Life of Samuel Johnson, Vol. II — 1768

'Lichfield, Oct.

10, 1767.' 1768: AETAT.

59. --It appears from his notes of the state of his mind[126], that he suffered great perturbation and distraction in 1768. Nothing of his writing was given to the publick this year, except the Prologue[*] to his friend Goldsmith's comedy of _The Good-natured Man_[127].

The first lines of this Prologue are strongly characteristical of the dismal gloom of his mind; which in his case, as in the case of all who are distressed with the same malady of imagination, transfers to others its own feelings.

Who could suppose it was to introduce a comedy, when Mr. Bensley solemnly began, 'Press'd with[128] the load of life, the weary mind Surveys the general toil of human kind.'

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

In the spring of this year, having published my _Account of Corsica_, with the _Journal of a Tour to that Island_[129], I returned to London [130], very desirous to see Dr. Johnson, and hear him upon the subject.

I found he was at Oxford, with his friend Mr. Chambers[131], who was now Vinerian Professor, and lived in New Inn Hall.

Having had no letter from him since that in which he criticised the Latinity of my Thesis, and having been told by somebody that he was offended at my having put into my Book an extract of his letter to me at Paris[132], I was impatient to be with him, and therefore followed him to Oxford, where I was entertained by Mr. Chambers, with a civility which I shall ever gratefully remember.

I found that Dr. Johnson had sent a letter to me to Scotland, and that I had nothing to complain of but his being more indifferent to my anxiety than I wished him to be.

Instead of giving, with the circumstances of time and place, such fragments of his conversation as I preserved during this visit to Oxford, I shall throw them together in continuation[133].

I asked him whether, as a moralist, he did not think that the practice of the law, in some degree, hurt the nice feeling of honesty.

JOHNSON.

'Why no, Sir, if you act properly.

You are not to deceive your clients with false representations of your opinion: you are not to tell lies to a judge.'

BOSWELL.

'But what do you think of supporting a cause which you know to be bad?'

JOHNSON.

'Sir, you do not know it to be good or bad till the Judge determines it.

I have said that you are to state facts fairly; so that your thinking, or what you call knowing, a cause to be bad, must be from reasoning, must be from your supposing your arguments to be weak and inconclusive.

But, Sir, that is not enough.

An argument which does not convince yourself, may convince the Judge to whom you urge it: and if it does convince him, why, then, Sir, you are wrong, and he is right.

It is his business to judge; and you are not to be confident in your own opinion that a cause is bad, but to say all you can for your client, and then hear the Judge's opinion.'

BOSWELL.

'But, Sir, does not affecting a warmth when you have no warmth, and appearing to be clearly of one opinion when you are in reality of another opinion, does not such dissimulation impair one's honesty?

Is there not some danger that a lawyer may put on the same mask in common life, in the intercourse with his friends?'

JOHNSON.

'Why no, Sir.

Everybody knows you are paid for affecting warmth for your client; and it is, therefore, properly no dissimulation: the moment you come from the bar you resume your usual behaviour.

Sir, a man will no more carry the artifice of the bar into the common intercourse of society, than a man who is paid for tumbling upon his hands will continue to tumble upon his hands when he should walk on his feet[134].'

Talking of some of the modern plays, he said _False Delicacy_ was totally void of character[135].

He praised Goldsmith's _Good-natured Man_;

said, it was the best comedy that had appeared since _The Provoked Husband_[136], and that there had not been of late any such character exhibited on the stage as that of Croaker.

I observed it was the Suspirius of his Rambler.

He said, Goldsmith had owned he had borrowed it from thence[137].

'Sir, (continued he,) there is all the difference in the world between characters of nature and characters of manners; and _there_ is the difference between the characters of Fielding and those of Richardson.

Characters of manners are very entertaining; but they are to be understood, by a more superficial observer, than characters of nature, where a man must dive into the recesses of the human heart.'

It always appeared to me that he estimated the compositions of Richardson too highly, and that he had an unreasonable prejudice against Fielding[138].

In comparing those two writers, he used this expression: 'that there was as great a difference between them as between a man who knew how a watch was made, and a man who could tell the hour by looking on the dial-plate[139].'

This was a short and figurative state of his distinction between drawing characters of nature and characters only of manners.

But I cannot help being of opinion, that the neat watches of Fielding are as well constructed as the large clocks of Richardson, and that his dial-plates are brighter.

Fielding's characters, though they do not expand themselves so widely in dissertation, are as just pictures of human nature, and I will venture to say, have more striking features, and nicer touches of the pencil; and though Johnson used to quote with approbation a saying of Richardson's, 'that the virtues of Fielding's heroes were the vices of a truly good man,' I will venture to add, that the moral tendency of Fielding's writings, though it does not encourage a strained and rarely possible virtue, is ever favourable to honour and honesty, and cherishes the benevolent and generous affections.

He who is as good as Fielding would make him, is an amiable member of society, and may be led on by more regulated instructors, to a higher state of ethical perfection.

Johnson proceeded: 'Even Sir Francis Wronghead is a character of manners, though drawn with great humour.'

He then repeated, very happily, all Sir Francis's credulous account to Manly of his being with 'the great man,' and securing a place[140].

I asked him, if _The Suspicious Husband_[141] did not furnish a well-drawn character, that of Ranger.

JOHNSON.

'No, Sir; Ranger is just a rake, a mere rake[142], and a lively young fellow, but no _character_'.

The great Douglas Cause[143] was at this time a very general subject of discussion.

I found he had not studied it with much attention, but had only heard parts of it occasionally.

He, however, talked of it, and said, 'I am of opinion that positive proof of fraud should not be required of the plaintiff, but that the Judges should decide according as probability shall appear to preponderate, granting to the defendant the presumption of filiation to be strong in his favour.

And I think too, that a good deal of weight should be allowed to the dying declarations, because they were spontaneous.

There is a great difference between what is said without our being urged to it, and what is said from a kind of compulsion.

If I praise a man's book without being asked my opinion of it, that is honest praise, to which one may trust.

But if an authour asks me if I like his book, and I give him something like praise, it must not be taken as my real opinion.'

'I have not been troubled for a long time with authours desiring my opinion of their works[144].

I used once to be sadly plagued with a man who wrote verses, but who literally had no other notion of a verse, but that it consisted of ten syllables.

_Lay your knife and your fork, across your plate_, was to him a verse: 'Lay your knife and your fork, across your plate.

'As he wrote a great number of verses, he sometimes by chance made good ones, though he did not know it.'

He renewed his promise of coming to Scotland, and going with me to the Hebrides, but said he would now content himself with seeing one or two of the most curious of them.

He said, 'Macaulay[145], who writes the account of St. Kilda, set out with a prejudice against prejudices, and wanted to be a smart modern thinker; and yet he affirms for a truth, that when a ship arrives there, all the inhabitants are seized with a cold[146].'

Dr. John Campbell[147], the celebrated writer, took a great deal of pains to ascertain this fact, and attempted to account for it on physical principles, from the effect of effluvia from human bodies.

Johnson, at another time[148], praised Macaulay for his '_magnanimity_' in asserting this wonderful story, because it was well attested.

A Lady of Norfolk, by a letter to my friend Dr. Burney, has favoured me with the following solution: 'Now for the explication of this seeming mystery, which is so very obvious as, for that reason, to have escaped the penetration of Dr. Johnson and his friend, as well as that of the authour.

Reading the book with my ingenious friend, the late Reverend Mr. Christian, of Docking-- after ruminating a little, "The cause, (says he,) is a natural one.

The situation of St. Kilda renders a North-East Wind indispensably necessary before a stranger can land[149].

The wind, not the stranger, occasions an epidemic cold."

If I am not mistaken, Mr. Macaulay is dead; if living, this solution might please him, as I hope it will Mr. Boswell, in return for the many agreeable hours his works have afforded us.'

Johnson expatiated on the advantages of Oxford for learning[150].

'There is here, Sir, (said he,) such a progressive emulation.

The students are anxious to appear well to their tutors; the tutors are anxious to have their pupils appear well in the college; the colleges are anxious to have their students appear well in the University; and there are excellent rules of discipline in every college.

That the rules are sometimes ill observed, may be true; but is nothing against the system.

The members of an University may, for a season, be unmindful of their duty.

I am arguing for the excellency of the institution[151].'

Of Guthrie[152], he said, 'Sir, he is a man of parts.

He has no great regular fund of knowledge; but by reading so long, and writing so long, he no doubt has picked up a good deal.'

He said he had lately been a long while at Lichfield, but had grown very weary before he left it.

BOSWELL.

'I wonder at that, Sir; it is your native place.'

JOHNSON.

'Why, so is Scotland _your_ native place.'

His prejudice against Scotland appeared remarkably strong at this time.

When I talked of our advancement in literature[153], 'Sir, (said he,) you have learnt a little from us, and you think yourselves very great men.

Hume would never have written History, had not Voltaire written it before him[154].

He is an echo of Voltaire.'

BOSWELL.

'But, Sir, we have Lord Kames[155].'

JOHNSON.

'You _have_ Lord Kames.

Keep him; ha, ha, ha!

We don't envy you him.

Do you ever see Dr. Robertson?'

BOSWELL.

'Yes, Sir.'

JOHNSON.

'Does the dog talk of me?'

BOSWELL.

'Indeed, Sir, he does, and loves you.'

Thinking that I now had him in a corner, and being solicitous for the literary fame of my country, I pressed him for his opinion on the merit of Dr. Robertson's _History of Scotland_.

But, to my surprize, he escaped.

--'Sir, I love Robertson, and I won't talk of his book[156].'

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

An essay, written by Mr. Deane, a divine of the Church of England, maintaining the future life of brutes, by an explication of certain parts of the scriptures[157], was mentioned, and the doctrine insisted on by a gentleman who seemed fond of curious speculation.

Johnson, who did not like to hear of any thing concerning a future state which was not authorised by the regular canons of orthodoxy, discouraged this talk;

and being offended at its continuation, he watched an opportunity to give the gentleman a blow of reprehension.

So, when the poor speculatist, with a serious metaphysical pensive face, addressed him, 'But really, Sir, when we see a very sensible dog, we don't know what to think of him;' Johnson, rolling with joy at the thought which beamed in his eye, turned quickly round, and replied, 'True, Sir: and when we see a very foolish _fellow_, we don't know what to think of _him_.'

He then rose up, strided to the fire, and stood for some time laughing and exulting.

I told him that I had several times, when in Italy, seen the experiment of placing a scorpion within a circle of burning coals; that it ran round and round in extreme pain; and finding no way to escape, retired to the centre, and like a true Stoick philosopher, darted its sting into its head, and thus at once freed itself from its woes.

'This must end 'em[158].'

I said, this was a curious fact, as it shewed deliberate suicide in a reptile.

Johnson would not admit the fact.

He said, Maupertuis[159] was of opinion that it does not kill itself, but dies of the heat; that it gets to the centre of the circle, as the coolest place; that its turning its tail in upon its head is merely a convulsion, and that it does not sting itself.

He said he would be satisfied if the great anatomist Morgagni, after dissecting a scorpion on which the experiment had been tried, should certify that its sting had penetrated into its head.

He seemed pleased to talk of natural philosophy.

'That woodcocks, (said he,) fly over to the northern countries is proved, because they have been observed at sea.

Swallows certainly sleep all the winter.

A number of them conglobulate together[160], by flying round and round, and then all in a heap throw themselves under water, and lye in the bed of a river[161].'

He told us, one of his first essays was a Latin poem upon the glow-worm.

I am sorry I did not ask where it was to be found.

Talking of the Russians and the Chinese, he advised me to read Bell's travels[162].

I asked him whether I should read Du Halde's account of China[163].

'Why yes, (said he) as one reads such a book; that is to say, consult it.'

He talked of the heinousness of the crime of adultery, by which the peace of families was destroyed.

He said, 'Confusion of progeny constitutes the essence of the crime; and therefore a woman who breaks her marriage vows is much more criminal than a man who does it.

[164] A

man, to be sure, is criminal in the sight of God: but he does not do his wife a very material injury, if he does not insult her; if, for instance, from mere wantonness of appetite, he steals privately to her chambermaid.

Sir, a wife ought not greatly to resent this.

I would not receive home a daughter who had run away from her husband on that account.

A wife should study to reclaim her husband by more attention to please him.

Sir, a man will not, once in a hundred instances, leave his wife and go to a harlot, if his wife has not been negligent of pleasing.'

Here he discovered that acute discrimination, that solid judgement, and that knowledge of human nature, for which he was upon all occasions remarkable.

Taking care to keep in view then moral and religious duty, as understood in our nation, he shewed clearly from reason and good sense, the greater degree of culpability in the one sex deviating from it than the other; and, at the same time, inculcated a very useful lesson as to _the way to keep him_.

I asked him if it was not hard that one deviation from chastity should so absolutely ruin a young woman.

JOHNSON.

'Why, no, Sir; it is the great principle which she is taught.

When she has given up that principle, she has given up every notion of female honour and virtue, which are all included in chastity.'

A gentleman[165] talked to him of a lady whom he greatly admired and wished to marry, but was afraid of her superiority of talents.

'Sir, (said he) you need not be afraid; marry her.

Before a year goes about, you'll find that reason much weaker, and that wit not so bright.'

Yet the gentleman may be justified in his apprehension by one of Dr. Johnson's admirable sentences in his life of Waller: 'He doubtless praised many[166] whom he would have been afraid to marry; and, perhaps, married one whom he would have been ashamed to praise.

Many qualities contribute to domestic happiness, upon which poetry has no colours to bestow; and many airs and sallies may delight imagination, which he who flatters them never can approve.'

He praised Signor Baretti.

'His account of Italy is a very entertaining book[167]; and, Sir, I know no man who carries his head higher in conversation than Baretti[168].

There are strong powers in his mind.

He has not, indeed, many hooks; but with what hooks he has, he grapples very forcibly.'

At this time I observed upon the dial-plate of his watch[169] a short Greek inscription, taken from the New Testament, _Nux gar erchetai_[170], being the first words of our SAVIOUR'S solemn admonition to the improvement of that time which is allowed us to prepare for eternity: 'the night cometh, when no man can work.'

He sometime afterwards laid aside this dial-plate; and when I asked him the reason, he said, 'It might do very well upon a clock which a man keeps in his closet; but to have it upon his watch which he carries about with him, and which is often looked at by others, might be censured as ostentatious.'

Mr. Steevens is now possessed of the dial-plate inscribed as above.

He remained at Oxford a considerable time[171]; I was obliged to go to London, where I received his letter, which had been returned from Scotland.

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'MY DEAR BOSWELL, 'I have omitted a long time to write to you, without knowing very well why.

I could now tell why I should not write; for who would write to men who publish the letters of their friends, without their leave[172]?

Yet I write to you in spite of my caution, to tell you that I shall be glad to see you, and that I wish you would empty your head of Corsica, which I think has filled it rather too long.

But, at all events, I shall be glad, very glad to see you.

'I am, Sir, 'Yours affectionately, 'SAM.

JOHNSON.'

'Oxford, March 23, 1768.' I answered thus: 'TO MR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

'London, 26th April, 1768[173].

'MY DEAR SIR, 'I have received your last letter, which, though very short, and by no means complimentary, yet gave me real pleasure, because it contains these words, "I shall be glad, very glad to see you."

Surely you have no reason to complain of my publishing a single paragraph of one of your letters; the temptation to it was so strong.

An irrevocable grant of your friendship, and your dignifying my desire of visiting Corsica with the epithet of "a wise and noble curiosity," are to me more valuable than many of the grants of kings.

'But how can you bid me "empty my head of Corsica[174]?"

My noble-minded friend, do you not feel for an oppressed nation bravely struggling to be free?

Consider fairly what is the case.

The Corsicans never received any kindness from the Genoese[175].

They never agreed to be subject to them.

They owe them nothing; and when reduced to an abject state of slavery, by force, shall they not rise in the great cause of liberty, and break the galling yoke?

And shall not every liberal soul be warm for them?

Empty my head of Corsica!

Empty it of honour, empty it of humanity, empty it of friendship, empty it of piety.

No!

while I live, Corsica and the cause of the brave islanders shall ever employ much of my attention, shall ever interest me in the sincerest manner.

'I am, &c. 'JAMES BOSWELL.'

Upon his arrival in London in May, he surprized me one morning with a visit at my lodgings in Half-Moon-street[176], was quite satisfied with my explanation, and was in the kindest and most agreeable frame of mind.

As he had objected to a part of one of his letters being published, I thought it right to take this opportunity of asking him explicitly whether it would be improper to publish his letters after his death.

His answer was, 'Nay, Sir, when I am dead, you may do as you will[177].'

He talked in his usual style with a rough contempt of popular liberty[178].

'They make a rout about _universal_ liberty, without considering that all that is to be valued, or indeed can be enjoyed by individuals, is _private_ liberty.

Political liberty is good only so far as it produces private liberty.

Now, Sir, there is the liberty of the press, which you know is a constant topick[179].

Suppose you and I and two hundred more were restrained from printing our thoughts: what then?

What proportion would that restraint upon us bear to the private happiness of the nation[180]?'

This mode of representing the inconveniences of restraint as light and insignificant, was a kind of sophistry in which he delighted to indulge himself, in opposition to the extreme laxity for which it has been fashionable for too many to argue, when it is evident, upon reflection, that the very essence of government is restraint; and certain it is, that as government produces rational happiness, too much restraint is better than too little.

But when restraint is unnecessary, and so close as to gall those who are subject to it, the people may and ought to remonstrate; and, if relief is not granted, to resist.

Of this manly and spirited principle, no man was more convinced than Johnson himself[181].

About this time Dr. Kenrick[182] attacked him, through my sides, in a pamphlet, entitled _An Epistle to James Boswell, Esq.

, occasioned by his having transmitted the moral Writings of Dr. Samuel Johnson to Pascal Paoli, General of the Corsicans_[183].

I was at first inclined to answer this pamphlet; but Johnson, who knew that my doing so would only gratify Kenrick, by keeping alive what would soon die away of itself, would not suffer me to take any notice of it[184].

His sincere regard for Francis Barber, his faithful negro servant, made him so desirous of his further improvement, that he now placed him at a school at Bishop Stortford, in Hertfordshire.

This humane attention does Johnson's heart much honour.

Out of many letters which Mr. Barber received from his master, he has preserved three, which he kindly gave me, and which I shall insert according to their dates.

'To MR. FRANCIS BARBER.

'DEAR FRANCIS, 'I have been very much out of order.

I am glad to hear that you are well, and design to come soon to see you.

I would have you stay at Mrs. Clapp's for the present, till I can determine what we shall do.

Be a good boy[185].

'My compliments to Mrs. Clapp and to Mr. Fowler.

I am, 'Your's affectionately, 'SAM.

JOHNSON'.

'May 28, 1768.' Soon afterwards, he supped at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in the Strand, with a company whom I collected to meet him.

They were Dr. Percy, now Bishop of Dromore, Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of Salisbury, Mr. Langton, Dr. Robertson the Historian[186], Dr. Hugh Blair, and Mr. Thomas Davies, who wished much to be introduced to these eminent Scotch _literati_; but on the present occasion he had very little opportunity of hearing them talk, for with an excess of prudence, for which Johnson afterwards found fault with them, they hardly opened their lips, and that only to say something which they were certain would not expose them to the sword of Goliath; such was their anxiety for their fame when in the presence of Johnson[187].

He was this evening in remarkable vigour of mind, and eager to exert himself in conversation, which he did with great readiness and fluency; but I am sorry to find that I have preserved but a small part of what passed.

He allowed high praise to Thomson as a poet[188]; but when one of the company said he was also a very good man, our moralist contested this with great warmth, accusing him of gross sensuality and licentiousness of manners.

I was very much afraid that in writing Thomson's _Life_, Dr. Johnson would have treated his private character with a stern severity, but I was agreeably disappointed; and I may claim a little merit in it, from my having been at pains to send him authentick accounts of the affectionate and generous conduct of that poet to his sisters, one of whom, the wife of Mr. Thomson, schoolmaster at Lanark, I knew, and was presented by her with three of his letters, one of which Dr. Johnson has inserted in his _Life_[189].

He was vehement against old Dr. Mounsey, of Chelsea College[190], as 'a fellow who swore and talked bawdy.'

'I have been often in his company, (said Dr. Percy,) and never heard him swear or talk bawdy.'

Mr. Davies, who sat next to Dr. Percy, having after this had some conversation aside with him, made a discovery which, in his zeal to pay court to Dr. Johnson, he eagerly proclaimed aloud from the foot of the table: 'O, Sir, I have found out a very good reason why Dr. Percy never heard Mounsey swear or talk bawdy; for he tells me, he never saw him but at the Duke of Northumberland's table.'

'And so, Sir, (said Johnson loudly, to Dr. Percy,) you would shield this man from the charge of swearing and talking bawdy, because he did not do so at the Duke of Northumberland's table.

Sir, you might as well tell us that you had seen him hold up his hand at the Old Bailey, and he neither swore nor talked bawdy; or that you had seen him in the cart at Tyburn, and he neither swore nor talked bawdy.

And is it thus, Sir, that you presume to controvert what I have related?'

Dr. Johnson's animadversion was uttered in such a manner, that Dr. Percy seemed to be displeased, and soon afterwards left the company, of which Johnson did not at that time take any notice.

Swift having been mentioned, Johnson, as usual, treated him with little respect as an authour[191].

Some of us endeavoured to support the Dean of St. Patrick's by various arguments.

One in particular praised his _Conduct of the Allies_.

JOHNSON.

'Sir, his _Conduct of the Allies_ is a performance of very little ability.'

'Surely, Sir, (said Dr. Douglas,) you must allow it has strong facts[192].'

JOHNSON.

'Why yes, Sir; but what is that to the merit of the composition?

In the Sessions-paper of the Old Bailey there are strong facts.

Housebreaking is a strong fact;

robbery is a strong fact; and murder is a _mighty_ strong fact; but is great praise due to the historian of those strong facts?

No, Sir.

Swift has told what he had to tell distinctly enough, but that is all.

He had to count ten, and he has counted it right[193].'

Then recollecting that Mr. Davies, by acting as an _informer_, had been the occasion of his talking somewhat too harshly to his friend[194] Dr. Percy, for which, probably, when the first ebullition was over, he felt some compunction, he took an opportunity to give him a hit; so added, with a preparatory laugh, 'Why, Sir, Tom Davies might have written _The Conduct of the Allies_.'

Poor Tom being thus suddenly dragged into ludicrous notice in presence of the Scottish Doctors, to whom he was ambitious of appearing to advantage, was grievously mortified.

Nor did his punishment rest here; for upon subsequent occasions, whenever he, 'statesman all over[195],' assumed a strutting importance, I used to hail him--'the Authour of _The Conduct of the Allies_.'

When I called upon Dr. Johnson next morning, I found him highly satisfied with his colloquial prowess the preceding evening.

'Well, (said he,) we had good talk[196].'

BOSWELL.

'Yes, Sir; you tossed and gored several persons[197].'

The late Alexander, Earl of Eglintoune[198], who loved wit more than wine, and men of genius more than sycophants, had a great admiration of Johnson; but from the remarkable elegance of his own manners, was, perhaps, too delicately sensible of the roughness which sometimes appeared in Johnson's behaviour.

One evening about this time, when his Lordship did me the honour to sup at my lodgings with Dr. Robertson and several other men of literary distinction, he regretted that Johnson had not been educated with more refinement, and lived more in polished society.

'No, no, my Lord, (said Signor Baretti,) do with him what you would, he would always have been a bear.'

'True, (answered the Earl, with a smile,) but he would have been a _dancing_ bear.'

To obviate all the reflections which have gone round the world to Johnson's prejudice, by applying to him the epithet of a _bear_[199], let me impress upon my readers a just and happy saying of my friend Goldsmith, who knew him well: 'Johnson, to be sure, has a roughness in his manner; but no man alive has a more tender heart.

_He has nothing of the bear but his skin_.'