſaid, that Pope's character of Addiſon ſhewed a deep knowledge of the human heart. Johnſon ſaid, that the deſcription of the temple, in ‘"The Mourning Bride,"’ was the fineſt poetical paſſage he had ever read; he recollected none in Shakſpeare equal to it.—‘"But, (ſaid Garrick, all alarmed for 'the god of his idolatry,') we know not the extent and variety of his powers. We are to ſuppoſe there are ſuch paſſages in his works. Shakſpeare muſt not ſuffer from the badneſs of our memories."’ Johnſon, diverted by this enthuſiaſtick jealouſy, went on with greater ardour: ‘"No, Sir; Congreve has nature,"’ (ſmiling on the tragick eagerneſs of Garrick;) but compoſing himſelf, he added, ‘"Sir, this is not comparing Congreve on the whole, with Shakſpeare on the whole; but only maintaining that Congreve has one finer paſſage than any that can be found in Shakſpeare. Sir, a man may have no more than ten guineas in the world, but he may have thoſe ten guineas in one piece; and ſo may have a finer piece than a man who has ten thouſand pounds: but then he has only one ten-guinea piece.—What I mean is, that you can ſhew me no paſſage where there is ſimply a deſcription of material objects, without any intermixture of moral notions, which produces ſuch an effect."’ Mr. Murphy mentioned Shakſpeare's deſcription of the night before the battle of Agincourt; but it was obſerved, it had men in it. Mr. Davies ſuggeſted the ſpeech of Juliet, in which ſhe figures herſelf awaking in the tomb of her anceſtors. Some one mentioned the deſcription of Dover Cliff. JOHNSON. ‘"No, Sir; it ſhould be all preci⯑pice,—all vacuum. The crows impede your fall. The diminiſhed appear⯑ance of the boats, and other circumſtances, are all very good deſcription; but do not impreſs the mind at once with the horrible idea of immenſe height. The impreſſion is divided; you paſs on by computation, from one ſtage of [318] the tremendous ſpace to another. Had the girl in ‘"The Mourning Bride"’ ſaid, ſhe could not caſt her ſhoe to the top of one of the pillars in the temple, it would not have aided the idea, but weakened it."’