(part 21)
have some of it made, which was done with proper skill by
Mr. Eliot. I thought it very good liquor; and said it was a
counterpart of what is called Athol Porridge in the Highlands of
Scotland, which is a mixture of whisky and honey. Johnson said,
'that must be a better liquor than the Cornish, for both its
component parts are better.' He also observed, 'Mahogany must be a
modern name; for it is not long since the wood called mahogany was
known in this country.' I mentioned his scale of liquors;--claret
for boys,--port for men,--brandy for heroes. 'Then (said Mr.
Burke,) let me have claret: I love to be a boy; to have the
careless gaiety of boyish days.' JOHNSON. 'I should drink claret
too, if it would give me that; but it does not: it neither makes
boys men, nor men boys. You'll be drowned by it, before it has any
effect upon you.'

I ventured to mention a ludicrous paragraph in the newspapers, that
Dr. Johnson was learning to dance of Vestris. Lord Charlemont,
wishing to excite him to talk, proposed in a whisper, that he
should be asked, whether it was true. 'Shall I ask him?' said his
Lordship. We were, by a great majority, clear for the experiment.
Upon which his Lordship very gravely, and with a courteous air
said, 'Pray, Sir, is it true that you are taking lessons of
Vestris?' This was risking a good deal, and required the boldness
of a General of Irish Volunteers to make the attempt. Johnson was
at first startled, and in some heat answered, 'How can your
Lordship ask so simple a question?' But immediately recovering
himself, whether from unwillingness to be deceived, or to appear
deceived, or whether from real good humour, he kept up the joke:
'Nay, but if any body were to answer the paragraph, and contradict
it, I'd have a reply, and would say, that he who contradicted it
was no friend either to Vestris or me. For why should not Dr.
Johnson add to his other powers a little corporeal agility?
Socrates learnt to dance at an advanced age, and Cato learnt Greek
at an advanced age. Then it might proceed to say, that this
Johnson, not content with dancing on the ground, might dance on the
rope; and they might introduce the elephant dancing on the rope.'

On Sunday, April 1, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale's, with Sir
Philip Jennings Clerk and Mr. Perkins, who had the superintendence
of Mr. Thrale's brewery, with a salary of five hundred pounds a
year. Sir Philip had the appearance of a gentleman of ancient
family, well advanced in life. He wore his own white hair in a bag
of goodly size, a black velvet coat, with an embroidered waistcoat,
and very rich laced ruffles; which Mrs. Thrale said were old
fashioned, but which, for that reason, I thought the more
respectable, more like a Tory; yet Sir Philip was then in
Opposition in Parliament. 'Ah, Sir, (said Johnson,) ancient
ruffles and modern principles do not agree.' Sir Philip defended
the Opposition to the American war ably and with temper, and I
joined him. He said, the majority of the nation was against the
ministry. JOHNSON. 'I, Sir, am against the ministry; but it is
for having too little of that, of which Opposition thinks they have
too much. Were I minister, if any man wagged his finger against
me, he should be turned out; for that which it is in the power of
Government to give at pleasure to one or to another, should be
given to the supporters of Government. If you will not oppose at
the expence of losing your place, your opposition will not be
honest, you will feel no serious grievance; and the present
opposition is only a contest to get what others have. Sir Robert
Walpole acted as I would do. As to the American war, the SENSE of
the nation is WITH the ministry. The majority of those who can
UNDERSTAND is with it; the majority of those who can only HEAR, is
against it; and as those who can only hear are more numerous than
those who can understand, and Opposition is always loudest, a
majority of the rabble will be for Opposition.'

This boisterous vivacity entertained us; but the truth in my
opinion was, that those who could understand the best were against
the American war, as almost every man now is, when the question has
been coolly considered.

Mrs. Thrale gave high praise to Mr. Dudley Long, (now North).
JOHNSON. 'Nay, my dear lady, don't talk so. Mr. Long's character
is very SHORT. It is nothing. He fills a chair. He is a man of
genteel appearance, and that is all. I know nobody who blasts by
praise as you do: for whenever there is exaggerated praise, every
body is set against a character. They are provoked to attack it.
Now there is Pepys; you praised that man with such disproportion,
that I was incited to lessen him, perhaps more than he deserves.
His blood is upon your head. By the same principle, your malice
defeats itself; for your censure is too violent. And yet, (looking
to her with a leering smile,) she is the first woman in the world,
could she but restrain that wicked tongue of hers;--she would be
the only woman, could she but command that little whirligig.'

Upon the subject of exaggerated praise I took the liberty to say,
that I thought there might be very high praise given to a known
character which deserved it, and therefore it would not be
exaggerated. Thus, one might say of Mr. Edmund Burke, He is a very
wonderful man. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, you would not be safe if
another man had a mind perversely to contradict. He might answer,
"Where is all the wonder? Burke is, to be sure, a man of uncommon
abilities, with a great quantity of matter in his mind, and a great
fluency of language in his mouth. But we are not to be stunned and
astonished by him." So you see, Sir, even Burke would suffer, not
from any fault of his own, but from your folly.'

Mrs. Thrale mentioned a gentleman who had acquired a fortune of
four thousand a year in trade, but was absolutely miserable,
because he could not talk in company; so miserable, that he was
impelled to lament his situation in the street to ******, whom he
hates, and who he knows despises him. 'I am a most unhappy man,
(said he). I am invited to conversations. I go to conversations;
but, alas! I have no conversation.' JOHNSON. 'Man commonly cannot
be successful in different ways. This gentleman has spent, in
getting four thousand pounds a year, the time in which he might
have learnt to talk; and now he cannot talk.' Mr. Perkins made a
shrewd and droll remark: 'If he had got his four thousand a year as
a mountebank, he might have learnt to talk at the same time that he
was getting his fortune.'

Some other gentlemen came in. The conversation concerning the
person whose character Dr. Johnson had treated so slightingly, as
he did not know his merit, was resumed. Mrs. Thrale said, 'You
think so of him, Sir, because he is quiet, and does not exert
himself with force. You'll be saying the same thing of Mr. *****
there, who sits as quiet--.' This was not well-bred; and Johnson
did not let it pass without correction. 'Nay, Madam, what right
have you to talk thus? Both Mr. ***** and I have reason to take it
ill. You may talk so of Mr. *****; but why do you make me do it?
Have I said anything against Mr. *****? You have set him, that I
might shoot him: but I have not shot him.'

One of the gentlemen said, he had seen three folio volumes of Dr.
Johnson's sayings collected by me. 'I must put you right, Sir,
(said I,) for I am very exact in authenticity. You could not see
folio volumes, for I have none: you might have seen some in quarto
and octavo. This is inattention which one should guard against.'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, it is a want of concern about veracity. He does
not know that he saw any volumes. If he had seen them he could
have remembered their size.'

Mr. Thrale appeared very lethargick to-day. I saw him again on
Monday evening, at which time he was not thought to be in immediate
danger; but early in the morning of Wednesday, the 4th, he expired.
Johnson was in the house, and thus mentions the event: 'I felt
almost the last flutter of his pulse, and looked for the last time
upon the face that for fifteen years had never been turned upon me
but with respect and benignity.' Upon that day there was a Call of
The LITERARY CLUB; but Johnson apologised for his absence by the
following note:--

'MR. JOHNSON knows that Sir Joshua Reynolds and the other gentlemen
will excuse his incompliance with the call, when they are told that
Mr. Thrale died this morning.--Wednesday.'

Mr. Thrale's death was a very essential loss to Johnson, who,
although he did not foresee all that afterwards happened, was
sufficiently convinced that the comforts which Mr. Thrale's family
afforded him, would now in a great measure cease. He, however,
continued to shew a kind attention to his widow and children as
long as it was acceptable; and he took upon him, with a very
earnest concern, the office of one of his executors, the importance
of which seemed greater than usual to him, from his circumstances
having been always such, that he had scarcely any share in the real
business of life. His friends of THE CLUB were in hopes that Mr.
Thrale might have made a liberal provision for him for his life,
which, as Mr. Thrale left no son, and a very large fortune, it
would have been highly to his honour to have done; and, considering
Dr. Johnson's age, could not have been of long duration; but he
bequeathed him only two hundred pounds, which was the legacy given
to each of his executors. I could not but be somewhat diverted by
hearing Johnson talk in a pompous manner of his new office, and
particularly of the concerns of the brewery, which it was at last
resolved should be sold. Lord Lucan tells a very good story,
which, if not precisely exact, is certainly characteristical: that
when the sale of Thrale's brewery was going forward, Johnson
appeared bustling about, with an ink-horn and pen in his button-
hole, like an excise-man; and on being asked what he really
considered to be the value of the property which was to be disposed
of, answered, 'We are not here to sell a parcel of boilers and
vats, but the potentiality of growing rich, beyond the dreams of
avarice.'

On Friday, April 6, he carried me to dine at a club, which, at his
desire, had been lately formed at the Queen's Arms, in St. Paul's
Church-yard. He told Mr. Hoole, that he wished to have a City
Club, and asked him to collect one; but, said he, 'Don't let them
be PATRIOTS.' The company were to-day very sensible, well-behaved
men.

On Friday, April 13, being Good-Friday, I went to St. Clement's
church with him as usual. There I saw again his old fellow-
collegian, Edwards, to whom I said, 'I think, Sir, Dr. Johnson and
you meet only at Church.'--'Sir, (said he,) it is the best place we
can meet in, except Heaven, and I hope we shall meet there too.'
Dr. Johnson told me, that there was very little communication
between Edwards and him, after their unexpected renewal of
acquaintance. 'But, (said he, smiling), he met me once, and said,
"I am told you have written a very pretty book called The Rambler."
I was unwilling that he should leave the world in total darkness,
and sent him a set.'

Mr. Berrenger visited him to-day, and was very pleasing. We talked
of an evening society for conversation at a house in town, of which
we were all members, but of which Johnson said, 'It will never do,
Sir. There is nothing served about there, neither tea, nor coffee,
nor lemonade, nor any thing whatever; and depend upon it, Sir, a
man does not love to go to a place from whence he comes out exactly
as he went in.' I endeavoured, for argument's sake, to maintain
that men of learning and talents might have very good intellectual
society, without the aid of any little gratifications of the
senses. Berrenger joined with Johnson, and said, that without
these any meeting would be dull and insipid. He would therefore
have all the slight refreshments; nay, it would not be amiss to
have some cold meat, and a bottle of wine upon a side-board. 'Sir,
(said Johnson to me, with an air of triumph,) Mr. Berrenger knows
the world. Every body loves to have good things furnished to them
without any trouble. I told Mrs. Thrale once, that as she did not
choose to have card tables, she should have a profusion of the best
sweetmeats, and she would be sure to have company enough come to
her.'

On Sunday, April 15, being Easter-day, after solemn worship in St.
Paul's church, I found him alone; Dr. Scott of the Commons came in.

We talked of the difference between the mode of education at
Oxford, and that in those Colleges where instruction is chiefly
conveyed by lectures. JOHNSON. 'Lectures were once useful; but
now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are
unnecessary. If your attention fails, and you miss a part of a
lecture, it is lost; you cannot go back as you do upon a book.'
Dr. Scott agreed with him. 'But yet (said I), Dr. Scott, you
yourself gave lectures at Oxford.' He smiled. 'You laughed (then
said I,) at those who came to you.'

Dr. Scott left us, and soon afterwards we went to dinner. Our
company consisted of Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins, Mr. Levett,
Mr. Allen, the printer, and Mrs. Hall, sister of the Reverend Mr.
John Wesley, and resembling him, as I thought, both in figure and
manner. Johnson produced now, for the first time, some handsome
silver salvers, which he told me he had bought fourteen years ago;
so it was a great day. I was not a little amused by observing
Allen perpetually struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like
the little frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the
stately ox.

He mentioned a thing as not unfrequent, of which I had never heard
before,--being CALLED, that is, hearing one's name pronounced by
the voice of a known person at a great distance, far beyond the
possibility of being reached by any sound uttered by human organs.
'An acquaintance, on whose veracity I can depend, told me, that
walking home one evening to Kilmarnock, he heard himself called
from a wood, by the voice of a brother who had gone to America; and
the next packet brought accounts of that brother's death.' Macbean
asserted that this inexplicable CALLING was a thing very well
known. Dr. Johnson said, that one day at Oxford, as he was turning
the key of his chamber, he heard his mother distinctly call SAM.
She was then at Lichfleld; but nothing ensued. This phaenomenon
is, I think, as wonderful as any other mysterious fact, which many
people are very slow to believe, or rather, indeed, reject with an
obstinate contempt.

Some time after this, upon his making a remark which escaped my
attention, Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Hall were both together striving
to answer him. He grew angry, and called out loudly, 'Nay, when
you both speak at once, it is intolerable.' But checking himself,
and softening, he said, 'This one may say, though you ARE ladies.'
Then he brightened into gay humour, and addressed them in the words
of one of the songs in The Beggar's Opera:--


'But two at a time there's no mortal can bear.'


'What, Sir, (said I,) are you going to turn Captain Macheath?'
There was something as pleasantly ludicrous in this scene as can be
imagined. The contrast between Macheath, Polly, and Lucy--and Dr.
Samuel Johnson, blind, peevish Mrs. Williams, and lean, lank,
preaching Mrs. Hall, was exquisite.

On Friday, April 20, I spent with him one of the happiest days that
I remember to have enjoyed in the whole course of my life. Mrs.
Garrick, whose grief for the loss of her husband was, I believe, as
sincere as wounded affection and admiration could produce, had this
day, for the first time since his death, a select party of his
friends to dine with her. The company was Miss Hannah More, who
lived with her, and whom she called her Chaplain; Mrs. Boscawen,
Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, Dr.
Johnson, and myself. We found ourselves very elegantly entertained
at her house in the Adelphi, where I have passed many a pleasing
hour with him 'who gladdened life.' She looked well, talked of her
husband with complacency, and while she cast her eyes on his
portrait, which hung over the chimney-piece, said, that 'death was
now the most agreeable object to her.' The very semblance of David
Garrick was cheering.

We were all in fine spirits; and I whispered to Mrs. Boscawen, 'I
believe this is as much as can be made of life.' In addition to a
splendid entertainment, we were regaled with Lichfield ale, which
had a peculiar appropriated value. Sir Joshua, and Dr. Burney, and
I, drank cordially of it to Dr. Johnson's health; and though he
would not join us, he as cordially answered, 'Gentlemen, I wish you
all as well as you do me.'

The general effect of this day dwells upon my mind in fond
remembrance; but I do not find much conversation recorded. What I
have preserved shall be faithfully given.

One of the company mentioned Mr. Thomas Hollis, the strenuous Whig,
who used to send over Europe presents of democratical books, with
their boards stamped with daggers and caps of liberty. Mrs. Carter
said, 'He was a bad man. He used to talk uncharitably.' JOHNSON.
'Poh! poh! Madam; who is the worse for being talked of
uncharitably? Besides, he was a dull poor creature as ever lived:
and I believe he would not have done harm to a man whom he knew to
be of very opposite principles to his own. I remember once at the
Society of Arts, when an advertisement was to be drawn up, he
pointed me out as the man who could do it best. This, you will
observe, was kindness to me. I however slipt away, and escaped
it.'

Mrs. Carter having said of the same person, 'I doubt he was an
Atheist.' JOHNSON. 'I don't know that. He might perhaps have
become one, if he had had time to ripen, (smiling.) He might have
EXUBERATED into an Atheist.'

Sir Joshua Reynolds praised Mudge's Sermons. JOHNSON. 'Mudge's
Sermons are good, but not practical. He grasps more sense than he
can hold; he takes more corn than he can make into meal; he opens a
wide prospect, but it is so distant, it is indistinct. I love
Blair's Sermons. Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a
Presbyterian, and every thing he should not be, I was the first to
praise them. Such was my candour,' (smiling.) MRS. BOSCAWEN.
'Such his great merit to get the better of all your prejudices.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Madam, let us compound the matter; let us ascribe
it to my candour, and his merit.'

In the evening we had a large company in the drawing-room, several
ladies, the Bishop of Killaloe, Dr. Percy, Mr. Chamberlayne, of the
Treasury, &c. &c.

Talking of a very respectable authour, he told us a curious
circumstance in his life, which was, that he had married a
printer's devil. REYNOLDS. 'A printer's devil, Sir! Why, I
thought a printer's devil was a creature with a black face and in
rags.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir. But I suppose, he had her face
washed, and put clean clothes on her. (Then looking very serious,
and very earnest.) And she did not disgrace him; the woman had a
bottom of good sense.' The word bottom thus introduced, was so
ludicrous when contrasted with his gravity, that most of us could
not forbear tittering and laughing; though I recollect that the
Bishop of Killaloe kept his countenance with perfect steadiness,
while Miss Hannah More slyly hid her face behind a lady's back who
sat on the same settee with her. His pride could not bear that any
expression of his should excite ridicule, when he did not intend
it; he therefore resolved to assume and exercise despotick power,
glanced sternly around, and called out in a strong tone, 'Where's
the merriment?' Then collecting himself, and looking aweful, to
make us feel how he could impose restraint, and as it were
searching his mind for a still more ludicrous word, he slowly
pronounced, 'I say the WOMAN was FUNDAMENTALLY sensible;' as if he
had said, hear this now, and laugh if you dare. We all sat
composed as at a funeral.

He and I walked away together; we stopped a little while by the
rails of the Adelphi, looking on the Thames, and I said to him with
some emotion that I was now thinking of two friends we had lost,
who once lived in the buildings behind us, Beauclerk and Garrick.
'Ay, Sir, (said he, tenderly,) and two such friends as cannot be
supplied.'

For some time after this day I did not see him very often, and of
the conversation which I did enjoy, I am sorry to find I have
preserved but little. I was at this time engaged in a variety of
other matters, which required exertion and assiduity, and
necessarily occupied almost all my time.

On Tuesday, May 8, I had the pleasure of again dining with him and
Mr. Wilkes, at Mr. Dilly's. No NEGOCIATION was now required to
bring them together; for Johnson was so well satisfied with the
former interview, that he was very glad to meet Wilkes again, who
was this day seated between Dr. Beattie and Dr. Johnson; (between
Truth and Reason, as General Paoli said, when I told him of it.)
WILKES. 'I have been thinking, Dr. Johnson, that there should be a
bill brought into parliament that the controverted elections for
Scotland should be tried in that country, at their own Abbey of
Holy-Rood House, and not here; for the consequence of trying them
here is, that we have an inundation of Scotchmen, who come up and
never go back again. Now here is Boswell, who is come up upon the
election for his own county, which will not last a fortnight.'
JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, I see no reason why they should be tried at
all; for, you know, one Scotchman is as good as another.' WILKES.
'Pray, Boswell, how much may be got in a year by an Advocate at the
Scotch bar?' BOSWELL. 'I believe two thousand pounds.' WILKES.
'How can it be possible to spend that money in Scotland?' JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, the money may be spent in England: but there is a harder
question. If one man in Scotland gets possession of two thousand
pounds, what remains for all the rest of the nation?' WILKES.
'You know, in the last war, the immense booty which Thurot carried
off by the complete plunder of seven Scotch isles; he re-embarked
with THREE AND SIX-PENCE.' Here again Johnson and Wilkes joined in
extravagant sportive raillery upon the supposed poverty of
Scotland, which Dr. Beattie and I did not think it worth our while
to dispute.

The subject of quotation being introduced, Mr. Wilkes censured it
as pedantry. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, it is a good thing; there is a
community of mind in it. Classical quotation is the parole of
literary men all over the world.'

He gave us an entertaining account of Bet Flint, a woman of the
town, who, with some eccentrick talents and much effrontery, forced
herself upon his acquaintance. 'Bet (said he,) wrote her own Life
in verse, which she brought to me, wishing that I would furnish her
with a Preface to it, (laughing.) I used to say of her that she
was generally slut and drunkard; occasionally, whore and thief.
She had, however, genteel lodgings, a spinnet on which she played,
and a boy that walked before her chair. Poor Bet was taken up on a
charge of stealing a counterpane, and tried at the Old Bailey.
Chief Justice ------, who loved a wench, summed up favourably, and
she was acquitted. After which Bet said, with a gay and satisfied
air, "Now that the counterpane is MY OWN, I shall make a petticoat
of it."'

Talking of oratory, Mr. Wilkes described it as accompanied with all
the charms of poetical expression. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; oratory is
the power of beating down your adversary's arguments, and putting
better in their place.' WILKES. 'But this does not move the
passions.' JOHNSON. 'He must be a weak man, who is to be so
moved.' WILKES. (naming a celebrated orator,) 'Amidst all the
brilliancy of ------'s imagination, and the exuberance of his wit,
there is a strange want of TASTE. It was observed of Apelles's
Venus, that her flesh seemed as if she had been nourished by roses:
his oratory would sometimes make one suspect that he eats potatoes
and drinks whisky.'

Mr. Wilkes said to me, loud enough for Dr. Johnson to hear, 'Dr.
Johnson should make me a present of his Lives of the Poets, as I am
a poor patriot, who cannot afford to buy them.' Johnson seemed to
take no notice of this hint; but in a little while, he called to
Mr. Dilly, 'Pray, Sir, be so good as to send a set of my Lives to
Mr. Wilkes, with my compliments.' This was accordingly done; and
Mr. Wilkes paid Dr. Johnson a visit, was courteously received, and
sat with him a long time.

The company gradually dropped away. Mr. Dilly himself was called
down stairs upon business; I left the room for some time; when I
returned, I was struck with observing Dr. Samuel Johnson and John
Wilkes, Esq., literally tete-a-tete; for they were reclined upon
their chairs, with their heads leaning almost close to each other,
and talking earnestly, in a kind of confidential whisper, of the
personal quarrel between George the Second and the King of Prussia.
Such a scene of perfectly easy sociality between two such opponents
in the war of political controversy, as that which I now beheld,
would have been an excellent subject for a picture. It presented
to my mind the happy days which are foretold in Scripture, when the
lion shall lie down with the kid.

After this day there was another pretty long interval, during which
Dr. Johnson and I did not meet. When I mentioned it to him with
regret, he was pleased to say, 'Then, Sir, let us live double.'

About this time it was much the fashion for several ladies to have
evening assemblies, where the fair sex might participate in
conversation with literary and ingenious men, animated by a desire
to please. These societies were denominated Blue-stocking Clubs,
the origin of which title being little known, it may be worth while
to relate it. One of the most eminent members of those societies,
when they first commenced, was Mr. Stillingfleet, whose dress was
remarkably grave, and in particular it was observed, that he wore
blue stockings. Such was the excellence of his conversation, that
his absence was felt as so great a loss, that it used to be said,
'We can do nothing without the blue stockings;' and thus by degrees
the title was established. Miss Hannah More has admirably
described a Blue-stocking Club, in her Bas Bleu, a poem in which
many of the persons who were most conspicuous there are mentioned.

Johnson was prevailed with to come sometimes into these circles,
and did not think himself too grave even for the lively Miss
Monckton (now Countess of Corke), who used to have the finest BIT
OF BLUE at the house of her mother, Lady Galway. Her vivacity
enchanted the Sage, and they used to talk together with all
imaginable ease. A singular instance happened one evening, when
she insisted that some of Sterne's writings were very pathetick.
Johnson bluntly denied it. 'I am sure (said she,) they have
affected ME.' 'Why, (said Johnson, smiling, and rolling himself
about,) that is, because, dearest, you're a dunce.' When she some
time afterwards mentioned this to him, he said with equal truth and
politeness; 'Madam, if I had thought so, I certainly should not
have said it.'

Another evening Johnson's kind indulgence towards me had a pretty
difficult trial. I had dined at the Duke of Montrose's with a very
agreeable party, and his Grace, according to his usual custom, had
circulated the bottle very freely. Lord Graham and I went together
to Miss Monckton's, where I certainly was in extraordinary spirits,
and above all fear or awe. In the midst of a great number of
persons of the first rank, amongst whom I recollect with confusion,
a noble lady of the most stately decorum, I placed myself next to
Johnson, and thinking myself now fully his match, talked to him in
a loud and boisterous manner, desirous to let the company know how
I could contend with Ajax. I particularly remember pressing him
upon the value of the pleasures of the imagination, and as an
illustration of my argument, asking him, 'What, Sir, supposing I
were to fancy that the ----- (naming the most charming Duchess in
his Majesty's dominions) were in love with me, should I not be very
happy?' My friend with much address evaded my interrogatories, and
kept me as quiet as possible; but it may easily be conceived how he
must have felt. However, when a few days afterwards I waited upon
him and made an apology, he behaved with the most friendly
gentleness.

While I remained in London this year, Johnson and I dined together
at several places. I recollect a placid day at Dr. Butter's, who
had now removed from Derby to Lower Grosvenor-street, London; but
of his conversation on that and other occasions during this period,
I neglected to keep any regular record, and shall therefore insert
here some miscellaneous articles which I find in my Johnsonian
notes.

His disorderly habits, when 'making provision for the day that was
passing over him,' appear from the following anecdote, communicated
to me by Mr. John Nichols:--'In the year 1763, a young bookseller,
who was an apprentice to Mr. Whiston, waited on him with a
subscription to his Shakspeare: and observing that the Doctor made
no entry in any book of the subscriber's name, ventured diffidently
to ask, whether he would please to have the gentleman's address,
that it might be properly inserted in the printed list of
subscribers. "I shall print no list of subscribers;" said Johnson,
with great abruptness: but almost immediately recollecting himself,
added, very complacently, "Sir, I have two very cogent reasons for
not printing any list of subscribers;--one, that I have lost all
the names,--the other, that I have spent all the money."

Johnson could not brook appearing to be worsted in argument, even
when he had taken the wrong side, to shew the force and dexterity
of his talents. When, therefore, he perceived that his opponent
gained ground, he had recourse to some sudden mode of robust
sophistry. Once when I was pressing upon him with visible
advantage, he stopped me thus:--'My dear Boswell, let's have no
more of this; you'll make nothing of it. I'd rather have you
whistle a Scotch tune.'

Care, however, must be taken to distinguish between Johnson when he
'talked for victory,' and Johnson when he had no desire but to
inform and illustrate. 'One of Johnson s principal talents (says
an eminent friend of his) was shewn in maintaining the wrong side
of an argument, and in a splendid perversion of the truth. If you
could contrive to have his fair opinion on a subject, and without
any bias from personal prejudice, or from a wish to be victorious
in argument, it was wisdom itself, not only convincing, but
overpowering.'

He had, however, all his life habituated himself to consider
conversation as a trial of intellectual vigour and skill; and to
this, I think, we may venture to ascribe that unexampled richness
and brilliancy which appeared in his own. As a proof at once of
his eagerness for colloquial distinction, and his high notion of
this eminent friend, he once addressed him thus:-- '-----, we now
have been several hours together; and you have said but one thing
for which I envied you.'

Goldsmith could sometimes take adventurous liberties with him, and
escape unpunished. Beauclerk told me that when Goldsmith talked of
a project for having a third Theatre in London, solely for the
exhibition of new plays, in order to deliver authours from the
supposed tyranny of managers, Johnson treated it slightingly; upon
which Goldsmith said, 'Ay, ay, this may be nothing to you, who can
now shelter yourself behind the corner of a pension;' and that
Johnson bore this with good-humour.

Johnson had called twice on the Bishop of Killaloe before his
Lordship set out for Ireland, having missed him the first time. He
said, 'It would have hung heavy on my heart if I had not seen him.
No man ever paid more attention to another than he has done to me;
and I have neglected him, not wilfully, but from being otherwise
occupied. Always, Sir, set a high value on spontaneous kindness.
He whose inclination prompts him to cultivate your friendship of
his own accord, will love you more than one whom you have been at
pains to attach to you.'

I asked him if he was not dissatisfied with having so small a share
of wealth, and none of those distinctions in the state which are
the objects of ambition. He had only a pension of three hundred a
year. Why was he not in such circumstances as to keep his coach?
Why had he not some considerable office? JOHNSON. 'Sir, I have
never complained of the world; nor do I think that I have reason to
complain. It is rather to be wondered at that I have so much. My
pension is more out of the usual course of things than any instance
that I have known. Here, Sir, was a man avowedly no friend to
Government at the time, who got a pension without asking for it. I
never courted the great; they sent for me; but I think they now
give me up. They are satisfied; they have seen enough of me.'

Strange, however, it is, to consider how few of the great sought
his society; so that if one were disposed to take occasion for
satire on that account, very conspicuous objects present
themselves. His noble friend, Lord Elibank, well observed, that if
a great man procured an interview with Johnson, and did not wish to
see him more, it shewed a mere idle curiosity, and a wretched want
of relish for extraordinary powers of mind. Mrs. Thrale justly and
wittily accounted for such conduct by saying, that Johnson's
conversation was by much too strong for a person accustomed to
obsequiousness and flattery; it was mustard in a young child's
mouth!

On Saturday, June 2, I set out for Scotland, and had promised to
pay a visit in my way, as I sometimes did, at Southill, in
Bedfordshire, at the hospitable mansion of 'Squire Dilly, the elder
brother of my worthy friends, the booksellers, in the Poultry. Dr.
Johnson agreed to be of the party this year, with Mr. Charles Dilly
and me, and to go and see Lord Bute's seat at Luton Hoe. He talked
little to us in the carriage, being chiefly occupied in reading Dr.
Watson's second volume of Chemical Essays, which he liked very
well, and his own Prince of Abyssinia, on which he seemed to be
intensely fixed; having told us, that he had not looked at it since
it was first published. I happened to take it out of my pocket
this day, and he seized upon it with avidity.

We stopped at Welwyn, where I wished much to see, in company with
Dr. Johnson, the residence of the authour of Night Thoughts, which
was then possessed by his son, Mr. Young. Here some address was
requisite, for I was not acquainted with Mr. Young, and had I
proposed to Dr. Johnson that we should send to him, he would have
checked my wish, and perhaps been offended. I therefore concerted
with Mr. Dilly, that I should steal away from Dr. Johnson and him,
and try what reception I could procure from Mr. Young; if
unfavourable, nothing was to be said; but if agreeable, I should
return and notify it to them. I hastened to Mr. Young's, found he
was at home, sent in word that a gentleman desired to wait upon
him, and was shewn into a parlour, where he and a young lady, his
daughter, were sitting. He appeared to be a plain, civil, country
gentleman; and when I begged pardon for presuming to trouble him,
but that I wished much to see his place, if he would give me leave;
he behaved very courteously, and answered, 'By all means, Sir; we
are just going to drink tea; will you sit down?' I thanked him,
but said, that Dr. Johnson had come with me from London, and I must
return to the inn and drink tea with him; that my name was Boswell,
I had travelled with him in the Hebrides. 'Sir, (said he,) I
should think it a great honour to see Dr. Johnson here. Will you
allow me to send for him?' Availing myself of this opening, I said
that 'I would go myself and bring him, when he had drunk tea; he
knew nothing of my calling here.' Having been thus successful, I
hastened back to the inn, and informed Dr. Johnson that 'Mr. Young,
son of Dr. Young, the authour of Night Thoughts, whom I had just
left, desired to have the honour of seeing him at the house where
his father lived.' Dr. Johnson luckily made no inquiry how this
invitation had arisen, but agreed to go, and when we entered Mr.
Young's parlour, he addressed him with a very polite bow, 'Sir, I
had a curiosity to come and see this place. I had the honour to
know that great man, your father.' We went into the garden, where
we found a gravel walk, on each side of which was a row of trees,
planted by Dr. Young, which formed a handsome Gothick arch; Dr.
Johnson called it a fine grove. I beheld it with reverence.

We sat some time in the summer-house, on the outside wall of which
was inscribed, 'Ambulantes in horto audiebant vocem Dei;' and in
reference to a brook by which it is situated, 'Vivendi recte qui
prorogat horam,' &c. I said to Mr. Young, that I had been told his
father was cheerful. 'Sir, (said he,) he was too well-bred a man
not to be cheerful in company; but he was gloomy when alone. He
never was cheerful after my mother's death, and he had met with
many disappointments.' Dr. Johnson observed to me afterwards,
'That this was no favourable account of Dr. Young; for it is not
becoming in a man to have so little acquiescence in the ways of
Providence, as to be gloomy because he has not obtained as much
preferment as he expected; nor to continue gloomy for the loss of
his wife. Grief has its time.' The last part of this censure was
theoretically made. Practically, we know that grief for the loss
of a wife may be continued very long, in proportion as affection
has been sincere. No man knew this better than Dr. Johnson.

Upon the road we talked of the uncertainty of profit with which
authours and booksellers engage in the publication of literary
works. JOHNSON. 'My judgement I have found is no certain rule as
to the sale of a book.' BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, have you been much
plagued with authours sending you their works to revise?' JOHNSON.
'No, Sir; I have been thought a sour, surly fellow.' BOSWELL.
'Very lucky. for you, Sir,--in that respect.' I must however
observe, that notwithstanding what he now said, which he no doubt
imagined at the time to be the fact, there was, perhaps, no man who
more frequently yielded to the solicitations even of very obscure
authours, to read their manuscripts, or more liberally assisted
them with advice and correction.

He found himself very happy at 'Squire Dilly's, where there is
always abundance of excellent fare, and hearty welcome.

On Sunday, June 3, we all went to Southill church, which is very
near to Mr. Dilly's house. It being the first Sunday of the month,
the holy sacrament was administered, and I staid to partake of it.
When I came afterwards into Dr. Johnson's room, he said, 'You did
right to stay and receive the communion; I had not thought of it.'
This seemed to imply that he did not choose to approach the altar
without a previous preparation, as to which good men entertain
different opinions, some holding that it is irreverent to partake
of that ordinance without considerable premeditation.

Although upon most occasions I never heard a more strenuous
advocate for the advantages of wealth, than Dr. Johnson: he this
day, I know not from what caprice, took the other side. 'I have
not observed (said he,) that men of very large fortunes enjoy any
thing extraordinary that makes happiness. What has the Duke of
Bedford? What has the Duke of Devonshire? The only great instance
that I have ever known of the enjoyment of wealth was, that of
Jamaica Dawkins, who, going to visit Palmyra, and hearing that the
way was infested by robbers, hired a troop of Turkish horse to
guard him.'

Dr. Gibbons, the Dissenting minister, being mentioned, he said, 'I
took to Dr. Gibbons.' And addressing himself to Mr. Charles Dilly,
added, 'I shall be glad to see him. Tell him, if he'll call on me,
and dawdle over a dish of tea in an afternoon, I shall take it
kind.'

The Reverend Mr. Smith, Vicar of Southill, a very respectable man,
with a very agreeable family, sent an invitation to us to drink
tea. I remarked Dr. Johnson's very respectful politeness. Though
always fond of changing the scene, he said, 'We must have Mr.
Dilly's leave. We cannot go from your house, Sir, without your
permission.' We all went, and were well satisfied with our visit.

When I observed that a housebreaker was in general very timorous;
JOHNSON. 'No wonder, Sir; he is afraid of being shot getting INTO
a house, or hanged when he has got OUT of it.'

He told us, that he had in one day written six sheets of a
translation from the French, adding, 'I should be glad to see it
now. I wish that I had copies of all the pamphlets written against
me, as it is said Pope had. Had I known that I should make so much
noise in the world, I should have been at pains to collect them. I
believe there is hardly a day in which there is not something about
me in the newspapers.'

On Monday, June 4, we all went to Luton-Hoe, to see Lord Bute's
magnificent seat, for which I had obtained a ticket. As we entered
the park, I talked in a high style of my old friendship with Lord
Mountstuart, and said, 'I shall probably be much at this place.'
The Sage, aware of human vicissitudes, gently checked me: 'Don't
you be too sure of that.' He made two or three peculiar
observations; as when shewn the botanical garden, 'Is not EVERY
garden a botanical garden?' When told that there was a shrubbery
to the extent of several miles: 'That is making a very foolish use
of the ground; a little of it is very well.' When it was proposed
that we should walk on the pleasure-ground; 'Don't let us fatigue
ourselves. Why should we walk there? Here's a fine tree, let's
get to the top of it.' But upon the whole, he was very much
pleased. He said, 'This is one of the places I do not regret
having come to see. It is a very stately place, indeed; in the
house magnificence is not sacrificed to convenience, nor
convenience to magnificence. The library is very splendid: the
dignity of the rooms is very great; and the quantity of pictures is
beyond expectation, beyond hope.'

It happened without any previous concert, that we visited the seat
of Lord Bute upon the King's birthday; we dined and drank his
Majesty's health at an inn, in the village of Luton.

In the evening I put him in mind of his promise to favour me with a
copy of his celebrated Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield, and he
was at last pleased to comply with this earnest request, by
dictating it to me from his memory; for he believed that he himself
had no copy. There was an animated glow in his countenance while
he thus recalled his high-minded indignation.

On Tuesday, June 5, Johnson was to return to London. He was very
pleasant at breakfast; I mentioned a friend of mine having resolved
never to marry a pretty woman. JOHNSON. 'Sir it is a very foolish
resolution to resolve not to marry a pretty woman. Beauty is of
itself very estimable. No, Sir, I would prefer a pretty woman,
unless there are objections to her. A pretty woman may be foolish;
a pretty woman may be wicked; a pretty woman may not like me. But
there is no such danger in marrying a pretty woman as is
apprehended: she will not be persecuted if she does not invite
persecution. A pretty woman, if she has a mind to be wicked, can
find a readier way than another; and that is all.'

At Shefford I had another affectionate parting from my revered
friend, who was taken up by the Bedford coach and carried to the
metropolis. I went with Messieurs Dilly, to see some friends at
Bedford; dined with the officers of the militia of the county, and
next day proceeded on my journey.

Johnson's charity to the poor was uniform and extensive, both from
inclination and principle. He not only bestowed liberally out of
his own purse, but what is more difficult as well as rare, would
beg from others, when he had proper objects in view. This he did
judiciously as well as humanely. Mr. Philip Metcalfe tells me,
that when he has asked him for some money for persons in distress,
and Mr. Metcalfe has offered what Johnson thought too much, he
insisted on taking less, saying, 'No, no, Sir; we must not PAMPER
them.'

I am indebted to Mr. Malone, one of Sir Joshua Reynolds's
executors, for the following note, which was found among his papers
after his death, and which, we may presume, his unaffected modesty
prevented him from communicating to me with the other letters from
Dr. Johnson with which he was pleased to furnish me. However
slight in itself, as it does honour to that illustrious painter,
and most amiable man, I am happy to introduce it.


'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'DEAR SIR,--It was not before yesterday that I received your
splendid benefaction. To a hand so liberal in distributing, I hope
nobody will envy the power of acquiring. I am, dear Sir, your
obliged and most humble servant,

'June 23, 1781.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


The following curious anecdote I insert in Dr. Burney's own words:--

'Dr. Burney related to Dr. Johnson the partiality which his
writings had excited in a friend of Dr. Burney's, the late Mr.
Bewley, well known in Norfolk by the name of the Philosopher of
Massingham: who, from the Ramblers and Plan of his Dictionary, and
long before the authour's fame was established by the Dictionary
itself, or any other work, had conceived such a reverence for him,
that he urgently begged Dr. Burney to give him the cover of the
first letter he had received from him, as a relick of so estimable
a writer. This was in 1755. In 1760, when Dr. Burney visited Dr.
Johnson at the Temple in London, where he had then chambers, he
happened to arrive there before he was up; and being shewn into the
room where he was to breakfast, finding himself alone, he examined
the contents of the apartment, to try whether he could undiscovered
steal anything to send to his friend Bewley, as another relick of
the admirable Dr. Johnson. But finding nothing better to his
purpose, he cut some bristles off his hearth-broom, and enclosed
them in a letter to his country enthusiast, who received them with
due reverence. The Doctor was so sensible of the honour done him
by a man of genius and science, to whom he was an utter stranger,
that he said to Dr. Burney, "Sir, there is no man possessed of the
smallest portion of modesty, but must be flattered with the
admiration of such a man. I'll give him a set of my Lives, if he
will do me the honour to accept of them." In this he kept his
word; and Dr. Burney had not only the pleasure of gratifying his
friend with a present more worthy of his acceptance than the
segment from the hearth-broom, but soon after of introducing him to
Dr. Johnson himself in Bolt-court, with whom he had the
satisfaction of conversing a considerable time, not a fortnight
before his death; which happened in St. Martin's-street, during his
visit to Dr. Burney, in the house where the great Sir Isaac Newton
had lived and died before.'


In one of his little memorandum-books is the following minute:--

'August 9, 3 P.M., aetat. 72, in the summer-house at Streatham.

'After innumerable resolutions formed and neglected, I have retired
hither, to plan a life of greater diligence, in hope that I may yet
be useful, and be daily better prepared to appear before my Creator
and my Judge, from whose infinite mercy I humbly call for
assistance and support.

'My purpose is,

'To pass eight hours every day in some serious employment

(part 22)
'Having prayed, I purpose to employ the next six weeks upon the
Italian language, for my settled study.'

In autumn he went to Oxford, Birmingham, Lichfield, and Ashbourne,
for which very good reasons might be given in the conjectural yet
positive manner of writers, who are proud to account for every
event which they relate. He himself, however, says, 'The motives
of my journey I hardly know; I omitted it last year, and am not
willing to miss it again.'

But some good considerations arise, amongst which is the kindly
recollection of Mr. Hector, surgeon at Birmingham: 'Hector is
likewise an old friend, the only companion of my childhood that
passed through the school with me. We have always loved one
another; perhaps we may be made better by some serious
conversation, of which however I have no distinct hope.' He says
too, 'At Lichfield, my native place, I hope to shew a good example
by frequent attendance on publick worship.'

1782: AETAT. 73.]--In 1782, his complaints increased, and the
history of his life this year, is little more than a mournful
recital of the variations of his illness, in the midst of which,
however, it will appear from his letters, that the powers of his
mind were in no degree impaired.

At a time when he was less able than he had once been to sustain a
shock, he was suddenly deprived of Mr. Levett, which event he thus
communicated to Dr. Lawrence:--


'SIR,--Our old friend, Mr. Levett, who was last night eminently
cheerful, died this morning. The man who lay in the same room,
hearing an uncommon noise, got up and tried to make him speak, but
without effect, he then called Mr. Holder, the apothecary, who,
though when he came he thought him dead, opened a vein, but could
draw no blood. So has ended the long life of a very useful and
very blameless man. I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'Jan. 17, 1782.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


In one of his memorandum-books in my possession, is the following
entry:--'January 20, Sunday. Robert Levett was buried in the
church-yard of Bridewell, between one and two in the afternoon. He
died on Thursday 17, about seven in the morning, by an
instantaneous death. He was an old and faithful friend; I have
known him from about 46. Commendavi. May GOD have mercy on him.
May he have mercy on me.'

On the 30th of August, I informed him that my honoured father had
died that morning; a complaint under which he had long laboured
having suddenly come to a crisis, while I was upon a visit at the
seat of Sir Charles Preston, from whence I had hastened the day
before, upon receiving a letter by express.

In answer to my next letter, I received one from him, dissuading me
from hastening to him as I had proposed; what is proper for
publication is the following paragraph, equally just and tender:--
'One expence, however, I would not have you to spare: let nothing
be omitted that can preserve Mrs. Boswell, though it should be
necessary to transplant her for a time into a softer climate. She
is the prop and stay of your life. How much must your children
suffer by losing her.'

My wife was now so much convinced of his sincere friendship for me,
and regard for her, that, without any suggestion on my part, she
wrote him a very polite and grateful letter:--


'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL.

'DEAR LADY,--I have not often received so much pleasure as from
your invitation to Auchinleck. The journey thither and back is,
indeed, too great for the latter part of the year; but if my health
were fully recovered, I would suffer no little heat and cold, nor a
wet or a rough road to keep me from you. I am, indeed, not without
hope of seeing Auchinleek again; but to make it a pleasant place I
must see its lady well, and brisk, and airy. For my sake,
therefore, among many greater reasons, take care, dear Madam, of
your health, spare no expence, and want no attendance that can
procure ease, or preserve it. Be very careful to keep your mind
quiet; and do not think it too much to give an account of your
recovery to, Madam, yours, &c.

'London, Sept. 7, 1782.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


The death of Mr. Thrale had made a very material alteration with
respect to Johnson's reception in that family. The manly authority
of the husband no longer curbed the lively exuberance of the lady;
and as her vanity had been fully gratified, by having the Colossus
of Literature attached to her for many years, she gradually became
less assiduous to please him. Whether her attachment to him was
already divided by another object, I am unable to ascertain; but it
is plain that Johnson's penetration was alive to her neglect or
forced attention; for on the 6th of October this year, we find him
making a 'parting use of the library' at Streatham, and pronouncing
a prayer, which he composed on leaving Mr. Thrale's family:--

'Almighty God, Father of all mercy, help me by thy grace, that I
may, with humble and sincere thankfulness, remember the comforts
and conveniences which I have enjoyed at this place; and that I may
resign them with holy submission, equally trusting in thy
protection when thou givest, and when thou takest away. Have mercy
upon me, O Lord, have mercy upon me.

'To thy fatherly protection, O Lord, I commend this family. Bless,
guide, and defend them, that they may so pass through this world,
as finally to enjoy in thy presence everlasting happiness, for
Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.'

One cannot read this prayer, without some emotions not very
favourable to the lady whose conduct occasioned it.

In one of his memorandum-books I find, 'Sunday, went to church at
Streatham. Templo valedixi cam osculo.'

He met Mr. Philip Metcalfe often at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and
other places, and was a good deal with him at Brighthelmston this
autumn, being pleased at once with his excellent table and animated
conversation. Mr. Metcalfe shewed him great respect, and sent him
a note that he might have the use of his carriage whenever he
pleased. Johnson (3rd October, 1782) returned this polite answer:--
'Mr. Johnson is very much obliged by the kind offer of the
carriage, but he has no desire of using Mr. Metcalfe's carriage,
except when he can have the pleasure of Mr. Metcalfe's company.'
Mr. Metcalfe could not but be highly pleased that his company was
thus valued by Johnson, and he frequently attended him in airings.
They also went together to Chichester, and they visited Petworth,
and Cowdry, the venerable seat of the Lords Montacute. 'Sir, (said
Johnson,) I should like to stay here four-and-twenty hours. We see
here how our ancestors lived.'


'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'DEAR SIR,--I heard yesterday of your late disorder, and should
think ill of myself if I had heard of it without alarm. I heard
likewise of your recovery, which I sincerely wish to be complete
and permanent. Your country has been in danger of losing one of
its brightest ornaments, and I of losing one of my oldest and
kindest friends: but I hope you will still live long, for the
honour of the nation: and that more enjoyment of your elegance,
your intelligence, and your benevolence, is still reserved for,
dear Sir, your most affectionate, &c.

'Brighthelmston, Nov. 14, 1782.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


1783: AETAT. 74.]--In 1783, he was more severely afflicted than
ever, as will appear in the course of his correspondence; but still
the same ardour for literature, the same constant piety, the same
kindness for his friends, and the same vivacity both in
conversation and writing, distinguished him.

On Friday, March 21, having arrived in London the night before, I
was glad to find him at Mrs. Thrale's house, in Argyll-street,
appearances of friendship between them being still kept up. I was
shewn into his room, and after the first salutation he said, 'I am
glad you are come. I am very ill.' He looked pale, and was
distressed with a difficulty of breathing; but after the common
inquiries he assumed his usual strong animated style of
conversation. Seeing me now for the first time as a Laird, or
proprietor of land, he began thus: 'Sir, the superiority of a
country-gentleman over the people upon his estate is very
agreeable; and he who says he does not feel it to be agreeable,
lies; for it must be agreeable to have a casual superiority over
those who are by nature equal with us.' BOSWELL. 'Yet, Sir, we
see great proprietors of land who prefer living in London.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, the pleasure of living in London, the
intellectual superiority that is enjoyed there, may counterbalance
the other. Besides, Sir, a man may prefer the state of the
country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a
moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for
it.'

He talked with regret and indignation of the factious opposition to
Government at this time, and imputed it in a great measure to the
Revolution. 'Sir, (said he, in a low voice, having come nearer to
me, while his old prejudices seemed to be fermenting in his mind,)
this Hanoverian family is isolee here. They have no friends. Now
the Stuarts had friends who stuck by them so late as 1745. When
the right of the King is not reverenced, there will not be
reverence for those appointed by the King.'

He repeated to me his verses on Mr. Levett, with an emotion which
gave them full effect; and then he was pleased to say, 'You must be
as much with me as you can. You have done me good. You cannot
think how much better I am since you came in.

He sent a message to acquaint Mrs. Thrale that I was arrived. I
had not seen her since her husband's death. She soon appeared, and
favoured me with an invitation to stay to dinner, which I accepted.
There was no other company but herself and three of her daughters,
Dr. Johnson, and I. She too said, she was very glad I was come,
for she was going to Bath, and should have been sorry to leave Dr.
Johnson before I came. This seemed to be attentive and kind; and I
who had not been informed of any change, imagined all to be as well
as formerly. He was little inclined to talk at dinner, and went to
sleep after it; but when he joined us in the drawing-room, he
seemed revived, and was again himself.

Talking of conversation, he said, 'There must, in the first place,
be knowledge, there must be materials; in the second place, there
must be a command of words; in the third place, there must be
imagination, to place things in such views as they are not commonly
seen in; and in the fourth place, there must be presence of mind,
and a resolution that is not to be overcome by failures: this last
is an essential requisite; for want of it many people do not excel
in conversation. Now I want it: I throw up the game upon losing a
trick.' I wondered to hear him talk thus of himself, and said, 'I
don't know, Sir, how this may be; but I am sure you beat other
people's cards out of their hands.' I doubt whether he heard this
remark. While he went on talking triumphantly, I was fixed in
admiration, and said to Mrs. Thrale, 'O, for short-hand to take
this down!' 'You'll carry it all in your head, (said she a long
head is as good as short-hand.'

It has been observed and wondered at, that Mr. Charles Fox never
talked with any freedom in the presence of Dr. Johnson, though it
is well known, and I myself can witness, that his conversation is
various, fluent, and exceedingly agreeable. Johnson's own
experience, however, of that gentleman's reserve was a sufficient
reason for his going on thus: 'Fox never talks in private company;
not from any determination not to talk, but because he has not the
first motion. A man who is used to the applause of the House of
Commons, has no wish for that of a private company. A man
accustomed to throw for a thousand pounds, if set down to throw for
sixpence, would not be at the pains to count his dice. Burke's
talk is the ebullition of his mind; he does not talk from a desire
of distinction, but because his mind is full.'

After musing for some time, he said, 'I wonder how I should have
any enemies; for I do harm to nobody.' BOSWELL. 'In the first
place, Sir, you will be pleased to recollect, that you set out with
attacking the Scotch; so you got a whole nation for your enemies.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, I own, that by my definition of OATS I meant to vex
them.' BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, can you trace the cause of your
antipathy to the Scotch?' JOHNSON. 'I cannot, Sir.' BOSWELL.
'Old Mr. Sheridan says, it was because they sold Charles the
First.' JOHNSON. 'Then, Sir, old Mr. Sheridan has found out a
very good reason.'

I had paid a visit to General Oglethorpe in the morning,* and was
told by him that Dr. Johnson saw company on Saturday evenings, and
he would meet me at Johnson's that night. When I mentioned this to
Johnson, not doubting that it would please him, as he had a great
value for Oglethorpe, the fretfulness of his disease unexpectedly
shewed itself; his anger suddenly kindled, and he said, with
vehemence, 'Did not you tell him not to come? Am I to be HUNTED in
this manner?' I satisfied him that I could not divine that the
visit would not be convenient, and that I certainly could not take
it upon me of my own accord to forbid the General.


* March 22.--Ed.


I found Dr. Johnson in the evening in Mrs. Williams's room, at tea
and coffee with her and Mrs. Desmoulins, who were also both ill; it
was a sad scene, and he was not in very good humour. He said of a
performance that had lately come out, 'Sir, if you should search
all the madhouses in England, you would not find ten men who would
write so, and think it sense.'

I was glad when General Oglethorpe's arrival was announced, and we
left the ladies. Dr. Johnson attended him in the parlour, and was
as courteous as ever.

On Sunday, March 23, I breakfasted with Dr. Johnson, who seemed
much relieved, having taken opium the night before. He however
protested against it, as a remedy that should be given with the
utmost reluctance, and only in extreme necessity. I mentioned how
commonly it was used in Turkey, and that therefore it could not be
so pernicious as he apprehended. He grew warm and said, 'Turks
take opium, and Christians take opium; but Russel, in his Account
of Aleppo, tells us, that it is as disgraceful in Turkey to take
too much opium, as it is with us to get drunk. Sir, it is amazing
how things are exaggerated. A gentleman was lately telling in a
company where I was present, that in France as soon as a man of
fashion marries, he takes an opera girl into keeping; and this he
mentioned as a general custom. "Pray, Sir, (said I,) how many
opera girls may there be?" He answered, "About fourscore." "Well
then, Sir, (said I,) you see there can be no more than fourscore
men of fashion who can do this."'

Mrs. Desmoulins made tea; and she and I talked before him upon a
topick which he had once borne patiently from me when we were by
ourselves,--his not complaining of the world, because he was not
called to some great office, nor had attained to great wealth. He
flew into a violent passion, I confess with some justice, and
commanded us to have done. 'Nobody, (said he,) has a right to talk
in this manner, to bring before a man his own character, and the
events of his life, when he does not choose it should be done. I
never have sought the world; the world was not to seek me. It is
rather wonderful that so much has been done for me. All the
complaints which are made of the world are unjust. I never knew a
man of merit neglected: it was generally by his own fault that he
failed of success. A man may hide his head in a hole: he may go
into the country, and publish a book now and then, which nobody
reads, and then complain he is neglected. There is no reason why
any person should exert himself for a man who has written a good
book: he has not written it for any individual. I may as well make
a present to the postman who brings me a letter. When patronage
was limited, an authour expected to find a Maecenas, and complained
if he did not find one. Why should he complain? This Maecenas has
others as good as he, or others who have got the start of him.'

On the subject of the right employment of wealth, Johnson observed,
'A man cannot make a bad use of his money, so far as regards
Society, if he does not hoard it; for if he either spends it or
lends it out, Society has the benefit. It is in general better to
spend money than to give it away; for industry is more promoted by
spending money than by giving it away. A man who spends his money
is sure he is doing good with it: he is not so sure when he gives
it away. A man who spends ten thousand a year will do more good
than a man who spends two thousand and gives away eight.'

In the evening I came to him again. He was somewhat fretful from
his illness. A gentleman asked him, whether he had been abroad to-
day. 'Don't talk so childishly, (said he.) You may as well ask if
I hanged myself to-day.' I mentioned politicks. JOHNSON. 'Sir,
I'd as soon have a man to break my bones as talk to me of publick
affairs, internal or external. I have lived to see things all as
bad as they can be.'

He said, 'Goldsmith's blundering speech to Lord Shelburne, which
has been so often mentioned, and which he really did make to him,
was only a blunder in emphasis: "I wonder they should call your
Lordship Malagrida, for Malagrida was a very good man;" meant, I
wonder they should use Malagrida as a term of reproach.'

Soon after this time I had an opportunity of seeing, by means of
one of his friends, a proof that his talents, as well as his
obliging service to authours, were ready as ever. He had revised
The Village, an admirable poem, by the Reverend Mr. Crabbe. Its
sentiments as to the false notions of rustick happiness and rustick
virtue were quite congenial with his own; and he had taken the
trouble not only to suggest slight corrections and variations, but
to furnish some lines, when he thought he could give the writer's
meaning better than in the words of the manuscript.

On Sunday, March 30, I found him at home in the evening, and had
the pleasure to meet with Dr. Brocklesby, whose reading, and
knowledge of life, and good spirits, supply him with a never-
failing source of conversation.

I shall here insert a few of Johnson's sayings, without the
formality of dates, as they have no reference to any particular
time or place.

'The more a man extends and varies his acquaintance the better.'
This, however, was meant with a just restriction; for, he on
another occasion said to me, 'Sir, a man may be so much of every
thing, that he is nothing of any thing.'

'It is a very good custom to keep a journal for a man's own use; he
may write upon a card a day all that is necessary to be written,
after he has had experience of life. At first there is a great
deal to be written, because there is a great deal of novelty; but
when once a man has settled his opinions, there is seldom much to
be set down.'

Talking of an acquaintance of ours, whose narratives, which
abounded in curious and interesting topicks, were unhappily found
to be very fabulous; I mentioned Lord Mansfield's having said to
me, 'Suppose we believe one HALF of what he tells.' JOHNSON. 'Ay;
but we don't know WHICH half to believe. By his lying we lose not
only our reverence for him, but all comfort in his conversation.'
BOSWELL. 'May we not take it as amusing fiction?' JOHNSON. 'Sir,
the misfortune is, that you will insensibly believe as much of it
as you incline to believe.'

It is remarkable, that notwithstanding their congeniality in
politicks, he never was acquainted with a late eminent noble judge,
whom I have heard speak of him as a writer, with great respect.
Johnson, I know not upon what degree of investigation, entertained
no exalted opinion of his Lordship's intellectual character.
Talking of him to me one day, he said, 'It is wonderful, Sir, with
how little real superiority of mind men can make an eminent figure
in publick life.' He expressed himself to the same purpose
concerning another law-Lord, who, it seems, once took a fancy to
associate with the wits of London; but with so little success, that
Foote said, 'What can he mean by coming among us? He is not only
dull himself, but the cause of dullness in others.' Trying him by
the test of his colloquial powers, Johnson had found him very
defective. He once said to Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'This man now has
been ten years about town, and has made nothing of it;' meaning as
a companion. He said to me, 'I never heard any thing from him in
company that was at all striking; and depend upon it, Sir, it is
when you come close to a man in conversation, that you discover
what his real abilities are; to make a speech in a publick assembly
is a knack. Now I honour Thurlow, Sir; Thurlow is a fine fellow;
he fairly puts his mind to yours.'

After repeating to him some of his pointed, lively sayings, I said,
'It is a pity, Sir, you don't always remember your own good things,
that you may have a laugh when you will.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, it
is better that I forget them, that I may be reminded of them, and
have a laugh on their being brought to my recollection.'

When I recalled to him his having said as we sailed up Loch-lomond,
'That if he wore any thing fine, it should be VERY fine;' I
observed that all his thoughts were upon a great scale. JOHNSON.
'Depend upon it, Sir, every man will have as fine a thing as he can
get; as a large diamond for his ring.' BOSWELL. 'Pardon me, Sir:
a man of a narrow mind will not think of it, a slight trinket will
satisfy him:


"Nec sufferre queat majoris pondera gemmae."'


I told him I should send him some Essays which I had written, which
I hoped he would be so good as to read, and pick out the good ones.
JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, send me only the good ones; don't make ME pick
them.'

As a small proof of his kindliness and delicacy of feeling, the
following circumstance may be mentioned: One evening when we were
in the street together, and I told him I was going to sup at Mr.
Beauclerk's, he said, 'I'll go with you.' After having walked part
of the way, seeming to recollect something, he suddenly stopped and
said, 'I cannot go,--but I do not love Beauclerk the less.'

On the frame of his portrait, Mr. Beauclerk had inscribed,--


'-------- Ingenium ingens
Inculto latet hoc sub corpore.'


After Mr. Beauclerk's death, when it became Mr. Langton's property,
he made the inscription be defaced. Johnson said complacently, 'It
was kind in you to take it off;' and then after a short pause,
added, 'and not unkind in him to put it on.'

He said, 'How few of his friends' houses would a man choose to be
at when he is sick.' He mentioned one or two. I recollect only
Thrale's.

He observed, 'There is a wicked inclination in most people to
suppose an old man decayed in his intellects. If a young or
middle-aged man, when leaving a company, does not recollect where
he laid his hat, it is nothing; but if the same inattention is
discovered in an old man, people will shrug up their shoulders, and
say, "His memory is going."'

Sir Joshua Reynolds communicated to me the following particulars:--

Johnson thought the poems published as translations from Ossian had
so little merit, that he said, 'Sir, a man might write such stuff
for ever, if he would ABANDON his mind to it.'

He said, 'A man should pass a part of his time with THE LAUGHERS,
by which means any thing ridiculous or particular about him might
be presented to his view, and corrected.' I observed, he must have
been a bold laugher who would have ventured to tell Dr. Johnson of
any of his particularities.*


* I am happy, however, to mention a pleasing instance of his
enduring with great gentleness to hear one of his most striking
particularities pointed out:--Miss Hunter, a niece of his friend
Christopher Smart, when a very young girl, struck by his
extraordinary motions, said to him, Pray, Dr. Johnson, why do you
make such strange gestures?' From bad habit, he replied. 'Do you,
my dear, take care to guard against bad habits.' This I was told
by the young lady's brother at Margate.--Boswell.


Dr. Goldsmith said once to Dr. Johnson, that he wished for some
additional members to THE LITERARY CLUB, to give it an agreeable
variety; for (said he,) there can now be nothing new among us: we
have travelled over one another's minds. Johnson seemed a little
angry, and said, 'Sir, you have not travelled over MY mind, I
promise you.' Sir Joshua, however, thought Goldsmith right;
observing, that 'when people have lived a great deal together, they
know what each of them will say on every subject. A new
understanding, therefore, is desirable; because though it may only
furnish the same sense upon a question which would have been
furnished by those with whom we are accustomed to live, yet this
sense will have a different colouring; and colouring is of much
effect in every thing else as well as in painting.'

Johnson used to say that he made it a constant rule to talk as well
as he could both as to sentiment and expression, by which means,
what had been originally effort became familiar and easy. The
consequence of this, Sir Joshua observed, was, that his common
conversation in all companies was such as to secure him universal
attention, as something above the usual colloquial style was
expected.

Yet, though Johnson had this habit in company, when another mode
was necessary, in order to investigate truth, he could descend to a
language intelligible to the meanest capacity. An instance of this
was witnessed by Sir Joshua Reynolds, when they were present at an
examination of a little blackguard boy, by Mr. Saunders Welch, the
late Westminster Justice. Welch, who imagined that he was exalting
himself in Dr. Johnson's eyes by using big words, spoke in a manner
that was utterly unintelligible to the boy; Dr. Johnson perceiving
it, addressed himself to the boy, and changed the pompous
phraseology into colloquial language. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was
much amused by this procedure, which seemed a kind of reversing of
what might have been expected from the two men, took notice of it
to Dr. Johnson, as they walked away by themselves. Johnson said,
that it was continually the case; and that he was always obliged to
TRANSLATE the Justice's swelling diction, (smiling,) so as that his
meaning might be understood by the vulgar, from whom information
was to be obtained.

Sir Joshua once observed to him, that he had talked above the
capacity of some people with whom they had been in company
together. 'No matter, Sir, (said Johnson they consider it as a
compliment to be talked to, as if they were wiser than they are.
So true is this, Sir, that Baxter made it a rule in every sermon
that he preached, to say something that was above the capacity of
his audience.'

Johnson's dexterity in retort, when he seemed to be driven to an
extremity by his adversary, was very remarkable. Of his power in
this respect, our common friend, Mr. Windham of Norfolk, has been
pleased to furnish me with an eminent instance. However
unfavourable to Scotland, he uniformly gave liberal praise to
George Buchanan, as a writer. In a conversation concerning the
literary merits of the two countries, in which Buchanan was
introduced, a Scotchman, imagining that on this ground he should
have an undoubted triumph over him, exclaimed, 'Ah, Dr. Johnson,
what would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an Englishman?'
'Why, Sir, (said Johnson, after a little pause,) I should NOT have
said of Buchanan, had he been an ENGLISHMAN, what I will now say of
him as a SCOTCHMAN,--that he was the only man of genius his country
ever produced.'

Though his usual phrase for conversation was TALK, yet he made a
distinction; for when he once told me that he dined the day before
at a friend's house, with 'a very pretty company;' and I asked him
if there was good conversation, he answered, 'No, Sir; we had TALK
enough, but no CONVERSATION; there was nothing DISCUSSED.'

Such was his sensibility, and so much was he affected by pathetick
poetry, that, when he was reading Dr. Beattie's Hermit in my
presence, it brought tears into his eyes.

Mr. Hoole told him, he was born in Moorfields, and had received
part of his early instruction in Grub-street. 'Sir, (said Johnson,
smiling,) you have been REGULARLY educated.' Having asked who was
his instructor, and Mr. Hoole having answered, 'My uncle, Sir, who
was a taylor;' Johnson, recollecting himself, said, 'Sir, I knew
him; we called him the metaphysical taylor. He was of a club in
Old-street, with me and George Psalmanazar, and some others: but
pray, Sir, was he a good taylor?' Mr. Hoole having answered that
he believed he was too mathematical, and used to draw squares and
triangles on his shop-board, so that he did not excel in the cut of
a coat;--'I am sorry for it (said Johnson,) for I would have every
man to be master of his own business.'

In pleasant reference to himself and Mr. Hoole, as brother
authours, he often said, 'Let you and I, Sir, go together, and eat
a beef-steak in Grub-street.'

He said to Sir William Scott, 'The age is running mad after
innovation; all the business of the world is to be done in a new
way; men are to be hanged in a new way; Tyburn itself is not safe
from the fury of innovation.' It having been argued that this was
an improvement,--'No, Sir, (said he, eagerly,) it is NOT an
improvement: they object that the old method drew together a number
of spectators. Sir, executions are intended to draw spectators.
If they do not draw spectators they don't answer their purpose.
The old method was most satisfactory to all parties; the publick
was gratified by a procession; the criminal was supported by it.
Why is all this to be swept away?' I perfectly agree with Dr.
Johnson upon this head, and am persuaded that executions now, the
solemn procession being discontinued, have not nearly the effect
which they formerly had. Magistrates both in London, and
elsewhere, have, I am afraid, in this had too much regard to their
own case.

Johnson's attention to precision and clearness in expression was
very remarkable. He disapproved of parentheses; and I believe in
all his voluminous writings, not half a dozen of them will be
found. He never used the phrases the former and the latter, having
observed, that they often occasioned obscurity; he therefore
contrived to construct his sentences so as not to have occasion for
them, and would even rather repeat the same words, in order to
avoid them. Nothing is more common than to mistake surnames when
we hear them carelessly uttered for the first time. To prevent
this, he used not only to pronounce them slowly and distinctly, but
to take the trouble of spelling them; a practice which I have often
followed; and which I wish were general.

Such was the heat and irritability of his blood, that not only did
he pare his nails to the quick; but scraped the joints of his
fingers with a pen-knife, till they seemed quite red and raw.

The heterogeneous composition of human nature was remarkably
exemplified in Johnson. His liberality in giving his money to
persons in distress was extraordinary. Yet there lurked about him
a propensity to paultry saving. One day I owned to him that 'I was
occasionally troubled with a fit of NARROWNESS.' 'Why, Sir, (said
he,) so am I. BUT I DO NOT TELL IT.' He has now and then borrowed
a shilling of me; and when I asked for it again, seemed to be
rather out of humour. A droll little circumstance once occurred:
as if he meant to reprimand my minute exactness as a creditor, he
thus addressed me;--'Boswell, LEND me sixpence--NOT TO BE REPAID.'

This great man's attention to small things was very remarkable. As
an instance of it, he one day said to me, 'Sir, when you get silver
in change for a guinea, look carefully at it; you may find some
curious piece of coin.'

Though a stern TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN, and fully prejudiced against
all other nations, he had discernment enough to see, and candour
enough to censure, the cold reserve too common among Englishmen
towards strangers: 'Sir, (said he,) two men of any other nation who
are shewn into a room together, at a house where they are both
visitors, will immediately find some conversation. But two
Englishmen will probably go each to a different window, and remain
in obstinate silence. Sir, we as yet do not enough understand the
common rights of humanity.'

Johnson, for sport perhaps, or from the spirit of contradiction,
eagerly maintained that Derrick had merit as a writer. Mr.
Morgann* argued with him directly, in vain. At length he had
recourse to this device. 'Pray, Sir, (said he,) whether do you
reckon Derrick or Smart the best poet?' Johnson at once felt
himself roused; and answered, 'Sir, there is no settling the point
of precedency between a louse and a flea.'


* Author of the Essay on the Character of Falstaff.--ED.


He was pleased to say to me one morning when we were left alone in
his study, 'Boswell, I think I am easier with you than with almost
any body.'

He would not allow Mr. David Hume any credit for his political
principles, though similar to his own; saying of him, 'Sir, he was
a Tory by chance.'

His acute observation of human life made him remark, 'Sir, there is
nothing by which a man exasperates most people more, than by
displaying a superiour ability or brilliancy in conversation. They
seem pleased at the time; but their envy makes them curse him in
their hearts.'

Johnson's love of little children, which he discovered upon all
occasions, calling them 'pretty dears,' and giving them sweetmeats,
was an undoubted proof of the real humanity and gentleness of his
disposition.

His uncommon kindness to his servants, and serious concern, not
only for their comfort in this world, but their happiness in the
next, was another unquestionable evidence of what all, who were
intimately acquainted with him, knew to be true.

Nor would it be just, under this head, to omit the fondness which
he shewed for animals which he had taken under his protection. I
never shall forget the indulgence with which he treated Hodge, his
cat: for whom he himself used to go out and buy oysters, lest the
servants having that trouble should take a dislike to the poor
creature. I am, unluckily, one of those who have an antipathy to a
cat, so that I am uneasy when in the room with one; and I own, I
frequently suffered a good deal from the presence of this same
Hodge. I recollect him one day scrambling up Dr. Johnson's breast,
apparently with much satisfaction, while my friend smiling and
half-whistling, rubbed down his back, and pulled him by the tail;
and when I observed he was a fine cat, saying, 'Why yes, Sir, but I
have had cats whom I liked better than this;' and then as if
perceiving Hodge to be out of countenance, adding, 'but he is a
very fine cat, a very fine cat indeed.'

This reminds me of the ludicrous account which he gave Mr. Langton,
of the despicable state of a young Gentleman of good family. 'Sir,
when I heard of him last, he was running about town shooting cats.'
And then in a sort of kindly reverie, he bethought himself of his
own favourite cat, and said, 'But Hodge shan't be shot; no, no,
Hodge shall not be shot.'

On Thursday, April 10, I introduced to him, at his house in Bolt-
court, the Honourable and Reverend William Stuart, son of the Earl
of Bute; a gentleman truly worthy of being known to Johnson; being,
with all the advantages of high birth, learning, travel, and
elegant manners, an exemplary parish priest in every respect.

After some compliments on both sides, the tour which Johnson and I
had made to the Hebrides was mentioned. JOHNSON. 'I got an
acquisition of more ideas by it than by any thing that I remember.
I saw quite a different system of life.' BOSWELL. 'You would not
like to make the same journey again?' JOHNSON. 'Why no, Sir; not
the same: it is a tale told. Gravina, an Italian critick,
observes, that every man desires to see that of which he has read;
but no man desires to read an account of what he has seen: so much
does description fall short of reality. Description only excites
curiosity: seeing satisfies it. Other people may go and see the
Hebrides.' BOSWELL. 'I should wish to go and see some country
totally different from what I have been used to; such as Turkey,
where religion and every thing else are different.' JOHNSON.
'Yes, Sir; there are two objects of curiosity,--the Christian
world, and the Mahometan world. All the rest may be considered as
barbarous.' BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, is the Turkish Spy a genuine
book?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir. Mrs. Manley, in her Life, says that
her father wrote the first two volumes: and in another book,
Dunton's Life and Errours, we find that the rest was written by one
Sault, at two guineas a sheet, under the direction of Dr.
Midgeley.'

About this time he wrote to Mrs. Lucy Porter, mentioning his bad
health, and that he intended a visit to Lichfield. 'It is, (says
he,) with no great expectation of amendment that I make every year
a journey into the country; but it is pleasant to visit those whose
kindness has been often experienced.'

On April 18, (being Good-Friday,) I found him at breakfast, in his
usual manner upon that day, drinking tea without milk, and eating a
cross-bun to prevent faintness; we went to St. Clement's church, as
formerly. When we came home from church, he placed himself on one
of the stone-seats at his garden-door, and I took the other, and
thus in the open air and in a placid frame of mind, he talked away
very easily. JOHNSON. 'Were I a country gentleman, I should not
be very hospitable, I should not have crowds in my house.'
BOSWELL. 'Sir Alexander Dick tells me, that he remembers having a
thousand people in a year to dine at his house: that is, reckoning
each person as one, each time that he dined there.' JOHNSON.
'That, Sir, is about three a day.' BOSWELL. 'How your statement
lessens the idea.' JOHNSON. 'That, Sir, is the good of counting.
It brings every thing to a certainty, which before floated in the
mind indefinitely.'

BOSWELL. 'I wish to have a good walled garden.' JOHNSON. 'I
don't think it would be worth the expence to you. We compute in
England, a park wall at a thousand pounds a mile; now a garden-wall
must cost at least as much. You intend your trees should grow
higher than a deer will leap. Now let us see; for a hundred pounds
you could only have forty-four square yards, which is very little;
for two hundred pounds, you may have eighty-four square yards,
which is very well. But when will you get the value of two hundred
pounds of walls, in fruit, in your climate? No, Sir, such
contention with Nature is not worth while. I would plant an
orchard, and have plenty of such fruit as ripen well in your
country. My friend, Dr. Madden, of Ireland, said, that "in an
orchard there should be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to
be stolen, and enough to rot upon the ground." Cherries are an
early fruit, you may have them; and you may have the early apples
and pears.' BOSWELL. 'We cannot have nonpareils.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, you can no more have nonpareils than you can have grapes.'
BOSWELL. 'We have them, Sir; but they are very bad.' JOHNSON.
'Nay, Sir, never try to have a thing merely to shew that you CANNOT
have it. From ground that would let for forty shillings you may
have a large orchard; and you see it costs you only forty
shillings. Nay, you may graze the ground when the trees are grown
up; you cannot while they are young.' BOSWELL. 'Is not a good
garden a very common thing in England, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Not so
common, Sir, as you imagine. In Lincolnshire there is hardly an
orchard; in Staffordshire very little fruit.' BOSWELL. 'Has
Langton no orchard?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'How so,
Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, from the general negligence of the
county. He has it not, because nobody else has it.' BOSWELL. 'A
hot-house is a certain thing; I may have that.' JOHNSON. 'A hot-
house is pretty certain; but you must first build it, then you must
keep fires in it, and you must have a gardener to take care of it.'
BOSWELL. 'But if I have a gardener at any rate ?--' JOHNSON.
'Why, yes.' BOSWELL. 'I'd have it near my house; there is no need
to have it in the orchard.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, I'd have it near my
house. I would plant a great many currants; the fruit is good, and
they make a pretty sweetmeat.'

I record this minute detail, which some may think trifling, in
order to shew clearly how this great man, whose mind could grasp
such large and extensive subjects, as he has shewn in his literary
labours, was yet well-informed in the common affairs of life, and
loved to illustrate them.

Talking of the origin of language; JOHNSON. 'It must have come by
inspiration. A thousand, nay, a million of children could not
invent a language. While the organs are pliable, there is not
understanding enough to form a language; by the time that there is
understanding enough, the organs are become stiff. We know that
after a certain age we cannot learn to pronounce a new language.
No foreigner, who comes to England when advanced in life, ever
pronounces English tolerably well; at least such instances are very
rare. When I maintain that language must have come by inspiration,
I do not mean that inspiration is required for rhetorick, and all
the beauties of language; for when once man has language, we can
conceive that he may gradually form modifications of it. I mean
only that inspiration seems to me to be necessary to give man the
faculty of speech; to inform him that he may have speech; which I
think he could no more find out without inspiration, than cows or
hogs would think of such a faculty.' WALKER. 'Do you think, Sir,
that there are any perfect synonimes in any language?' JOHNSON.
'Originally there were not; but by using words negligently, or in
poetry, one word comes to be confounded with another.'

He talked of Dr. Dodd. 'A friend of mine, (said he,) came to me
and told me, that a lady wished to have Dr. Dodd's picture in a
bracelet, and asked me for a motto. I said, I could think of no
better than Currat Lex. I was very willing to have him pardoned,
that is, to have the sentence changed to transportation: but, when
he was once hanged, I did not wish he should be made a saint.'

Mrs. Burney, wife of his friend Dr. Burney, came in, and he seemed
to be entertained with her conversation.

Garrick's funeral was talked of as extravagantly expensive.
Johnson, from his dislike to exaggeration, would not allow that it
was distinguished by any extraordinary pomp. 'Were there not six
horses to each coach?' said Mrs. Burney. JOHNSON. 'Madam, there
were no more six horses than six phoenixes.'

Time passed on in conversation till it was too late for the service
of the church at three o'clock. I took a walk, and left him alone
for some time; then returned, and we had coffee and conversation
again by ourselves.

We went to evening prayers at St. Clement's, at seven, and then
parted.

On Sunday, April 20, being Easter-day, after attending solemn
service at St. Paul's, I came to Dr. Johnson, and found Mr. Lowe,
the painter, sitting with him. Mr. Lowe mentioned the great number
of new buildings of late in London, yet that Dr. Johnson had
observed, that the number of inhabitants was not increased.
JOHNSON. Why, Sir, the bills of mortality prove that no more
people die now than formerly; so it is plain no more live. The
register of births proves nothing, for not one tenth of the people
of London are born there.' BOSWELL. 'I believe, Sir, a great many
of the children born in London die early.' JOHNSON. 'Why, yes,
Sir.' BOSWELL. 'But those who do live, are as stout and strong
people as any: Dr. Price says, they must be naturally stronger to
get through.' JOHNSON. 'That is system, Sir. A great traveller
observes, that it is said there are no weak or deformed people
among the Indians; but he with much sagacity assigns the reason of
this, which is, that the hardship of their life as hunters and
fishers does not allow weak or diseased children to grow up. Now
had I been an Indian, I must have died early; my eyes would not
have served me to get food. I indeed now could fish, give me
English tackle; but had I been an Indian I must have starved, or
they would have knocked me on the head, when they saw I could do
nothing.' BOSWELL. 'Perhaps they would have taken care of you: we
are told they are fond of oratory, you would have talked to them.'
JOHNSON. Nay, Sir, I should not have lived long enough to be fit
to talk; I should have been dead before I was ten years old.
Depend upon it, Sir, a savage, when he is hungry, will not carry
about with him a looby of nine years old, who cannot help himself.
They have no affection, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'I believe natural
affection, of which we hear so much, is very small.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, natural affection is nothing: but affection from principle
and established duty is sometimes wonderfully strong.' LOWE. 'A
hen, Sir, will feed her chickens in preference to herself.'
JOHNSON. 'But we don't know that the hen is hungry; let the hen be
fairly hungry, and I'll warrant she'll peck the corn herself. A
cock, I believe, will feed hens instead of himself; but we don't
know that the cock is hungry.' BOSWELL. 'And that, Sir, is not
from affection but gallantry. But some of the Indians have
affection.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, that they help some of their children
is plain; for some of them live, which they could not do without
being helped.'

I dined with him; the company were, Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins,
and Mr. Lowe. He seemed not to be well, talked little, grew drowsy
soon after dinner, and retired, upon which I went away.

Having next day gone to Mr. Burke's seat in the country, from
whence I was recalled by an express, that a near relation of mine
had killed his antagonist in a duel, and was himself dangerously
wounded, I saw little of Dr. Johnson till Monday, April 28, when I
spent a considerable part of the day with him, and introduced the
subject, which then chiefly occupied my mind. JOHNSON. 'I do not
see, Sir, that fighting is absolutely forbidden in Scripture; I see
revenge forbidden, but not self-defence.' BOSWELL. 'The Quakers
say it is; "Unto him that smiteth thee on one cheek, offer him also
the other."' JOHNSON. 'But stay, Sir; the text is meant only to
have the effect of moderating passion; it is plain that we are not
to take it in a literal sense. We see this from the context, where
there are other recommendations, which I warrant you the Quaker
will not take literally; as, for instance, "From him that would
borrow of thee, turn thou not away." Let a man whose credit is
bad, come to a Quaker, and say, "Well, Sir, lend me a hundred
pounds;" he'll find him as unwilling as any other man. No, Sir, a
man may shoot the man who invades his character, as he may shoot
him who attempts to break into his house.* So in 1745, my friend,
Tom Gumming, the Quaker, said, he would not fight, but he would
drive an ammunition cart; and we know that the Quakers have sent
flannel waistcoats to our soldiers, to enable them to fight
better.' BOSWELL. 'When a

(part 23)
'When a man is the aggressor, and by ill-usage
forces on a duel in which he is killed, have we not little ground
to hope that he is gone into a state of happiness?' JOHNSON.
'Sir, we are not to judge determinately of the state in which a man
leaves this life. He may in a moment have repented effectually,
and it is possible may have been accepted by GOD.'


* I think it necessary to caution my readers against concluding
that in this or any other conversation of Dr. Johnson, they have
his serious and deliberate opinion on the subject of duelling. In
my Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, 3rd edit. p. 386 [p. 366,
Oct. 24], it appears that he made this frank confession:--'Nobody
at times, talks more laxly than I do;' and, ib., p. 231 [Sept. 19,
1773], 'He fairly owned he could not explain the rationality of
duelling.' We may, therefore, infer, that he could not think that
justifiable, which seems so inconsistent with the spirit of the
Gospel.--BOSWELL.


Upon being told that old Mr. Sheridan, indignant at the neglect of
his oratorical plans, had threatened to go to America; JOHNSON. 'I
hope he will go to America.' BOSWELL. 'The Americans don't want
oratory.' JOHNSON. 'But we can want Sheridan.'

On Monday, April 29, I found him at home in the forenoon, and Mr.
Seward with him. Horace having been mentioned; BOSWELL. 'There is
a great deal of thinking in his works. One finds there almost
every thing but religion.' SEWARD. 'He speaks of his returning to
it, in his Ode Parcus Deorum cultor et infrequens.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, he was not in earnest: this was merely poetical.' BOSWELL.
'There are, I am afraid, many people who have no religion at all.'
SEWARD. 'And sensible people too.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, not
sensible in that respect. There must be either a natural or a
moral stupidity, if one lives in a total neglect of so very
important a concern. SEWARD. 'I wonder that there should be
people without religion.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you need not wonder at
this, when you consider how large a proportion of almost every
man's life is passed without thinking of it. I myself was for some
years totally regardless of religion. It had dropped out of my
mind. It was at an early part of my life. Sickness brought it
back, and I hope I have never lost it since.' BOSWELL. 'My dear
Sir, what a man must you have been without religion! Why you must
have gone on drinking, and swearing, and--' JOHNSON (with a
smile,) 'I drank enough and swore enough, to be sure.' SEWARD.
'One should think that sickness and the view of death would make
more men religious.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, they do not know how to go
about it: they have not the first notion. A man who has never had
religion before, no more grows religious when he is sick, than a
man who has never learnt figures can count when he has need of
calculation.'

I mentioned Dr. Johnson's excellent distinction between liberty of
conscience and liberty of teaching. JOHNSON. 'Consider, Sir; if
you have children whom you wish to educate in the principles of the
Church of England, and there comes a Quaker who tries to pervert
them to his principles, you would drive away the Quaker. You would
not trust to the predomination of right, which you believe is in
your opinions; you would keep wrong out of their heads. Now the
vulgar are the children of the State. If any one attempts to teach
them doctrines contrary to what the State approves, the magistrate
may and ought to restrain him.' SEWARD. 'Would you restrain
private conversation, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is difficult
to say where private conversation begins, and where it ends. If we
three should discuss even the great question concerning the
existence of a Supreme Being by ourselves, we should not be
restrained; for that would be to put an end to all improvement.
But if we should discuss it in the presence of ten boarding-school
girls, and as many boys, I think the magistrate would do well to
put us in the stocks, to finish the debate there.'

'How false (said he,) is all this, to say that in ancient times
learning was not a disgrace to a Peer as it is now. In ancient
times a Peer was as ignorant as any one else. He would have been
angry to have it thought he could write his name. Men in ancient
times dared to stand forth with a degree of ignorance with which
nobody would dare now to stand forth. I am always angry when I
hear ancient times praised at the expence of modern times. There
is now a great deal more learning in the world than there was
formerly; for it is universally diffused. You have, perhaps, no
man who knows as much Greek and Latin as Bentley; no man who knows
as much mathematicks as Newton: but you have many more men who know
Greek and Latin, and who know mathematicks.'

On Thursday, May 1, I visited him in the evening along with young
Mr. Burke. He said, 'It is strange that there should be so little
reading in the world, and so much writing. People in general do
not willingly read, if they can have any thing else to amuse them.
There must be an external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or
avarice. The progress which the understanding makes through a
book, has more pain than pleasure in it. Language is scanty, and
inadequate to express the nice gradations and mixtures of our
feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure inclination.
The books that we do read with pleasure are light compositions,
which contain a quick succession of events. However, I have this
year read all Virgil through. I read a book of the Aeneid every
night, so it was done in twelve nights, and I had great delight in
it. The Georgicks did not give me so much pleasure, except the
fourth book. The Eclogues I have almost all by heart. I do not
think the story of the Aeneid interesting. I like the story of the
Odyssey much better; and this not on account of the wonderful
things which it contains; for there are wonderful things enough in
the Aeneid;--the ships of the Trojans turned to sea-nymphs,--the
tree at Polydorus's tomb dropping blood. The story of the Odyssey
is interesting, as a great part of it is domestick. It has been
said, there is pleasure in writing, particularly in writing verses.
I allow you may have pleasure from writing, after it is over, if
you have written well; but you don't go willingly to it again. I
know when I have been writing verses, I have run my finger down the
margin, to see how many I had made, and how few I had to make.'

He seemed to be in a very placid humour, and although I have no
note of the particulars of young Mr. Burke's conversation, it is
but justice to mention in general, that it was such that Dr.
Johnson said to me afterwards, 'He did very well indeed; I have a
mind to tell his father.'

I have no minute of any interview with Johnson till Thursday, May
15, when I find what follows:--BOSWELL. 'I wish much to be in
Parliament, Sir.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, unless you come resolved to
support any administration, you would be the worse for being in
Parliament, because you would be obliged to live more expensively.'
BOSWELL. 'Perhaps, Sir, I should be the less happy for being in
Parliament. I never would sell my vote, and I should be vexed if
things went wrong.' JOHNSON. 'That's cant, Sir. It would not vex
you more in the house, than in the gallery: publick affairs vex no
man.' BOSWELL. 'Have not they vexed yourself a little, Sir? Have
not you been vexed by all the turbulence of this reign, and by that
absurd vote of the house of Commons, "That the influence of the
Crown has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished?"'
Johnson. 'Sir, I have never slept an hour less, nor eat an ounce
less meat. I would have knocked the factious dogs on the head, to
be sure; but I was not VEXED.' BOSWELL. 'I declare, Sir, upon my
honour, I did imagine I was vexed, and took a pride in it; but it
WAS, perhaps, cant; for I own I neither ate less, nor slept less.'
JOHNSON. 'My dear friend, clear your MIND of cant. You may TALK
as other people do: you may say to a man, "Sir, I am your most
humble servant." You are not his most humble servant. You may
say, "These are bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved
to such times." You don't mind the times. You tell a man, "I am
sorry you had such bad weather the last day of your journey, and
were so much wet." You don't care six-pence whether he is wet or
dry. You may TALK in this manner; it is a mode of talking in
Society: but don't THINK foolishly.'

Here he discovered a notion common enough in persons not much
accustomed to entertain company, that there must be a degree of
elaborate attention, otherwise company will think themselves
neglected; and such attention is no doubt very fatiguing. He
proceeded: 'I would not, however, be a stranger in my own county; I
would visit my neighbours, and receive their visits; but I would
not be in haste to return visits. If a gentleman comes to see me,
I tell him he does me a great deal of honour. I do not go to see
him perhaps for ten weeks; then we are very complaisant to each
other. No, Sir, you will have much more influence by giving or
lending money where it is wanted, than by hospitality.'

On Saturday, May 17, I saw him for a short time. Having mentioned
that I had that morning been with old Mr. Sheridan, he remembered
their former intimacy with a cordial warmth, and said to me, 'Tell
Mr. Sheridan, I shall be glad to see him, and shake hands with
him.' BOSWELL. 'It is to me very wonderful that resentment should
be kept up so long.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is not altogether
resentment that he does not visit me; it is partly falling out of
the habit,--partly disgust, as one has at a drug that has made him
sick. Besides, he knows that I laugh at his oratory.'

Another day I spoke of one of our friends, of whom he, as well as
I, had a very high opinion. He expatiated in his praise; but
added, 'Sir, he is a cursed Whig, a BOTTOMLESS Whig, as they all
are now.'

On Monday, May 26, I found him at tea, and the celebrated Miss
Burney, the authour of Evelina and Cecilia, with him. I asked if
there would be any speakers in Parliament, if there were no places
to be obtained. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir. Why do you speak here?
Either to instruct and entertain, which is a benevolent motive; or
for distinction, which is a selfish motive.' I mentioned Cecilia.
JOHNSON. (with an air of animated satisfaction,) 'Sir, if you talk
of Cecilia, talk on.'

We talked of Mr. Barry's exhibition of his pictures. JOHNSON.
'Whatever the hand may have done, the mind has done its part.
There is a grasp of mind there which you find nowhere else.'

I asked whether a man naturally virtuous, or one who has overcome
wicked inclinations, is the best. JOHNSON. 'Sir, to YOU, the man
who has overcome wicked inclinations is not the best. He has more
merit to HIMSELF: I would rather trust my money to a man who has no
hands, and so a physical impossibility to steal, than to a man of
the most honest principles. There is a witty satirical story of
Foote. He had a small bust of Garrick placed upon his bureau.
"You may be surprized (said he,) that I allow him to be so near my
gold;--but you will observe he has no hands."'

On Friday, May 29, being to set out for Scotland next morning, I
passed a part of the day with him in more than usual earnestness;
as his health was in a more precarious state than at any time when
I had parted from him. He, however, was quick and lively, and
critical as usual. I mentioned one who was a very learned man.
JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, he has a great deal of learning; but it never
lies straight. There is never one idea by the side of another;
'tis all entangled: and their he drives it so aukwardly upon
conversation.'

He said, 'Get as much force of mind as you can. Live within your
income. Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let
your imports be more than your exports, and you'll never go far
wrong.

I assured him, that in the extensive and various range of his
acquaintance there never had been any one who had a more sincere
respect and affection for him than I had. He said, 'I believe it,
Sir. Were I in distress, there is no man to whom I should sooner
come than to you. I should like to come and have a cottage in your
park, toddle about, live mostly on milk, and be taken care of by
Mrs. Boswell. She and I are good friends now; are we not?'

He embraced me, and gave me his blessing, as usual when I was
leaving him for any length of time. I walked from his door to-day,
with a fearful apprehension of what might happen before I returned.

My anxious apprehensions at parting with him this year, proved to
be but too well founded; for not long afterwards he had a dreadful
stroke of the palsy, of which there are very full and accurate
accounts in letters written by himself, to shew with what composure
of mind, and resignation to the Divine Will, his steady piety
enabled him to behave.


'TO MR. EDMUND ALLEN.

'DEAR SIR,--It has pleased GOD, this morning, to deprive me of the
powers of speech; and as I do not know but that it may be his
further good pleasure to deprive me soon of my senses, I request
you will on the receipt of this note, come to me, and act for me,
as the exigencies of my case may require. I am, sincerely yours,

'June 17, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Two days after he wrote thus to Mrs. Thrale:--

'On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture, and walked a
considerable way with little inconvenience. In the afternoon and
evening I felt myself light and easy, and began to plan schemes of
life. Thus I went to bed, and in a short time waked and sat up, as
has been long my custom, when I felt a confusion and indistinctness
in my head, which lasted, I suppose, about half a minute. I was
alarmed, and prayed God, that however he might afflict my body, he
would spare my understanding. This prayer, that I might try the
integrity of my faculties, I made in Latin verse. The lines were
not very good, but I knew them not to be very good: I made them
easily, and concluded myself to be unimpaired in my faculties.

'Soon after I perceived that I had suffered a paralytick stroke,
and that my speech was taken from me. I had no pain, and so little
dejection in this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy,
and considered that perhaps death itself, when it should come,
would excite less horrour than seems now to attend it.

'In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams. Wine has
been celebrated for the production of eloquence. I put myself into
violent motion, and I think repeated it; but all was vain. I then
went to bed, and strange as it may seem, I think slept. When I saw
light, it was time to contrive what I should do. Though God
stopped my speech, he left me my hand; I enjoyed a mercy which was
not granted to my dear friend Lawrence, who now perhaps overlooks
me as I am writing, and rejoices that I have what he wanted. My
first note was necessarily to my servant, who came in talking, and
could not immediately comprehend why he should read what I put into
his hands.

'I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet
friend at hand, to act as occasion should require. In penning this
note, I had some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made
wrong letters. I then wrote to Dr. Taylor to come to me, and bring
Dr. Heberden; and I sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour.
My physicians are very friendly, and give me great hopes; but you
may imagine my situation. I have so far recovered my vocal powers,
as to repeat the Lord's Prayer with no very imperfect articulation.
My memory, I hope, yet remains as it was; but such an attack
produces solicitude for the safety of every faculty.'


'TO MR. THOMAS DAVIES.

'DEAR SIR,--I have had, indeed, a very heavy blow; but GOD, who yet
spares my life, I humbly hope will spare my understanding, and
restore my speech. As I am not at all helpless, I want no
particular assistance, but am strongly affected by Mrs. Davies's
tenderness; and when I think she can do me good, shall be very glad
to call upon her. I had ordered friends to be shut out; but one or
two have found the way in; and if you come you shall be admitted:
for I know not whom I can see, that will bring more amusement on
his tongue, or more kindness in his heart. I am, &c.

'June 18, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


It gives me great pleasure to preserve such a memorial of Johnson's
regard for Mr. Davies, to whom I was indebted for my introduction
to him. He indeed loved Davies cordially, of which I shall give
the following little evidence. One day when he had treated him
with too much asperity, Tom, who was not without pride and spirit,
went off in a passion; but he had hardly reached home when Frank,
who had been sent after him, delivered this note:--'Come, come,
dear Davies, I am always sorry when we quarrel; send me word that
we are friends.'

Such was the general vigour of his constitution, that he recovered
from this alarming and severe attack with wonderful quickness; so
that in July he was able to make a visit to Mr. Langton at
Rochester, where he passed about a fortnight, and made little
excursions as easily as at any time of his life. In August he went
as far as the neighbourhood of Salisbury, to Heale, the seat of
William Bowles, Esq., a gentleman whom I have heard him praise for
exemplary religious order in his family. In his diary I find a
short but honourable mention of this visit:--'August 28, I came to
Heale without fatigue. 30, I am entertained quite to my mind.'

While he was here he had a letter from Dr. Brocklesby, acquainting
him of the death of Mrs. Williams, which affected him a good deal.
Though for several years her temper had not been complacent, she
had valuable qualities, and her departure left a blank in his
house. Upon this occasion he, according to his habitual course of
piety, composed a prayer.

I shall here insert a few particulars concerning him, with which I
have been favoured by one of his friends.

'He spoke often in praise of French literature. "The French are
excellent in this, (he would say,) they have a book on every
subject." From what he had seen of them he denied them the praise
of superiour politeness, and mentioned, with very visible disgust,
the custom they have of spitting on the floors of their apartments.
"This, (said the Doctor), is as gross a thing as can well be done;
and one wonders how any man, or set of men, can persist in so
offensive a practice for a whole day together; one should expect
that the first effort towards civilization would remove it even
among savages."

'Chymistry was always an interesting pursuit with Dr. Johnson.
Whilst he was in Wiltshire, he attended some experiments that were
made by a physician at Salisbury, on the new kinds of air. In the
course of the experiments frequent mention being made of Dr.
Priestley, Dr. Johnson knit his brows, and in a stern manner
inquired, "Why do we hear so much of Dr. Priestley?" He was very
properly answered, "Sir, because we are indebted to him for these
important discoveries." On this Dr. Johnson appeared well content;
and replied, "Well, well, I believe we are; and let every man have
the honour he has merited."'

'A friend was one day, about two years before his death, struck
with some instance of Dr. Johnson's great candour. "Well, Sir,
(said he,) I will always say that you are a very candid man."
"Will you, (replied the Doctor,) I doubt then you will be very
singular. But, indeed, Sir, (continued he,) I look upon myself to
be a man very much misunderstood. I am not an uncandid, nor am I a
severe man. I sometimes say more than I mean, in jest; and people
are apt to believe me serious: however, I am more candid than I was
when I was younger. As I know more of mankind I expect less of
them, and am ready now to call a man A GOOD MAN, upon easier terms
than I was formerly."'

On his return from Heale he wrote to Dr. Burney:--

'I came home on the 18th at noon to a very disconsolate house. You
and I have lost our friends; but you have more friends at home. My
domestick companion is taken from me. She is much missed, for her
acquisitions were many, and her curiosity universal; so that she
partook of every conversation. I am not well enough to go much
out; and to sit, and eat, or fast alone, is very wearisome. I
always mean to send my compliments to all the ladies.'

His fortitude and patience met with severe trials during this year.
The stroke of the palsy has been related circumstantially; but he
was also afflicted with the gout, and was besides troubled with a
complaint which not only was attended with immediate inconvenience,
but threatened him with a chirurgical operation, from which most
men would shrink. The complaint was a sarcocele, which Johnson
bore with uncommon firmness, and was not at all frightened while he
looked forward to amputation. He was attended by Mr. Pott and Mr.
Cruikshank.

Happily the complaint abated without his being put to the torture
of amputation. But we must surely admire the manly resolution
which he discovered while it hung over him.

He this autumn received a visit from the celebrated Mrs. Siddons.
He gives this account of it in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale:--

'Mrs. Siddons, in her visit to me, behaved with great modesty and
propriety, and left nothing behind her to be censured or despised.
Neither praise nor money, the two powerful corrupters of mankind,
seem to have depraved her. I shall be glad to see her again. Her
brother Kemble calls on me, and pleases me very well. Mrs. Siddons
and I talked of plays; and she told me her intention of exhibiting
this winter the characters of Constance, Catharine, and Isabella,
in Shakspeare.'

Mr. Kemble has favoured me with the following minute of what passed
at this visit:--

'When Mrs. Siddons came into the room, there happened to be no
chair ready for her, which he observing, said with a smile, "Madam,
you who so often occasion a want of seats to other people, will the
more easily excuse the want of one yourself."

'Having placed himself by her, he with great good-humour entered
upon a consideration of the English drama; and, among other
inquiries, particularly asked her which of Shakspeare's characters
she was most pleased with. Upon her answering that she thought the
character of Queen Catharine, in Henry the Eighth, the most
natural:--"I think so too, Madam, (said he and whenever you
perform it, I will once more hobble out to the theatre myself."
Mrs. Siddons promised she would do herself the honour of acting his
favourite part for him; but many circumstances happened to prevent
the representation of King Henry the Eighth during the Doctor's
life.

'In the course of the evening he thus gave his opinion upon the
merits of some of the principal performers whom he remembered to
have seen upon the stage. "Mrs. Porter in the vehemence of rage,
and Mrs. Clive in the sprightliness of humour, I have never seen
equalled. What Clive did best, she did better than Garrick; but
could not do half so many things well; she was a better romp than
any I ever saw in nature. Pritchard, in common life, was a vulgar
ideot; she would talk of her GOWND: but, when she appeared upon the
stage, seemed to be inspired by gentility and understanding. I
once talked with Colley Cibber, and thought him ignorant of the
principles of his art. Garrick, Madam; was no declaimer; there was
not one of his own scene-shifters who could not have spoken To be,
or not to be, better than he did; yet he was the only actor I ever
saw, whom I could call a master both in tragedy and comedy; though
I liked him best in comedy. A true conception of character, and
natural expression of it, were his distinguished excellencies."
Having expatiated, with his usual force and eloquence, on Mr.
Garrick's extraordinary eminence as an actor, he concluded with
this compliment to his social talents: "And after all, Madam, I
thought him less to be envied on the stage than at the head of a
table."'

Johnson, indeed, had thought more upon the subject of acting than
might be generally supposed. Talking of it one day to Mr. Kemble,
he said, 'Are you, Sir, one of those enthusiasts who believe
yourself transformed into the very character you represent?' Upon
Mr. Kemble's answering that he had never felt so strong a
persuasion himself; 'To be sure not, Sir, (said Johnson the thing
is impossible. And if Garrick really believed himself to be that
monster, Richard the Third, he deserved to be hanged every time he
performed it.'

I find in this, as in former years, notices of his kind attention
to Mrs. Gardiner, who, though in the humble station of a tallow-
chandler upon Snow-hill, was a woman of excellent good sense,
pious, and charitable. She told me, she had been introduced to him
by Mrs. Masters, the poetess, whose volumes he revised, and, it is
said, illuminated here and there with a ray of his own genius.
Mrs. Gardiner was very zealous for the support of the Ladies'
charity-school, in the parish of St. Sepulchre. It is confined to
females; and, I am told, it afforded a hint for the story of Betty
Broom in The Idler.

The late ingenious Mr. Mickle, some time before his death, wrote me
a letter concerning Dr. Johnson, in which he mentions,--'I was
upwards of twelve years acquainted with him, was frequently in his
company, always talked with ease to him, and can truly say, that I
never received from him one rough word.'

Mr. Mickle reminds me in this letter of a conversation, at dinner
one day at Mr. Hoole's with Dr. Johnson, when Mr. Nicol the King's
bookseller and I attempted to controvert the maxim, 'better that
ten guilty should escape, than one innocent person suffer;' and
were answered by Dr. Johnson with great power of reasoning and
eloquence. I am very sorry that I have no record of that day: but
I well recollect my illustrious friend's having ably shewn, that
unless civil institutions insure protection to the innocent, all
the confidence which mankind should have in them would be lost.

Notwithstanding the complication of disorders under which Johnson
now laboured, he did not resign himself to despondency and
discontent, but with wisdom and spirit endeavoured to console and
amuse his mind with as many innocent enjoyments as he could
procure. Sir John Hawkins has mentioned the cordiality with which
he insisted that such of the members of the old club in Ivy-lane as
survived, should meet again and dine together, which they did,
twice at a tavern and once at his house: and in order to insure
himself society in the evening for three days in the week, he
instituted a club at the Essex Head, in Essex-street, then kept by
Samuel Greaves, an old servant of Mr. Thrale's.


'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'DEAR SIR,--It is inconvenient to me to come out, I should else
have waited on you with an account of a little evening Club which
we are establishing in Essex-street, in the Strand, and of which
you are desired to be one. It will be held at the Essex Head, now
kept by an old servant of Thrale's. The company is numerous, and,
as you will see by the list, miscellaneous. The terms are lax, and
the expences light. Mr. Barry was adopted by Dr. Brocklesby, who
joined with me in forming the plan. We meet thrice a week, and he
who misses forfeits two-pence.

'If you are willing to become a member, draw a line under your
name. Return the list. We meet for the first time on Monday at
eight. I am, &c.

'Dec. 4, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


It did not suit Sir Joshua to be one of this Club. But when I
mention only Mr. Daines Barrington, Dr. Brocklesby, Mr. Murphy, Mr.
John Nichols, Mr. Cooke, Mr. Joddrel, Mr. Paradise, Dr. Horsley,
Mr. Windham,* I shall sufficiently obviate the misrepresentation of
it by Sir John Hawkins, as if it had been a low ale-house
association, by which Johnson was degraded. Johnson himself, like
his namesake Old Ben, composed the Rules of his Club.


* I was in Scotland when this Club was founded, and during all the
winter. Johnson, however, declared I should be a member, and
invented a word upon the occasion: Boswell (said he,) is a very
CLUBABLE man.' When I came to town I was proposed by Mr.
Barrington, and chosen. I believe there are few societies where
there is better conversation or more decorum, several of us
resolved to continue it after our great founder was removed by
death. Other members were added; and now, above eight years since
that loss, we go on happily.--BOSWELL.


In the end of this year he was seized with a spasmodick asthma of
such violence, that he was confined to the house in great pain,
being sometimes obliged to sit all night in his chair, a recumbent
posture being so hurtful to his respiration, that he could not
endure lying in bed; and there came upon him at the same time that
oppressive and fatal disease, a dropsy. It was a very severe
winter, which probably aggravated his complaints; and the solitude
in which Mr. Levett and Mrs. Williams had left him, rendered his
life very gloomy. Mrs. Desmoulins, who still lived, was herself so
very ill, that she could contribute very little to his relief. He,
however, had none of that unsocial shyness which we commonly see in
people afflicted with sickness. He did not hide his head from the
world, in solitary abstraction; he did not deny himself to the
visits of his friends and acquaintances; but at all times, when he
was not overcome by sleep, was ready for conversation as in his
best days.


'TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

'DEAR MADAM,--You may perhaps think me negligent that I have not
written to you again upon the loss of your brother; but condolences
and consolations are such common and such useless things, that the
omission of them is no great crime: and my own diseases occupy my
mind, and engage my care. My nights are miserably restless, and my
days, therefore, are heavy. I try, however, to hold up my head as
high as I can.

'I am sorry that your health is impaired; perhaps the spring and
the summer may, in some degree, restore it: but if not, we must
submit to the inconveniences of time, as to the other dispensations
of Eternal Goodness. Pray for me, and write to me, or let Mr.
Pearson write for you. I am, &c.

'London, Nov. 29, 1783.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


1784: AETAT. 75.]--And now I am arrived at the last year of the
life of SAMUEL JOHNSON, a year in which, although passed in severe
indisposition, he nevertheless gave many evidences of the
continuance of those wondrous powers of mind, which raised him so
high in the intellectual world. His conversation and his letters
of this year were in no respect inferiour to those of former years.

In consequence of Johnson's request that I should ask our
physicians about his case, and desire Sir Alexander Dick to send
his opinion, I transmitted him a letter from that very amiable
Baronet, then in his eighty-first year, with his faculties as
entire as ever; and mentioned his expressions to me in the note
accompanying it: 'With my most affectionate wishes for Dr.
Johnson's recovery, in which his friends, his country, and all
mankind have so deep a stake:' and at the same time a full opinion
upon his case by Dr. Gillespie, who, like Dr. Cullen, had the
advantage of having passed through the gradations of surgery and
pharmacy, and by study and practice had attained to such skill,
that my father settled on him two hundred pounds a year for five
years, and fifty pounds a year during his life, as an honorarium to
secure his particular attendance.

I also applied to three of the eminent physicians who had chairs in
our celebrated school of medicine at Edinburgh, Doctors Cullen,
Hope, and Monro.

All of them paid the most polite attention to my letter, and its
venerable object. Dr. Cullen's words concerning him were, 'It
would give me the greatest pleasure to be of any service to a man
whom the publick properly esteem, and whom I esteem and respect as
much as I do Dr. Johnson.' Dr. Hope's, 'Few people have a better
claim on me than your friend, as hardly a day passes that I do not
ask his opinion about this or that word.' Dr. Monro's, 'I most
sincerely join you in sympathizing with that very worthy and
ingenious character, from whom his country has derived much
instruction and entertainment.'


'TO THE REVEREND DR. TAYLOR, ASHBOURNE, DERBYSHIRE.

'DEAR SIR,--What can be the reason that I hear nothing from you? I
hope nothing disables you from writing. What I have seen, and what
I have felt, gives me reason to fear every thing. Do not omit
giving me the comfort of knowing, that after all my losses I have
yet a friend left.

'I want every comfort. My life is very solitary and very
cheerless. Though it has pleased GOD wonderfully to deliver me
from the dropsy, I am yet very weak, and have not passed the door
since the 13th of December. I hope for some help from warm
weather, which will surely come in time.

'I could not have the consent of the physicians to go to church
yesterday; I therefore received the holy sacrament at home, in the
room where I communicated with dear Mrs. Williams, a little before
her death. O! my friend, the approach of death is very dreadful.
I am afraid to think on that which I know I cannot avoid. It is
vain to look round and round for that help which cannot be had.
Yet we hope and hope, and fancy that he who has lived to-day may
live to-morrow. But let us learn to derive our hope only from GOD.

'In the mean time, let us be kind to one another. I have no friend
now living but you and Mr. Hector, that was the friend of my youth.
Do not neglect, dear Sir, yours affectionately,

'London, Easter-Monday,
April 12, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


What follows is a beautiful specimen of his gentleness and
complacency to a young lady his god-child, one of the daughters of
his friend Mr. Langton, then I think in her seventh year. He took
the trouble to write it in a large round hand, nearly resembling
printed characters, that she might have the satisfaction of reading
it herself. The original lies before me, but shall be faithfully
restored to her; and I dare say will be preserved by her as a jewel
as long as she lives.


'TO MISS JANE LANGTON, IN ROCHESTER, KENT.

'MY DEAREST MISS JENNY,--I am sorry that your pretty letter has
been so long without being answered; but, when I am not pretty
well, I do not always write plain enough for young ladies. I am
glad, my dear, to see that you write so well, and hope that you
mind your pen, your book, and your needle, for they are all
necessary. Your books will give you knowledge, and make you
respected; and your needle will find you useful employment when you
do not care to read. When you are a little older, I hope you will
be very diligent in learning arithmetick, and, above all, that
through your whole life you will carefully say your prayers, and
read your Bible. I am, my dear, your most humble servant,

'May 10, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


On Wednesday, May 5, I arrived in London, and next morning had the
pleasure to find Dr. Johnson greatly recovered. I but just saw
him; for a coach was waiting to carry him to Islington, to the
house of his friend the Reverend Mr. Strahan, where he went
sometimes for the benefit of good air, which, notwithstanding his
having formerly laughed at the general opinion upon the subject, he
now acknowledged was conducive to health.

One morning afterwards, when I found him alone, he communicated to
me, with solemn earnestness, a very remarkable circumstance which
had happened in the course of his illness, when he was much
distressed by the dropsy. He had shut himself up, and employed a
day in particular exercises of religion--fasting, humiliation, and
prayer. On a sudden he obtained extraordinary relief, for which he
looked up to Heaven with grateful devotion. He made no direct
inference from this fact; but from his manner of telling it, I
could perceive that it appeared to him as something more than an
incident in the common course of events. For my own part, I have
no difficulty to avow that cast of thinking, which by many modern
pretenders to wisdom is called SUPERSTITIOUS. But here I think
even men of dry rationality may believe, that there was an
intermediate interposition of Divine Providence, and that 'the
fervent prayer of this righteous man' availed.

On Saturday, May 15, I dined with him at Dr. Brocklesby's, where
were Colonel Vallancy, Mr. Murphy, and that ever-cheerful companion
Mr. Devaynes, apothecary to his Majesty. Of these days, and others
on which I saw him, I have no memorials, except the general
recollection of his being able and animated in conversation, and
appearing to relish society as much as the youngest man. I find
only these three small particulars:--When a person was mentioned,
who said, 'I have lived fifty-one years in this world without
having had ten minutes of uneasiness;' he exclaimed, 'The man who
says so, lies: he attempts to impose on human credulity.' The
Bishop of Exeter in vain observed, that men were very different.
His Lordship's manner was not impressive, and I learnt afterwards
that Johnson did not find out that the person who talked to him was
a Prelate; if he had, I doubt not that he would have treated him
with more respect; for once talking of George Psalmanazar, whom he
reverenced for his piety, he said, 'I should as soon think of
contradicting a BISHOP.' One of the company* provoked him greatly
by doing what he could least of all bear, which was quoting
something of his own writing, against what he then maintained.
'What, Sir, (cried the gentleman,) do you say to


"The busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by?"'--


Johnson finding himself thus presented as giving an instance of a
man who had lived without uneasiness, was much offended, for he
looked upon such a quotation as unfair. His anger burst out in an
unjustifiable retort, insinuating that the gentleman's remark was a
sally of ebriety; 'Sir, there is one passion I would advise you to
command: when you have drunk out that glass, don't drink another.'
Here was exemplified what Goldsmith said of him, with the aid of a
very witty image from one of Cibber's Comedies: 'There is no
arguing with Johnson; for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you
down with the butt end of it.' Another was this: when a gentleman
of eminence in the literary world was violently censured for
attacking people by anonymous paragraphs in news-papers; he, from
the spirit of contradiction as I thought, took up his defence, and
said, 'Come, come, this is not so terrible a crime; he means only
to vex them a little. I do not say that I should do it; but there
is a great difference between him and me; what is fit for
Hephaestion is not fit for Alexander.' Another, when I told him
that a young and handsome Countess had said to me, 'I should think
that to be praised by Dr. Johnson would make one a fool all one's
life;' and that I answered, 'Madam, I shall make him a fool to-day,
by repeating this to him,' he said, 'I am too old to be made a
fool; but if you say I am made a fool, I shall not deny it. I am
much pleased with a compliment, especially from a pretty woman.'


* Boswell himself, likely enough.--HILL.


On the evening of Saturday, May 15, he was in fine spirits, at our
Essex-Head Club. He told us, 'I dined yesterday at Mrs. Garrick's,
with Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah More, and Miss Fanny Burney. Three
such women are not to be found: I know not where I could find a
fourth, except Mrs. Lennox, who is superiour to them all.'
BOSWELL. 'What! had you them all to yourself, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'I
had them all as much as they were had; but it might have been
better had there been more company there.' BOSWELL. 'Might not
Mrs. Montagu have been a fourth?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, Mrs. Montagu
does not make a trade of her wit; but Mrs. Montagu is a very
extraordinary woman; she has a constant stream of conversation, and
it is always impregnated; it has always meaning.' BOSWELL. 'Mr.
Burke has a constant stream of conversation.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
if a man were to go by chance at the same time with Burke under a
shed, to shun a shower, he would say--"this is an extraordinary
man." If Burke should go into a stable to see his horse drest, the
ostler would say--"we have had an extraordinary man here."'
BOSWELL. 'Foote was a man who never failed in conversation. If he
had gone into a stable--' JOHNSON. 'Sir, if he had gone into a
stable, the ostler would have said, "here has been a comical
fellow"; but he would not have respected him.' BOSWELL. 'And,
Sir, the ostler would have answered him, would have given him as
good as he brought, as the common saying is.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
and Foote would have answered the ostler.--When Burke does not
descend to be merry, his conversation is very superiour indeed.
There is no proportion between the powers which he shews in serious
talk and in jocularity. When he lets himself down to that, he is
in the kennel.' I have in another place opposed, and I hope with
success, Dr. Johnson's very singular and erroneous notion as to Mr.
Burke's pleasantry. Mr. Windham now said low to me, that he
differed from our great friend in this observation; for that Mr.
Burke was often very happy in his merriment. It would not have
been right for either of us to have contradicted Johnson at this
time, in a Society all of whom did not know and value Mr. Burke as
much as we did. It might have occasioned something more rough, and
at any rate would probably have checked the flow of Johnson's good-
humour. He called to us with a sudden air of exultation, as the
thought started into his mind, 'O! Gentlemen, I must tell you a
very great thing. The Empress of Russia has ordered the Rambler to
be translated into the Russian language: so I shall be read on the
banks of the Wolga. Horace boasts that his fame would extend as
far as the banks of the Rhone; now the Wolga is farther from me
than the Rhone was from Horace.' BOSWELL. 'You must certainly be
pleased with this, Sir.' JOHNSON. 'I am pleased, Sir, to be sure.
A man is pleased to find he has succeeded in that which he has
endeavoured to do.'

One of the company mentioned his having seen a noble person driving
in his carriage, and looking exceedingly well, notwithstanding his
great age. JOHNSON. 'Ah, Sir; that is nothing. Bacon observes,
that a stout healthy old man is like a tower undermined.'

On Sunday, May 16, I found him alone; he talked of Mrs. Thrale with
much concern, saying, 'Sir, she has done every thing wrong, since
Thrale's bridle was off her neck;' and was proceeding to mention
some circumstances which have since been the subject of publick
discussion, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Douglas,
now Bishop of Salisbury.

In one of his little manuscript diaries, about this time, I find a
short notice, which marks his amiable disposition more certainly
than a thousand studied declarations.--'Afternoon spent cheerfully
and elegantly, I hope without offence to GOD or man; though in no
holy duty, yet in the general exercise and cultivation of
benevolence.'

On Monday, May 17, I dined with him at Mr. Dilly's, where were
Colonel Vallancy, the Reverend Dr. Gibbons, and Mr. Capel Lofft,
who, though a most zealous Whig, has a mind so full of learning and
knowledge, and so much exercised in various departments, and withal
so much liberality, that the stupendous powers of the literary
Goliath, though they did not frighten this little David of popular
spirit, could not but excite his admiration. There was also Mr.
Braithwaite of the Post-office, that amiable and friendly man, who,
with modest and unassuming manners, has associated with many of the
wits of the age. Johnson was very quiescent to-day. Perhaps too I
was indolent. I find nothing more of him in my notes, but that
when I mentioned that I had seen in the King's library sixty-three
editions of my favourite Thomas a Kempis, amongst which it was in
eight languages, Latin, German, French, Italian, Spanish, English,
Arabick, and Armenian, he said, he thought it unnecessary to
collect many editions of a book, which were all the same, except as
to the paper and print; he would have the original, and all the
translations, and all the editions which had any variations in the
text. He approved of the famous collection of editions of Horace
by Douglas, mentioned by Pope, who is said to have had a closet
filled with them; and he added, every man should try to collect one
book in that manner, and present it to a publick library.'

On Wednesday, May 19, I sat a part of the evening with him, by
ourselves. I observed, that the death of our friends might be a
consolation against the fear of our own dissolution, because we
might have more friends in the other world than in this. He
perhaps felt this as a reflection upon his apprehension as to
death; and said, with heat, 'How can a man know WHERE his departed
friends are, or whether they will be his friends in the other
world? How many friendships have you known formed upon principles
of virtue? Most friendships are formed by caprice or by chance,
mere confederacies in vice or leagues in folly.'

We talked of our worthy friend Mr. Langton. He said, 'I know not
who will go to Heaven if Langton does not. Sir, I could almost
say, Sit anima mea cum Langtono.' I mentioned a very eminent
friend as a virtuous man. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; but ------ has not
the evangelical virtue of Langton. ------, I am afraid, would not
scruple to pick up a wench.'

He however charged Mr. Langton with what he thought want of
judgment upon an interesting occasion. 'When I was ill, (said he,)
I desired he would tell me sincerely in what he thought my life was
faulty. Sir, he brought me a sheet of paper, on which he had
written down several texts of Scripture, recommending christian
charity. And when I questioned him what occasion I had given for
such an animadversion, all that he could say amounted to this,--
that I sometimes contradicted people in conversation. Now what
harm does it do to any man to be contradicted?' BOSWELL. 'I
suppose he meant the MANNER of doing it; roughly,--and harshly.'
JOHNSON. 'And who is the worse for that?' BOSWELL. 'It hurts
people of weak nerves.' JOHNSON. 'I know no such weak-nerved
people.' Mr. Burke, to whom I related this conference, said, 'It
is well, if when a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon
his conscience than having been a little rough in conversation.'

Johnson, at the time when the paper was presented to him, though at
first pleased with the attention of his friend, whom he thanked in
an earnest manner, soon exclaimed, in a loud and angry tone, 'What
is your drift, Sir?' Sir Joshua Reynolds pleasantly observed, that
it was a scene for a comedy, to see a penitent get into a violent
passion and belabour his confessor.

He had dined that day at Mr. Hoole's, and Miss Helen Maria Williams
being expected in the evening, Mr. Hoole put into his hands her
beautiful Ode on the Peace: Johnson read it over, and when this
elegant and accomplished young lady was presented to him, he took
her by the hand in the most courteous manner, and repeated the
fi

(part 24)
finest stanza of her poem; this was the most delicate and pleasing
compliment he could pay. Her respectable friend, Dr. Kippis, from
whom I had this anecdote, was standing by, and was not a little
gratified.

Miss Williams told me, that the only other time she was fortunate
enough to be in Dr. Johnson's company, he asked her to sit down by
him, which she did, and upon her inquiring how he was, he answered,
'I am very ill indeed, Madam. I am very ill even when you are near
me; what should I be were you at a distance?'

He had now a great desire to go to Oxford, as his first jaunt after
his illness; we talked of it for some days, and I had promised to
accompany him. He was impatient and fretful to-night, because I
did not at once agree to go with him on Thursday. When I
considered how ill he had been, and what allowance should be made
for the influence of sickness upon his temper, I resolved to
indulge him, though with some inconvenience to myself, as I wished
to attend the musical meeting in honour of Handel, in Westminster-
Abbey, on the following Saturday.

In the midst of his own diseases and pains, he was ever
compassionate to the distresses of others, and actively earnest in
procuring them aid, as appears from a note to Sir Joshua Reynolds,
of June, in these words:--'I am ashamed to ask for some relief for
a poor man, to whom, I hope, I have given what I can be expected to
spare. The man importunes me, and the blow goes round. I am going
to try another air on Thursday.'

On Thursday, June 3, the Oxford post-coach took us up in the
morning at Bolt-court. The other two passengers were Mrs.
Beresford and her daughter, two very agreeable ladies from America;
they were going to Worcestershire, where they then resided. Frank
had been sent by his master the day before to take places for us;
and I found, from the waybill, that Dr. Johnson had made our names
be put down. Mrs. Beresford, who had read it, whispered me, 'Is
this the great Dr. Johnson?' I told her it was; so she was then
prepared to listen. As she soon happened to mention in a voice so
low that Johnson did not hear it, that her husband had been a
member of the American Congress, I cautioned her to beware of
introducing that subject, as she must know how very violent Johnson
was against the people of that country. He talked a great deal,
but I am sorry I have preserved little of the conversation. Miss
Beresford was so much charmed, that she said to me aside, 'How he
does talk! Every sentence is an essay.' She amused herself in the
coach with knotting; he would scarcely allow this species of
employment any merit. 'Next to mere idleness (said he,) I think
knotting is to be reckoned in the scale of insignificance; though I
once attempted to learn knotting. Dempster's sister (looking to
me,) endeavoured to teach me it; but I made no progress.'

I was surprised at his talking without reserve in the publick post-
coach of the state of his affairs; 'I have (said he,) about the
world I think above a thousand pounds, which I intend shall afford
Frank an annuity of seventy pounds a year.' Indeed his openness
with people at a first interview was remarkable. He said once to
Mr. Langton, 'I think I am like Squire Richard in The Journey to
London, "I'm never strange in a strange place."' He was truly
SOCIAL. He strongly censured what is much too common in England
among persons of condition,--maintaining an absolute silence, when
unknown to each other; as for instance, when occasionally brought
together in a room before the master or mistress of the house has
appeared. 'Sir, that is being so uncivilised as not to understand
the common rights of humanity.'

At the inn where we stopped he was exceedingly dissatisfied with
some roast mutton which we had for dinner. The ladies I saw
wondered to see the great philosopher, whose wisdom and wit they
had been admiring all the way, get into ill-humour from such a
cause. He scolded the waiter, saying, 'It is as bad as bad can be:
it is ill-fed, ill-killed, ill-kept, and ill-drest.'

He bore the journey very well, and seemed to feel himself elevated
as he approached Oxford, that magnificent and venerable seat of
learning, Orthodoxy, and Toryism. Frank came in the heavy coach,
in readiness to attend him; and we were received with the most
polite hospitality at the house of his old friend Dr. Adams, Master
of Pembroke College, who had given us a kind invitation. Before we
were set down, I communicated to Johnson, my having engaged to
return to London directly, for the reason I have mentioned, but
that I would hasten back to him again. He was pleased that I had
made this journey merely to keep him company. He was easy and
placid with Dr. Adams, Mrs. and Miss Adams, and Mrs. Kennicot,
widow of the learned Hebraean, who was here on a visit. He soon
dispatched the inquiries which were made about his illness and
recovery, by a short and distinct narrative; and then assuming a
gay air, repeated from Swift,--


'Nor think on our approaching ills,
And talk of spectacles and pills.'


I fulfilled my intention by going to London, and returned to Oxford
on Wednesday the 9th of June, when I was happy to find myself again
in the same agreeable circle at Pembroke College, with the
comfortable prospect of making some stay. Johnson welcomed my
return with more than ordinary glee.

Next morning at breakfast, he pointed out a passage in Savage's
Wanderer, saying, 'These are fine verses.' 'If (said he,) I had
written with hostility of Warburton in my Shahspeare, I should have
quoted this couplet:--


"Here Learning, blinded first and then beguil'd,
Looks dark as Ignorance, as Fancy wild."


You see they'd have fitted him to a T,' (smiling.) Dr. ADAMS. 'But
you did not write against Warburton.' JOHNSON. No, Sir, I treated
him with great respect both in my Preface and in my Notes.'

After dinner, when one of us talked of there being a great enmity
between Whig and Tory;--Johnson. 'Why not so much, I think, unless
when they come into competition with each other. There is none
when they are only common acquaintance, none when they are of
different sexes. A Tory will marry into a Whig family, and a Whig
into a Tory family, without any reluctance. But indeed, in a
matter of much more concern than political tenets, and that is
religion, men and women do not concern themselves much about
difference of opinion; and ladies set no value on the moral
character of men who pay their addresses to them; the greatest
profligate will be as well received as the man of the greatest
virtue, and this by a very good woman, by a woman who says her
prayers three times a day.' Our ladies endeavoured to defend their
sex from this charge; but he roared them down! 'No, no, a lady
will take Jonathan Wild as readily as St. Austin, if he has
threepence more; and, what is worse, her parents will give her to
him. Women have a perpetual envy of our vices; they are less
vicious than we, not from choice, but because we restrict them;
they are the slaves of order and fashion; their virtue is of more
consequence to us than our own, so far as concerns this world.'

Miss Adams mentioned a gentleman of licentious character, and said,
'Suppose I had a mind to marry that gentleman, would my parents
consent?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, they'd consent, and you'd go. You'd go
though they did not consent.' Miss ADAMS. 'Perhaps their opposing
might make me go.' JOHNSON. 'O, very well; you'd take one whom
you think a bad man, to have the pleasure of vexing your parents.
You put me in mind of Dr. Barrowby, the physician, who was very
fond of swine's flesh. One day, when he was eating it, he said, "I
wish I was a Jew." "Why so? (said somebody the Jews are not
allowed to eat your favourite meat." "Because, (said he,) I should
then have the gust of eating it, with the pleasure of sinning."'
Johnson then proceeded in his declamation.

Miss Adams soon afterwards made an observation that I do not
recollect, which pleased him much: he said with a good-humoured
smile, 'That there should be so much excellence united with so much
DEPRAVITY, is strange.'

Indeed, this lady's good qualities, merit, and accomplishments, and
her constant attention to Dr. Johnson, were not lost upon him. She
happened to tell him that a little coffeepot, in which she had made
his coffee, was the only thing she could call her own. He turned
to her with a complacent gallantry, 'Don't say so, my dear; I hope
you don't reckon my heart as nothing.'

On Friday, June 11, we talked at breakfast, of forms of prayer.
JOHNSON. 'I know of no good prayers but those in the Book of
Common Prayer.' DR. ADAMS. (in a very earnest manner 'I wish,
Sir, you would compose some family prayers.' JOHNSON. 'I will not
compose prayers for you, Sir, because you can do it for yourself.
But I have thought of getting together all the books of prayers
which I could, selecting those which should appear to me the best,
putting out some, inserting others, adding some prayers of my own,
and prefixing a discourse on prayer.' We all now gathered about
him, and two or three of us at a time joined in pressing him to
execute this plan. He seemed to be a little displeased at the
manner of our importunity, and in great agitation called out, 'Do
not talk thus of what is so aweful. I know not what time GOD will
allow me in this world. There are many things which I wish to do.'
Some of us persisted, and Dr. Adams said, 'I never was more serious
about any thing in my life.' JOHNSON. 'Let me alone, let me
alone; I am overpowered.' And then he put his hands before his
face, and reclined for some time upon the table.

Dr. Johnson and I went in Dr. Adams's coach to dine with Dr.
Nowell, Principal of St. Mary Hall, at his beautiful villa at
Iffley, on the banks of the Isis, about two miles from Oxford.
While we were upon the road, I had the resolution to ask Johnson
whether he thought that the roughness of his manner had been an
advantage or not, and if he would not have done more good if he had
been more gentle. I proceeded to answer myself thus: 'Perhaps it
has been of advantage, as it has given weight to what you said: you
could not, perhaps, have talked with such authority without it.'
JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; I have done more good as I am. Obscenity and
Impiety have always been repressed in my company.' BOSWELL.
'True, Sir; and that is more than can be said of every Bishop.
Greater liberties have been taken in the presence of a Bishop,
though a very good man, from his being milder, and therefore not
commanding such awe. Yet, Sir, many people who might have been
benefited by your conversation, have been frightened away. A
worthy friend of ours has told me, that he has often been afraid to
talk to you.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he
had any thing rational to say. If he had not, it was better he did
not talk.'

We talked of a certain clergyman of extraordinary character, who by
exerting his talents in writing on temporary topicks, and
displaying uncommon intrepidity, had raised himself to affluence.
I maintained that we ought not to be indignant at his success; for
merit of every sort was entitled to reward. JOHNSON. 'Sir, I will
not allow this man to have merit. No, Sir; what he has is rather
the contrary; I will, indeed, allow him courage, and on this
account we so far give him credit. We have more respect for a man
who robs boldly on the highway, than for a fellow who jumps out of
a ditch, and knocks you down behind your back. Courage is a
quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is always
respected, even when it is associated with vice.'

Mr. Henderson, with whom I had sauntered in the venerable walks of
Merton College, and found him a very learned and pious man, supped
with us. Dr. Johnson surprised him not a little, by acknowledging
with a look of horrour, that he was much oppressed by the fear of
death. The amiable Dr. Adams suggested that GOD was infinitely
good. JOHNSON. 'That he is infinitely good, as far as the
perfection of his nature will allow, I certainly believe; but it is
necessary for good upon the whole, that individuals should be
punished. As to an INDIVIDUAL, therefore, he is not infinitely
good; and as I cannot be SURE that I have fulfilled the conditions
on which salvation is granted, I am afraid I may be one of those
who shall be damned.' (looking dismally). DR. ADAMS. 'What do you
mean by damned?' JOHNSON. (passionately and loudly,) 'Sent to
Hell, Sir, and punished everlastingly!' DR. ADAMS. 'I don't
believe that doctrine.' JOHNSON. 'Hold, Sir, do you believe that
some will be punished at all?' DR. ADAMS. 'Being excluded from
Heaven will be a punishment; yet there may be no great positive
suffering.' JOHNSON. Well, Sir; but, if you admit any degree of
punishment, there is an end of your argument for infinite goodness
simply considered; for, infinite goodness would inflict no
punishment whatever. There is not infinite goodness physically
considered; morally there is.' BOSWELL. 'But may not a man attain
to such a degree of hope as not to be uneasy from the fear of
death?' JOHNSON. 'A man may have such a degree of hope as to keep
him quiet. You see I am not quiet, from the vehemence with which I
talk; but I do not despair.' MRS. ADAMS. 'You seem, Sir, to
forget the merits of our Redeemer.' JOHNSON. 'Madam, I do not
forget the merits of my Redeemer; but my Redeemer has said that he
will set some on his right hand and some on his left.' He was in
gloomy agitation, and said, 'I'll have no more on't.' If what has
now been stated should be urged by the enemies of Christianity, as
if its influence on the mind were not benignant, let it be
remembered, that Johnson's temperament was melancholy, of which
such direful apprehensions of futurity are often a common effect.
We shall presently see that when he approached nearer to his aweful
change, his mind became tranquil, and he exhibited as much
fortitude as becomes a thinking man in that situation.

From the subject of death we passed to discourse of life, whether
it was upon the whole more happy or miserable. Johnson was
decidedly for the balance of misery: in confirmation of which I
maintained, that no man would choose to lead over again the life
which he had experienced. Johnson acceded to that opinion in the
strongest terms.

On Sunday, June 13, our philosopher was calm at breakfast. There
was something exceedingly pleasing in our leading a College life,
without restraint, and with superiour elegance, in consequence of
our living in the Master's house, and having the company of ladies.
Mrs. Kennicot related, in his presence, a lively saying of Dr.
Johnson to Miss Hannah More, who had expressed a wonder that the
poet who had written Paradise Lost should write such poor Sonnets:--
'Milton, Madam, was a genius that could cut a Colossus from a
rock; but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones.'

On Monday, June 14, and Tuesday, 15, Dr. Johnson and I dined, on
one of them, I forget which, with Mr. Mickle, translator of the
Lusiad, at Wheatley, a very pretty country place a few miles from
Oxford; and on the other with Dr. Wetherell, Master of University
College. From Dr. Wetherell's he went to visit Mr. Sackville
Parker, the bookseller; and when he returned to us, gave the
following account of his visit, saying, 'I have been to see my old
friend, Sack Parker; I find he has married his maid; he has done
right. She had lived with him many years in great confidence, and
they had mingled minds; I do not think he could have found any wife
that would have made him so happy. The woman was very attentive
and civil to me; she pressed me to fix a day for dining with them,
and to say what I liked, and she would be sure to get it for me.
Poor Sack! He is very ill, indeed. We parted as never to meet
again. It has quite broke me down.' This pathetic narrative was
strangely diversified with the grave and earnest defence of a man's
having married his maid. I could not but feel it as in some degree
ludicrous.

In the morning of Tuesday, June 15, while we sat at Dr. Adams's, we
talked of a printed letter from the Reverend Herbert Croft, to a
young gentleman who had been his pupil, in which he advised him to
read to the end of whatever books he should begin to read.
JOHNSON. 'This is surely a strange advice; you may as well resolve
that whatever men you happen to get acquainted with, you are to
keep to them for life. A book may be good for nothing; or there
may be only one thing in it worth knowing; are we to read it all
through? These Voyages, (pointing to the three large volumes of
Voyages to the South Sea, which were just come out) WHO will read
them through? A man had better work his way before the mast, than
read them through; they will be eaten by rats and mice, before they
are read through. There can be little entertainment in such books;
one set of Savages is like another.' BOSWELL. 'I do not think the
people of Otaheite can be reckoned Savages.' JOHNSON. 'Don't cant
in defence of Savages.' BOSWELL. 'They have the art of
navigation.' JOHNSON. 'A dog or a cat can swim.' BOSWELL. 'They
carve very ingeniously.' JOHNSON. 'A cat can scratch, and a child
with a nail can scratch.' I perceived this was none of the mollia
tempora fandi; so desisted.

Upon his mentioning that when he came to College he wrote his first
exercise twice over; but never did so afterwards; MISS ADAMS. 'I
suppose, Sir, you could not make them better?' JOHNSON. 'Yes,
Madam, to be sure, I could make them better. Thought is better
than no thought.' MISS ADAMS. 'Do you think, Sir, you could make
your Ramblers better?' JOHNSON. 'Certainly I could.' BOSWELL.
'I'll lay a bet, Sir, you cannot.' JOHNSON. 'But I will, Sir, if
I choose. I shall make the best of them you shall pick out,
better.' BOSWELL. 'But you may add to them. I will not allow of
that.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, there are three ways of making them
better;--putting out,-- adding,--or correcting.'

During our visit at Oxford, the following conversation passed
between him and me on the subject of my trying my fortune at the
English bar: Having asked whether a very extensive acquaintance in
London, which was very valuable, and of great advantage to a man at
large, might not be prejudicial to a lawyer, by preventing him from
giving sufficient attention to his business;--JOHNSON. 'Sir, you
will attend to business, as business lays hold of you. When not
actually employed, you may see your friends as much as you do now.
You may dine at a Club every day, and sup with one of the members
every night; and you may be as much at publick places as one who
has seen them all would wish to be. But you must take care to
attend constantly in Westminster-Hall; both to mind your business,
as it is almost all learnt there, (for nobody reads now and to
shew that you want to have business. And you must not be too often
seen at publick places, that competitors may not have it to say,
"He is always at the Playhouse or at Ranelagh, and never to be
found at his chambers." And, Sir, there must be a kind of
solemnity in the manner of a professional man. I have nothing
particular to say to you on the subject. All this I should say to
any one; I should have said it to Lord Thurlow twenty years ago.'

On Wednesday, June 19, Dr. Johnson and I returned to London; he was
not well to-day, and said very little, employing himself chiefly in
reading Euripides. He expressed some displeasure at me, for not
observing sufficiently the various objects upon the road. 'If I
had your eyes, Sir, (said he,) I should count the passengers.' It
was wonderful how accurate his observation of visual objects was,
notwithstanding his imperfect eyesight, owing to a habit of
attention. That he was much satisfied with the respect paid to him
at Dr. Adams's is thus attested by himself: 'I returned last night
from Oxford, after a fortnight's abode with Dr. Adams, who treated
me as well as I could expect or wish; and he that contents a sick
man, a man whom it is impossible to please, has surely done his
part well.'

After his return to London from this excursion, I saw him
frequently, but have few memorandums: I shall therefore here insert
some particulars which I collected at various times.

It having been mentioned to Dr. Johnson that a gentleman who had a
son whom he imagined to have an extreme degree of timidity,
resolved to send him to a publick school, that he might acquire
confidence;--'Sir, (said Johnson,) this is a preposterous expedient
for removing his infirmity; such a disposition should be cultivated
in the shade. Placing him at a publick school is forcing an owl
upon day.'

Speaking of a gentleman whose house was much frequented by low
company; 'Rags, Sir, (said he,) will always make their appearance
where they have a right to do it.'

Of the same gentleman's mode of living, he said, 'Sir, the
servants, instead of doing what they are bid, stand round the table
in idle clusters, gaping upon the guests; and seem as unfit to
attend a company, as to steer a man of war.'

A dull country magistrate gave Johnson a long tedious account of
his exercising his criminal jurisdiction, the result of which was
his having sentenced four convicts to transportation. Johnson, in
an agony of impatience to get rid of such a companion, exclaimed,
'I heartily wish, Sir, that I were a fifth.'

Johnson was present when a tragedy was read, in which there
occurred this line:--


'Who rules o'er freemen should himself be free.'


The company having admired it much, 'I cannot agree with you (said
Johnson). It might as well be said,--


'Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.'


Johnson having argued for some time with a pertinacious gentleman;
his opponent, who had talked in a very puzzling manner, happened to
say, 'I don't understand you, Sir:' upon which Johnson observed,
'Sir, I have found you an argument; but I am not obliged to find
you an understanding.'

Talking to me of Horry Walpole, (as Horace late Earl of Orford was
often called,) Johnson allowed that he got together a great many
curious little things, and told them in an elegant manner. Mr.
Walpole thought Johnson a more amiable character after reading his
Letters to Mrs. Thrale: but never was one of the true admirers of
that great man. We may suppose a prejudice conceived, if he ever
heard Johnson's account to Sir George Staunton, that when he made
the speeches in parliament for the Gentleman's Magazine, 'he always
took care to put Sir Robert Walpole in the wrong, and to say every
thing he could against the electorate of Hanover.' The celebrated
Heroick Epistle, in which Johnson is satyrically introduced, has
been ascribed both to Mr. Walpole and Mr. Mason. One day at Mr.
Courtenay's, when a gentleman expressed his opinion that there was
more energy in that poem than could be expected from Mr. Walpole;
Mr. Warton, the late Laureat, observed, 'It may have been written
by Walpole, and BUCKRAM'D by Mason.'

Sir Joshua Reynolds having said that he took the altitude of a
man's taste by his stories and his wit, and of his understanding by
the remarks which he repeated; being always sure that he must be a
weak man who quotes common things with an emphasis as if they were
oracles; Johnson agreed with him; and Sir Joshua having also
observed that the real character of a man was found out by his
amusements,--Johnson added, 'Yes, Sir; no man is a hypocrite in his
pleasures.'

I have mentioned Johnson's general aversion to a pun. He once,
however, endured one of mine. When we were talking of a numerous
company in which he had distinguished himself highly, I said, 'Sir,
you were a COD surrounded by smelts. Is not this enough for you?
at a time too when you were not FISHING for a compliment?' He
laughed at this with a complacent approbation. Old Mr. Sheridan
observed, upon my mentioning it to him, 'He liked your compliment
so well, he was willing to take it with PUN SAUCE.' For my own
part, I think no innocent species of wit or pleasantry should be
suppressed; and that a good pun may be admitted among the smaller
excellencies of lively conversation.

Mr. Burke uniformly shewed Johnson the greatest respect; and when
Mr. Townshend, now Lord Sydney, at a period when he was conspicuous
in opposition, threw out some reflection in parliament upon the
grant of a pension to a man of such political principles as
Johnson; Mr. Burke, though then of the same party with Mr.
Townshend, stood warmly forth in defence of his friend, to whom, he
justly observed, the pension was granted solely on account of his
eminent literary merit. I am well assured, that Mr. Townshend's
attack upon Johnson was the occasion of his 'hitching in a rhyme;'
for, that in the original copy of Goldsmith's character of Mr.
Burke, in his Retaliation, another person's name stood in the
couplet where Mr. Townshend is now introduced:--


'Though fraught with all learning kept straining his throat,
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote.'


It may be worth remarking, among the minutiae of my collection,
that Johnson was once drawn to serve in the militia, the Trained
Bands of the City of London, and that Mr. Rackstrow, of the Museum
in Fleet-street, was his Colonel. It may be believed he did not
serve in person; but the idea, with all its circumstances, is
certainly laughable. He upon that occasion provided himself with a
musket, and with a sword and belt, which I have seen hanging in his
closet.

An authour of most anxious and restless vanity being mentioned,
'Sir, (said he,) there is not a young sapling upon Parnassus more
severely blown about by every wind of criticism than that poor
fellow.'

The difference, he observed, between a well-bred and an ill-bred
man is this: 'One immediately attracts your liking, the other your
aversion. You love the one till you find reason to hate him; you
hate the other till you find reason to love him.'

A foppish physician once reminded Johnson of his having been in
company with him on a former occasion; 'I do not remember it, Sir.'
The physician still insisted; adding that he that day wore so fine
a coat that it must have attracted his notice. 'Sir, (said
Johnson,) had you been dipt in Pactolus I should not have noticed
you.'

He seemed to take a pleasure in speaking in his own style; for when
he had carelessly missed it, he would repeat the thought translated
into it. Talking of the Comedy of The Rehearsal, he said, 'It has
not wit enough to keep it sweet.' This was easy; he therefore
caught himself, and pronounced a more round sentence; 'It has not
vitality enough to preserve it from putrefaction.'

Though he had no taste for painting, he admired much the manner in
which Sir Joshua Reynolds treated of his art, in his Discourses to
the Royal Academy. He observed one day of a passage in them, 'I
think I might as well have said this myself:' and once when Mr.
Langton was sitting by him, he read one of them very eagerly, and
expressed himself thus:--'Very well, Master Reynolds; very well,
indeed. But it will not be understood.'

When I observed to him that Painting was so far inferiour to
Poetry, that the story or even emblem which it communicates must be
previously known, and mentioned as a natural and laughable instance
of this, that a little Miss on seeing a picture of Justice with the
scales, had exclaimed to me, 'See, there's a woman selling
sweetmeats;' he said, 'Painting, Sir, can illustrate, but cannot
inform.'

No man was more ready to make an apology when he had censured
unjustly, than Johnson. When a proof-sheet of one of his works was
brought to him, he found fault with the mode in which a part of it
was arranged, refused to read it, and in a passion desired that the
compositor might be sent to him. The compositor was Mr. Manning, a
decent sensible man, who had composed about one half of his
Dictionary, when in Mr. Strahan's printing-house; and a great part
of his Lives of the Poets, when in that of Mr. Nichols; and who (in
his seventy-seventh year), when in Mr. Baldwin's printing-house,
composed a part of the first edition of this work concerning him.
By producing the manuscript, he at once satisfied Dr. Johnson that
he was not to blame. Upon which Johnson candidly and earnestly
said to him, 'Mr. Compositor, I ask your pardon. Mr. Compositor, I
ask your pardon, again and again.'

His generous humanity to the miserable was almost beyond example.
The following instance is well attested:--Coming home late one
night, he found a poor woman lying in the street, so much exhausted
that she could not walk; he took her upon his back, and carried her
to his house, where he discovered that she was one of those
wretched females who had fallen into the lowest state of vice,
poverty, and disease. Instead of harshly upbraiding her, he had
her taken care of with all tenderness for a long time, at
considerable expence, till she was restored to health, and
endeavoured to put her into a virtuous way of living.

He once in his life was known to have uttered what is called a
BULL: Sir Joshua Reynolds, when they were riding together in
Devonshire, complained that he had a very bad horse, for that even
when going down hill he moved slowly step by step. 'Ay (said
Johnson,) and when he goes up hill, he STANDS STILL.'

He had a great aversion to gesticulating in company. He called
once to a gentleman who offended him in that point, 'Don't
ATTITUDENISE.' And when another gentleman thought he was giving
additional force to what he uttered, by expressive movements of his
hands, Johnson fairly seized them, and held them down.

Mr. Steevens, who passed many a social hour with him during their
long acquaintance, which commenced when they both lived in the
Temple, has preserved a good number of particulars concerning him,
most of which are to be found in the department of Apothegms, &c.
in the Collection of Johnson's Works. But he has been pleased to
favour me with the following, which are original:--

'Dr. Johnson once assumed a character in which perhaps even Mr.
Boswell never saw him. His curiosity having been excited by the
praises bestowed on the celebrated Torre's fireworks at Marybone-
Gardens, he desired Mr. Steevens to accompany him thither. The
evening had proved showery; and soon after the few people present
were assembled, publick notice was given, that the conductors to
the wheels, suns, stars, &c., were so thoroughly water-soaked, that
it was impossible any part of the exhibition should be made. "This
is a mere excuse, (says the Doctor,) to save their crackers for a
more profitable company. Let us but hold up our sticks, and
threaten to break those coloured lamps that surround the Orchestra,
and we shall soon have our wishes gratified. The core of the
fireworks cannot be injured; let the different pieces be touched in
their respective centers, and they will do their offices as well as
ever." Some young men who overheard him, immediately began the
violence he had recommended, and an attempt was speedily made to
fire some of the wheels which appeared to have received the
smallest damage; but to little purpose were they lighted, for most
of them completely failed. The authour of The Rambler, however,
may be considered, on this occasion, as the ringleader of a
successful riot, though not as a skilful pyrotechnist.'

'It has been supposed that Dr. Johnson, so far as fashion was
concerned, was careless of his appearance in publick. But this is
not altogether true, as the following slight instance may show:--
Goldsmith's last Comedy was to be represented during some court-
mourning: and Mr. Steevens appointed to call on Dr. Johnson, and
carry him to the tavern where he was to dine with others of the
Poet's friends. The Doctor was ready dressed, but in coloured
cloaths; yet being told that he would find every one else in black,
received the intelligence with a profusion of thanks, hastened to
change his attire, all the while repeating his gratitude for the
information that had saved him from an appearance so improper in
the front row of a front box. "I would not (added he,) for ten
pounds, have seemed so retrograde to any general observance."

'He would sometimes found his dislikes on very slender
circumstances. Happening one day to mention Mr. Flexman, a
Dissenting Minister, with some compliment to his exact memory in
chronological matters; the Doctor replied, "Let me hear no more of
him, Sir. That is the fellow who made the Index to my Ramblers,
and set down the name of Milton thus: Milton, MR. John."'

In the course of this work a numerous variety of names has been
mentioned, to which many might be added. I cannot omit Lord and
Lady Lucan, at whose house he often enjoyed all that an elegant
table and the best company can contribute to happiness; he found
hospitality united with extraordinary accomplishments, and
embellished with charms of which no man could be insensible.

On Tuesday, June 22, I dined with him at THE LITERARY CLUB, the
last time of his being in that respectable society. The other
members present were the Bishop of St. Asaph, Lord Eliot, Lord
Palmerston, Dr. Fordyce, and Mr. Malone. He looked ill; but had
such a manly fortitude, that he did not trouble the company with
melancholy complaints. They all shewed evident marks of kind
concern about him, with which he was much pleased, and he exerted
himself to be as entertaining as his indisposition allowed him.

The anxiety of his friends to preserve so estimable a life, as long
as human means might be supposed to have influence, made them plan
for him a retreat from the severity of a British winter, to the
mild climate of Italy. This scheme was at last brought to a
serious resolution at General Paoli's, where I had often talked of
it. One essential matter, however, I understood was necessary to
be previously settled, which was obtaining such an addition to his
income, as would be sufficient to enable him to defray the expence
in a manner becoming the first literary character of a great
nation, and independent of all his other merits, the Authour of THE
DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. The person to whom I above all
others thought I should apply to negociate this business, was the
Lord Chancellor, because I knew that he highly valued Johnson, and
that Johnson highly valued his Lordship; so that it was no
degradation of my illustrious friend to solicit for him the favour
of such a man. I have mentioned what Johnson said of him to me
when he was at the bar; and after his Lordship was advanced to the
seals, he said of him, 'I would prepare myself for no man in
England but Lord Thurlow. When I am to meet with him I should wish
to know a day before.' How he would have prepared himself I cannot
conjecture. Would he have selected certain topicks, and considered
them in every view so as to be in readiness to argue them at all
points? and what may we suppose those topicks to have been? I once
started the curious inquiry to the great man who was the subject of
this compliment: he smiled, but did not pursue it.

I first consulted with Sir Joshua Reynolds, who perfectly coincided
in opinion with me; and I therefore, though personally very little
known to his Lordship, wrote to him, stating the case, and
requesting his good offices for Dr. Johnson. I mentioned that I
was obliged to set out for Scotland early in the following week, so
that if his Lordship should have any commands for me as to this
pious negociation, he would be pleased to send them before that
time; otherwise Sir Joshua Reynolds would give all attention to it.

This application was made not only without any suggestion on the
part of Johnson himself, but was utterly unknown to him, nor had he
the smallest suspicion of it. Any insinuations, therefore, which
since his death have been thrown out, as if he had stooped to ask
what was superfluous, are without any foundation. But, had he
asked it, it would not have been superfluous; for though the money
he had saved proved to be more than his friends imagined, or than I
believe he himself, in his carelessness concerning worldly matters,
knew it to be, had he travelled upon the Continent, an augmentation
of his income would by no means have been unnecessary.

On Thursday, June 24, I dined with him at Mr. Dilly's, where were
the Rev. Mr. (now Dr.) Knox, master of Tunbridge-school, Mr. Smith,
Vicar of Southill, Dr. Beattie, Mr. Pinkerton, authour of various
literary performances, and the Rev. Dr. Mayo. At my desire old Mr.
Sheridan was invited, as I was earnest to have Johnson and him
brought together again by chance, that a reconciliation might be
effected. Mr. Sheridan happened to come early, and having learned
that Dr. Johnson was to be there, went away; so I found, with
sincere regret, that my friendly intentions were hopeless. I
recollect nothing that passed this day, except Johnson's quickness,
who, when Dr. Beattie observed, as something remarkable which had
happened to him, that he had chanced to see both No. 1, and No.
1000, of the hackney-coaches, the first and the last; 'Why, Sir,
(said Johnson,) there is an equal chance for one's seeing those two
numbers as any other two.'

On Friday, June 25, I dined with him at General Paoli's, where, he
says in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale, 'I love to dine.' There
was a variety of dishes much to his taste, of all which he seemed
to me to eat so much, that I was afraid he might be hurt by it; and
I whispered to the General my fear, and begged he might not press
him. 'Alas! (said the General,) see how very ill he looks; he can
live but a very short time. Would you refuse any slight
gratifications to a man under sentence of death? There is a humane
custom in Italy, by which persons in that melancholy situation are
indulged with having whatever they like best to eat and drink, even
with expensive delicacies.'

On Sunday, June 27, I found him rather better. I mentioned to him
a young man who was going to Jamaica with his wife and children, in
expectation of being provided for by two of her brothers settled in
that island, one a clergyman, and the other a physician. JOHNSON.
'It is a wild scheme, Sir, unless he has a positive and deliberate
invitation. There was a poor girl, who used to come about me, who
had a cousin in Barbadoes, that, in a letter to her, expressed a
wish she should come out to that Island, and expatiated on the
comforts and happiness of her situation. The poor girl went out:
her cousin was much surprised, and asked her how she could think of
coming. "Because, (said she,) you invited me." "Not I," answered
the cousin. The letter was then produced. "I see it is true,
(said she,) that I did invite you: but I did not think you would
come." They lodged her in an out-house, where she passed her time
miserably; and as soon as she had an opportunity she returned to
England. Always tell this, when you hear of people going abroad to
relations, upon a notion of being well received. In the case which
you mention, it is probable the clergyman spends all he gets, and
the physician does not know how much he is to get.'

We this day dined at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, with General Paoli,
Lord Eliot, (formerly Mr. Eliot, of Port Eliot,) Dr. Beattie, and
some other company. Talking of Lord Chesterfield;--JOHNSON. 'His
manner was exquisitely elegant, and he had more knowledge than I
expected.' BOSWELL. 'Did you find, Sir, his conversation to be of
a superiour style?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, in the conversation which I
had with him I had the best right to superiority, for it was upon
philology and literature.' Lord Eliot, who had travelled at the
same time with Mr. Stanhope, Lord Chesterfield's natural son,
justly observed, that it was strange that a man who shewed he had
so much affection for his son as Lord Chesterfield did, by writing
so many long and anxious letters to him, almost all of them when he
was Secretary of State, which certainly was a proof of great
goodness of disposition, should endeavour to make his son a rascal.
His Lordship told us, that Foote had intended to bring on the stage
a father who had thus tutored his son, and to shew the son an
honest man to every one else, but practising his father's maxims
upon him, and cheating him. JOHNSON. 'I am much pleased with this
design; but I think there was no occasion to make the son honest at
all. No; he should be a consummate rogue: the contrast between
honesty and knavery would be the stronger. It should be contrived
so that the father should be the only sufferer by the son's
villainy, and thus there would be poetical justice.'

A young gentleman present took up the argument against him, and
maintained that no man ever thinks of the NOSE OF THE MIND, not
adverting that though that figurative sense seems strange to us, as
very unusual, it is truly not more forced than Hamlet's 'In my
MIND'S EYE, Horatio.' He persisted much too long, and appeared to
Johnson as putting himself forward as his antagonist with too much
presumption; upon which he called to him in a loud tone, 'What is
it you are contending for, if you BE contending?' And afterwards
imagining that the gentleman retorted upon him with a kind of smart
drollery, he said, 'Mr. ***** it does not become you to talk so to
me. Besides, ridicule is not your talent; you have THERE neither
intuition nor sagacity.' The gentleman protested that he had
intended no improper freedom, but had the greatest respect for Dr.
Johnson. After a short pause, during which we were somewhat
uneasy,--JOHNSON. 'Give me your hand, Sir. You were too tedious,
and I was too short.' Mr. *****. 'Sir, I am honoured by your
attention in any way.' JOHNSON. 'Come, Sir, let's have no more of
it. We offended one another by our contention; let us not offend
the company by our compliments.'

He now said, 'He wished much to go to Italy, and that he dreaded
passing the winter in England.' I said nothing; but enjoyed a
secret satisfaction in thinking that I had taken the most effectual
measures to make such a scheme practicable.

On Monday, June 28, I had the honour to receive from the Lord
Chancellor the following letter:--


'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'SIR,--I should have answered your letter immediately, if (being
much engaged when I received it) I had not put it in my pocket, and
forgot to open it till this morning.

'I am much obliged to you for the suggestion; and I will adopt and
press it as far as I can. The best argument, I am sure, and I hope
it is not likely to fail, is Dr. Johnson's merit. But it will be
necessary, if I should be so unfortunate as to miss seeing you, to
converse with Sir Joshua on the sum it will be proper to ask,--in
short, upon the means of setting him out. It would be a reflection
on us all, if such a man should perish for want of the means to
take care of his health. Yours, &c.

'THURLOW.'


This letter gave me a very high satisfaction; I next day went and
shewed it to Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was exceedingly pleased with
it. He thought that I should now communicate the negociation to
Dr. Johnson, who might afterwards complain if the attention with
which he had been honoured, should be too long concealed from him.
I intended to set out for Scotland next morning; but Sir Joshua
cordially insisted that I should stay another day, that Johnson and
I might dine with him, that we three might talk of his Italian
Tour, and, as Sir Joshua expressed himself, 'have it all out.' I
hastened to Johnson, and was told by him that he was rather better
to-day. BOSWELL. 'I am very anxious about you, Sir, and
particularly that you should go to Italy for the winter, which I
believe is your own wish.' JOHNSON. 'It is, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'You
have no objection, I presume, but the money it would require.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, no, Sir.' Upon which I gave him a particular
account of what had been done, and read to him the Lord
Chancellor's letter. He listened with much attention; then warmly
said, 'This is taking prodigious pains about a man.' 'O! Sir,
(said I, with most sincere affection,) your friends would do every
thing for you.' He paused, grew more and more agitated, till tears
started into his eyes, and he exclaimed with fervent emotion, 'GOD
bless you all.' I was so affected that I also shed tears. After a
short silence, he renewed and extended his grateful benediction,
'GOD bless you all, for JESUS CHRIST'S sake.' We both remained for
some time unable to speak. He rose suddenly and quitted the room,
quite melted in tenderness. He staid but a short time, till he had
recovered his firmness; soon after he returned I left him, having
first engaged him to dine at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, next day. I
never was again under that roof which I had so long reverenced.

On Wednesday, June 30, the friendly confidential dinner with Sir
Joshua Reynolds took place, no other company being present. Had I
known that this was the last time that I should enjoy in this
world, the conversation of a friend whom I so much respected, and
from whom I derived so much instruction and entertainment, I should
have been deeply affected. When I now look back to it, I am vexed
that a single word should have been forgotten.

Both Sir Joshua and I were so sanguine in our expectations, that we
expatiated with confidence on the liberal provision which we were
sure would be made for him, conjecturing whether munificence would
be displayed in one large donation, or in an ample increase of his
pension. He himself catched so much of our enthusiasm, as to allow
himself to suppose it not impossible that our hopes might in one
way or other be realised. He said that he would rather have his
pension doubled than a grant of a thousand pounds; 'For, (said he,)
though probably I may not live to receive as much as a thousand
pounds, a man would have the consciousness that he should pass the
remainder of his life in splendour, how long soever it might be.'
Considering what a moderate proportion an income of six hundred
pounds a year bears to innumerable fortunes in this country, it is
worthy of remark, that a man so truly great should think it
splendour.

As an instance of extraordinary liberality of friendship, he told
us, that Dr. Brocklesby had upon this occasion offered him a
hundred a year for his life. A grateful tear started into his eye,
as he spoke this in a faultering tone.

Sir Joshua and I endeavoured to flatter his imagination with
agreeable prospects of happiness in Italy. 'Nay, (said he,) I must
not expect much of that; when a man goes to Italy merely to feel
how he breathes the air, he can enjoy very little.'

Our conversation turned upon living in the country, which Johnson,
whose melancholy mind required the dissipation of quick successive
variety, had habituated himself to consider as a kind of mental
imprisonment. 'Yet, Sir, (said I,) there are many people who are
content to live in the country.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, it is in the
intellectual world as in the physical world; we are told by natural
philosophers that a body is at rest in the place that is fit for
it; they who are content to live in the country, are FIT for the
country.'<

(part 25)
Talking of various enjoyments, I argued that a refinement of taste
was a disadvantage, as they who have attained to it must be
seldomer pleased than those who have no nice discrimination, and
are therefore satisfied with every thing that comes in their way.
JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir; that is a paltry notion. Endeavour to be as
perfect as you can in every respect.'

I accompanied him in Sir Joshua Reynolds's coach, to the entry of
Bolt-court. He asked me whether I would not go with him to his
house; I declined it, from an apprehension that my spirits would
sink. We bade adieu to each other affectionately in the carriage.
When he had got down upon the foot-pavement, he called out, 'Fare
you well;' and without looking back, sprung away with a kind of
pathetick briskness, if I may use that expression, which seemed to
indicate a struggle to conceal uneasiness, and impressed me with a
foreboding of our long, long separation.

I remained one day more in town, to have the chance of talking over
my negociation with the Lord Chancellor; but the multiplicity of
his Lordship's important engagements did not allow of it; so I left
the management of the business in the hands of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

Soon after this time Dr. Johnson had the mortification of being
informed by Mrs. Thrale, that, 'what she supposed he never
believed,' was true; namely, that she was actually going to marry
Signor Piozzi, an Italian musick-master. He endeavoured to prevent
it; but in vain. If she would publish the whole of the
correspondence that passed between Dr. Johnson and her on the
subject, we should have a full view of his real sentiments. As it
is, our judgement must be biassed by that characteristick specimen
which Sir John Hawkins has given us: 'Poor Thrale! I thought that
either her virtue or her vice would have restrained her from such a
marriage. She is now become a subject for her enemies to exult
over; and for her friends, if she has any left, to forget, or
pity.'

It must be admitted that Johnson derived a considerable portion of
happiness from the comforts and elegancies which he enjoyed in Mr.
Thrale's family; but Mrs. Thrale assures us he was indebted for
these to her husband alone, who certainly respected him sincerely.

Having left the PIOUS NEGOCIATION, as I called it, in the best
hands, I shall here insert what relates to it. Johnson wrote to
Sir Joshua Reynolds on July 6, as follows:--

'I am going, I hope, in a few days, to try the air of Derbyshire,
but hope to see you before I go. Let me, however, mention to you
what I have much at heart. If the Chancellor should continue his
attention to Mr. Boswell's request, and confer with you on the
means of relieving my languid state, I am very desirous to avoid
the appearance of asking money upon false pretences. I desire you
to represent to his Lordship, what, as soon as it is suggested, he
will perceive to be reasonable,--That, if I grow much worse, I
shall be afraid to leave my physicians, to suffer the
inconveniences of travel, and pine in the solitude of a foreign
country; That, if I grow much better, of which indeed there is now
little appearance, I shall not wish to leave my friends and my
domestick comforts; for I do not travel, for pleasure or curiosity;
yet if I should recover, curiosity would revive. In my present
state, I am desirous to make a struggle for a little longer life,
and hope to obtain some help from a softer climate. Do for me what
you can.'

By a letter from Sir Joshua Reynolds I was informed, that the Lord
Chancellor had called on him, and acquainted him that the
application had not been successful; but that his Lordship, after
speaking highly in praise of Johnson, as a man who was an honour to
his country, desired Sir Joshua to let him know, that on granting a
mortgage of his pension, he should draw on his Lordship to the
amount of five or six hundred pounds; and that his Lordship
explained the meaning of the mortgage to be, that he wished the
business to be conducted in such a manner, that Dr. Johnson should
appear to be under the least possible obligation. Sir Joshua
mentioned, that he had by the same post communicated all this to
Dr. Johnson.

How Johnson was affected upon the occasion will appear from what he
wrote to Sir Joshua Reynolds:--

'Ashbourne, Sept. 9. Many words I hope are not necessary between
you and me, to convince you what gratitude is excited in my heart
by the Chancellor's liberality, and your kind offices. . . .

'I have enclosed a letter to the Chancellor, which, when you have
read it, you will be pleased to seal with a head, or any other
general seal, and convey it to him: had I sent it directly to him,
I should have seemed to overlook the favour of your intervention.'


'TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR.

'MY LORD,--After a long and not inattentive observation of mankind,
the generosity of your Lordship's offer raises in me not less
wonder than gratitude. Bounty, so liberally bestowed, I should
gladly receive, if my condition made it necessary; for, to such a
mind, who would not be proud to own his obligations? But it has
pleased GOD to restore me to so great a measure of health, that if
I should now appropriate so much of a fortune destined to do good,
I could not escape from myself the charge of advancing a false
claim. My journey to the continent, though I once thought it
necessary, was never much encouraged by my physicians; and I was
very desirous that your Lordship should be told of it by Sir Joshua
Reynolds, as an event very uncertain; for if I grew much better, I
should not be willing, if much worse, not able, to migrate. Your
Lordship was first solicited without my knowledge; but, when I was
told that you were pleased to honour me with your patronage, I did
not expect to hear of a refusal; yet, as I have had no long time to
brood hope, and have not rioted in imaginary opulence, this cold
reception has been scarce a disappointment; and, from your
Lordship's kindness, I have received a benefit, which only men like
you are able to bestow. I shall now live mihi carior, with a
higher opinion of my own merit. I am, my Lord, your Lordship's
most obliged, most grateful, and most humble servant,

'September, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Upon this unexpected failure I abstain from presuming to make any
remarks, or to offer any conjectures.

Let us now contemplate Johnson thirty years after the death of his
wife, still retaining for her all the tenderness of affection.


'TO THE REVEREND MR. BAGSHAW, AT BROMLEY.

'SIR,--Perhaps you may remember, that in the year 1753, you
committed to the ground my dear wife. I now entreat your
permission to lay a stone upon her; and have sent the inscription,
that, if you find it proper, you may signify your allowance.

'You will do me a great favour by showing the place where she lies,
that the stone may protect her remains.

'Mr. Ryland will wait on you for the inscription, and procure it to
be engraved. You will easily believe that I shrink from this
mournful office. When it is done, if I have strength remaining, I
will visit Bromley once again, and pay you part of the respect to
which you have a right from, Reverend Sir, your most humble
servant,

'July 12, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Next day he set out on a jaunt to Staffordshire and Derbyshire,
flattering himself that he might be in some degree relieved.

During his absence from London he kept up a correspondence with
several of his friends, from which I shall select what appears to
me proper for publication, without attending nicely to
chronological order.


TO DR. BROCKLESBY, he writes, Ashbourne, Sept. 9:--

'Do you know the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire? And have you ever
seen Chatsworth? I was at Chatsworth on Monday: I had indeed seen
it before, but never when its owners were at home; I was very
kindly received, and honestly pressed to stay: but I told them that
a sick man is not a fit inmate of a great house. But I hope to go
again some time.'

Sept. 11. 'I think nothing grows worse, but all rather better,
except sleep, and that of late has been at its old pranks. Last
evening, I felt what I had not known for a long time, an
inclination to walk for amusement; I took a short walk, and came
back again neither breathless nor fatigued. This has been a
gloomy, frigid, ungenial summer, but of late it seems to mend; I
hear the heat sometimes mentioned, but I do not feel it:


"Praeterea minimus gelido jam in corpore sanguis
Febre calet sola.--"


I hope, however, with good help, to find means of supporting a
winter at home, and to hear and tell at the Club what is doing, and
what ought to be doing in the world. I have no company here, and
shall naturally come home hungry for conversation. To wish you,
dear Sir, more leisure, would not be kind; but what leisure you
have, you must bestow upon me.'

Lichfield, Sept. 29. 'On one day I had three letters about the
air-balloon: yours was far the best, and has enabled me to impart
to my friends in the country an idea of this species of amusement.
In amusement, mere amusement, I am afraid it must end, for I do not
find that its course can be directed so as that it should serve any
purposes of communication; and it can give no new intelligence of
the state of the air at different heights, till they have ascended
above the height of mountains, which they seem never likely to do.
I came hither on the 27th. How long I shall stay I have not
determined. My dropsy is gone, and my asthma much remitted, but I
have felt myself a little declining these two days, or at least to-
day; but such vicissitudes must be expected. One day may be worse
than another; but this last month is far better than the former; if
the next should be as much better than this, I shall run about the
town on my own legs.'

October 25. 'You write to me with a zeal that animates, and a
tenderness that melts me. I am not afraid either of a journey to
London, or a residence in it. I came down with little fatigue, and
am now not weaker. In the smoky atmosphere I was delivered from
the dropsy, which I consider as the original and radical disease.
The town is my element*; there are my friends, there are my books,
to which I have not yet bid farewell, and there are my amusements.
Sir Joshua told me long ago that my vocation was to publick life,
and I hope still to keep my station, till God shall bid me Go in
peace.'


* His love of London continually appears. In a letter from him to
Mrs. Smart, wife of his friend the Poet, which is published in a
well-written life of him, prefixed to an edition of his Poems, in
1791, there is the following sentence:--'To one that has passed so
many years in the pleasures and opulence of London, there are few
places that can give much delight.'

Once, upon reading that line in the curious epitaph quoted in The
Spectator,

'Born in New-England, did in London die;'

he laughed and said, 'I do not wonder at this. It would have been
strange, if born in London, he had died in New-England.'--BOSWELL.


TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS:--

Ashbourne, Sept. 2. '. . . I still continue by God's mercy to
mend. My breath is easier, my nights are quieter, and my legs are
less in bulk, and stronger in use. I have, however, yet a great
deal to overcome, before I can yet attain even an old man's health.
Write, do write to me now and then; we are now old acquaintance,
and perhaps few people have lived so much and so long together,
with less cause of complaint on either side. The retrospection of
this is very pleasant, and I hope we shall never think on each
other with less kindness.'

Sept. 9. 'I could not answer your letter before this day, because
I went on the sixth to Chatsworth, and did not come back till the
post was gone. Many words, I hope, are not necessary between you
and me, to convince you what gratitude is excited in my heart, by
the Chancellor's liberality and your kind offices. I did not
indeed expect that what was asked by the Chancellor would have been
refused, but since it has, we will not tell that any thing has been
asked. I have enclosed a letter to the Chancellor which, when you
have read it, you will be pleased to seal with a head, or other
general seal, and convey it to him; had I sent it directly to him,
I should have seemed to overlook the favour of your intervention.
I do not despair of supporting an English winter. At Chatsworth, I
met young Mr. Burke, who led me very commodiously into conversation
with the Duke and Duchess. We had a very good morning. The dinner
was publick.'

Sept. 18. 'I have three letters this day, all about the balloon, I
could have been content with one. Do not write about the balloon,
whatever else you may think proper to say.'

It may be observed, that his writing in every way, whether for the
publick, or privately to his friends, was by fits and starts; for
we see frequently, that many letters are written on the same day.
When he had once overcome his aversion to begin, he was, I suppose,
desirous to go on, in order to relieve his mind from the uneasy
reflection of delaying what he ought to do.

We now behold Johnson for the last time, in his native city, for
which he ever retained a warm affection, and which, by a sudden
apostrophe, under the word Lich, he introduces with reverence, into
his immortal Work, THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY:--Salve, magna parens!
While here, he felt a revival of all the tenderness of filial
affection, an instance of which appeared in his ordering the grave-
stone and inscription over Elizabeth Blaney* to be substantially
and carefully renewed.


* His mother.--ED.


To Mr. Henry White, a young clergyman, with whom he now formed an
intimacy, so as to talk to him with great freedom, he mentioned
that he could not in general accuse himself of having been an
undutiful son. 'Once, indeed, (said he,) I was disobedient; I
refused to attend my father to Uttoxeter-market. Pride was the
source of that refusal, and the remembrance of it was painful. A
few years ago, I desired to atone for this fault; I went to
Uttoxeter in very bad weather, and stood for a considerable time
bareheaded in the rain, on the spot where my father's stall used to
stand. In contrition I stood, and I hope the penance was
expiatory.'

'I told him (says Miss Seward) in one of my latest visits to him,
of a wonderful learned pig, which I had seen at Nottingham; and
which did all that we have observed exhibited by dogs and horses.
The subject amused him. "Then, (said he,) the pigs are a race
unjustly calumniated. PIG has, it seems, not been wanting to MAN,
but MAN to PIG. We do not allow TIME for his education, we kill
him at a year old." Mr. Henry White, who was present, observed
that if this instance had happened in or before Pope's time, he
would not have been justified in instancing the swine as the lowest
degree of groveling instinct. Dr. Johnson seemed pleased with the
observation, while the person who made it proceeded to remark, that
great torture must have been employed, ere the indocility of the
animal could have been subdued. "Certainly, (said the Doctor
but, (turning to me,) how old is your pig?" I told him, three
years old. "Then, (said he,) the pig has no cause to complain; he
would have been killed the first year if he had not been EDUCATED,
and protracted existence is a good recompence for very considerable
degrees of torture."'

As Johnson had now very faint hopes of recovery, and as Mrs. Thrale
was no longer devoted to him, it might have been supposed that he
would naturally have chosen to remain in the comfortable house of
his beloved wife's daughter, and end his life where he began it.
But there was in him an animated and lofty spirit, and however
complicated diseases might depress ordinary mortals, all who saw
him, beheld and acknowledged the invictum animum Catonis. Such was
his intellectual ardour even at this time, that he said to one
friend, 'Sir, I look upon every day to be lost, in which I do not
make a new acquaintance;' and to another, when talking of his
illness, 'I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.' And such
was his love of London, so high a relish had he of its magnificent
extent, and variety of intellectual entertainment, that he
languished when absent from it, his mind having become quite
luxurious from the long habit of enjoying the metropolis; and,
therefore, although at Lichfield, surrounded with friends, who
loved and revered him, and for whom he had a very sincere
affection, he still found that such conversation as London affords,
could be found no where else. These feelings, joined, probably, to
some flattering hopes of aid from the eminent physicians and
surgeons in London, who kindly and generously attended him without
accepting fees, made him resolve to return to the capital.

From Lichfield he came to Birmingham, where he passed a few days
with his worthy old schoolfellow, Mr. Hector, who thus writes to
me:--'He was very solicitous with me to recollect some of our most
early transactions, and transmit them to him, for I perceive
nothing gave him greater pleasure than calling to mind those days
of our innocence. I complied with his request, and he only
received them a few days before his death. I have transcribed for
your inspection, exactly the minutes I wrote to him.' This paper
having been found in his repositories after his death, Sir John
Hawkins has inserted it entire, and I have made occasional use of
it and other communications from Mr. Hector, in the course of this
Work. I have both visited and corresponded with him since Dr.
Johnson's death, and by my inquiries concerning a great variety of
particulars have obtained additional information. I followed the
same mode with the Reverend Dr. Taylor, in whose presence I wrote
down a good deal of what he could tell; and he, at my request,
signed his name, to give it authenticity. It is very rare to find
any person who is able to give a distinct account of the life even
of one whom he has known intimately, without questions being put to
them. My friend Dr. Kippis has told me, that on this account it is
a practice with him to draw out a biographical catechism.

Johnson then proceeded to Oxford, where he was again kindly
received by Dr. Adams.

He arrived in London on the 16th of November, and next day sent to
Dr. Burney the following note, which I insert as the last token of
his remembrance of that ingenious and amiable man, and as another
of the many proofs of the tenderness and benignity of his heart:--

'MR. JOHNSON, who came home last night, sends his respects to dear
Dr. Burney, and all the dear Burneys, little and great.'

Having written to him, in bad spirits, a letter filled with
dejection and fretfulness, and at the same time expressing anxious
apprehensions concerning him, on account of a dream which had
disturbed me; his answer was chiefly in terms of reproach, for a
supposed charge of 'affecting discontent, and indulging the vanity
of complaint.' It, however, proceeded,--
'Write to me often, and write like a man. I consider your fidelity
and tenderness as a great part of the comforts which are yet left
me, and sincerely wish we could be nearer to each other. . . . My
dear friend, life is very short and very uncertain; let us spend it
as well as we can. My worthy neighbour, Allen, is dead. Love me
as well as you can. Pay my respects to dear Mrs. Boswell. Nothing
ailed me at that time; let your superstition at last have an end.'

Feeling very soon, that the manner in which he had written might
hurt me, he two days afterwards, July 28, wrote to me again, giving
me an account of his sufferings; after which, he thus proceeds:--

'Before this letter, you will have had one which I hope you will
not take amiss; for it contains only truth, and that truth kindly
intended. . . . Spartam quam nactus es orna; make the most and
best of your lot, and compare yourself not with the few that are
above you, but with the multitudes which are below you.'

Yet it was not a little painful to me to find, that . . . he still
persevered in arraigning me as before, which was strange in him who
had so much experience of what I suffered. I, however, wrote to
him two as kind letters as I could; the last of which came too late
to be read by him, for his illness encreased more rapidly upon him
than I had apprehended; but I had the consolation of being informed
that he spoke of me on his death-bed, with affection, and I look
forward with humble hope of renewing our friendship in a better
world.


Soon after Johnson's return to the metropolis, both the asthma and
dropsy became more violent and distressful.

During his sleepless nights he amused himself by translating into
Latin verse, from the Greek, many of the epigrams in the
Anthologia. These translations, with some other poems by him in
Latin, he gave to his friend Mr. Langton, who, having added a few
notes, sold them to the booksellers for a small sum, to be given to
some of Johnson's relations, which was accordingly done; and they
are printed in the collection of his works.

A very erroneous notion has circulated as to Johnson's deficiency
in the knowledge of the Greek language, partly owing to the modesty
with which, from knowing how much there was to be learnt, he used
to mention his own comparative acquisitions. When Mr. Cumberland
talked to him of the Greek fragments which are so well illustrated
in The Observer, and of the Greek dramatists in general, he
candidly acknowledged his insufficiency in that particular branch
of Greek literature. Yet it may be said, that though not a great,
he was a good Greek scholar. Dr. Charles Burney, the younger, who
is universally acknowledged by the best judges to be one of the few
men of this age who are very eminent for their skill in that noble
language, has assured me, that Johnson could give a Greek word for
almost every English one; and that although not sufficiently
conversant in the niceties of the language, he upon some occasions
discovered, even in these, a considerable degree of critical
acumen. Mr. Dalzel, Professor of Greek at Edinburgh, whose skill
in it is unquestionable, mentioned to me, in very liberal terms,
the impression which was made upon him by Johnson, in a
conversation which they had in London concerning that language. As
Johnson, therefore, was undoubtedly one of the first Latin scholars
in modern times, let us not deny to his fame some additional
splendour from Greek.

The ludicrous imitators of Johnson's style are innumerable. Their
general method is to accumulate hard words, without considering,
that, although he was fond of introducing them occasionally, there
is not a single sentence in all his writings where they are crowded
together, as in the first verse of the following imaginary Ode by
him to Mrs. Thrale, which appeared in the newspapers:--


'Cervisial coctor's viduate dame,
Opin'st thou this gigantick frame,
Procumbing at thy shrine:
Shall, catenated by thy charms,
A captive in thy ambient arms,
Perennially be thine?'


This, and a thousand other such attempts, are totally unlike the
original, which the writers imagined they were turning into
ridicule. There is not similarity enough for burlesque, or even
for caricature.


'TO MR. GREEN, APOTHECARY, AT LICHFIELD.

'DEAR SIR,--I have enclosed the Epitaph for my Father, Mother, and
Brother, to be all engraved on the large size, and laid in the
middle aisle in St. Michael's church, which I request the clergyman
and churchwardens to permit.

'The first care must be to find the exact place of interment, that
the stone may protect the bodies. Then let the stone be deep,
massy, and hard; and do not let the difference of ten pounds, or
more, defeat our purpose.

'I have enclosed ten pounds, and Mrs. Porter will pay you ten more,
which I gave her for the same purpose. What more is wanted shall
be sent; and I beg that all possible haste may be made, for I wish
to have it done while I am yet alive. Let me know, dear Sir, that
you receive this. I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'Dec. 2, 1784.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'


Death had always been to him an object of terrour; so that, though
by no means happy, he still clung to life with an eagerness at
which many have wondered. At any time when he was ill, he was very
much pleased to be told that he looked better. An ingenious member
of the Eumelian Club, informs me, that upon one occasion when he
said to him that he saw health returning to his cheek, Johnson
seized him by the hand and exclaimed, 'Sir, you are one of the
kindest friends I ever had.'

Dr. Heberden, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Warren, and Dr. Butter,
physicians, generously attended him, without accepting any fees, as
did Mr. Cruikshank, surgeon; and all that could be done from
professional skill and ability, was tried, to prolong a life so
truly valuable. He himself, indeed, having, on account of his very
bad constitution, been perpetually applying himself to medical
inquiries, united his own efforts with those of the gentlemen who
attended him; and imagining that the dropsical collection of water
which oppressed him might be drawn off by making incisions in his
body, he, with his usual resolute defiance of pain, cut deep, when
he thought that his surgeon had done it too tenderly.*


* This bold experiment, Sir John Hawkins has related in such a
manner as to suggest a charge against Johnson of intentionally
hastening his end; a charge so very inconsistent with his character
in every respect, that it is injurious even to refute it, as Sir
John has thought it necessary to do. It is evident, that what
Johnson did in hopes of relief, indicated an extraordinary
eagerness to retard his dissolution.--BOSWELL.


About eight or ten days before his death, when Dr. Brocklesby paid
him his morning visit, he seemed very low and desponding, and said,
'I have been as a dying man all night.' He then emphatically broke
out in the words of Shakspeare:--


'Can'st thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart?'


To which Dr. Brocklesby readily answered, from the same great
poet:--


'--therein the patient
Must minister to himself.'


Johnson expressed himself much satisfied with the application.

On another day after this, when talking on the subject of prayer,
Dr. Brocklesby repeated from Juvenal,--


'Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano,'


and so on to the end of the tenth satire; but in running it quickly
over, he happened, in the line,


'Qui spatium vitae extremum inter munera ponat,'


to pronounce supremum for extremum; at which Johnson's critical ear
instantly took offence, and discoursing vehemently on the
unmetrical effect of such a lapse, he shewed himself as full as
ever of the spirit of the grammarian.

Having no near relations, it had been for some time Johnson's
intention to make a liberal provision for his faithful servant, Mr.
Francis Barber, whom he looked upon as particularly under his
protection, and whom he had all along treated truly as an humble
friend. Having asked Dr. Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity
to a favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on
the circumstances of the master; and, that in the case of a
nobleman, fifty pounds a year was considered as an adequate reward
for many years' faithful service; 'Then, (said Johnson,) shall I be
nobilissimus, for I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a year, and
I desire you to tell him so.' It is strange, however, to think,
that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being
averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time;
and had it not been for Sir John Hawkins's repeatedly urging it, I
think it is probable that his kind resolution would not have been
fulfilled. After making one, which, as Sir John Hawkins informs
us, extended no further than the promised annuity, Johnson's final
disposition of his property was established by a Will and Codicil.


The consideration of numerous papers of which he was possessed,
seems to have struck Johnson's mind, with a sudden anxiety, and as
they were in great confusion, it is much to be lamented that he had
not entrusted some faithful and discreet person with the care and
selection of them; instead of which, he in a precipitate manner,
burnt large masses of them, with little regard, as I apprehend, to
discrimination. Not that I suppose we have thus been deprived of
any compositions which he had ever intended for the publick eye;
but, from what escaped the flames, I judge that many curious
circumstances relating both to himself and other literary
characters have perished.

Two very valuable articles, I am sure, we have lost, which were two
quarto volumes, containing a full, fair, and most particular
account of his own life, from his earliest recollection. I owned
to him, that having accidentally seen them, I had read a great deal
in them; and apologizing for the liberty I had taken, asked him if
I could help it. He placidly answered, 'Why, Sir, I do not think
you could have helped it.' I said that I had, for once in my life,
felt half an inclination to commit theft. It had come into my mind
to carry off those two volumes, and never see him more. Upon my
inquiring how this would have affected him, 'Sir, (said he,) I
believe I should have gone mad.'

During his last illness, Johnson experienced the steady and kind
attachment of his numerous friends. Mr. Hoole has drawn up a
narrative of what passed in the visits which he paid him during
that time, from the 10th of November to the 13th of December, the
day of his death, inclusive, and has favoured me with a perusal of
it, with permission to make extracts, which I have done. Nobody
was more attentive to him than Mr. Langton, to whom he tenderly
said, Te teneam moriens deficiente manu. And I think it highly to
the honour of Mr. Windham, that his important occupations as an
active statesman did not prevent him from paying assiduous respect
to the dying Sage whom he revered, Mr. Langton informs me, that,
'one day he found Mr. Burke and four or five more friends sitting
with Johnson. Mr. Burke said to him, "I am afraid, Sir, such a
number of us may be oppressive to you." "No, Sir, (said Johnson,)
it is not so; and I must be in a wretched state, indeed, when your
company would not be a delight to me." Mr. Burke, in a tremulous
voice, expressive of being very tenderly affected, replied, "My
dear Sir, you have always been too good to me." Immediately
afterwards he went away. This was the last circumstance in the
acquaintance of these two eminent men.'


The following particulars of his conversation within a few days of
his death, I give on the authority of Mr. John Nichols:--

'He said, that the Parliamentary Debates were the only part of his
writings which then gave him any compunction: but that at the time
he wrote them, he had no conception he was imposing upon the world,
though they were frequently written from very slender materials,
and often from none at all,--the mere coinage of his own
imagination. He never wrote any part of his works with equal
velocity. Three columns of the Magazine, in an hour, was no
uncommon effort, which was faster than most persons could have
transcribed that quantity.

'Of his friend Cave, he always spoke with great affection. "Yet
(said he,) Cave, (who never looked out of his window, but with a
view to the Gentleman's Magazine,) was a penurious pay-master; he
would contract for lines by the hundred, and expect the long
hundred; but he was a good man, and always delighted to have his
friends at his table."

'He said at another time, three or four days only before his death,
speaking of the little fear he had of undergoing a chirurgical
operation, "I would give one of these legs for a year more of life,
I mean of comfortable life, not such as that which I now suffer;"--
and lamented much his inability to read during his hours of
restlessness; "I used formerly, (he added,) when sleepless in bed,
to read like a Turk."

'Whilst confined by his last illness, it was his regular practice
to have the church-service read to him, by some attentive and
friendly Divine. The Rev. Mr. Hoole performed this kind office in
my presence for the last time, when, by his own desire, no more
than the Litany was read; in which his responses were in the deep
and sonorous voice which Mr. Boswell has occasionally noticed, and
with the most profound devotion that can be imagined. His hearing
not being quite perfect, he more than once interrupted Mr. Hoole,
with "Louder, my dear Sir, louder, I entreat you, or you pray in
vain!"--and, when the service was ended, he, with great
earnestness, turned round to an excellent lady who was present,
saying," I thank you, Madam, very heartily, for your kindness in
joining me in this solemn exercise. Live well, I conjure you; and
you will not feel the compunction at the last, which I now feel."
So truly humble were the thoughts which this great and good man
entertained of his own approaches to religious perfection.'

Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the dying Johnson, his
characteristical manner shewed itself on different occasions.

When Dr. Warren, in the usual style, hoped that he was better; his
answer was, 'No, Sir; you cannot conceive with what acceleration I
advance towards death.'

A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit
up with him. Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant,
his answer was, 'Not at all, Sir: the fellow's an ideot; he is as
aukward as a turn-spit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy
as a dormouse.'

Mr. Windham having placed a pillow conveniently to support him, he
thanked him for his kindness, and said, 'That will do,--all that a
pillow can do.'

He requested three things of Sir Joshua Reynolds:--To forgive him
thirty pounds which he had borrowed of him; to read the Bible; and
never to use his pencil on a Sunday. Sir Joshua readily
acquiesced.

Johnson, with that native fortitude, which, amidst all his bodily
distress and mental sufferings, never forsook him, asked Dr.
Brocklesby, as a man in whom he had confidence, to tell him plainly
whether he could recover. 'Give me (said he,) a direct answer.'
The Doctor having first asked him if he could hear the whole truth,
which way soever it might lead, and being answered that he could,
declared that, in his opinion, he could not recover without a
miracle. 'Then, (said Johnson,) I will take no more physick, not
even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to
GOD unclouded.' In this resolution he persevered, and, at the same
time, used only the weakest kinds of sustenance. Being pressed by
Mr. Windham to take somewhat more generous nourishment, lest too
low a diet should have the very effect which he dreaded, by
debilitating his mind, he said, 'I will take any thing but
inebriating sustenance.'

The Reverend Mr. Strahan, who was the son of his friend, and had
been always one of his great favourites, had, during his last
illness, the satisfaction of contributing to soothe and comfort
him. That gentleman's house, at Islington, of which he is Vicar,
afforded Johnson, occasionally and easily, an agreeable change of
place and fresh air; and he attended also upon him in town in the
discharge of the sacred offices of his profession.

Mr. Strahan has given me the agreeable assurance, that, after being
in much agitation, Johnson became quite composed, and continued so
till his death.

Dr. Brocklesby, who will not be suspected of fanaticism, obliged me
with the following account:--

'For some time before his death, all his fears were calmed and
absorbed by the prevalence of his faith, and his trust in the
merits and propitiation of JESUS CHRIST.'

Johnson having thus in his mind the true Christian scheme, at once
rational and consolatory, uniting justice and mercy in the
Divinity, with the improvement of human nature, previous to his
receiving the Holy Sacrament in his apartment, composed and
fervently uttered this prayer:--

'Almighty and most merciful Father, I am now as to human eyes, it
seems, about to commemorate, for the last time, the death of thy
Son JESUS CHRIST, our Saviour and Redeemer. Grant, O LORD, that my
whole hope and confidence may be in his merits, and thy mercy;
enforce and accept my imperfect repentance; make this commemoration
available to the confirmation of my faith, the establishment of my
hope, and the enlargement of my charity; and make the death of thy
Son JESUS CHRIST effectual to my redemption. Have mercy upon me,
and pardon the multitude of my offences. Bless my friends; have
mercy upon all men. Support me, by thy Holy Spirit, in the days of
weakness, and at the hour of death; and receive me, at my death, to
everlasting happiness, for the sake of JESUS CHRIST. Amen.'

Having, as has been already mentioned, made his will on the 8th and
9th of December, and settled all his worldly affairs, he languished
till Monday, the 13th of that month, when he expired, about seven
o'clock in the evening, with so little apparent pain that his
attendants hardly perceived when his dissolution took place.

Of his last moments, my brother, Thomas David, has furnished me
with the following particulars:--

'The Doctor, from the time that he was certain his death was near,
appeared to be perfectly resigned, was seldom or never fretful or
out of temper, and often said to his faithful servant, who gave me
this account, "Attend, Francis, to the salvation of your soul,
which is the object of greatest importance:" he also explained to
him passages in the Scripture, and seemed to have pleasure in
talking upon religious subjects.

'On Monday, the 13th of December, the day on which he died, a Miss
Morris, daughter to a particular friend of his, called, and said to
Francis, that she begged to be permitted to see the Doctor, that
she might earnestly request him to give her his blessing. Francis
went into his room, followed by the young lady, and delivered the
message. The Doctor turned himself in the bed, and said, "GOD
bless you, my dear!" These were the last words he spoke. His
difficulty of breathing increased till about seven o'clock in the
evening, when Mr. Barber and Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in
the room, observing that the noise he made in breathing had ceased,
went to the bed, and found he was dead.'

About two days after his death, the following very agreeable
account was communicated to Mr. Malone, in a letter by the
Honourable John Byng, to whom I am much obliged for granting me
permission to introduce it in my work.


'DEAR SIR,--Since I saw you, I have had a long conversation with
Cawston, who sat up with Dr. Johnson, from nine o'clock, on Sunday
evening, till ten o'clock, on Monday morning. And, from what I can
gather from him, it should seem, that Dr. Johnson was perfectly
composed, steady in hope, and resigned to death. At the interval
of each hour, they assisted him to sit up in his bed, and move his
legs, which were in much pain; when he regularly addressed himself
to fervent prayer; and though, sometimes, his voice failed him, his
senses never did, during that time. The only sustenance he
received, was cyder and water. He said his mind was prepared, and
the time to his dissolution seemed long. At six in the morning, he
inquired the hour, and, on being informed, said that all went on
regularly, and he felt he had but a few hours to live.

'At ten o'clock in the morning, he parted from Cawston, saying,
"You should not detain Mr. Windham's servant:--I thank you; bear my
remembrance to your master." Cawston says, that no man could
appear more collected, more devout, or less terrified at the
thoughts of the approaching minute.

'This account, which is so much more agreeable than, and somewhat
different from, yours, has given us the satisfaction of thinking
that that great man died as he lived, full of resignation,
strengthened in faith, and joyful in hope.'

A few days before his death, he had asked Sir John Hawkins, as one
of his executors, where he should be buried; and on being answered,
'Doubtless, in Westminster-Abbey,' seemed to feel a satisfaction,
very natural to a Poet; and indeed in my opinion very natural to
every man of any imagination, who has no family sepulchre in which
he can be laid with his fathers. Accordingly, upon Monday,
December 20, his remains were deposited in that noble and renowned
edifice; and over his grave was placed a large blue flag-stone,
with this inscription:--


'SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
Obiit XIII die Decembris,
Anno Domini
M.DCC.LXXXIV.
Aetatis suae LXXV.'


His funeral was attended by a respectable number of his friends,
particularly such of the members of the LITERARY CLUB as were then
in town; and was also honoured with the presence of several of the
Reverend Chapter of Westminster. Mr. Burke, Sir Joseph Banks, Mr.
Windham, Mr. Langton, Sir Charles Bunbury, and Mr. Colman, bore his
pall. His school-fellow, Dr. Taylor, performed the mournful office
of reading the burial service.

I trust, I shall not be accused of affectation, when I declare,
that I find myself unable to express all that I felt upon the loss
of such a 'Guide, Philosopher, and Friend.' I shall, therefore,
not say one word of my own, but adopt those of an eminent friend,
which he uttered with an abrupt felicity, superior to all studied
compositions:--'He has made a chasm, which not only nothing can
fill up, but which nothing has a tendency to fill up. Johnson is
dead. Let us go to the next best:--there is nobody; no man can be
said to put you in mind of Johnson.'

Johnson told me, that 'Taylor was a very sensible acute man, and
had a strong mind; that he had great activity in some respects, and
yet such a sort of indolence, that if you should put a pebble upon
his chimney-piece, you would find it there, in the same state, a
year afterwards.'

And here is the proper place to give an account of Johnson's humane
and zealous interference in behalf of the Reverend Dr. William
Dodd, formerly Prebendary of Brecon, and chaplain in ordinary to
his Majesty; celebrated as a very popular preacher, an encourager
of charitable institutions, and authour of a variety of works,
chiefly theological. Having unhappily contracted expensive habits
of living, partly occasioned by licentiousness of manners, he in an
evil hour, when pressed by want of money, and dreading an exposure
of his circumstances, forged a bond of which he attempted to avail
himself to support his credit, flattering himself with hopes that
he might be able to repay its amount without being detected. The
person, whose name he thus rashly and criminally presumed to
falsify, was the Earl of Chesterfield, to whom he had been tutor,
and who, he perhaps, in the warmth of his feelings, flattered
himself would have generously paid the money in case of an alarm
being taken, rather than suffer him to fall a victim to the
dreadful consequences of violating the law against forgery, the
most dangerous crime in a commercial country; but the unfortunate
divine had the mortification to find that he was mistaken. His
noble pupil appeared against him, and he was capitally convicted.

Johnson told me that Dr. Dodd was very little acquainted with him,
having been but once in his company, many years previous to this
period (which was precisely the state of my own acquaintance with
Dodd); but in his distress he bethought himself of Johnson's
persuasive power of writing, if haply it might avail to obtain for
him the Royal Mercy. He did not apply to him directly, but,
extraordinary as it may seem, through the late Countess of
Harrington, who wrote a letter to Johnson, asking him to employ his
pen in favour of Dodd. Mr. Allen, the printer, who was Johnson's
landlord and next neighbour in Bolt-court, and for whom he had much
kindness, was one of Dodd's friends, of whom to the credit of
humanity be it recorded, that he had many who did not desert him,
even after his infringement of the law had reduced him to the state
of a man under sentence of death. Mr. Allen told me that he
carried Lady Harrington's letter to Johnson, that Johnson read it
walking up and down his chamber, and seemed much agitated, after
which he said, 'I will do what I can;'--and certainly he did make
extraordinary exertions.

Edited to remove promotional link.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Darwin,

Next morning I sent him a note, stating, that I might have been in
the wrong, but it was not intentionally; he was therefore, I could
not help thinking, too severe upon me. That notwithstanding our
agreement not to meet that day, I would call on him in my way to
the city, and stay five minutes by my watch. 'You are, (said I,)
in my mind, since last night, surrounded with cloud and storm. Let
me have a glimpse of sunshine, and go about my affairs in serenity
and chearfulness.'

Upon entering his study, I was glad that he was not alone, which
would have made our meeting more awkward. There were with him, Mr.
Steevens and Mr. Tyers, both of whom I now saw for the first time.
My note had, on his own reflection, softened him, for he received
me very complacently; so that I unexpectedly found myself at ease,
and joined in the conversation.

I whispered him, 'Well, Sir, you are now in good humour. JOHNSON.
'Yes, Sir.' I was going to leave him, and had got as far as the
staircase. He stopped me, and smiling, said, 'Get you gone IN;' a
curious mode of inviting me to stay, which I accordingly did for
some time longer.

This little incidental quarrel and reconciliation, which, perhaps,
I may be thought to have detailed too minutely, must be esteemed as
one of many proofs which his friends had, that though he might be
charged with bad humour at times, he was always a good-natured man;
and I have heard Sir Joshua Reynolds, a nice and delicate observer
of manners, particularly remark, that when upon any occasion
Johnson had been rough to any person in company, he took the first
opportunity of reconciliation, by drinking to him, or addressing
his discourse to him; but if he found his dignified indirect
overtures sullenly neglected, he was quite indifferent, and
considered himself as having done all that he ought to do, and the
other as now in the wrong.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Ananya,