'Your most humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON[1090].'
'July 12, 1784.'
On the same day he wrote to Mr. Langton:--
'I cannot but think that in my languid and anxious state, I have some
reason to complain that I receive from you neither enquiry nor
consolation. You know how much I value your friendship, and with what
confidence I expect your kindness, if I wanted any act of tenderness
that you could perform; at least, if you do not know it, I think your
ignorance is your own fault. Yet how long is it that I have lived almost
in your neighbourhood without the least notice. I do not, however,
consider this neglect as particularly shown to me; I hear two of your
most valuable friends make the same complaint. But why are all thus
overlooked? You are not oppressed by sickness, you are not distracted by
business; if you are sick, you are sick of leisure:--And allow yourself
to be told, that no disease is more to be dreaded or avoided. Rather to
do nothing than to do good, is the lowest state of a degraded mind.
Boileau says to his pupil,
'_Que les vers ne soient pas votre eternel emploi,
Cultivez vos amis_[1091].'--
That voluntary debility, which modern language is content to term
indolence, will, if it is not counteracted by resolution, render in time
the strongest faculties lifeless, and turn the flame to the smoke of
virtue. I do not expect nor desire to see you, because I am much pleased
to find that your mother stays so long with you, and I should think you
neither elegant nor grateful, if you did not study her gratification.
You will pay my respects to both the ladies, and to all the young
people. I am going Northward for a while, to try what help the country
can give me; but, if you will write, the letter will come after me.'
Next day he set out on a jaunt to Staffordshire and Derbyshire,
flattering himself that he might be in some degree relieved.
During his absence from London he kept up a correspondence with several
of his friends, from which I shall select what appears to me proper for
publication, without attending nicely to chronological order.
To Dr. BROCKLESBY, he writes, Ashbourne, July 20:--
'The kind attention which you have so long shewn to my health and
happiness, makes it as much a debt of gratitude as a call of interest,
to give you an account of what befals me, when accident recovers[1092]
me from your immediate care. The journey of the first day was performed
with very little sense of fatigue; the second day brought me to
Lichfield, without much lassitude; but I am afraid that I could not have
borne such violent agitation for many days together. Tell Dr. Heberden,
that in the coach I read _Ciceronianus_ which I concluded as I entered
Lichfield. My affection and understanding went along with Erasmus,
except that once or twice he somewhat unskilfully entangles Cicero's
civil or moral, with his rhetorical, character. I staid five days at
Lichfield, but, being unable to walk, had no great pleasure, and
yesterday (19th) I came hither, where I am to try what air and attention
can perform. Of any improvement in my health I cannot yet please myself
with the perception.--The asthma has no abatement. Opiates stop the fit,
so as that I can sit and sometimes lie easy, but they do not now procure
me the power of motion; and I am afraid that my general strength of body
does not encrease. The weather indeed is not benign; but how low is he
sunk whose strength depends upon the weather[1093]! I am now looking
into Floyer[1094] who lived with his asthma to almost his ninetieth
year. His book by want of order is obscure, and his asthma, I think, not
of the same kind with mine. Something however I may perhaps learn. My
appetite still continues keen enough; and what I consider as a symptom
of radical health, I have a voracious delight in raw summer fruit, of
which I was less eager a few years ago[1095]. You will be pleased to
communicate this account to Dr. Heberden, and if any thing is to be
done, let me have your joint opinion. Now--_abite curoe_;--let me
enquire after the Club[1096].'
July 31. 'Not recollecting that Dr. Heberden might be at Windsor, I
thought your letter long in coming. But, you know, _nocitura
petuntur_[1097], the letter which I so much desired, tells me that I
have lost one of my best and tenderest friends[1098]. My comfort is,
that he appeared to live like a man that had always before his eyes the
fragility of our present existence, and was therefore, I hope, not
unprepared to meet his judge. Your attention, dear Sir, and that of Dr.
Heberden, to my health, is extremely kind. I am loth to think that I
grow worse; and cannot fairly prove even to my own partiality, that I
grow much better.'
August 5. 'I return you thanks, dear Sir, for your unwearied attention,
both medicinal and friendly, and hope to prove the effect of your care
by living to acknowledge it.'
August 12[1099]. 'Pray be so kind as to have me in your thoughts, and
mention my case to others as you have opportunity. I seem to myself
neither to gain nor lose strength. I have lately tried milk, but have
yet found no advantage, and am afraid of it merely as a liquid. My
appetite is still good, which I know is dear Dr. Heberden's criterion of
the _vis vitoe_. As we cannot now see each other, do not omit to write,
for you cannot think with what warmth of expectation I reckon the hours
of a post-day.'
August 14. 'I have hitherto sent you only melancholy letters, you will
be glad to hear some better account. Yesterday the asthma remitted,
perceptibly remitted, and I moved with more ease than I have enjoyed for
many weeks. May GOD continue his mercy. This account I would not delay,
because I am not a lover of complaints, or complainers, and yet I have
since we parted uttered nothing till now but terrour and sorrow. Write
to me, dear Sir.'
August 16. 'Better I hope, and better. My respiration gets more and more
ease and liberty. I went to church yesterday, after a very liberal
dinner, without any inconvenience; it is indeed no long walk, but I
never walked it without difficulty, since I came, before.--the intention
was only to overpower the seeming _vis inertioe_ of the pectoral and
pulmonary muscles. I am favoured with a degree of ease that very much
delights me, and do not despair of another race upon the stairs of the
Academy[1100]. If I were, however, of a humour to see, or to shew the
state of my body, on the dark side, I might say,
_"Quid te exempta juvat spinis de pluribus una[1101]?"_
The nights are still sleepless, and the water rises, though it does not
rise very fast. Let us, however, rejoice in all the good that we have.
The remission of one disease will enable nature to combat the rest. The
squills I have not neglected; for I have taken more than a hundred drops
a day, and one day took two hundred and fifty, which, according to the
popular equivalence of a drop to a grain, is more than half an ounce. I
thank you, dear Sir, for your attention in ordering the medicines; your
attention to me has never failed. If the virtue of medicines could be
enforced by the benevolence of the prescriber, how soon should I
be well.'
August 19. 'The relaxation of the asthma still continues, yet I do not
trust it wholly to itself, but soothe it now and then with an opiate. I
not only perform the perpetual act of respiration with less labour, but
I can walk with fewer intervals of rest, and with greater freedom of
motion. I never thought well of Dr. James's compounded medicines[1102];
his ingredients appeared to me sometimes inefficacious and trifling, and
sometimes heterogeneous and destructive of each other. This prescription
exhibits a composition of about three hundred and thirty grains, in
which there are four grains of emetick tartar, and six drops [of]
thebaick tincture. He that writes thus, surely writes for show. The
basis of his medicine is the gum ammoniacum, which dear Dr. Lawrence
used to give, but of which I never saw any effect. We will, if you
please, let this medicine alone. The squills have every suffrage, and in
the squills we will rest for the present.'
August 21. 'The kindness which you shew by having me in your thoughts
upon all occasions, will, I hope, always fill my heart with gratitude.
Be pleased to return my thanks to Sir George Baker[1103], for the
consideration which he has bestowed upon me. Is this the balloon that
has been so long expected, this balloon to which I subscribed, but
without payment[1104]? It is pity that philosophers have been
disappointed, and shame that they have been cheated; but I know not well
how to prevent either. Of this experiment I have read nothing; where was
it exhibited? and who was the man that ran away with so much money?
Continue, dear Sir, to write often and more at a time; for none of your
prescriptions operate to their proper uses more certainly than your
letters operate as cordials.'
August 26. 'I suffered you to escape last post without a letter, but you
are not to expect such indulgence very often; for I write not so much
because I have any thing to say, as because I hope for an answer; and
the vacancy of my life here makes a letter of great value. I have here
little company and little amusement, and thus abandoned to the
contemplation of my own miseries, I am sometimes gloomy and depressed;
this too I resist as I can, and find opium, I think, useful, but I
seldom take more than one grain. Is not this strange weather? Winter
absorbed the spring, and now autumn is come before we have had summer.
But let not our kindness for each other imitate the inconstancy of
the seasons.'
Sept. 2. 'Mr. Windham has been here to see me; he came, I think, forty
miles out of his way, and staid about a day and a half, perhaps I make
the time shorter than it was. Such conversation I shall not have again
till I come back to the regions of literature; and there Windham is,
_inter stellas_[1105] _Luna minores_[1106].' He then mentions the
effects of certain medicines, as taken; that 'Nature is recovering its
original powers, and the functions returning to their proper state. God
continue his mercies, and grant me to use them rightly.'
Sept. 9. 'Do you know the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire? And have you
ever seen Chatsworth? I was at Chatsworth on Monday: I had indeed seen
it before[1107], but never when its owners were at home; I was very
kindly received, and honestly pressed to stay: but I told them that a
sick man is not a fit inmate of a great house. But I hope to go again
some time.'
Sept. 11. 'I think nothing grows worse, but all rather better, except
sleep, and that of late has been at its old pranks. Last evening, I felt
what I had not known for a long time, an inclination to walk for
amusement; I took a short walk, and came back again neither breathless
nor fatigued. This has been a gloomy, frigid, ungenial summer, but of
late it seems to mend; I hear the heat sometimes mentioned, but I do
not feel it:
"Praterea minimus gelido jam in corpore sanguis
Febre calet sola[1108].----"
I hope, however, with good help, to find means of supporting a winter at
home, and to hear and tell at the Club what is doing, and what ought to
be doing in the world. I have no company here, and shall naturally come
home hungry for conversation. To wish you, dear Sir, more leisure, would
not be kind; but what leisure you have, you must bestow upon me.'
Sept. 16. 'I have now let you alone for a long time, having indeed
little to say. You charge me somewhat unjustly with luxury. At
Chatsworth, you should remember, that I have eaten but once; and the
Doctor, with whom I live, follows a milk diet. I grow no fatter, though
my stomach, if it be not disturbed by physick, never fails me. I now
grow weary of solitude, and think of removing next week to Lichfield, a
place of more society, but otherwise of less convenience. When I am
settled, I shall write again. Of the hot weather that you mention, we
have [not] had in Derbyshire very much, and for myself I seldom feel
heat, and suppose that my frigidity is the effect of my distemper; a
supposition which naturally leads me to hope that a hotter climate may
be useful. But I hope to stand another English winter.'
Lichfield, Sept. 29. 'On one day I had three letters about the
air-balloon[1109]: yours was far the best, and has enabled me to impart
to my friends in the country an idea of this species of amusement. In
amusement, mere amusement, I am afraid it must end, for I do not find
that its course can be directed so as that it should serve any purposes
of communication; and it can give no new intelligence of the state of
the air at different heights, till they have ascended above the height
of mountains, which they seem never likely to do. I came hither on the
27th. How long I shall stay I have not determined. My dropsy is gone,
and my asthma much remitted, but I have felt myself a little declining
these two days, or at least to-day; but such vicissitudes must be
expected. One day may be worse than another; but this last month is far
better than the former; if the next should be as much better than this,
I shall run about the town on my own legs.'
October 6. 'The fate of the balloon I do not much lament[1110]: to make
new balloons, is to repeat the jest again. We now know a method of
mounting into the air, and, I think, are not likely to know more. The
vehicles can serve no use till we can guide them; and they can gratify
no curiosity till we mount with them to greater heights than we can
reach without; till we rise above the tops of the highest mountains,
which we have yet not done. We know the state of the air in all its
regions, to the top of Teneriffe, and therefore, learn nothing from
those who navigate a balloon below the clouds. The first experiment,
however, was bold, and deserved applause and reward. But since it has
been performed, and its event is known, I had rather now find a medicine
that can ease an asthma.'
October 25. 'You write to me with a zeal that animates, and a tenderness
that melts me. I am not afraid either of a journey to London, or a
residence in it. I came down with little fatigue, and am now not weaker.
In the smoky atmosphere I was delivered from the dropsy, which I
consider as the original and radical disease. The town is my
element[1111]; there are my friends, there are my books, to which I
have not yet bid farewell, and there are my amusements. Sir Joshua told
me long ago that my vocation was to publick life, and I hope still to
keep my station, till GOD shall bid me _Go in peace_[1112].'
To MR. HOOLE:--
Ashbourne, Aug. 7. 'Since I was here I have two little letters from you,
and have not had the gratitude to write. But every man is most free with
his best friends, because he does not suppose that they can suspect him
of intentional incivility. One reason for my omission is, that being in
a place to which you are wholly a stranger, I have no topicks of
correspondence. If you had any knowledge of Ashbourne, I could tell you
of two Ashbourne men, who, being last week condemned at Derby to be
hanged for a robbery, went and hanged themselves in their cell[1113].
But this, however it may supply us with talk, is nothing to you. Your
kindness, I know, would make you glad to hear some good of me, but I
have not much good to tell; if I grow not worse, it is all that I can
say. I hope Mrs. Hoole receives more help from her migration. Make her
my compliments, and write again to, dear Sir, your affectionate servant.'
Aug. 13. 'I thank you for your affectionate letter. I hope we shall both
be the better for each other's friendship, and I hope we shall not very
quickly be parted. Tell Mr. Nicholls that I shall be glad of his
correspondence, when his business allows him a little remission; though
to wish him less business, that I may have more pleasure, would be too
selfish. To pay for seats at the balloon is not very necessary, because
in less than a minute, they who gaze at a mile's distance will see all
that can be seen. About the wings[1114] I am of your mind; they cannot
at all assist it, nor I think regulate its motion. I am now grown
somewhat easier in my body, but my mind is sometimes depressed. About
the Club I am in no great pain. The forfeitures go on, and the house, I
hear, is improved for our future meetings. I hope we shall meet often
and sit long.'
Sept. 4. 'Your letter was, indeed, long in coming, but it was very
welcome. Our acquaintance has now subsisted long[1115] and our
recollection of each other involves a great space, and many little
occurrences, which melt the thoughts to tenderness. Write to me,
therefore, as frequently as you can. I hear from Dr. Brocklesby and Mr.
Ryland, that the Club is not crouded. I hope we shall enliven it when
winter brings us together.'
To DR. BURNEY:--
August 2. 'The weather, you know, has not been balmy; I am now reduced
to think, and am at last content to talk of the weather. Pride must have
a fall[1116]. I have lost dear Mr. Allen, and wherever I turn, the dead
or the dying meet my notice, and force my attention upon misery and
mortality. Mrs. Burney's escape from so much danger, and her ease after
so much pain, throws, however, some radiance of hope upon the gloomy
prospect. May her recovery be perfect, and her continuance long. I
struggle hard for life. I take physick, and take air; my friend's
chariot is always ready. We have run this morning twenty-four miles, and
could run forty-eight more. _But who can run the race with death?_'
'Sept. 4. [Concerning a private transaction, in which his opinion was
asked, and after giving it he makes the following reflections, which are
applicable on other occasions.] Nothing deserves more compassion than
wrong conduct with good meaning; than loss or obloquy suffered by one
who, as he is conscious only of good intentions, wonders why he loses
that kindness which he wishes to preserve; and not knowing his own
fault, if, as may sometimes happen, nobody will tell him, goes on to
offend by his endeavours to please. I am delighted by finding that our
opinions are the same. You will do me a real kindness by continuing to
write. A post-day has now been long a day of recreation.'
Nov. 1. 'Our correspondence paused for want of topicks. I had said what
I had to say on the matter proposed to my consideration; and nothing
remained but to tell you, that I waked or slept; that I was more or less
sick. I drew my thoughts in upon myself, and supposed yours employed
upon your book. That your book[1117] has been delayed I am glad, since
you have gained an opportunity of being more exact. Of the caution
necessary in adjusting narratives there is no end. Some tell what they
do not know, that they may not seem ignorant, and others from mere
indifference about truth. All truth is not, indeed, of equal importance;
but, if little violations are allowed, every violation will in time be
thought little; and a writer should keep himself vigilantly on his guard
against the first temptations to negligence or supineness. I had ceased
to write, because respecting you I had no more to say, and respecting
myself could say little good. I cannot boast of advancement, and in
cases of convalescence it may be said, with few exceptions, _non
progredi, est regredi_. I hope I may be excepted. My great difficulty
was with my sweet Fanny[1118], who, by her artifice of inserting her
letter in yours, had given me a precept of frugality[1119] which I was
not at liberty to neglect; and I know not who were in town under whose
cover I could send my letter[1120]. I rejoice to hear that you are all
so well, and have a delight particularly sympathetick in the recovery of
Mrs. Burney.'
To MR. LANGTON:--
Aug. 25. 'The kindness of your last letter, and my omission to answer
it, begins to give you, even in my opinion, a right to recriminate, and
to charge me with forgetfulness for the absent. I will, therefore, delay
no longer to give an account of myself, and wish I could relate what
would please either myself or my friend. On July 13, I left London,
partly in hope of help from new air and change of place, and partly
excited by the sick man's impatience of the present. I got to Lichfield
in a stage vehicle, with very little fatigue, in two days, and had the
consolation[1121] to find, that since my last visit my three old
acquaintance are all dead. July 20, I went to Ashbourne, where I have
been till now; the house in which we live is repairing. I live in too
much solitude, and am often deeply dejected: I wish we were nearer, and
rejoice in your removal to London. A friend, at once cheerful and
serious, is a great acquisition. Let us not neglect one another for the
little time which Providence allows us to hope. Of my health I cannot
tell you, what my wishes persuaded me to expect, that it is much
improved by the season or by remedies. I am sleepless; my legs grow
weary with a very few steps, and the water breaks its boundaries in some
degree. The asthma, however, has remitted; my breath is still much
obstructed, but is more free than it was. Nights of watchfulness produce
torpid days; I read very little, though I am alone; for I am tempted to
supply in the day what I lost in bed. This is my history; like all other
histories, a narrative of misery. Yet am I so much better than in the
beginning of the year, that I ought to be ashamed of complaining. I now
sit and write with very little sensibility of pain or weakness; but when
I rise, I shall find my legs betraying me. Of the money which you
mentioned, I have no immediate need; keep it, however, for me, unless
some exigence requires it. Your papers I will shew you certainly when
you would see them, but I am a little angry at you for not keeping
minutes of your own _acceptum et expensum_[1122], and think a little
time might be spared from Aristophanes, for the _res familiares_.
Forgive me for I mean well. I hope, dear Sir, that you and Lady Rothes,
and all the young people, too many to enumerate, are well and happy. GOD
bless you all.'
To MR. WINDHAM:--
August. 'The tenderness with which you have been pleased to treat me,
through my long illness, neither health nor sickness can, I hope, make
me forget; and you are not to suppose, that after we parted you were no
longer in my mind. But what can a sick man say, but that he is sick? His
thoughts are necessarily concentered in himself; he neither receives nor
can give delight; his enquiries are after alleviations of pain, and his
efforts are to catch some momentary comfort. Though I am now in the
neighbourhood of the Peak, you must expect no account of its wonders, of
its hills, its waters, its caverns, or its mines; but I will tell you,
dear Sir, what I hope you will not hear with less satisfaction, that,
for about a week past, my asthma has been less afflictive.'
Lichfield. October 2[1123]. 'I believe you have been long enough
acquainted with the _phoenomena_ of sickness, not to be surprised that a
sick man wishes to be where he is not, and where it appears to every
body but himself that he might easily be, without having the resolution
to remove. I thought Ashbourne a solitary place, but did not come hither
till last Monday. I have here more company, but my health has for this
last week not advanced; and in the languor of disease how little can be
done? Whither or when I shall make my next remove I cannot tell; but I
entreat you, dear Sir, to let me know, from time to time, where you may
be found, for your residence is a very powerful attractive to, Sir, your
