He was now seriously engaged in writing an account of our travels in the
Hebrides, in consequence of which I had the pleasure of a more frequent
correspondence with him.

'TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ., AT LANGTON, NEAR SPILSBY, LINCOLNSHIRE.

'DEAR SIR,--You have reason to reproach me that I have left your
last letter so long unanswered, but I had nothing particular to say.
Chambers, you find, is gone far, and poor Goldsmith is gone much
further. He died of a fever, exasperated, as I believe, by the fear of
distress. He had raised money and squandered it, by every artifice
of acquisition, and folly of expence. But let not his frailties be
remembered; he was a very great man.

'I have just begun to print my Journey to the Hebrides, and am leaving
the press to take another journey into Wales, whither Mr. Thrale is
going, to take possession of, at least, five hundred a year, fallen to
his lady. All at Streatham, that are alive, are well.

'I have never recovered from the last dreadful illness, but flatter
myself that I grow gradually better; much, however, yet remains to mend.
[Greek text omitted].

'If you have the Latin version of Busy, curious, thirsty fly, be so kind
as to transcribe and send it; but you need not be in haste, for I shall
be I know not where, for at least five weeks. I wrote the following
tetastrick on poor Goldsmith:--

[Greek text omitted]

'Please to make my most respectful compliments to all the ladies, and
remember me to young George and his sisters. I reckon George begins to
shew a pair of heels.

'Do not be sullen now, but let me find a letter when I come back. I am,
dear Sir, your affectionate, humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.

'July 5,1774.'

In his manuscript diary of this year, there is the following entry:--

'Nov. 27. Advent Sunday. I considered that this day, being the beginning
of the ecclesiastical year, was a proper time for a new course of
life. I began to read the Greek Testament regularly at 160 verses every
Sunday. This day I began the Acts.

'In this week I read Virgil's Pastorals. I learned to repeat the Pollio
and Gallus. I read carelessly the first Georgick.'

Such evidences of his unceasing ardour, both for 'divine and human
lore,' when advanced into his sixty-fifth year, and notwithstanding his
many disturbances from disease, must make us at once honour his spirit,
and lament that it should be so grievously clogged by its material
tegument.

1775: AETAT. 66.]--

'MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON.

'Edinburgh, Feb. 2,1775.

'. . . As to Macpherson,' I am anxious to have from yourself a full
and pointed account of what has passed between you and him. It is
confidently told here, that before your book came out he sent to you,
to let you know that he understood you meant to deny the authenticity
of Ossian's poems; that the originals were in his possession; that you
might have inspection of them, and might take the evidence of people
skilled in the Erse language; and that he hoped, after this fair offer,
you would not be so uncandid as to assert that he had refused reasonable
proof. That you paid no regard to his message, but published your strong
attack upon him; and then he wrote a letter to you, in such terms as he
thought suited to one who had not acted as a man of veracity.' . . .

What words were used by Mr. Macpherson in his letter to the venerable
Sage, I have never heard; but they are generally said to have been of
a nature very different from the language of literary contest. Dr.
Johnson's answer appeared in the news-papers of the day, and has since
been frequently re-published; but not with perfect accuracy. I give
it as dictated to me by himself, written down in his presence, and
authenticated by a note in his own handwriting, 'This, I think, is a
true copy.'

'MR. JAMES MACPHERSON,--I received your foolish and impudent letter. Any
violence offered me I shall do my best to repel; and what I cannot do
for myself, the law shall do for me. I hope I shall never be deterred
from detecting what I think a cheat, by the menaces of a ruffian.

'What would you have me retract? I thought your book an imposture; I
think it an imposture still. For this opinion I have given my reasons
to the publick, which I here dare you to refute. Your rage I defy. Your
abilities, since your Homer, are not so formidable; and what I hear of
your morals, inclines me to pay regard not to what you shall say, but to
what you shall prove. You may print this if you will.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

Mr. Macpherson little knew the character of Dr. Johnson, if he supposed
that he could be easily intimidated; for no man was ever more remarkable
for personal courage. He had, indeed, an aweful dread of death, or
rather, 'of something after death;' and what rational man, who seriously
thinks of quitting all that he has ever known, and going into a new and
unknown state of being, can be without that dread? But his fear was from
reflection; his courage natural. His fear, in that one instance, was the
result of philosophical and religious consideration. He feared death,
but he feared nothing else, not even what might occasion death.
Many instances of his resolution may be mentioned. One day, at Mr.
Beauclerk's house in the country, when two large dogs were fighting, he
went up to them, and beat them till they separated; and at another time,
when told of the danger there was that a gun might burst if charged with
many balls, he put in six or seven, and fired it off against a wall. Mr.
Langton told me, that when they were swimming together near Oxford, he
cautioned Dr. Johnson against a pool, which was reckoned particularly
dangerous; upon which Johnson directly swam into it. He told me himself
that one night he was attacked in the street by four men, to whom he
would not yield, but kept them all at bay, till the watch came up,
and carried both him and them to the round-house. In the playhouse
at Lichfield, as Mr. Garrick informed me, Johnson having for a moment
quitted a chair which was placed for him between the side-scenes, a
gentleman took possession of it, and when Johnson on his return civilly
demanded his seat, rudely refused to give it up; upon which Johnson laid
hold of it, and tossed him and the chair into the pit. Foote, who so
successfully revived the old comedy, by exhibiting living characters,
had resolved to imitate Johnson on the stage, expecting great profits
from his ridicule of so celebrated a man. Johnson being informed of his
intention, and being at dinner at Mr. Thomas Davies's the bookseller,
from whom I had the story, he asked Mr. Davies 'what was the common
price of an oak stick;' and being answered six-pence, 'Why then, Sir,
(said he,) give me leave to send your servant to purchase me a shilling
one. I'll have a double quantity; for I am told Foote means to take me
off, as he calls it, and I am determined the fellow shall not do it with
impunity. Davies took care to acquaint Foote of this, which effectually
checked the wantonness of the mimick. Mr. Macpherson's menaces made
Johnson provide himself with the same implement of defence; and had he
been attacked, I have no doubt that, old as he was, he would have made
his corporal prowess be felt as much as his intellectual.

His Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland is a most valuable
performance. Johnson's grateful acknowledgements of kindnesses received
in the course of this tour, completely refute the brutal reflections
which have been thrown out against him, as if he had made an ungrateful
return; and his delicacy in sparing in his book those who we find from
his letters to Mrs. Thrale were just objects of censure, is much to be
admired. His candour and amiable disposition is conspicuous from his
conduct, when informed by Mr. Macleod, of Rasay, that he had committed
a mistake, which gave that gentleman some uneasiness. He wrote him
a courteous and kind letter, and inserted in the news-papers an
advertisement, correcting the mistake.

As to his prejudice against the Scotch, which I always ascribed to that
nationality which he observed in THEM, he said to the same gentleman,
'When I find a Scotchman, to whom an Englishman is as a Scotchman,
that Scotchman shall be as an Englishman to me.' His intimacy with many
gentlemen of Scotland, and his employing so many natives of that country
as his amanuenses, prove that his prejudice was not virulent; and I have
deposited in the British Museum, amongst other pieces of his writing,
the following note in answer to one from me, asking if he would meet me
at dinner at the Mitre, though a friend of mine, a Scotchman, was to be
there:--

'Mr. Johnson does not see why Mr. Boswell should suppose a Scotchman
less acceptable than any other man. He will be at the Mitre.'

My much-valued friend Dr. Barnard, now Bishop of Killaloc, having once
expressed to him an apprehension, that if he should visit Ireland he
might treat the people of that country more unfavourably than he had
done the Scotch, he answered, with strong pointed double-edged wit,
'Sir, you have no reason to be afraid of me. The Irish are not in a
conspiracy to cheat the world by false representations of the merits
of their countrymen. No, Sir; the Irish are a FAIR PEOPLE;--they never
speak well of one another.'

All the miserable cavillings against his Journey, in newspapers,
magazines, and other fugitive publications, I can speak from certain
knowledge, only furnished him with sport. At last there came out a
scurrilous volume, larger than Johnson's own, filled with malignant
abuse, under a name, real or fictitious, of some low man in an obscure
corner of Scotland, though supposed to be the work of another Scotchman,
who has found means to make himself well known both in Scotland and
England. The effect which it had upon Johnson was, to produce this
pleasant observation to Mr. Seward, to whom he lent the book: 'This
fellow must be a blockhead. They don't know how to go about their abuse.
Who will read a five-shilling book against me? No, Sir, if they had wit,
they should have kept pelting me with pamphlets.'

On Tuesday, March 21, I arrived in London; and on repairing to Dr.
Johnson's before dinner, found him in his study, sitting with Mr.
Peter Garrick, the elder brother of David, strongly resembling him in
countenance and voice, but of more sedate and placid manners. Johnson
informed me, that 'though Mr. Beauclerk was in great pain, it was hoped
he was not in danger, and that he now wished to consult Dr. Heberden to
try the effect of a NEW UNDERSTANDING.' Both at this interview, and in
the evening at Mr. Thrale's where he and Mr. Peter Garrick and I
met again, he was vehement on the subject of the Ossian controversy;
observing, 'We do not know that there are any ancient Erse manuscripts;
and we have no other reason to disbelieve that there are men with three
heads, but that we do not know that there are any such men.' He also
was outrageous upon his supposition that my countrymen 'loved Scotland
better than truth,' saying, 'All of them,--nay not all,--but DROVES of
them, would come up, and attest any thing for the honour of Scotland.'
He also persevered in his wild allegation, that he questioned if there
was a tree between Edinburgh and the English border older than himself.
I assured him he was mistaken, and suggested that the proper punishment
would be that he should receive a stripe at every tree above a hundred
years old, that was found within that space. He laughed, and said, 'I
believe I might submit to it for a BAUBEE!'

The doubts which, in my correspondence with him, I had ventured to state
as to the justice and wisdom of the conduct of Great-Britain towards
the American colonies, while I at the same time requested that he
would enable me to inform myself upon that momentous subject, he had
altogether disregarded; and had recently published a pamphlet, entitled,
Taxation no Tyranny; an answer to the Resolutions and Address of the
American Congress.

He had long before indulged most unfavourable sentiments of our
fellow-subjects in America. For, as early as 1769, I was told by Dr.
John Campbell, that he had said of them, 'Sir, they are a race of
convicts, and ought to be thankful for any thing we allow them short of
hanging.'

Of this performance I avoided to talk with him; for I had now formed
a clear and settled opinion, that the people of America were well
warranted to resist a claim that their fellow-subjects in the
mother-country should have the entire command of their fortunes, by
taxing them without their own consent; and the extreme violence which
it breathed, appeared to me so unsuitable to the mildness of a christian
philosopher, and so directly opposite to the principles of peace which
he had so beautifully recommended in his pamphlet respecting Falkland's
Islands, that I was sorry to see him appear in so unfavourable a light.

On Friday, March 24, I met him at the LITERARY CLUB, where were Mr.
Beauclerk, Mr. Langton, Mr. Colman, Dr. Percy, Mr. Vesey, Sir Charles
Bunbury, Dr. George Fordyce, Mr. Steevens, and Mr. Charles Fox. Before
he came in, we talked of his Journey to the Western Islands, and of
his coming away 'willing to believe the second sight,' which seemed to
excite some ridicule. I was then so impressed with the truth of many of
the stories of it which I had been told, that I avowed my conviction,
saying, 'He is only WILLING to believe: I DO believe. The evidence is
enough for me, though not for his great mind. What will not fill a quart
bottle will fill a pint bottle. I am filled with belief.' 'Are you?
(said Colman,) then cork it up.'

I found his Journey the common topick of conversation in London at
this time, wherever I happened to be. At one of Lord Mansfield's formal
Sunday evening conversations, strangely called Levees, his Lordship
addressed me, 'We have all been reading your travels, Mr. Boswell.' I
answered, 'I was but the humble attendant of Dr. Johnson.' The Chief
Justice replied, with that air and manner which none, who ever saw and
heard him, can forget, 'He speaks ill of nobody but Ossian.'

Johnson was in high spirits this evening at the club, and talked with
great animation and success. He attacked Swift, as he used to do upon
all occasions. The Tale of a Tub is so much superiour to his other
writings, that one can hardly believe he was the authour of it: 'there
is in it such a vigour of mind, such a swarm of thoughts, so much of
nature, and art, and life.' I wondered to hear him say of Gulliver's
Travels, 'When once you have thought of big men and little men, it is
very easy to do all the rest.' I endeavoured to make a stand for Swift,
and tried to rouse those who were much more able to defend him; but in
vain. Johnson at last, of his own accord, allowed very great merit
to the inventory of articles found in the pocket of the Man Mountain,
particularly the description of his watch, which it was conjectured was
his God; as he consulted it upon all occasions. He observed, that 'Swift
put his name to but two things, (after he had a name to put,) The Plan
for the Improvement of the English Language, and the last Drapier's
Letter.'

From Swift, there was an easy transition to Mr. Thomas
Sheridan--JOHNSON. 'Sheridan is a wonderful admirer of the tragedy of
Douglas, and presented its authour with a gold medal. Some years ago, at
a coffee-house in Oxford, I called to him, "Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Sheridan,
how came you to give a gold medal to Home, for writing that foolish
play?" This you see, was wanton and insolent; but I MEANT to be wanton
and insolent. A medal has no value but as a stamp of merit. And was
Sheridan to assume to himself the right of giving that stamp? If
Sheridan was magnificent enough to bestow a gold medal as an honorary
reward of dramatick excellence, he should have requested one of the
Universities to choose the person on whom it should be conferred.
Sheridan had no right to give a stamp of merit: it was counterfeiting
Apollo's coin.'

On Monday, March 27, I breakfasted with him at Mr Strahan's. He told us,
that he was engaged to go that evening to Mrs. Abington's benefit. 'She
was visiting some ladies whom I was visiting, and begged that I would
come to her benefit. I told her I could not hear: but she insisted so
much on my coming, that it would have been brutal to have refused her.'
This was a speech quite characteristical. He loved to bring forward his
having been in the gay circles of life; and he was, perhaps, a little
vain of the solicitations of this elegant and fashionable actress. He
told us, the play was to be the The Hypocrite, altered from Cibber's
Nonjuror, so as to satirize the Methodists. 'I do not think (said he,)
the character of The Hypocrite justly applicable to the Methodists, but
it was very applicable to the Nonjurors.'

Mr. Strahan had taken a poor boy from the country as an apprentice, upon
Johnson's recommendation. Johnson having enquired after him, said, 'Mr.
Strahan, let me have five guineas on account, and I'll give this boy
one. Nay if a man recommends a boy, and does nothing for him, it is sad
work. Call him down.'

I followed him into the court-yard, behind Mr. Strahan's house; and
there I had a proof of what I had heard him profess, that he talked
alike to all. 'Some people tell you that they let themselves down to
the capacity of their hearers. I never do that. I speak uniformly, in as
intelligible a manner as I can.'

'Well, my boy, how do you go on?'--'Pretty well, Sir; but they are
afraid I an't strong enough for some parts of the business.' JOHNSON.
'Why, I shall be sorry for it; for when you consider with how little
mental power and corporeal labour a printer can get a guinea a week, it
is a very desirable occupation for you. Do you hear,--take all the pains
you can; and if this does not do, we must think of some other way of
life for you. There's a guinea.'

Here was one of the many, many instances of his active benevolence. At
the same time, the slow and sonorous solemnity with which, while he bent
himself down, he addressed a little thick short-legged boy, contrasted
with the boy's aukwardness and awe, could not but excite some ludicrous
emotions.

I met him at Drury-lane play-house in the evening. Sir Joshua Reynolds,
at Mrs. Abington's request, had promised to bring a body of wits to her
benefit; and having secured forty places in the front boxes, had done
me the honour to put me in the group. Johnson sat on the seat directly
behind me; and as he could neither see nor hear at such a distance from
the stage, he was wrapped up in grave abstraction, and seemed quite a
cloud, amidst all the sunshine of glitter and gaiety. I wondered at his
patience in sitting out a play of five acts, and a farce of two. He said
very little; but after the prologue to Bon Ton had been spoken, which
he could hear pretty well from the more slow and distinct utterance, he
talked of prologue-writing, and observed, 'Dryden has written prologues
superiour to any that David Garrick has written; but David Garrick has
written more good prologues than Dryden has done. It is wonderful that
he has been able to write such variety of them.'

At Mr. Beauclerk's, where I supped, was Mr. Garrick, whom I made happy
with Johnson's praise of his prologues; and I suppose, in gratitude to
him, he took up one of his favourite topicks, the nationality of the
Scotch, which he maintained in a pleasant manner, with the aid of a
little poetical fiction. 'Come, come, don't deny it: they are really
national. Why, now, the Adams are as liberal-minded men as any in the
world: but, I don't know how it is, all their workmen are Scotch. You
are, to be sure, wonderfully free from that nationality: but so it
happens, that you employ the only Scotch shoe-black in London.' He
imitated the manner of his old master with ludicrous exaggeration;
repeating, with pauses and half-whistlings interjected,

     'Os homini sublime dedit,--caelumque tueri
     Jussit,--et erectos ad sidera--tollere vultus';

looking downwards all the time, and, while pronouncing the four
last words, absolutely touching the ground with a kind of contorted
gesticulation.

Garrick, however, when he pleased, could imitate Johnson very exactly;
for that great actor, with his distinguished powers of expression which
were so universally admired, possessed also an admirable talent of
mimickry. He was always jealous that Johnson spoke lightly of him. I
recollect his exhibiting him to me one day, as if saying, 'Davy has
some convivial pleasantry about him, but 'tis a futile fellow;' which he
uttered perfectly with the tone and air of Johnson.

I cannot too frequently request of my readers, while they peruse my
account of Johnson's conversation, to endeavour to keep in mind his
deliberate and strong utterance. His mode of speaking was indeed very
impressive; and I wish it could be preserved as musick is written,
according to the very ingenious method of Mr. Steele, who has shewn
how the recitation of Mr. Garrick, and other eminent speakers, might be
transmitted to posterity IN SCORE.

Next day I dined with Johnson at Mr. Thrale's. He attacked Gray, calling
him 'a dull fellow.' BOSWELL. 'I understand he was reserved, and might
appear dull in company; but surely he was not dull in poetry.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, he was dull in company, dull in his closet, dull every where. He
was dull in a new way, and that made many people think him GREAT. He was
a mechanical poet.' He then repeated some ludicrous lines, which have
escaped my memory, and said, 'Is not that GREAT, like his Odes?' Mrs.
Thrale maintained that his Odes were melodious; upon which he exclaimed,

'Weave the warp, and weave the woof;'--

I added, in a solemn tone,

'The winding-sheet of Edward's race.'

'THERE is a good line.' 'Ay, (said he,) and the next line is a good
one,' (pronouncing it contemptuously;)

'Give ample verge and room enough.'--

'No, Sir, there are but two good stanzas in Gray's poetry, which are in
his Elegy in a Country Church-yard.' He then repeated the stanza,

'For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,' &c.

mistaking one word; for instead of precincts he said confines. He added,
'The other stanza I forget.'

A young lady who had married a man much her inferiour in rank being
mentioned, a question arose how a woman's relations should behave to her
in such a situation; and, while I recapitulate the debate, and recollect
what has since happened, I cannot but be struck in a manner that
delicacy forbids me to express. While I contended that she ought to be
treated with an inflexible steadiness of displeasure, Mrs. Thrale was
all for mildness and forgiveness, and, according to the vulgar phrase,
'making the best of a bad bargain.' JOHNSON. Madam, we must distinguish.
Were I a man of rank, I would not let a daughter starve who had made a
mean marriage; but having voluntarily degraded herself from the station
which she was originally entitled to hold, I would support her only in
that which she herself had chosen; and would not put her on a level with
my other daughters. You are to consider, Madam, that it is our duty to
maintain the subordination of civilized society; and when there is a
gross and shameful deviation from rank, it should be punished so as to
deter others from the same perversion.'

On Friday, March 31, I supped with him and some friends at a tavern. One
of the company* attempted, with too much forwardness, to rally him on
his late appearance at the theatre; but had reason to repent of his
temerity. 'Why, Sir, did you go to Mrs. Abington's benefit? Did you
see?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir.' 'Did you hear?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir.' 'Why then,
Sir, did you go?' JOHNSON. 'Because, Sir, she is a favourite of the
publick; and when the publick cares the thousandth part for you that it
does for her, I will go to your benefit too.'

     * Very likely Boswell.--HILL.

Next morning I won a small bet from Lady Diana Beauclerk, by asking him
as to one of his particularities, which her Ladyship laid I durst not
do. It seems he had been frequently observed at the Club to put into his
pocket the Seville oranges, after he had squeezed the juice of them into
the drink which he made for himself. Beauclerk and Garrick talked of
it to me, and seemed to think that he had a strange unwillingness to be
discovered. We could not divine what he did with them; and this was the
bold question to be put. I saw on his table the spoils of the preceding
night, some fresh peels nicely scraped and cut into pieces. 'O, Sir,
(said I,) I now partly see what you do with the squeezed oranges which
you put into your pocket at the Club.' JOHNSON. 'I have a great love
for them.' BOSWELL. 'And pray, Sir, what do you do with them? You scrape
them, it seems, very neatly, and what next?' JOHNSON. 'Let them dry,
Sir.' BOSWELL. 'And what next?' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, you shall know their
fate no further.' BOSWELL. 'Then the world must be left in the dark. It
must be said (assuming a mock solemnity,) he scraped them, and let them
dry, but what he did with them next, he never could be prevailed upon
to tell.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, you should say it more emphatically:--he
could not be prevailed upon, even by his dearest friends, to tell.'

He had this morning received his Diploma as Doctor of Laws from the
University of Oxford. He did not vaunt of his new dignity, but I
understood he was highly pleased with it.

I observed to him that there were very few of his friends so accurate
as that I could venture to put down in writing what they told me as his
sayings. JOHNSON. 'Why should you write down MY sayings?' BOSWELL. 'I
write them when they are good.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, you may as well write
down the sayings of any one else that are good.' But WHERE, I might with
great propriety have added, can I find such?

Next day, Sunday, April 2, I dined with him at Mr. Hoole's. We talked
of Pope. JOHNSON. 'He wrote, his Dunciad for fame. That was his primary
motive. Had it not been for that, the dunces might have railed against
him till they were weary, without his troubling himself about them. He
delighted to vex them, no doubt; but he had more delight in seeing how
well he could vex them.'

His Taxation no Tyranny being mentioned, he said, 'I think I have not
been attacked enough for it. Attack is the re-action; I never think I
have hit hard, unless it rebounds.' BOSWELL. 'I don't know, Sir, what
you would be at. Five or six shots of small arms in every newspaper,
and repeated cannonading in pamphlets, might, I think, satisfy you. But,
Sir, you'll never make out this match, of which we have talked, with
a certain political lady,* since you are so severe against her
principles.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, I have the better chance for that. She
is like the Amazons of old; she must be courted by the sword. But I
have not been severe upon her.' BOSWELL. 'Yes, Sir, you have made her
ridiculous.' JOHNSON. 'That was already done, Sir. To endeavour to make
HER ridiculous, is like blacking the chimney.'

     * Croker identifies her as Mrs. Macaulay.  See p. 119.--ED.

I talked of the cheerfulness of Fleet-street, owing to the constant
quick succession of people which we perceive passing through it.
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, Fleet-street has a very animated appearance; but I
think the full tide of human existence is at Charing-cross.'

He made the common remark on the unhappiness which men who have led
a busy life experience, when they retire in expectation of enjoying
themselves at ease, and that they generally languish for want of their
habitual occupation, and wish to return to it. He mentioned as strong an
instance of this as can well be imagined. 'An eminent tallow-chandler
in London, who had acquired a considerable fortune, gave up the trade in
favour of his foreman, and went to live at a country-house near town.
He soon grew weary, and paid frequent visits to his old shop, where he
desired they might let him know their melting-days, and he would come
and assist them; which he accordingly did. Here, Sir, was a man, to whom
the most disgusting circumstance in the business to which he had been
used was a relief from idleness.'

On Wednesday, April 5, I dined with him at Messieurs Dilly's, with Mr.
John Scott of Amwell, the Quaker, Mr. Langton, Mr. Miller, (now Sir
John,) and Dr. Thomas Campbell, an Irish clergyman, whom I took the
liberty of inviting to Mr. Dilly's table, having seen him at Mr.
Thrale's, and been told that he had come to England chiefly with a view
to see Dr. Johnson, for whom he entertained the highest veneration. He
has since published A Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland, a
very entertaining book, which has, however, one fault;--that it assumes
the fictitious character of an Englishman.

We talked of publick speaking--JOHNSON. 'We must not estimate a man's
powers by his being able, or not able to deliver his sentiments in
publick. Isaac Hawkins Browne, one of the first wits of this country,
got into Parliament, and never opened his mouth. For my own part, I
think it is more disgraceful never to try to speak, than to try it
and fail; as it is more disgraceful not to fight, than to fight and be
beaten.' This argument appeared to me fallacious; for if a man has
not spoken, it may be said that he would have done very well it he had
tried; whereas, if he has tried and failed, there is nothing to be said
for him. 'Why then, (I asked,) is it thought disgraceful for a man
not to fight, and not disgraceful not to speak in publick?' JOHNSON.
'Because there may be other reasons for a man's not speaking in publick
than want of resolution: he may have nothing to say, (laughing.)
Whereas, Sir, you know courage is reckoned the greatest of all virtues;
because, unless a man has that virtue, he has no security for preserving
any other.'

On Thursday, April 6, I dined with him at Mr. Thomas Davies's, with Mr.
Hicky, the painter, and my old acquaintance Mr. Moody, the player.

Dr. Johnson, as usual, spoke contemptuously of Colley Cibber. 'It is
wonderful that a man, who for forty years had lived with the great and
the witty, should have acquired so ill the talents of conversation: and
he had but half to furnish; for one half of what he said was oaths.' He,
however, allowed considerable merit to some of his comedies, and said
there was no reason to believe that the Careless Husband was not
written by himself. Davies said, he was the first dramatick writer
who introduced genteel ladies upon the stage. Johnson refuted this
observation by instancing several such characters in comedies before his
time. DAVIES. (trying to defend himself from a charge of ignorance,)
'I mean genteel moral characters.' 'I think (said Hicky,) gentility and
morality are inseparable.' BOSWELL. 'By no means, Sir. The genteelest
characters are often the most immoral. Does not Lord Chesterfield give
precepts for uniting wickedness and the graces? A man, indeed, is
not genteel when he gets drunk; but most vices may be committed very
genteelly: a man may debauch his friend's wife genteelly: he may cheat
at cards genteelly.' HICKY. 'I do not think THAT is genteel.' BOSWELL.
'Sir, it may not be like a gentleman, but it may be genteel.' JOHNSON.
'You are meaning two different things. One means exteriour grace;
the other honour. It is certain that a man may be very immoral with
exteriour grace. Lovelace, in Clarissa, is a very genteel and a very
wicked character. Tom Hervey, who died t'other day, though a vicious
man, was one of the genteelest men that ever lived.' Tom Davies
instanced Charles the Second. JOHNSON. (taking fire at any attack upon
that Prince, for whom he had an extraordinary partiality,) 'Charles the
Second was licentious in his practice; but he always had a reverence for
what was good. Charles the Second knew his people, and rewarded merit.
The Church was at no time better filled than in his reign. He was
the best King we have had from his time till the reign of his present
Majesty, except James the Second, who was a very good King, but
unhappily believed that it was necessary for the salvation of his
subjects that they should be Roman Catholicks. HE had the merit of
endeavouring to do what he thought was for the salvation of the souls
of his subjects, till he lost a great Empire. WE, who thought that
we should NOT be saved if we were Roman Catholicks, had the merit of
maintaining our religion, at the expence of submitting ourselves to the
government of King William, (for it could not be done otherwise,)--to
the government of one of the most worthless scoundrels that ever
existed. No; Charles the Second was not such a man as -----, (naming
another King). He did not destroy his father's will. He took money,
indeed, from France: but he did not betray those over whom he ruled: he
did not let the French fleet pass ours. George the First knew nothing,
and desired to know nothing; did nothing, and desired to do nothing: and
the only good thing that is told of him is, that he wished to restore
the crown to its hereditary successor.' He roared with prodigious
violence against George the Second. When he ceased, Moody interjected,
in an Irish tone, and with a comick look, 'Ah! poor George the Second.'

I mentioned that Dr. Thomas Campbell had come from Ireland to London,
principally to see Dr. Johnson. He seemed angry at this observation.
DAVIES. 'Why, you know, Sir, there came a man from Spain to see Livy;
and Corelli came to England to see Purcell, and when he heard he was
dead, went directly back again to Italy.' JOHNSON. 'I should not have
wished to be dead to disappoint Campbell, had he been so foolish as you
represent him; but I should have wished to have been a hundred miles
off.' This was apparently perverse; and I do believe it was not his real
way of thinking: he could not but like a man who came so far to see
him. He laughed with some complacency, when I told him Campbell's odd
expression to me concerning him: 'That having seen such a man, was a
thing to talk of a century hence,'--as if he could live so long.

We got into an argument whether the Judges who went to India might with
propriety engage in trade. Johnson warmly maintained that they might.
'For why (he urged,) should not Judges get riches, as well as those who
deserve them less?' I said, they should have sufficient salaries,
and have nothing to take off their attention from the affairs of the
publick. JOHNSON. 'No Judge, Sir, can give his whole attention to his
office; and it is very proper that he should employ what time he has to
himself, to his own advantage, in the most profitable manner.' 'Then,
Sir, (said Davies, who enlivened the dispute by making it somewhat
dramatick,) he may become an insurer; and when he is going to the bench,
he may be stopped,--"Your Lordship cannot go yet: here is a bunch of
invoices: several ships are about to sail."' JOHNSON. Sir, you may as
well say a Judge should not have a house; for they may come and tell
him, "Your Lordship's house is on fire;" and so, instead of minding the
business of his Court, he is to be occupied in getting the engine with
the greatest speed. There is no end of this. Every Judge who has land,
trades to a certain extent in corn or in cattle; and in the land itself,
undoubtedly. His steward acts for him, and so do clerks for a great
merchant. A Judge may be a farmer; but he is not to geld his own pigs.
A Judge may play a little at cards for his amusement; but he is not to
play at marbles, or at chuck-farthing in the Piazza. No, Sir; there is
no profession to which a man gives a very great proportion of his time.
It is wonderful, when a calculation is made, how little the mind is
actually employed in the discharge of any profession. No man would be
a Judge, upon the condition of being totally a Judge. The best employed
lawyer has his mind at work but for a small proportion of his time; a
great deal of his occupation is merely mechanical. I once wrote for a
magazine: I made a calculation, that if I should write but a page a day,
at the same rate, I should, in ten years, write nine volumes in folio,
of an ordinary size and print.' BOSWELL. 'Such as Carte's History?'
JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir. When a man writes from his own mind, he writes very
rapidly. The greatest part of a writer's time is spent in reading, in
order to write: a man will turn over half a library to make one book.'

We spoke of Rolt, to whose Dictionary of Commerce Dr. Johnson wrote the
Preface. JOHNSON. 'Old Gardner the bookseller employed Rolt and Smart
to write a monthly miscellany, called The Universal Visitor. There was a
formal written contract, which Allen the printer saw. Gardner thought as
you do of the Judge. They were bound to write nothing else; they were to
have, I think, a third of the profits of this sixpenny pamphlet; and the
contract was for ninety-nine years. I wish I had thought of giving this
to Thurlow, in the cause about Literary Property. What an excellent
instance would it have been of the oppression of booksellers towards
poor authours!' (smiling.) Davies, zealous for the honour of THE TRADE,
said, Gardner was not properly a bookseller. JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir; he
certainly was a bookseller. He had served his time regularly, was a
member of the Stationers' company, kept a shop in the face of mankind,
purchased copyright, and was a bibliopole, Sir, in every sense. I wrote
for some months in The Universal Visitor, for poor Smart, while he was
mad, not then knowing the terms on which he was engaged to write, and
thinking I was doing him good. I hoped his wits would soon return
to him. Mine returned to me, and I wrote in The Universal Visitor no
longer.

Friday, April 7, I dined with him at a Tavern, with a numerous company.

One of the company suggested an internal objection to the antiquity
of the poetry said to be Ossian's, that we do not find the wolf in it,
which must have been the case had it been of that age.

The mention of the wolf had led Johnson to think of other wild beasts;
and while Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Langton were carrying on a
dialogue about something which engaged them earnestly, he, in the midst
of it, broke out, 'Pennant tells of Bears--' [what he added, I have
forgotten.] They went on, which he being dull of hearing, did not
perceive, or, if he did, was not willing to break off his talk; so he
continued to vociferate his remarks, and BEAR ('like a word in a catch'
as Beauclerk said,) was repeatedly heard at intervals, which coming from
him who, by those who did not know him, had been so often assimilated
to that ferocious animal, while we who were sitting around could hardly
stifle laughter, produced a very ludicrous effect. Silence having
ensued, he proceeded: 'We are told, that the black bear is innocent; but
I should not like to trust myself with him.' Mr. Gibbon muttered, in a
low tone of voice, 'I should not like to trust myself with YOU.' This
piece of sarcastick pleasantry was a prudent resolution, if applied to a
competition of abilities.

Patriotism having become one of our topicks, Johnson suddenly uttered,
in a strong determined tone, an apophthegm, at which many will
start: 'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.' But let it
be considered, that he did not mean a real and generous love of our
country, but that pretended patriotism which so many, in all ages and
countries, have made a cloak for self-interest.

Mrs. Prichard being mentioned, he said, 'Her playing was quite
mechanical. It is wonderful how little mind she had. Sir, she had never
read the tragedy of Macbeth all through. She no more thought of the play
out of which her part was taken, than a shoemaker thinks of the skin,
out of which the piece of leather, of which he is making a pair of
shoes, is cut.'

On Saturday, April 8, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale's, where we met
the Irish Dr. Campbell. Johnson had supped the night before at Mrs.
Abington's, with some fashionable people whom he named; and he seemed
much pleased with having made one in so elegant a circle. Nor did he
omit to pique his MISTRESS a little with jealousy of her housewifery;
for he said, (with a smile,) 'Mrs. Abington's jelly, my dear lady, was
better than yours.'

Mrs. Thrale, who frequently practised a coarse mode of flattery, by
repeating his bon-mots in his hearing, told us that he had said,
a certain celebrated actor was just fit to stand at the door of an
auction-room with a long pole, and cry 'Pray gentlemen, walk in;' and
that a certain authour, upon hearing this, had said, that another still
more celebrated actor was fit for nothing better than that, and would
pick your pocket after you came out. JOHNSON. 'Nay, my dear lady, there
is no wit in what our friend added; there is only abuse. You may as
well say of any man that he will pick a pocket. Besides, the man who
is stationed at the door does not pick people's pockets; that is done
within, by the auctioneer.'

On Monday, April 10, I dined with him at General Oglethorpe's, with
Mr. Langton and the Irish Dr. Campbell, whom the General had obligingly
given me leave to bring with me. This learned gentleman was thus
gratified with a very high intellectual feast, by not only being in
company with Dr. Johnson, but with General Oglethorpe, who had been so
long a celebrated name both at home and abroad.

I must, again and again, intreat of my readers not to suppose that my
imperfect record of conversation contains the whole of what was said
by Johnson, or other eminent persons who lived with him. What I have
preserved, however, has the value of the most perfect authenticity.

He urged General Oglethorpe to give the world his Life. He said, 'I know
no man whose Life would be more interesting. If I were furnished with
materials, I should be very glad to write it.'

Mr. Scott of Amwell's Elegies were lying in the room. Dr. Johnson
observed, 'They are very well; but such as twenty people might write.'
Upon this I took occasion to controvert Horace's maxim,

     '------- mediocribus esse poetis
     Non Di, non homines, non concessere columnae.'

For here, (I observed,) was a very middle-rate poet, who pleased many
readers, and therefore poetry of a middle sort was entitled to some
esteem; nor could I see why poetry should not, like every thing else,
have different gradations of excellence, and consequently of value.
Johnson repeated the common remark, that, 'as there is no necessity for
our having poetry at all, it being merely a luxury, an instrument of
pleasure, it can have no value, unless when exquisite in its kind.' I
declared myself not satisfied. 'Why then, Sir, (said he,) Horace and you
must settle it.' He was not much in the humour of talking.

No more of his conversation for some days appears in my journal, except
that when a gentleman told him he had bought a suit of lace for his
lady, he said, 'Well, Sir, you have done a good thing and a wise thing.'
'I have done a good thing, (said the gentleman,) but I do not know that
I have done a wise thing.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; no money is better spent
than what is laid out for domestick satisfaction. A man is pleased that
his wife is drest as well as other people; and a wife is pleased that
she is drest.'

On Friday, April 14, being Good-Friday, I repaired to him in the
morning, according to my usual custom on that day, and breakfasted with
him. I observed that he fasted so very strictly, that he did not even
taste bread, and took no milk with his tea; I suppose because it is a
kind of animal food.

I told him that I had been informed by Mr. Orme, that many parts of the
East-Indies were better mapped than the Highlands of Scotland. JOHNSON.
'That a country may be mapped, it must be travelled over.' 'Nay, (said
I, meaning to laugh with him at one of his prejudices,) can't you say,
it is not WORTH mapping?'

As we walked to St. Clement's church, and saw several shops open upon
this most solemn fast-day of the Christian world, I remarked, that one
disadvantage arising from the immensity of London, was, that nobody was
heeded by his neighbour; there was no fear of censure for not observing
Good-Friday, as it ought to be kept, and as it is kept in country-towns.
He said, it was, upon the whole, very well observed even in London. He,
however, owned, that London was too large; but added, 'It is nonsense
to say the head is too big for the body. It would be as much too big,
though the body were ever so large; that is to say, though the country
were ever so extensive. It has no similarity to a head connected with a
body.'

Dr. Wetherell, Master of University College, Oxford, accompanied us home
from church; and after he was gone, there came two other gentlemen,
one of whom uttered the commonplace complaints, that by the increase of
taxes, labour would be dear, other nations would undersell us, and our
commerce would be ruined. JOHNSON. (smiling,) 'Never fear, Sir. Our
commerce is in a very good state; and suppose we had no commerce at all,
we could live very well on the produce of our own country.' I cannot
omit to mention, that I never knew any man who was less disposed to be
querulous than Johnson. Whether the subject was his own situation,
or the state of the publick, or the state of human nature in general,
though he saw the evils, his mind was turned to resolution, and never to
whining or complaint.

We went again to St. Clement's in the afternoon. He had found fault with
the preacher in the morning for not choosing a text adapted to the day.
The preacher in the afternoon had chosen one extremely proper: 'It is
finished.'

After the evening service, he said, 'Come, you shall go home with me,
and sit just an hour.' But he was better than his word; for after we
had drunk tea with Mrs. Williams, he asked me to go up to his study with
him, where we sat a long while together in a serene undisturbed frame
of mind, sometimes in silence, and sometimes conversing, as we felt
ourselves inclined, or more properly speaking, as HE was inclined;
for during all the course of my long intimacy with him, my respectful
attention never abated, and my wish to hear him was such, that I
constantly watched every dawning of communication from that great and
illuminated mind.

He again advised me to keep a journal fully and minutely, but not to
mention such trifles as, that meat was too much or too little done, or
that the weather was fair or rainy. He had, till very near his death, a
contempt for the notion that the weather affects the human frame.

I told him that our friend Goldsmith had said to me, that he had come
too late into the world, for that Pope and other poets had taken up the
places in the Temple of Fame; so that, as but a few at any period can
possess poetical reputation, a man of genius can now hardly acquire it.
JOHNSON. 'That is one of the most sensible things I have ever heard of
Goldsmith. It is difficult to get literary fame, and it is every
day growing more difficult. Ah, Sir, that should make a man think of
securing happiness in another world, which all who try sincerely for it
may attain. In comparison of that, how little are all other things! The
belief of immortality is impressed upon all men, and all men act under
an impression of it, however they may talk, and though, perhaps, they
may be scarcely sensible of it.' I said, it appeared to me that some
people had not the least notion of immortality; and I mentioned a
distinguished gentleman of our acquaintance. JOHNSON. 'Sir, if it were
not for the notion of immortality, he would cut a throat to fill his
pockets.' When I quoted this to Beauclerk, who knew much more of the
gentleman than we did, he said, in his acid manner, 'He would cut a
throat to fill his pockets, if it were not for fear of being hanged.'

He was pleased to say, 'If you come to settle here, we will have one
day in the week on which we will meet by ourselves. That is the happiest
conversation where there is no competition, no vanity, but a calm quiet
interchange of sentiments.' In his private register this evening is thus
marked, 'Boswell sat with me till night; we had some serious talk.' It
also appears from the same record, that after I left him he was occupied
in religious duties, in 'giving Francis, his servant, some directions
for preparation to communicate; in reviewing his life, and resolving
on better conduct.' The humility and piety which he discovers on such
occasions, is truely edifying. No saint, however, in the course of his
religious warfare, was more sensible of the unhappy failure of pious
resolves, than Johnson. He said one day, talking to an acquaintance on
this subject, 'Sir Hell is paved with good intentions.'

On Sunday, April 16, being Easter Day, after having attended the solemn
service at St. Paul's, I dined with Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Williams. I
maintained that Horace was wrong in placing happiness in Nil admirari,
for that I thought admiration one of the most agreeable of all our
feelings; and I regretted that I had lost much of my disposition to
admire, which people generally do as they advance in life. JOHNSON.
'Sir, as a man advances in life, he gets what is better than
admiration--judgement, to estimate things at their true value.' I still
insisted that admiration was more pleasing than judgement, as love is
more pleasing than friendship. The feeling of friendship is like that
of being comfortably filled with roast beef; love, like being enlivened
with champagne. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; admiration and love are like
being intoxicated with champagne; judgement and friendship like being
enlivened. Waller has hit upon the same thought with you: but I don't
believe you have borrowed from Waller. I wish you would enable yourself
to borrow more.'

He then took occasion to enlarge on the advantages of reading, and
combated the idle superficial notion, that knowledge enough may be
acquired in conversation. 'The foundation (said he,) must be laid by
reading. General principles must be had from books, which, however, must
be brought to the test of real life. In conversation you never get a
system. What is said upon a subject is to be gathered from a hundred
people. The parts of a truth, which a man gets thus, are at such a
distance from each other that he never attains to a full view.'

On Tuesday, April 15, he and I were engaged to go with Sir Joshua
Reynolds to dine with Mr. Cambridge, at his beautiful villa on the banks
of the Thames, near Twickenham. Dr. Johnson's tardiness was such, that
Sir Joshua, who had an appointment at Richmond, early in the day, was
obliged to go by himself on horseback, leaving his coach to Johnson and
me. Johnson was in such good spirits, that every thing seemed to please
him as we drove along.

Our conversation turned on a variety of subjects. He thought
portrait-painting an improper employment for a woman. 'Publick
practice of any art, (he observed,) and staring in men's faces, is very
indelicate in a female.' I happened to start a question, whether, when a
man knows that some of his intimate friends are invited to the house
of another friend, with whom they are all equally intimate, he may join
them without an invitation. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; he is not to go when he
is not invited. They may be invited on purpose to abuse him' (smiling).

As a curious instance how little a man knows, or wishes to know, his own
character in the world, or, rather, as a convincing proof that Johnson's
roughness was only external, and did not proceed from his heart, I
insert the following dialogue. JOHNSON. 'It is wonderful, Sir, how rare
a quality good humour is in life. We meet with very few good humoured
men.' I mentioned four of our friends, none of whom he would allow to be
good humoured. One was ACID, another was MUDDY, and to the others he had
objections which have escaped me. Then, shaking his head and stretching
himself at ease in the coach, and smiling with much complacency, he
turned to me and said, 'I look upon MYSELF as a good humoured fellow.'
The epithet FELLOW, applied to the great Lexicographer, the stately
Moralist, the masterly critick, as if he had been SAM Johnson, a mere
pleasant companion, was highly diverting; and this light notion of
himself struck me with wonder. I answered, also smiling, 'No, no, Sir;
that will NOT do. You are good natured, but not good humoured: you are
irascible. You have not patience with folly and absurdity. I believe you
would pardon them, if there were time to deprecate your vengeance; but
punishment follows so quick after sentence, that they cannot escape.

I had brought with me a great bundle of Scotch magazines and
news-papers, in which his Journey to the Western Islands was attacked in
every mode; and I read a great part of them to him, knowing they would
afford him entertainment. I wish the writers of them had been present:
they would have been sufficiently vexed. One ludicrous imitation of his
style, by Mr. Maclaurin, now one of the Scotch Judges, with the title of
Lord Dreghorn, was distinguished by him from the rude mass. 'This
(said he,) is the best. But I could caricature my own style much better
myself.' He defended his remark upon the general insufficiency of
education in Scotland; and confirmed to me the authenticity of his witty
saying on the learning of the Scotch;--'Their learning is like bread in
a besieged town: every man gets a little, but no man gets a full meal.'
'There is (said he,) in Scotland, a diffusion of learning, a certain
portion of it widely and thinly spread. A merchant there has as much
learning as one of their clergy.

No sooner had we made our bow to Mr. Cambridge, in his library, than
Johnson ran eagerly to one side of the room, intent on poring over the
backs of the books. Sir Joshua observed, (aside,) 'He runs to the books,
as I do to the pictures: but I have the advantage. I can see much more
of the pictures than he can of the books.' Mr. Cambridge, upon this,
politely said, 'Dr. Johnson, I am going, with your pardon, to accuse
myself, for I have the same custom which I perceive you have. But it
seems odd that one should have such a desire to look at the backs of
books.' Johnson, ever ready for contest, instantly started from his
reverie, wheeled about, and answered, 'Sir, the reason is very plain.
Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where
we can find information upon it. When we enquire into any subject, the
first thing we have to do is to know what books have treated of it. This
leads us to look at catalogues, and the backs of books in libraries.'
Sir Joshua observed to me the extraordinary promptitude with which
Johnson flew upon an argument. 'Yes, (said I,) he has no formal
preparation, no flourishing with his sword; he is through your body in
an instant.'

Johnson was here solaced with an elegant entertainment, a very
accomplished family, and much good company; among whom was Mr. Harris of
Salisbury, who paid him many compliments on his Journey to the Western
Islands.

The common remark as to the utility of reading history being
made;--JOHNSON. 'We must consider how very little history there is; I
mean real authentick history. That certain Kings reigned, and certain
battles were fought, we can depend upon as true; but all the colouring,
all the philosophy of history is conjecture.' BOSWELL. 'Then, Sir,
you would reduce all history to no better than an almanack, a mere
chronological series of remarkable events.' Mr. Gibbon, who must at
that time have been employed upon his History, of which he published the
first volume in the following year, was present; but did not step forth
in defence of that species of writing. He probably did not like to TRUST
himself with JOHNSON!

The Beggar's Opera, and the common question, whether it was pernicious
in its effects, having been introduced;--JOHNSON. 'As to this matter,
which has been very much contested, I myself am of opinion, that more
influence has been ascribed to The Beggar's Opera, than it in reality
ever had; for I do not believe that any man was ever made a rogue by
being present at its representation. At the same time I do not deny that
it may have some influence, by making the character of a rogue familiar,
and in some degree pleasing.' Then collecting himself as it were,
to give a heavy stroke: 'There is in it such a LABEFACTATION of all
principles, as may be injurious to morality.'

While he pronounced this response, we sat in a comical sort of
restraint, smothering a laugh, which we were afraid might burst out.

We talked of a young gentleman's* marriage with an eminent singer, and
his determination that she should no longer sing in publick, though
his father was very earnest she should, because her talents would be
liberally rewarded, so as to make her a good fortune. It was questioned
whether the young gentleman, who had not a shilling in the world, but
was blest with very uncommon talents, was not foolishly delicate, or
foolishly proud, and his father truely rational without being mean.
Johnson, with all the high spirit of a Roman senator, exclaimed, 'He
resolved wisely and nobly to be sure. He is a brave man. Would not a
gentleman be disgraced by having his wife singing publickly for hire?
No, Sir, there can be no doubt here. I know not if I should not PREPARE
myself for a publick singer, as readily as let my wife be one.'

     * Probably Richard Brinsley Sheridan, whose romantic
     marriage with the beautiful Elizabeth Linley took place in
     1773.  He became a member of the Club on Johnson's proposal.
     See below, p. 325.--ED.

Johnson arraigned the modern politicks of this country, as entirely
devoid of all principle of whatever kind. 'Politicks (said he,) are now
nothing more than means of rising in the world. With this sole view do
men engage in politicks, and their whole conduct proceeds upon it.'

Somebody found fault with writing verses in a dead language, maintaining
that they were merely arrangements of so many words, and laughed at the
Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, for sending forth collections of
them not only in Greek and Latin, but even in Syriac, Arabick, and
other more unknown tongues. JOHNSON. 'I would have as many of these as
possible; I would have verses in every language that there are the means
of acquiring. Nobody imagines that an University is to have at once
two hundred poets; but it should be able to show two hundred scholars.
Pieresc's death was lamented, I think, in forty languages. And I would
have had at every coronation, and every death of a King, every Gaudium,
and every Luctus, University verses, in as many languages as can be
acquired. I would have the world to be thus told, "Here is a school
where every thing may be learnt."'

Having set out next day on a visit to the Earl of Pembroke, at Wilton,
and to my friend, Mr. Temple, at Mamhead, in Devonshire, and not having
returned to town till the second of May, I did not see Dr. Johnson for
a considerable time, and during the remaining part of my stay in London,
kept very imperfect notes of his conversation, which had I according
to my usual custom written out at large soon after the time, much might
have been preserved, which is now irretrievably lost.

On Monday, May 8, we went together and visited the mansions of Bedlam.
I had been informed that he had once been there before with Mr.
Wedderburne, (now Lord Loughborough,) Mr. Murphy, and Mr. Foote; and I
had heard Foote give a very entertaining account of Johnson's happening
to have his attention arrested by a man who was very furious, and who,
while beating his straw, supposed it was William Duke of Cumberland,
whom he was punishing for his cruelties in Scotland, in 1746. There was
nothing peculiarly remarkable this day; but the general contemplation of
insanity was very affecting. I accompanied him home, and dined and drank
tea with him.

On Friday, May 12, as he had been so good as to assign me a room in his
house, where I might sleep occasionally, when I happened to sit with him
to a late hour, I took possession of it this night, found every thing
in excellent order, and was attended by honest Francis with a most civil
assiduity. I asked Johnson whether I might go to a consultation with
another lawyer upon Sunday, as that appeared to me to be doing work as
much in my way, as if an artisan should work on the day appropriated for
religious rest. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, when you are of consequence enough
to oppose the practice of consulting upon Sunday, you should do it: but
you may go now. It is not criminal, though it is not what one should do,
who is anxious for the preservation and increase of piety, to which a
peculiar observance of Sunday is a great help. The distinction is clear
between what is of moral and what is of ritual obligation.'

On Saturday, May 13, I breakfasted with him by invitation, accompanied
by Mr. Andrew Crosbie, a Scotch Advocate, whom he had seen at Edinburgh,
and the Hon. Colonel (now General) Edward Stopford, brother to Lord
Courtown, who was desirous of being introduced to him. His tea and rolls
and butter, and whole breakfast apparatus were all in such decorum,
and his behaviour was so courteous, that Colonel Stopford was quite
surprized, and wondered at his having heard so much said of Johnson's
slovenliness and roughness.

I passed many hours with him on the 17th, of which I find all my
memorial is, 'much laughing.' It should seem he had that day been in
a humour for jocularity and merriment, and upon such occasions I never
knew a man laugh more heartily. We may suppose, that the high relish
of a state so different from his habitual gloom, produced more than
ordinary exertions of that distinguishing faculty of man, which
has puzzled philosophers so much to explain. Johnson's laugh was as
remarkable as any circumstance in his manner. It was a kind of good
humoured growl. Tom Davies described it drolly enough: 'He laughs like a
rhinoceros.'

'TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--I have an old amanuensis in great distress. I have given
what I think I can give, and begged till I cannot tell where to beg
again. I put into his hands this morning four guineas. If you could
collect three guineas more, it would clear him from his present
difficulty. I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

'May 21, 1775.'

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

After my return to Scotland, I wrote three letters to him.

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,--I am returned from the annual ramble into the middle
counties. Having seen nothing I had not seen before, I have nothing
to relate. Time has left that part of the island few antiquities; and
commerce has left the people no singularities. I was glad to go abroad,
and, perhaps, glad to come home; which is, in other words, I was, I am
afraid, weary of being at home, and weary of being abroad. Is not this
the state of life? But, if we confess this weariness, let us not lament
it, for all the wise and all the good say, that we may cure it. . . .

'Mrs. Thrale was so entertained with your Journal,* that she almost read
herself blind. She has a great regard for you.

'Of Mrs. Boswell, though she knows in her heart that she does not love
me, I am always glad to hear any good, and hope that she and the little
dear ladies will have neither sickness nor any other affliction. But she
knows that she does not care what becomes of me, and for that she may be
sure that I think her very much to blame.

'Never, my dear Sir, do you take it into your head to think that I do
not love you; you may settle yourself in full confidence both of my love
and my esteem; I love you as a kind man, I value you as a worthy man,
and hope in time to reverence you as a man of exemplary piety. I hold
you, as Hamlet has it, "in my heart of hearts," and therefore, it is
little to say, that I am, Sir, your affectionate humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Aug. 27, 1775.'

     * My Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, which that lady read
     in the original manuscript.--BOSWELL.

'TO MR. ROBERT LEVET.

'Paris,* Oct. 22, 1775.

'DEAR SIR,--We are still here, commonly very busy in looking about us.
We have been to-day at Versailles. You have seen it, and I shall not
describe it. We came yesterday from Fontainbleau, where the Court is
now. We went to see the King and Queen at dinner, and the Queen was so
impressed by Miss,** that she sent one of the Gentlemen to enquire who
she was. I find all true that you have ever told me of Paris. Mr. Thrale
is very liberal, and keeps us two coaches, and a very fine table; but
I think our cookery very bad. Mrs. Thrale got into a convent of English
nuns; and I talked with her through the grate, and I am very kindly used
by the English Benedictine friars. But upon the whole I cannot make much
acquaintance here; and though the churches, palaces, and some private
houses are very magnificent, there is no very great pleasure after
having seen many, in seeing more; at least the pleasure, whatever it be,
must some time have an end, and we are beginning to think when we shall
come home. Mr. Thrale calculates that, as we left Streatham on the
fifteenth of September, we shall see it again about the fifteenth of
November.

     * Written from a tour in France with the Thrales, Johnson's
     only visit to the Continent.--ED.

     ** Miss Thrale.

'I think I had not been on this side of the sea five days before I found
a sensible improvement in my health. I ran a race in the rain this day,
and beat Baretti. Baretti is a fine fellow, and speaks French, I think,
quite as well as English.

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Williams; and give my love to Francis; and
tell my friends that I am not lost. I am, dear Sir, your affectionate
humble, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

It is to be regretted that he did not write an account of his travels
in France; for as he is reported to have once said, that 'he could write
the Life of a Broomstick,' so, notwithstanding so many former travellers
have exhausted almost every subject for remark in that great kingdom,
his very accurate observation, and peculiar vigour of thought and
illustration, would have produced a valuable work.

When I met him in London the following year, the account which he gave
me of his French tour, was, 'Sir, I have seen all the visibilities of
Paris, and around it; but to have formed an acquaintance with the people
there, would have required more time than I could stay. I was just
beginning to creep into acquaintance by means of Colonel Drumgold,
a very high man, Sir, head of L'Ecole Militaire, a most complete
character, for he had first been a professor of rhetorick, and then
became a soldier. And, Sir, I was very kindly treated by the English
Benedictines, and have a cell appropriated to me in their convent.'

He observed, 'The great in France live very magnificently, but the rest
very miserably. There is no happy middle state as in England. The shops
of Paris are mean; the meat in the markets is such as would be sent to a
gaol in England: and Mr. Thrale justly observed, that the cookery of the
French was forced upon them by necessity; for they could not eat their
meat, unless they added some taste to it. The French are an indelicate
people; they will spit upon any place. At Madame ------'s, a literary
lady of rank, the footman took the sugar in his fingers, and threw it
into my coffee. I was going to put it aside; but hearing it was made on
purpose for me, I e'en tasted Tom's fingers. The same lady would needs
make tea a l'Angloise. The spout of the tea-pot did not pour freely;
she had the footman blow into it. France is worse than Scotland in every
thing but climate. Nature has done more for the French; but they have
done less for themselves than the Scotch have done.'

It happened that Foote was at Paris at the same time with Dr. Johnson,
and his description of my friend while there, was abundantly ludicrous.
He told me, that the French were quite astonished at his figure and
manner, and at his dress, which he obstinately continued exactly as
in London;--his brown clothes, black stockings, and plain shirt. He
mentioned, that an Irish gentleman said to Johnson, 'Sir, you have not
seen the best French players.' JOHNSON. 'Players, Sir! I look on them as
no better than creatures set upon tables and joint-stools to make faces
and produce laughter, like dancing dogs.'--'But, Sir, you will allow
that some players are better than others?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, as some
dogs dance better than others.'

While Johnson was in France, he was generally very resolute in speaking
Latin. It was a maxim with him that a man should not let himself down,
by speaking a language which he speaks imperfectly. Indeed, we must have
often observed how inferiour, how much like a child a man appears, who
speaks a broken tongue. When Sir Joshua Reynolds, at one of the dinners
of the Royal Academy, presented him to a Frenchman of great distinction,
he would not deign to speak French, but talked Latin, though his
Excellency did not understand it, owing, perhaps, to Johnson's English
pronunciation: yet upon another occasion he was observed to speak French
to a Frenchman of high rank, who spoke English; and being asked the
reason, with some expression of surprise,--he answered, 'because I think
my French is as good as his English.' Though Johnson understood French
perfectly, he could not speak it readily, as I have observed at his
first interview with General Pauli, in 1769; yet he wrote it, I imagine,
pretty well.

Here let me not forget a curious anecdote, as related to me by Mr.
Beauclerk, which I shall endeavour to exhibit as well as I can in that
gentleman's lively manner; and in justice to him it is proper to add,
that Dr. Johnson told me I might rely both on the correctness of his
memory, and the fidelity of his narrative. 'When Madame de Boufflers was
first in England, (said Beauclerk,) she was desirous to see Johnson. I
accordingly went with her to his chambers in the Temple, where she was
entertained with his conversation for some time. When our visit was
over, she and I left him, and were got into Inner Temple-lane, when all
at once I heard a noise like thunder. This was occasioned by Johnson,
who it seems, upon a little recollection, had taken it into his head
that he ought to have done the honours of his literary residence to a
foreign lady of quality, and eager to shew himself a man of gallantry,
was hurrying down the stair-case in violent agitation. He overtook us
before we reached the Temple-gate, and brushing in between me and Madame
de Boufflers, seized her hand, and conducted her to her coach. His dress
was a rusty brown morning suit, a pair of old shoes by way of slippers,
a little shrivelled wig sticking on the top of his head, and the sleeves
of his shirt and the knees of his breeches hanging loose. A considerable
crowd of people gathered round, and were not a little struck by this
singular appearance.'

He spoke Latin with wonderful fluency and elegance. When Pere Boscovich
was in England, Johnson dined in company with him at Sir Joshua
Reynolds's, and at Dr. Douglas's, now Bishop of Salisbury. Upon both
occasions that celebrated foreigner expressed his astonishment at
Johnson's Latin conversation. When at Paris, Johnson thus characterised
Voltaire to Freron the Journalist: 'Vir est acerrimi ingenii et paucarum
literarum.'

In the course of this year Dr. Burney informs me that 'he very
frequently met Dr. Johnson at Mr. Thrale's, at Streatham, where they
had many long conversations, often sitting up as long as the fire
and candles lasted, and much longer than the patience of the servants
subsisted.'

A few of Johnson's sayings, which that gentleman recollects, shall here
be inserted.

'I never take a nap after dinner but when I have had a bad night, and
then the nap takes me.'

'The writer of an epitaph should not be considered as saying nothing
but what is strictly true. Allowance must be made for some degree of
exaggerated praise. In lapidary inscriptions a man is not upon oath.'

'There is now less flogging in our great schools than formerly, but then
less is learned there; so that what the boys get at one end they lose at
the other.'

'More is learned in publick than in private schools, from emulation;
there is the collision of mind with mind, or the radiation of many minds
pointing to one centre. Though few boys make their own exercises, yet if
a good exercise is given up, out of a great number of boys, it is made
by somebody.'

'I hate by-roads in education. Education is as well known, and has long
been as well known, as ever it can be. Endeavouring to make children
prematurely wise is useless labour. Suppose they have more knowledge at
five or six years old than other children, what use can be made of it?
It will be lost before it is wanted, and the waste of so much time and
labour of the teacher can never be repaid. Too much is expected from
precocity, and too little performed. Miss ---- was an instance of
early cultivation, but in what did it terminate? In marrying a little
Presbyterian parson, who keeps an infant boarding-school, so that all
her employment now is,

"To suckle fools, and chronicle small-beer."

She tells the children, "This is a cat, and that is a dog, with four
legs and a tail; see there! you are much better than a cat or a dog, for
you can speak." If I had bestowed such an education on a daughter, and
had discovered that she thought of marrying such a fellow, I would have
sent her to the Congress.'

'After having talked slightingly of musick, he was observed to listen
very attentively while Miss Thrale played on the harpsichord, and with
eagerness he called to her, "Why don't you dash away like Burney?" Dr.
Burney upon this said to him, "I believe, Sir, we shall make a musician
of you at last." Johnson with candid complacency replied, "Sir, I shall
be glad to have a new sense given to me."'

'He had come down one morning to the breakfast-room, and been a
considerable time by himself before any body appeared. When, on a
subsequent day, he was twitted by Mrs. Thrale for being very late, which
he generally was, he defended himself by alluding to the extraordinary
morning, when he had been too early. "Madame, I do not like to come down
to VACUITY."'

'Dr. Burney having remarked that Mr. Garrick was beginning to look old,
he said, "Why, Sir, you are not to wonder at that; no man's face has had
more wear and tear."'

1776: AETAT. 67.]--Having arrived in London late on Friday, the 15th of
March, I hastened next morning to wait on Dr. Johnson, at his house; but
found he was removed from Johnson's-court, No. 7, to Bolt-court, No. 8,
still keeping to his favourite Fleet-street. My reflection at the time
upon this change as marked in my Journal, is as follows: 'I felt a
foolish regret that he had left a court which bore his name;* but it was
not foolish to be affected with some tenderness of regard for a place
in which I had seen him a great deal, from whence I had often issued
a better and a happier man than when I went in, and which had often
appeared to my imagination while I trod its pavements, in the solemn
darkness of the night, to be sacred to wisdom and piety.' Being informed
that he was at Mr. Thrale's, in the Borough, I hastened thither, and
found Mrs. Thrale and him at breakfast. I was kindly welcomed. In a
moment he was in a full glow of conversation, and I felt myself elevated
as if brought into another state of being. Mrs. Thrale and I looked
to each other while he talked, and our looks expressed our congenial
admiration and affection for him. I shall ever recollect this scene with
great pleasure, I exclaimed to her, 'I am now, intellectually, Hermippus
redivivus, I am quite restored by him, by transfusion of mind.' 'There
are many (she replied) who admire and respect Mr. Johnson; but you and I
LOVE him.'

     * He said, when in Scotland, that he was Johnson of that
     Ilk.--BOSWELL.

He seemed very happy in the near prospect of going to Italy with Mr.
and Mrs. Thrale. 'But, (said he,) before leaving England I am to take
a jaunt to Oxford, Birmingham, my native city Lichfield, and my old
friend, Dr. Taylor's, at Ashbourn, in Derbyshire. I shall go in a few
days, and you, Boswell, shall go with me.' I was ready to accompany
him; being willing even to leave London to have the pleasure of his
conversation.

We got into a boat to cross over to Black-friars; and as we moved
along the Thames, I talked to him of a little volume, which, altogether
unknown to him, was advertised to be published in a few days, under the
title of Johnsoniana, or Bon-Mots of Dr. Johnson. JOHNSON. 'Sir, it is
a mighty impudent thing.' BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, could you have no redress
if you were to prosecute a publisher for bringing out, under your name,
what you never said, and ascribing to you dull stupid nonsense, or
making you swear profanely, as many ignorant relaters of your bon-mots
do?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; there will always be some truth mixed with the
falsehood, and how can it be ascertained how much is true and how much
is false? Besides, Sir, what damages would a jury give me for having
been represented as swearing?' BOSWELL. 'I think, Sir, you should at
least disavow such a publication, because the world and posterity
might with much plausible foundation say, "Here is a volume which was
publickly advertised and came out in Dr. Johnson's own time, and, by
his silence, was admitted by him to be genuine."' JOHNSON. 'I shall give
myself no trouble about the matter.'

He was, perhaps, above suffering from such spurious publications; but
I could not help thinking, that many men would be much injured in their
reputation, by having absurd and vicious sayings imputed to them; and
that redress ought in such cases to be given.

He said, 'The value of every story depends on its being true. A story is
a picture either of an individual or of human nature in general: if it
be false, it is a picture of nothing. For instance: suppose a man should
tell that Johnson, before setting out for Italy, as he had to cross the
Alps, sat down to make himself wings. This many people would believe;
but it would be a picture of nothing. ******* (naming a worthy friend of
ours,) used to think a story, a story, till I shewed him that truth was
essential to it.' I observed, that Foote entertained us with stories
which were not true; but that, indeed, it was properly not as narratives
that Foote's stories pleased us, but as collections of ludicrous images.
JOHNSON. 'Foote is quite impartial, for he tells lies of every body.'

The importance of strict and scrupulous veracity cannot be too often
inculcated. Johnson was known to be so rigidly attentive to it, that
even in his common conversation the slightest circumstance was mentioned
with exact precision. The knowledge of his having such a principle and
habit made his friends have a perfect reliance on the truth of every
thing that he told, however it might have been doubted if told by many
others. As an instance of this, I may mention an odd incident which
he related as having happened to him one night in Fleet-street. 'A
gentlewoman (said he) begged I would give her my arm to assist her in
crossing the street, which I accordingly did; upon which she offered me
a shilling, supposing me to be the watchman. I perceived that she was
somewhat in liquor.' This, if told by most people, would have been
thought an invention; when told by Johnson, it was believed by his
friends as much as if they had seen what passed.

We landed at the Temple-stairs, where we parted.

I found him in the evening in Mrs. Williams's room. Finding him still
persevering in his abstinence from wine, I ventured to speak to him of
it--JOHNSON. 'Sir, I have no objection to a man's drinking wine, if he
can do it in moderation. I found myself apt to go to excess in it, and
therefore, after having been for some time without it, on account of
illness, I thought it better not to return to it. Every man is to judge
for himself, according to the effects which he experiences. One of the
fathers tells us, he found fasting made him so peevish that he did not
practise it.'

Though he often enlarged upon the evil of intoxication, he was by no
means harsh and unforgiving to those who indulged in occasional excess
in wine. One of his friends, I well remember, came to sup at a tavern
with him and some other gentlemen, and too plainly discovered that he
had drunk too much at dinner. When one who loved mischief, thinking to
produce a severe censure, asked Johnson, a few days afterwards, 'Well,
Sir, what did your friend say to you, as an apology for being in such a
situation?' Johnson answered, 'Sir, he said all that a man SHOULD say:
he said he was sorry for it.'

I again visited him on Monday. He took occasion to enlarge, as he often
did, upon the wretchedness of a sea-life. 'A ship is worse than a gaol.
There is, in a gaol, better air, better company, better conveniency
of every kind; and a ship has the additional disadvantage of being in
danger. When men come to like a sea-life, they are not fit to live on
land.'--'Then (said I) it would be cruel in a father to breed his son
to the sea.' JOHNSON. 'It would be cruel in a father who thinks as I do.
Men go to sea, before they know the unhappiness of that way of life; and
when they have come to know it, they cannot escape from it, because it
is then too late to choose another profession; as indeed is generally
the case with men, when they have once engaged in any particular way of
life.'

On Tuesday, March 19, which was fixed for our proposed jaunt, we met in
the morning at the Somerset coffee-house in the Strand, where we were
taken up by the Oxford coach. He was accompanied by Mr. Gwyn, the
architect; and a gentleman of Merton College, whom we did not know,
had the fourth seat. We soon got into conversation; for it was very
remarkable of Johnson, that the presence of a stranger had no restraint
upon his talk. I observed that Garrick, who was about to quit the stage,
would soon have an easier life. JOHNSON. 'I doubt that, Sir.' BOSWELL.
'Why, Sir, he will be Atlas with the burthen off his back.' JOHNSON.
'But I know not, Sir, if he will be so steady without his load. However,
he should never play any more, but be entirely the gentleman, and not
partly the player: he should no longer subject himself to be hissed by
a mob, or to be insolently treated by performers, whom he used to rule
with a high hand, and who would gladly retaliate.' BOSWELL. 'I think
he should play once a year for the benefit of decayed actors, as it
has been said he means to do.' JOHNSON. 'Alas, Sir! he will soon be a
decayed actor himself.'

Johnson expressed his disapprobation of ornamental architecture, such
as magnificent columns supporting a portico, or expensive pilasters
supporting merely their own capitals, 'because it consumes labour
disproportionate to its utility.' For the same reason he satyrised
statuary. 'Painting (said he) consumes labour not disproportionate to
its effect; but a fellow will hack half a year at a block of marble
to make something in stone that hardly resembles a man. The value of
statuary is owing to its difficulty. You would not value the finest head
cut upon a carrot.'

Gwyn was a fine lively rattling fellow. Dr. Johnson kept him in
subjection, but with a kindly authority. The spirit of the artist,
however, rose against what he thought a Gothick attack, and he made
a brisk defence. 'What, Sir, will you allow no value to beauty in
architecture or in statuary? Why should we allow it then in writing? Why
do you take the trouble to give us so many fine allusions, and bright
images, and elegant phrases? You might convey all your instruction
without these ornaments.' Johnson smiled with complacency; but said,
'Why, Sir, all these ornaments are useful, because they obtain an easier
reception for truth; but a building is not at all more convenient for
being decorated with superfluous carved work.'

Gwyn at last was lucky enough to make one reply to Dr. Johnson, which he
allowed to be excellent. Johnson censured him for taking down a church
which might have stood many years, and building a new one at a different
place, for no other reason but that there might be a direct road to a
new bridge; and his expression was, 'You are taking a church out of the
way, that the people may go in a straight line to the bridge.'--'No,
Sir, (said Gwyn,) I am putting the church IN the way, that the people
may not GO OUT OF THE WAY.' JOHNSON. (with a hearty loud laugh of
approbation,) 'Speak no more. Rest your colloquial fame upon this.'

Upon our arrival at Oxford, Dr. Johnson and I went directly to
University College, but were disappointed on finding that one of the
fellows, his friend Mr. Scott, who accompanied him from Newcastle to
Edinburgh, was gone to the country. We put up at the Angel inn, and
passed the evening by ourselves in easy and familiar conversation.
Talking of constitutional melancholy, he observed, 'A man so afflicted,
Sir, must divert distressing thoughts, and not combat with them.'
BOSWELL. 'May not he think them down, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir. To
attempt to THINK THEM DOWN is madness. He should have a lamp constantly
burning in his bed-chamber during the night, and if wakefully disturbed,
take a book, and read, and compose himself to rest. To have the
management of the mind is a great art, and it may be attained in a
considerable degree by experience and habitual exercise.' BOSWELL.
'Should not he provide amusements for himself? Would it not, for
instance, be right for him to take a course of chymistry?' JOHNSON. 'Let
him take a course of chymistry, or a course of rope-dancing, or a course
of any thing to which he is inclined at the time. Let him contrive to
have as many retreats for his mind as he can, as many things to which it
can fly from itself. Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy is a valuable work.
It is, perhaps, overloaded with quotation. But there is great spirit and
great power in what Burton says, when he writes from his own mind.'

Next morning we visited Dr. Wetherell, Master of University College,
with whom Dr. Johnson conferred on the most advantageous mode of
disposing of the books printed at the Clarendon press. I often had
occasion to remark, Johnson loved business, loved to have his wisdom
actually operate on real life.

We then went to Pembroke College, and waited on his old friend Dr.
Adams, the master of it, whom I found to be a most polite, pleasing,
communicative man. Before his advancement to the headship of his
college, I had intended to go and visit him at Shrewsbury, where he was
rector of St. Chad's, in order to get from him what particulars he could
recollect of Johnson's academical life. He now obligingly gave me part
of that authentick information, which, with what I afterwards owed to
his kindness, will be found incorporated in its proper place in this
work.

Dr. Adams told us, that in some of the Colleges at Oxford, the fellows
had excluded the students from social intercourse with them in the
common room. JOHNSON. 'They are in the right, Sir: there can be no real
conversation, no fair exertion of mind amongst them, if the young men
are by; for a man who has a character does not choose to stake it
in their presence.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, may there not be very good
conversation without a contest for superiority?' JOHNSON. 'No animated
conversation, Sir, for it cannot be but one or other will come off
superiour. I do not mean that the victor must have the better of the
argument, for he may take the weak side; but his superiority of parts
and knowledge will necessarily appear: and he to whom he thus shews
himself superiour is lessened in the eyes of the young men.'

We walked with Dr. Adams into the master's garden, and into the common
room. JOHNSON. (after a reverie of meditation,) 'Ay! Here I used to play
at draughts with Phil. Jones and Fludyer. Jones loved beer, and did not
get very forward in the church. Fludyer turned out a scoundrel, a Whig,
and said he was ashamed of having been bred at Oxford. He had a living
at Putney, and got under the eye of some retainers to the court at that
time, and so became a violent Whig: but he had been a scoundrel all
along to be sure.' BOSWELL. 'Was he a scoundrel, Sir, in any other way
than that of being a political scoundrel? Did he cheat at draughts?'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, we never played for MONEY.'

He then carried me to visit Dr. Bentham, Canon of Christ-Church, and
Divinity Professor, with whose learned and lively conversation we were
much pleased. He gave us an invitation to dinner, which Dr. Johnson told
me was a high honour. 'Sir, it is a great thing to dine with the Canons
of Christ-Church.' We could not accept his invitation, as we were
engaged to dine at University College. We had an excellent dinner there,
with the Master and Fellows, it being St. Cuthbert's day, which is kept
by them as a festival, as he was a saint of Durham, with which this
college is much connected.

We drank tea with Dr. Horne, late President of Magdalen College, and
Bishop of Norwich, of whose abilities, in different respects, the
publick has had eminent proofs, and the esteem annexed to whose
character was increased by knowing him personally.

We then went to Trinity College, where he introduced me to Mr. Thomas
Warton, with whom we passed a part of the evening. We talked of
biography--JOHNSON. 'It is rarely well executed. They only who live with
a man can write his life with any genuine exactness and discrimination;
and few people who have lived with a man know what to remark about him.
The chaplain of a late Bishop, whom I was to assist in writing some
memoirs of his Lordship, could tell me scarcely any thing.'

I said, Mr. Robert Dodsley's life should be written, as he had been so
much connected with the wits of his time, and by his literary merit had
raised himself from the station of a footman. Mr. Warton said, he
had published a little volume under the title of The Muse in Livery.
JOHNSON. 'I doubt whether Dodsley's brother would thank a man who should
write his life: yet Dodsley himself was not unwilling that his original
low condition should be recollected. When Lord Lyttelton's Dialogues of
the Dead came out, one of which is between Apicius, an ancient epicure,
and Dartineuf, a modern epicure, Dodsley said to me, "I knew Dartineuf
well, for I was once his footman."'

I mentioned Sir Richard Steele having published his Christian Hero, with
the avowed purpose of obliging himself to lead a religious life; yet,
that his conduct was by no means strictly suitable. JOHNSON. 'Steele, I
believe, practised the lighter vices.'

Mr. Warton, being engaged, could not sup with us at our inn; we had
therefore another evening by ourselves. I asked Johnson, whether a man's
being forward to make himself known to eminent people, and seeing as
much of life, and getting as much information as he could in every way,
was not yet lessening himself by his forwardness. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, a
man always makes himself greater as he increases his knowledge.

I censured some ludicrous fantastick dialogues between two coach-horses
and other such stuff, which Baretti had lately published. He joined with
me, and said, 'Nothing odd will do long. Tristram Shandy did not last.'
I expressed a desire to be acquainted with a lady who had been much
talked of, and universally celebrated for extraordinary address and
insinuation. JOHNSON. 'Never believe extraordinary characters which you
hear of people. Depend upon it, Sir, they are exaggerated. You do not
see one man shoot a great deal higher than another.' I mentioned Mr.
Burke. JOHNSON. 'Yes; Burke is an extraordinary man. His stream of mind
is perpetual.' It is very pleasing to me to record, that Johnson's high
estimation of the talents of this gentleman was uniform from their early
acquaintance. Sir Joshua Reynolds informs me, that when Mr. Burke was
first elected a member of Parliament, and Sir John Hawkins expressed
a wonder at his attaining a seat, Johnson said, 'Now we who know Mr.
Burke, know, that he will be one of the first men in this country.' And
once, when Johnson was ill, and unable to exert himself as much as usual
without fatigue, Mr. Burke having been mentioned, he said, 'That fellow
calls forth all my powers. Were I to see Burke now it would kill me.' So
much was he accustomed to consider conversation as a contest, and such
was his notion of Burke as an opponent.

Next morning, Thursday, March 21, we set out in a post-chaise to pursue
our ramble. It was a delightful day, and we rode through Blenheim
park. When I looked at the magnificent bridge built by John Duke of
Marlborough, over a small rivulet, and recollected the Epigram made upon
it--

     'The lofty arch his high ambition shows,
     The stream, an emblem of his bounty flows:'

and saw that now, by the genius of Brown, a magnificent body of water
was collected, I said, 'They have DROWNED the Epigram.' I observed to
him, while in the midst of the noble scene around us, 'You and I,
Sir, have, I think, seen together the extremes of what can be seen in
Britain:--the wild rough island of Mull, and Blenheim park.'

We dined at an excellent inn at Chapel-house, where he expatiated on
the felicity of England in its taverns and inns, and triumphed over the
French for not having, in any perfection, the tavern life. 'There is no
private house, (said he,) in which people can enjoy themselves so
well, as at a capital tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty of
good things, ever so much grandeur, ever so much elegance, ever so much
desire that every body should be easy; in the nature of things it cannot
be: there must always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of
the house is anxious to entertain his guests; the guests are anxious to
be agreeable to him: and no man, but a very impudent dog indeed, can as
freely command what is in another man's house, as if it were his own.
Whereas, at a tavern, there is a general freedom from anxiety. You are
sure you are welcome: and the more noise you make, the more trouble
you give, the more good things you call for, the welcomer you are. No
servants will attend you with the alacrity which waiters do, who are
incited by the prospect of an immediate reward, in proportion as they
please. No, Sir; there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man,
by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.'* He
then repeated, with great emotion, Shenstone's lines:--

         'Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
            Where'er his stages may have been,
          May sigh to think he still has found
            The warmest welcome at an inn.'

     * Sir John Hawkins has preserved very few Memorabilia of
     Johnson. There is, however, to be found, in his bulky tome
     [p. 87], a very excellent one upon this subject:--'In
     contradiction to those, who, having a wife and children,
     prefer domestick enjoyments to those which a tavern affords,
     I have heard him assert, that a tavern chair was the throne
     of human felicity.--"As soon," said he, "as I enter the door
     of a tavern, I experience an oblivion of care, and a freedom
     from solicitude: when I am seated, I find the master
     courteous, and the servants obsequious to my call; anxious
     to know and ready to supply my wants: wine there exhilarates
     my spirits, and prompts me to free conversation and an
     interchange of discourse with those whom I most love: I
     dogmatise and am contradicted, and in this conflict of
     opinions and sentiments I find delight."'--BOSWELL.

In the afternoon, as we were driven rapidly along in the post-chaise, he
said to me 'Life has not many things better than this.'

We stopped at Stratford-upon-Avon, and drank tea and coffee; and it
pleased me to be with him upon the classick ground of Shakspeare's
native place.

He spoke slightingly of Dyer's Fleece.--'The subject, Sir, cannot be
made poetical. How can a man write poetically of serges and druggets?
Yet you will hear many people talk to you gravely of that excellent
poem, The Fleece.' Having talked of Grainger's Sugar-Cane, I mentioned
to him Mr. Langton's having told me, that this poem, when read in
manuscript at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, had made all the assembled wits
burst into a laugh, when, after much blank-verse pomp, the poet began a
new paragraph thus:--

'Now, Muse, let's sing of rats.'

And what increased the ridicule was, that one of the company, who slily
overlooked the reader, perceived that the word had been originally MICE,
and had been altered to RATS, as more dignified.

Johnson said, that Dr. Grainger was an agreeable man; a man who would do
any good that was in his power. His translation of Tibullus, he thought,
was very well done; but The Sugar-Cane, a poem, did not please him; for,
he exclaimed, 'What could he make of a sugar-cane? One might as well
write the "Parsley-bed, a Poem;" or "The Cabbage-garden, a Poem."'
BOSWELL. 'You must then pickle your cabbage with the sal atticum.'
JOHNSON. 'You know there is already The Hop-Garden, a Poem: and, I
think, one could say a great deal about cabbage. The poem might begin
with the advantages of civilized society over a rude state, exemplified
by the Scotch, who had no cabbages till Oliver Cromwell's soldiers
introduced them; and one might thus shew how arts are propagated by
conquest, as they were by the Roman arms.' He seemed to be much diverted
with the fertility of his own fancy.

I told him, that I heard Dr. Percy was writing the history of the wolf
in Great-Britain. JOHNSON. 'The wolf, Sir! why the wolf? why does he
not write of the bear, which we had formerly? Nay, it is said we had the
beaver. Or why does he not write of the grey rat, the Hanover rat, as it
is called, because it is said to have come into this country about the
time that the family of Hanover came? I should like to see The History
of the Grey Rat, by Thomas Percy, D. D., Chaplain in Ordinary to
his Majesty,' (laughing immoderately). BOSWELL. 'I am afraid a court
chaplain could not decently write of the grey rat.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, he
need not give it the name of the Hanover rat.' Thus could he indulge a
luxuriant sportive imagination, when talking of a friend whom he loved
and esteemed.

On Friday, March 22, having set out early from Henley, where we had lain
the preceding night, we arrived at Birmingham about nine o'clock, and,
after breakfast, went to call on his old schoolfellow Mr. Hector. A very
stupid maid, who opened the door, told us, that 'her master was gone
out; he was gone to the country; she could not tell when he would
return.' In short, she gave us a miserable reception; and Johnson
observed, 'She would have behaved no better to people who wanted him in
the way of his profession.' He said to her, 'My name is Johnson; tell
him I called. Will you remember the name?' She answered with rustick
simplicity, in the Warwickshire pronunciation, 'I don't understand
you, Sir.'--'Blockhead, (said he,) I'll write.' I never heard the word
blockhead applied to a woman before, though I do not see why it should
not, when there is evident occasion for it. He, however, made another
attempt to make her understand him, and roared loud in her ear,
'Johnson,' and then she catched the sound.

We next called on Mr. Lloyd, one of the people called Quakers. He too
was not at home; but Mrs. Lloyd was, and received us courteously, and
asked us to dinner. Johnson said to me, 'After the uncertainty of all
human things at Hector's, this invitation came very well.' We walked
about the town, and he was pleased to see it increasing.

Mr. Lloyd joined us in the street; and in a little while we met Friend
Hector, as Mr. Lloyd called him. It gave me pleasure to observe the joy
which Johnson and he expressed on seeing each other again. Mr. Lloyd
and I left them together, while he obligingly shewed me some of the
manufactures of this very curious assemblage of artificers. We all
met at dinner at Mr. Lloyd's, where we were entertained with great
hospitality. Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd had been married the same year with
their Majesties, and like them, had been blessed with a numerous family
of fine children, their numbers being exactly the same. Johnson said,
'Marriage is the best state for a man in general; and every man is a
worse man, in proportion as he is unfit for the married state.'

Dr. Johnson said to me in the morning, 'You will see, Sir, at Mr.
Hector's, his sister, Mrs. Careless, a clergyman's widow. She was
the first woman with whom I was in love. It dropt out of my head
imperceptibly; but she and I shall always have a kindness for each
other.' He laughed at the notion that a man never can be really in love
but once, and considered it as a mere romantick fancy.

On our return from Mr. Bolton's, Mr. Hector took me to his house, where
we found Johnson sitting placidly at tea, with his first love; who,
though now advanced in years, was a genteel woman, very agreeable, and
well-bred.

Johnson lamented to Mr. Hector the state of one of their school-fellows,
Mr. Charles Congreve, a clergyman, which he thus described: 'He
obtained, I believe, considerable preferment in Ireland, but now lives
in London, quite as a valetudinarian, afraid to go into any house but
his own. He takes a short airing in his post-chaise every day. He has
an elderly woman, whom he calls cousin, who lives with him, and jogs
his elbow when his glass has stood too long empty, and encourages him in
drinking, in which he is very willing to be encouraged; not that he gets
drunk, for he is a very pious man, but he is always muddy. He confesses
to one bottle of port every day, and he probably drinks more. He is
quite unsocial; his conversation is quite monosyllabical: and when,
at my last visit, I asked him what a clock it was? that signal of my
departure had so pleasing an effect on him, that he sprung up to look at
his watch, like a greyhound bounding at a hare.' When Johnson took leave
of Mr. Hector, he said, 'Don't grow like Congreve; nor let me grow like
him, when you are near me.'

When he again talked of Mrs. Careless to-night, he seemed to have had
his affection revived; for he said, 'If I had married her, it might
have been as happy for me.' BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, do you not suppose that
there are fifty women in the world, with any one of whom a man may be
as happy, as with any one woman in particular?' JOHNSON. 'Ay, Sir, fifty
thousand.' BOSWELL. 'Then, Sir, you are not of opinion with some who
imagine that certain men and certain women are made for each other; and
that they cannot be happy if they miss their counterparts?' JOHNSON. 'To
be sure not, Sir. I believe marriages would in general be as happy, and
often more so, if they were all made by the Lord Chancellor, upon a
due consideration of characters and circumstances, without the parties
having any choice in the matter.'

I wished to have staid at Birmingham to-night, to have talked more with
Mr. Hector; but my friend was impatient to reach his native city; so we
drove on that stage in the dark, and were long pensive and silent. When
we came within the focus of the Lichfield lamps, 'Now (said he,) we are
getting out of a state of death.' We put up at the Three Crowns, not one
of the great inns, but a good old fashioned one, which was kept by Mr.
Wilkins, and was the very next house to that in which Johnson was
born and brought up, and which was still his own property. We had a
comfortable supper, and got into high spirits. I felt all my Toryism
glow in this old capital of Staffordshire. I could have offered incense
genio loci; and I indulged in libations of that ale, which Boniface, in
The Beaux Stratagem, recommends with such an eloquent jollity.

Next morning he introduced me to Mrs. Lucy Porter, his step-daughter.
She was now an old maid, with much simplicity of manner. She had never
been in London. Her brother, a Captain in the navy, had left her a
fortune of ten thousand pounds; about a third of which she had laid
out in building a stately house, and making a handsome garden, in an
elevated situation in Lichfield. Johnson, when here by himself, used to
live at her house. She reverenced him, and he had a parental tenderness
for her.

We then visited Mr. Peter Garrick, who had that morning received a
letter from his brother David, announcing our coming to Lichfield. He
was engaged to dinner, but asked us to tea, and to sleep at his house.
Johnson, however, would not quit his old acquaintance Wilkins, of the
Three Crowns. The family likeness of the Garricks was very striking; and
Johnson thought that David's vivacity was not so peculiar to himself as
was supposed. 'Sir, (said he,) I don't know but if Peter had cultivated
all the arts of gaiety as much as David has done, he might have been
as brisk and lively. Depend upon it, Sir, vivacity is much an art, and
depends greatly on habit.' I believe there is a good deal of truth in
this, notwithstanding a ludicrous story told me by a lady abroad, of a
heavy German baron, who had lived much with the young English at Geneva,
and was ambitious to be as lively as they; with which view, he, with
assiduous exertion, was jumping over the tables and chairs in his
lodgings; and when the people of the house ran in and asked, with
surprize, what was the matter, he answered, 'Sh' apprens t'etre fif.'

We dined at our inn, and had with us a Mr. Jackson, one of Johnson's
schoolfellows, whom he treated with much kindness, though he seemed
to be a low man, dull and untaught. He had a coarse grey coat, black
waistcoat, greasy leather breeches, and a yellow uncurled wig; and his
countenance had the ruddiness which betokens one who is in no haste
to 'leave his can.' He drank only ale. He had tried to be a cutler at
Birmingham, but had not succeeded; and now he lived poorly at home, and
had some scheme of dressing leather in a better manner than common;
to his indistinct account of which, Dr. Johnson listened with patient
attention, that he might assist him with his advice. Here was an
instance of genuine humanity and real kindness in this great man, who
has been most unjustly represented as altogether harsh and destitute of
tenderness. A thousand such instances might have been recorded in the
course of his long life; though that his temper was warm and hasty, and
his manner often rough, cannot be denied.

I saw here, for the first time, oat ale; and oat cakes not hard as in
Scotland, but soft like a Yorkshire cake, were served at breakfast. It
was pleasant to me to find, that Oats, the food of horses, were so much
used as the food of the people in Dr. Johnson's own town. He expatiated
in praise of Lichfield and its inhabitants, who, he said, were 'the most
sober, decent people in England, the genteelest in proportion to their
wealth, and spoke the purest English.' I doubted as to the last article
of this eulogy: for they had several provincial sounds; as THERE,
pronounced like FEAR, instead of like FAIR; ONCE pronounced WOONSE,
instead of WUNSE, or WONSE. Johnson himself never got entirely free
of those provincial accents. Garrick sometimes used to take him off,
squeezing a lemon into a punch-bowl, with uncouth gesticulations,
looking round the company, and calling out, 'Who's for POONSH?'

Very little business appeared to be going forward in Lichfield. I found
however two strange manufactures for so inland a place, sail-cloth and
streamers for ships; and I observed them making some saddle-cloths,
and dressing sheepskins: but upon the whole, the busy hand of industry
seemed to be quite slackened. 'Surely, Sir, (said I,) you are an idle
set of people.' 'Sir, (said Johnson,) we are a city of philosophers, we
work with our heads, and make the boobies of Birmingham work for us with
their hands.'

There was at this time a company of players performing at Lichfield, The
manager, Mr. Stanton, sent his compliments, and begged leave to wait on
Dr. Johnson. Johnson received him very courteously, and he drank a glass
of wine with us. He was a plain decent well-behaved man, and expressed
his gratitude to Dr. Johnson for having once got him permission from Dr.
Taylor at Ashbourne to play there upon moderate terms. Garrick's
name was soon introduced. JOHNSON. 'Garrick's conversation is gay and
grotesque. It is a dish of all sorts, but all good things. There is no
solid meat in it: there is a want of sentiment in it. Not but that he
has sentiment sometimes, and sentiment, too, very powerful and very
pleasing: but it has not its full proportion in his conversation.'

When we were by ourselves he told me, 'Forty years ago, Sir, I was in
love with an actress here, Mrs. Emmet, who acted Flora, in Hob in the
Well.' What merit this lady had as an actress, or what was her figure,
or her manner, I have not been informed: but, if we may believe Mr.
Garrick, his old master's taste in theatrical merit was by no means
refined; he was not an elegans formarum spectator. Garrick used to
tell, that Johnson said of an actor, who played Sir Harry Wildair at
Lichfield, 'There is a courtly vivacity about the fellow;' when in fact,
according to Garrick's account, 'he was the most vulgar ruffian that
ever went upon boards.'

We had promised Mr. Stanton to be at his theatre on Monday. Dr. Johnson
jocularly proposed me to write a Prologue for the occasion: 'A Prologue,
by James Boswell, Esq. from the Hebrides.' I was really inclined to take
the hint. Methought, 'Prologue, spoken before Dr. Samuel Johnson, at
Lichfield, 1776;' would have sounded as well as, 'Prologue, spoken
before the Duke of York, at Oxford,' in Charles the Second's time.
Much might have been said of what Lichfield had done for Shakspeare, by
producing Johnson and Garrick. But I found he was averse to it.

We went and viewed the museum of Mr. Richard Green, apothecary here,
who told me he was proud of being a relation of Dr. Johnson's. It
was, truely, a wonderful collection, both of antiquities and natural
curiosities, and ingenious works of art. He had all the articles
accurately arranged, with their names upon labels, printed at his own
little press; and on the staircase leading to it was a board, with the
names of contributors marked in gold letters. A printed catalogue of
the collection was to be had at a bookseller's. Johnson expressed his
admiration of the activity and diligence and good fortune of Mr. Green,
in getting together, in his situation, so great a variety of things; and
Mr. Green told me that Johnson once said to him, 'Sir, I should as soon
have thought of building a man of war, as of collecting such a museum.'
Mr. Green's obliging alacrity in shewing it was very pleasing.

We drank tea and coffee at Mr. Peter Garrick's, where was Mrs. Aston,
one of the maiden sisters of Mrs. Walmsley, wife of Johnson's first
friend, and sister also of the lady of whom Johnson used to speak with
the warmest admiration, by the name of Molly Aston, who was afterwards
married to Captain Brodie of the navy.

On Sunday, March 24, we breakfasted with Mrs. Cobb, a widow lady, who
lived in an agreeable sequestered place close by the town, called the
Friary, it having been formerly a religious house. She and her niece,
Miss Adey, were great admirers of Dr. Johnson; and he behaved to them
with a kindness and easy pleasantry, such as we see between old and
intimate acquaintance. He accompanied Mrs. Cobb to St. Mary's church,
and I went to the cathedral, where I was very much delighted with the
musick, finding it to be peculiarly solemn and accordant with the words
of the service.

We dined at Mr. Peter Garrick's, who was in a very lively humour, and
verified Johnson's saying, that if he had cultivated gaiety as much as
his brother David, he might have equally excelled in it. He was to-day
quite a London narrator, telling us a variety of anecdotes with that
earnestness and attempt at mimicry which we usually find in the wits
of the metropolis. Dr. Johnson went with me to the cathedral in the
afternoon. It was grand and pleasing to contemplate this illustrious
writer, now full of fame, worshipping in the 'solemn temple' of his
native city.

I returned to tea and coffee at Mr. Peter Garrick's, and then found Dr.
Johnson at the Reverend Mr. Seward's, Canon Residentiary, who inhabited
the Bishop's palace, in which Mr. Walmsley lived, and which had been the
scene of many happy hours in Johnson's early life.

On monday, March 25, we breakfasted at Mrs. Lucy Porter's. Johnson
had sent an express to Dr. Taylor's, acquainting him of our being at
Lichfield, and Taylor had returned an answer that his postchaise should
come for us this day. While we sat at breakfast, Dr. Johnson received a
letter by the post, which seemed to agitate him very much. When he
had read it, he exclaimed, 'One of the most dreadful things that has
happened in my time.' The phrase my time, like the word age, is usually
understood to refer to an event of a publick or general nature. I
imagined something like an assassination of the King--like a gunpowder
plot carried into execution--or like another fire of London. When asked,
'What is it, Sir?' he answered, 'Mr. Thrale has lost his only son!' This
was, no doubt, a very great affliction to Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, which
their friends would consider accordingly; but from the manner in which
the intelligence of it was communicated by Johnson, it appeared for
the moment to be comparatively small. I, however, soon felt a sincere
concern, and was curious to observe, how Dr. Johnson would be affected.
He said, 'This is a total extinction to their family, as much as if
they were sold into captivity.' Upon my mentioning that Mr. Thrale had
daughters, who might inherit his wealth;--'Daughters, (said Johnson,
warmly,) he'll no more value his daughters than--' I was going to
speak.--'Sir, (said he,) don't you know how you yourself think? Sir, he
wishes to propagate his name.' In short, I saw male succession strong in
his mind, even where there was no name, no family of any long standing.
I said, it was lucky he was not present when this misfortune happened.
JOHNSON. 'It is lucky for ME. People in distress never think that you
feel enough.' BOSWELL. 'And Sir, they will have the hope of seeing you,
which will be a relief in the mean time; and when you get to them, the
pain will be so far abated, that they will be capable of being consoled
by you, which, in the first violence of it, I believe, would not be the
case.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; violent pain of mind, like violent pain of
body, MUST be severely felt.' BOSWELL. 'I own, Sir, I have not so much
feeling for the distress of others, as some people have, or pretend to
have: but I know this, that I would do all in my power to relieve them.'
JOHNSON. 'Sir it is affectation to pretend to feel the distress of
others, as much as they do themselves. It is equally so, as if one
should pretend to feel as much pain while a friend's leg is cutting off,
as he does. No, Sir; you have expressed the rational and just nature
of sympathy. I would have gone to the extremity of the earth to have
preserved this boy.'

He was soon quite calm. The letter was from Mr. Thrale's clerk, and
concluded, 'I need not say how much they wish to see you in London.' He
said, 'We shall hasten back from Taylor's.'

Mrs. Lucy Porter and some other ladies of the place talked a great
deal of him when he was out of the room, not only with veneration but
affection. It pleased me to find that he was so much BELOVED in his
native city.

Mrs. Aston, whom I had seen the preceding night, and her sister, Mrs.
Gastrel, a widow lady, had each a house and garden, and pleasure-ground,
prettily situated upon Stowhill, a gentle eminence, adjoining to
Lichfield. Johnson walked away to dinner there, leaving me by myself
without any apology; I wondered at this want of that facility of
manners, from which a man has no difficulty in carrying a friend to a
house where he is intimate; I felt it very unpleasant to be thus left in
solitude in a country town, where I was an entire stranger, and began to
think myself unkindly deserted; but I was soon relieved, and convinced
that my friend, instead of being deficient in delicacy, had conducted
the matter with perfect propriety, for I received the following note in
his handwriting: 'Mrs. Gastrel, at the lower house on Stowhill, desires
Mr. Boswell's company to dinner at two.' I accepted of the invitation,
and had here another proof how amiable his character was in the opinion
of those who knew him best. I was not informed, till afterwards,
that Mrs. Gastrel's husband was the clergyman who, while he lived at
Stratford upon Avon, where he was proprietor of Shakspeare's garden,
with Gothick barbarity cut down his mulberry-tree, and, as Dr. Johnson
told me, did it to vex his neighbours. His lady, I have reason to
believe, on the same authority, participated in the guilt of what the
enthusiasts for our immortal bard deem almost a species of sacrilege.

After dinner Dr. Johnson wrote a letter to Mrs. Thrale on the death of
her son. I said it would be very distressing to Thrale, but she would
soon forget it, as she had so many things to think of. JOHNSON. 'No,
Sir, Thrale will forget it first. SHE has many things that she MAY think
of. HE has many things that he MUST think of.' This was a very just
remark upon the different effect of those light pursuits which occupy
a vacant and easy mind, and those serious engagements which arrest
attention, and keep us from brooding over grief.

In the evening we went to the Town-hall, which was converted into a
temporary theatre, and saw Theodosius, with The Stratford Jubilee. I was
happy to see Dr. Johnson sitting in a conspicuous part of the pit, and
receiving affectionate homage from all his acquaintance. We were quite
gay and merry. I afterwards mentioned to him that I condemned myself for
being so, when poor Mr. and Mrs. Thrale were in such distress. JOHNSON.
'You are wrong, Sir; twenty years hence Mr. and Mrs. Thrale will not
suffer much pain from the death of their son. Now, Sir, you are to
consider, that distance of place, as well as distance of time, operates
upon the human feelings. I would not have you be gay in the presence
of the distressed, because it would shock them; but you may be gay at a
distance. Pain for the loss of a friend, or of a relation whom we love,
is occasioned by the want which we feel. In time the vacuity is filled
with something else; or sometimes the vacuity closes up of itself.'

Mr. Seward and Mr. Pearson, another clergyman here, supt with us at our
inn, and after they left us, we sat up late as we used to do in London.

Here I shall record some fragments of my friend's conversation during
this jaunt.

'Marriage, Sir, is much more necessary to a man than to a woman; for he
is much less able to supply himself with domestick comforts. You will
recollect my saying to some ladies the other day, that I had often
wondered why young women should marry, as they have so much more
freedom, and so much more attention paid to them while unmarried, than
when married. I indeed did not mention the STRONG reason for their
marrying--the MECHANICAL reason.' BOSWELL. 'Why, that IS a strong one.
But does not imagination make it much more important than it is in
reality? Is it not, to a certain degree, a delusion in us as well as
in women?' JOHNSON. 'Why yes, Sir; but it is a delusion that is always
beginning again.' BOSWELL. 'I don't know but there is upon the whole
more misery than happiness produced by that passion.' JOHNSON. 'I don't
think so, Sir.'

'Never speak of a man in his own presence. It is always indelicate, and
may be offensive.'

'Questioning is not the mode of conversation among gentlemen. It is
assuming a superiority, and it is particularly wrong to question a man
concerning himself. There may be parts of his former life which he may
not wish to be made known to other persons, or even brought to his own
recollection.'

'A man should be careful never to tell tales of himself to his own
disadvantage. People may be amused and laugh at the time, but they
will be remembered, and brought out against him upon some subsequent
occasion.'

'Much may be done if a man puts his whole mind to a particular object.
By doing so, Norton has made himself the great lawyer that he is allowed
to be.'

On Tuesday, March 26, there came for us an equipage properly suited to a
wealthy well-beneficed clergyman;--Dr. Taylor's large roomy post-chaise,
drawn by four stout plump horses, and driven by two steady jolly
postillions, which conveyed us to Ashbourne; where I found my friend's
schoolfellow living upon an establishment perfectly corresponding
with his substantial creditable equipage: his house, garden,
pleasure-grounds, table, in short every thing good, and no scantiness
appearing. Every man should form such a plan of living as he can execute
completely. Let him not draw an outline wider than he can fill up. I
have seen many skeletons of shew and magnificence which excite at once
ridicule and pity. Dr. Taylor had a good estate of his own, and good
preferment in the church, being a prebendary of Westminster, and rector
of Bosworth. He was a diligent justice of the peace, and presided over
the town of Ashbourne, to the inhabitants of which I was told he was
very liberal; and as a proof of this it was mentioned to me, he had the
preceding winter distributed two hundred pounds among such of them as
stood in need of his assistance. He had consequently a considerable
political interest in the county of Derby, which he employed to support
the Devonshire family; for though the schoolfellow and friend of
Johnson, he was a Whig. I could not perceive in his character much
congeniality of any sort with that of Johnson, who, however, said to
me, 'Sir, he has a very strong understanding.' His size, and figure, and
countenance, and manner, were that of a hearty English 'Squire, with the
parson super-induced: and I took particular notice of his upper servant,
Mr. Peters, a decent grave man, in purple clothes, and a large white
wig, like the butler or major domo of a Bishop.

Dr. Johnson and Dr. Taylor met with great cordiality; and Johnson soon
gave him the same sad account of their school-fellow, Congreve, that he
had given to Mr. Hector; adding a remark of such moment to the rational
conduct of a man in the decline of life, that it deserves to be
imprinted upon every mind: 'There is nothing against which an old
man should be so much upon his guard as putting himself to nurse.
Innumerable have been the melancholy instances of men once distinguished
for firmness, resolution, and spirit, who in their latter days have been
governed like children, by interested female artifice.

Dr. Taylor commended a physician who was known to him and Dr. Johnson,
and said, 'I fight many battles for him, as many people in the country
dislike him.' JOHNSON. 'But you should consider, Sir, that by every
one of your victories he is a loser; for, every man of whom you get the
better, will be very angry, and resolve not to employ him; whereas
if people get the better of you in argument about him, they'll think,
"We'll send for Dr. ****** nevertheless."' This was an observation deep
and sure in human nature.

Next day, as Dr. Johnson had acquainted Dr. Taylor of the reason for
his returning speedily to London, it was resolved that we should set out
after dinner. A few of Dr. Taylor's neighbours were his guests that day.

Dr. Johnson talked with approbation of one who had attained to the state
of the philosophical wise man, that is to have no want of any thing.
'Then, Sir, (said I,) the savage is a wise man.' 'Sir, (said he,) I do
not mean simply being without,--but not having a want.' I maintained,
against this proposition, that it was better to have fine clothes, for
instance, than not to feel the want of them. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir;
fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means of
procuring respect. Was Charles the Twelfth, think you, less respected
for his coarse blue coat and black stock? And you find the King
of Prussia dresses plain, because the dignity of his character is
sufficient.' I here brought myself into a scrape, for I heedlessly said,
'Would not YOU, Sir, be the better for velvet and embroidery?' JOHNSON.
'Sir, you put an end to all argument when you introduce your opponent
himself. Have you no better manners? There is YOUR WANT.' I apologised
by saying, I had mentioned him as an instance of one who wanted as
little as any man in the world, and yet, perhaps, might receive some
additional lustre from dress.

Having left Ashbourne in the evening, we stopped to change horses at
Derby, and availed ourselves of a moment to enjoy the conversation of
my countryman, Dr. Butter, then physician there. He was in great
indignation because Lord Mountstuart's bill for a Scotch militia had
been lost. Dr. Johnson was as violent against it. 'I am glad, (said he,)
that Parliament has had the spirit to throw it out. You wanted to take
advantage of the timidity of our scoundrels;' (meaning, I suppose, the
ministry). It may be observed, that he used the epithet scoundrel very
commonly not quite in the sense in which it is generally understood, but
as a strong term of disapprobation; as when he abruptly answered Mrs.
Thrale, who had asked him how he did, 'Ready to become a scoundrel,
Madam; with a little more spoiling you will, I think, make me a complete
rascal:' he meant, easy to become a capricious and self-indulgent
valetudinarian; a character for which I have heard him express great
disgust. We lay this night at Loughborough.

On Thursday, March 28, we pursued our journey. He said, 'It is commonly
a weak man who marries for love.' We then talked of marrying women of
fortune; and I mentioned a common remark, that a man may be, upon the
whole, richer by marrying a woman with a very small portion, because a
woman of fortune will be proportionally expensive; whereas a woman who
brings none will be very moderate in expenses. JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it,
Sir, this is not true. A woman of fortune being used to the handling of
money, spends it judiciously: but a woman who gets the command of money
for the first time upon her marriage, has such a gust in spending it,
that she throws it away with great profusion.'

He praised the ladies of the present age, insisting that they were more
faithful to their husbands, and more virtuous in every respect, than in
former times, because their understandings were better cultivated.

At Leicester we read in the news-paper that Dr. James was dead. I
thought that the death of an old school-fellow, and one with whom he
had lived a good deal in London, would have affected my fellow-traveller
much: but he only said, Ah! poor Jamy.' Afterwards, however, when we
were in the chaise, he said, with more tenderness, 'Since I set out on
this jaunt, I have lost an old friend and a young one;--Dr. James, and
poor Harry.' (Meaning Mr. Thrale's son.)

I enjoyed the luxury of our approach to London, that metropolis which we
both loved so much, for the high and varied intellectual pleasure which
it furnishes. I experienced immediate happiness while whirled along with
such a companion, and said to him, 'Sir, you observed one day at General
Oglethorpe's, that a man is never happy for the present, but when he
is drunk. Will you not add,--or when driving rapidly in a post-chaise?'
JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, you are driving rapidly FROM something, or TO
something.'

Talking of melancholy, he said, 'Some men, and very thinking men too,
have not those vexing thoughts. Sir Joshua Reynolds is the same all the
year round. Beauclerk, except when ill and in pain, is the same. But I
believe most men have them in the degree in which they are capable
of having them. If I were in the country, and were distressed by that
malady, I would force myself to take a book; and every time I did it
I should find it the easier. Melancholy, indeed, should be diverted by