Complete works of samuel.., p.812
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson, page 812
‘I am, my dear,
‘Your most humble servant,
‘SAM. JOHNSON.’
‘May 10, 1784.’
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 Sunday, May 9, I found Colonel Valiancy, the celebrated antiquarian and Engineer of Ireland, with him. On Monday, the 10th, I dined with him at Mr. Paradise’s, where was a large company; Mr. Bryant, Mr. Joddrel, Mr. Hawkins Browne, &c. On Thursday, the 13th, I dined with him at Mr. Joddrel’s, with another large company; the Bishop of Exeter, Lord Monboddo, Mr. Murphy, &c.
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 by845?”’ —
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 newspapers; 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.’
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.
Dr. Douglas, upon this occasion, refuted a mistaken notion which is very common in Scotland, that the ecclesiastical discipline of the Church of England, though duly enforced, is insufficient to preserve the morals of the clergy, inasmuch as all delinquents may be screened by appealing to the Convocation, which being never authorized by the King to sit for the dispatch of business, the appeal never can be heard. Dr. Douglas observed, that this was founded upon ignorance; for that the Bishops have sufficient power to maintain discipline, and that the sitting of the Convocation was wholly immaterial in this respect, it being not a Court of judicature, but like a parliament, to make Canons and regulations as times may require.
Johnson, talking of the fear of death, said, ‘Some people are not afraid, because they look upon salvation as the effect of an absolute decree, and think they feel in themselves the marks of sanctification. Others, and those the most rational in my opinion, look upon salvation as conditional; and as they never can be sure that they have complied with the conditions, they are afraid.’
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 Valiancy, 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 à 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 Tuesday, May 18, I saw him for a short time in the morning. I told him that the mob had called out, as the King passed, ‘No Fox — No Fox,’ which I did not like. He said, ‘They were right, Sir.’ I said, I thought not; for it seemed to be making Mr. Fox the King’s competitor. There being no audience, so that there could be no triumph in a victory, he fairly agreed with me. I said it might do very well, if explained thus:— ‘Let us have no Fox;’ understanding it as a prayer to his Majesty not to appoint that gentleman minister.
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 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 judgement 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.
I have preserved no more of his conversation at the times when I saw him during the rest of this month, till Sunday, the 30th of May, when I met him in the evening at Mr. Hoole’s, where there was a large company both of ladies and gentlemen; Sir James Johnston happened to say, that he paid no regard to the arguments of counsel at the bar of the House of Commons, because they were paid for speaking. ‘JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, argument is argument. You cannot help paying regard to their arguments, if they are good. If it were testimony, you might disregard it, if you knew that it were purchased. There is a beautiful image in Bacon upon this subject: testimony is like an arrow shot from a long bow; the force of it depends on the strength of the hand that draws it. Argument is like an arrow from a cross-bow, which has equal force though shot by a child.’
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 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 enquiring 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 way-bill, 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.’
