the world, and so much writing. People in general do not willingly read,
if they can have any thing else to amuse them[671]. There must be an
external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or avarice. The progress which
the understanding makes through a book, has more pain than pleasure in
it. Language is scanty, and inadequate to express the nice gradations
and mixtures of our feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure
inclination. The books that we do read with pleasure are light
compositions, which contain a quick succession of events. However, I
have this year read all Virgil through[672]. I read a book of the
_Aeneid_ every night, so it was done in twelve nights, and I had great
delight in it. The _Georgicks_ did not give me so much pleasure, except
the fourth book. The _Eclogues_ I have almost all by heart. I do not
think the story of the _Aeneid_ interesting. I like the story of the
_Odyssey_ much better[673]; and this not on account of the wonderful
things which it contains; for there are wonderful things enough in the
_Aeneid_;--the ships of the Trojans turned to sea-nymphs,--the tree at
Polydorus's tomb dropping blood. The story of the _Odyssey_ is
interesting, as a great part of it is domestick. It has been said, there
is pleasure in writing, particularly in writing verses. I allow you may
have pleasure from writing, after it is over, if you have written well;
but you don't go willingly to it again[674]. I know when I have been
writing verses, I have run my finger down the margin, to see how many I
had made, and how few I had to make[675].'
He seemed to be in a very placid humour, and although I have no note of
the particulars of young Mr. Burke's conversation, it is but justice to
mention in general, that it was such that Dr. Johnson said to me
afterwards, 'He did very well indeed; I have a mind to tell his
father[676].'
'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
'DEAR SIR,
'The gentleman who waits on you with this, is Mr. Cruikshanks[677], who
wishes to succeed his friend Dr. Hunter[678] as Professor of Anatomy in
the Royal Academy. His qualifications are very generally known, and it
adds dignity to the institution that such men[679] are candidates.
'I am, Sir,
'Your most humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'May 2[680], 1783.'
I have no minute of any interview with Johnson till Thursday, May 15,
when I find what follows:--BOSWELL. 'I wish much to be in Parliament,
Sir[681].' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, unless you come resolved to support any
administration, you would be the worse for being in Parliament, because
you would be obliged to live more expensively.' BOSWELL. 'Perhaps, Sir,
I should be the less happy for being in Parliament. I never would sell
my vote, and I should be vexed if things went wrong.' JOHNSON. 'That's
cant, Sir. It would not vex you more in the house, than in the gallery:
publick affairs vex no man.' BOSWELL. 'Have not they vexed yourself a
little, Sir? Have not you been vexed by all the turbulence of this
reign, and by that absurd vote of the House of Commons, "That the
influence of the Crown has increased, is increasing, and ought to be
diminished[682]?"' JOHNSON. 'Sir, I have never slept an hour less, nor
eat an ounce less meat[683]. I would have knocked the factious dogs on
the head, to be sure; but I was not _vexed_.' BOSWELL. 'I declare, Sir,
upon my honour, I did imagine I was vexed, and took a pride in it; but
it _was_, perhaps, cant; for I own I neither ate less, nor slept less.'
JOHNSON. 'My dear friend, clear your _mind_ of cant[684]. You may _talk_
as other people do: you may say to a man, "Sir, I am your most humble
servant." You are not his most humble servant. You may say, "These are
bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved to such times." You
don't mind the times. You tell a man, "I am sorry you had such bad
weather the last day of your journey, and were so much wet." You don't
care six-pence whether he is wet or dry. You may _talk_ in this manner;
it is a mode of talking in Society[685]; but don't _think_
foolishly[686].'
I talked of living in the country. JOHNSON. 'Don't set up for what is
called hospitality; it is a waste of time, and a waste of money; you are
eaten up, and not the more respected for your liberality. If your house
be like an inn, nobody cares for you. A man who stays a week with
another, makes him a slave for a week.'[687] BOSWELL. 'But there are
people, Sir, who make their houses a home to their guests, and are
themselves quite easy.' JOHNSON. 'Then, Sir, home must be the same to
the guests, and they need not come.'
Here he discovered a notion common enough in persons not much accustomed
to entertain company, that there must be a degree of elaborate
attention, otherwise company will think themselves neglected; and such
attention is no doubt very fatiguing.[688] He proceeded: 'I would not,
however, be a stranger in my own county; I would visit my neighbours,
and receive their visits; but I would not be in haste to return visits.
If a gentleman comes to see me, I tell him he does me a great deal of
honour. I do not go to see him perhaps for ten weeks; then we are very
complaisant to each other. No, Sir, you will have much more influence by
giving or lending money where it is wanted, than by hospitality[689].'
On Saturday, May 17, I saw him for a short time. Having mentioned that I
had that morning been with old Mr. Sheridan, he remembered their former
intimacy with a cordial warmth, and said to me, 'Tell Mr. Sheridan, I
shall be glad to see him, and shake hands with him[690].' BOSWELL. 'It
is to me very wonderful that resentment should be kept up so long.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is not altogether resentment that he does not
visit me; it is partly falling out of the habit,--partly disgust, as one
has at a drug that has made him sick. Besides, he knows that I laugh at
his oratory[691].'
Another day I spoke of one of our friends, of whom he, as well as I,
had a very high opinion. He expatiated in his praise; but added, 'Sir,
he is a cursed Whig, a _bottomless_ Whig, as they all are now[692].'
I mentioned my expectations from the interest of an eminent person[693]
then in power; adding, 'but I have no claim but the claim of friendship;
however, some people will go a great way from that motive.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, they will go all the way from that motive.' A gentleman talked of
retiring. 'Never think of that,' said Johnson. The gentleman urged, 'I
should then do no ill.' JOHNSON. Nor no good either. Sir, it would be a
civil suicide[694].'
On Monday, May 26, I found him at tea, and the celebrated Miss Burney,
the authour of _Evelina_[695] and _Cecilia_, with him. I asked if there
would be any speakers in Parliament, if there were no places to be
obtained. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir. Why do you speak here? Either to instruct
and entertain, which is a benevolent motive; or for distinction, which
is a selfish motive.' I mentioned _Cecilia_. JOHNSON. (with an air of
animated satisfaction) 'Sir, if you talk of _Cecilia_, talk on[696].'
We talked of Mr. Barry's exhibition of his pictures. JOHNSON. 'Whatever
the hand may have done, the mind has done its part. There is a grasp of
mind there which you find nowhere else[697].'
I asked whether a man naturally virtuous, or one who has overcome wicked
inclinations, is the best. JOHNSON. 'Sir, to _you_, the man who has
overcome wicked inclinations is not the best. He has more merit to
_himself_: I would rather trust my money to a man who has no hands, and
so a physical impossibility to steal, than to a man of the most honest
principles. There is a witty satirical story of Foote. He had a small
bust of Garrick placed upon his bureau, "You may be surprized (said he)
that I allow him to be so near my gold;--but you will observe he has
no hands."'
On Friday, May 29[698], being to set out for Scotland next morning, I
passed a part of the day with him in more than usual earnestness; as his
health was in a more precarious state than at any time when I had parted
from him. He, however, was quick and lively, and critical as usual. I
mentioned one who was a very learned man. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, he has a
great deal of learning; but it never lies straight. There is never one
idea by the side of another; 'tis all entangled: and then he drives it
so aukwardly upon conversation.'
I stated to him an anxious thought, by which a sincere Christian might
be disturbed, even when conscious of having lived a good life, so far as
is consistent with human infirmity; he might fear that he should
afterwards fall away, and be guilty of such crimes as would render all
his former religion vain. Could there be, upon this aweful subject, such
a thing as balancing of accounts? Suppose a man who has led a good life
for seven years, commits an act of wickedness, and instantly dies; will
his former good life have any effect in his favour? JOHNSON. 'Sir, if a
man has led a good life for seven years, and then is hurried by passion
to do what is wrong, and is suddenly carried off, depend upon it he will
have the reward of his seven years' good life; GOD will not take a catch
of him. Upon this principle Richard Baxter believes that a Suicide may
be saved. "If, (says he) it should be objected that what I maintain may
encourage suicide, I answer, I am not to tell a lie to prevent it."'
BOSWELL. 'But does not the text say, "As the tree falls, so it must
lie[699]?"' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; as the tree falls: but,--(after a
little pause)--that is meant as to the general state of the tree, not
what is the effect of a sudden blast.' In short, he interpreted the
expression as referring to condition, not to position. The common
notion, therefore, seems to be erroneous; and Shenstone's witty remark
on Divines trying to give the tree a jerk upon a death-bed, to make it
lie favourably, is not well founded[700].
I asked him what works of Richard Baxter's I should read. He said, 'Read
any of them; they are all good[701].'
He said, 'Get as much force of mind as you can. Live within your income.
Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let your imports be
more than your exports, and you'll never go far wrong.'
I assured him, that in the extensive and various range of his
acquaintance there never had been any one who had a more sincere respect
and affection for him than I had. He said, 'I believe it, Sir. Were I in
distress, there is no man to whom I should sooner come than to you. I
should like to come and have a cottage in your park, toddle about, live
mostly on milk, and be taken care of by Mrs. Boswell. She and I are good
friends now; are we not?'
Talking of devotion, he said, 'Though it be true that "GOD dwelleth not
in temples made with hands[702]," yet in this state of being, our minds
are more piously affected in places appropriated to divine worship, than
in others. Some people have a particular room in their house, where they
say their prayers; of which I do not disapprove, as it may animate their
devotion.'
He embraced me, and gave me his blessing, as usual when I was leaving
him for any length of time. I walked from his door to-day, with a
fearful apprehension of what might happen before I returned.
'To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM WINDHAM.
Sir, The bringer of this letter is the father of Miss Philips[703], a
singer, who comes to try her voice on the stage at Dublin.
Mr. Philips is one of my old friends; and as I am of opinion that
neither he nor his daughter will do any thing that can disgrace their
benefactors, I take the liberty of entreating you to countenance and
protect them so far as may be suitable to your station[704] and
character; and shall consider myself as obliged by any favourable notice
which they shall have the honour of receiving from you.
I am, Sir, Your most humble servant,
SAM JOHNSON. London, May 31, 1783.'
The following is another instance of his active benevolence:--
'To SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
DEAR SIR, I have sent you some of my god-son's[705] performances, of
which I do not pretend to form any opinion. When I took the liberty of
mentioning him to you, I did not know what I have since been told, that
Mr. Moser[706] had admitted him among the Students of the Academy. What
more can be done for him I earnestly entreat you to consider; for I am
very desirous that he should derive some advantage from my connection
with him. If you are inclined to see him, I will bring him to wait on
you, at any time that you shall be pleased to appoint.
I am, Sir, Your most humble servant,
SAM. JOHNSON. June 2, 1783.'
My anxious apprehensions at parting with him this year proved to be but
too well founded; for not long afterwards he had a dreadful stroke of
the palsy, of which there are very full and accurate accounts in
letters written by himself, to shew with what composure of mind, and
resignation to the Divine Will, his steady piety enabled him to behave.
'TO MR. EDMUND ALLEN[707].
DEAR SIR, It has pleased GOD, this morning, to deprive me of the powers
of speech; and as I do not know but that it may be his further good
pleasure to deprive me soon of my senses, I request you will on the
receipt of this note, come to me, and act for me, as the exigencies of
my case may require.
I am, Sincerely yours,
SAM. JOHNSON. June 17, 1783.'
'TO THE REVEREND DR. JOHN TAYLOR.
'DEAR SIR, It has pleased GOD, by a Paralytick stroke in the night, to
deprive me of speech.
I am very desirous of Dr. Heberden's[708] assistance, as I think my case
is not past remedy. Let me see you as soon as it is possible. Bring Dr.
Heberden with you, if you can; but come yourself at all events. I am
glad you are so well, when I am so dreadfully attacked.
I think that by a speedy application of stimulants much may be done. I
question if a vomit, vigorous and rough, would not rouse the organs of
speech to action. As it is too early to send, I will try to recollect
what I can, that can be suspected to have brought on this
dreadful distress.
I have been accustomed to bleed frequently for an asthmatick complaint;
but have forborne for some time by Dr. Pepys's persuasion, who
perceived my legs beginning to swell. I sometimes alleviate a painful,
or more properly an oppressive, constriction of my chest, by opiates;
and have lately taken opium frequently, but the last, or two last times,
in smaller quantities. My largest dose is three grains, and last night I
took but two[709]. You will suggest these things (and they are all that
I can call to mind) to Dr. Heberden.
I am, &c. SAM. JOHNSON[710]. June 17, 1783.'
Two days after he wrote thus to Mrs. Thrale[711]:--
'On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture[712], and walked a
considerable way with little inconvenience. In the afternoon and evening
I felt myself light and easy, and began to plan schemes of life. Thus I
went to bed, and in a short time waked and sat up, as has been long my
custom, when I felt a confusion and indistinctness in my head, which
lasted, I suppose, about half a minute. I was alarmed, and prayed God,
that however he might afflict my body, he would spare my understanding.
This prayer, that I might try the integrity of my faculties, I made in
Latin verse[713]. The lines were not very good, but I knew them not to
be very good: I made them easily, and concluded myself to be unimpaired
in my faculties.
Soon after I perceived that I had suffered a paralytick stroke, and that
my speech was taken from me. I had no pain, and so little dejection in
this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy, and considered
that perhaps death itself, when it should come, would excite less
horrour than seems now to attend it.
In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams. Wine has been
celebrated for the production of eloquence. I put myself into violent
motion, and I think repeated it; but all was vain. I then went to bed,
and strange as it may seem, I think slept. When I saw light, it was time
to contrive what I should do. Though God stopped my speech, he left me
my hand; I enjoyed a mercy which was not granted to my dear friend
Lawrence[714], who now perhaps overlooks me as I am writing, and
rejoices that I have what he wanted. My first note was necessarily to my
servant, who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend why
he should read what I put into his hands.
I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet friend at
hand, to act as occasion should require. In penning this note, I had
some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made wrong letters. I
then wrote to Dr. Taylor to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden; and I
sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour. My physicians are very
friendly, and give me great hopes; but you may imagine my situation. I
have so far recovered my vocal powers, as to repeat the Lord's Prayer
with no very imperfect articulation. My memory, I hope, yet remains as
it was; but such an attack produces solicitude for the safety of
every faculty.'
'To MR. THOMAS DAVIES.
'DEAR SIR, I have had, indeed, a very heavy blow; but GOD, who yet
spares my life, I humbly hope will spare my understanding, and restore
my speech. As I am not at all helpless, I want no particular assistance,
but am strongly affected by Mrs. Davies's tenderness; and when I think
she can do me good, shall be very glad to call upon her. I had ordered
friends to be shut out; but one or two have found the way in; and if you
come you shall be admitted: for I know not whom I can see, that will
bring more amusement on his tongue, or more kindness in his heart. I
am, &c.
SAM. JOHNSON. June 18, 1783.'
It gives me great pleasure to preserve such a memorial of Johnson's
regard for Mr. Davies, to whom I was indebted for my introduction to
him[715]. He indeed loved Davies cordially, of which I shall give the
following little evidence. One day when he had treated him with too much
asperity. Tom, who was not without pride and spirit, went off in a
passion; but he had hardly reached home, when Frank, who had been sent
after him, delivered this note:--'Come, come, dear Davies, I am always
sorry when we quarrel; send me word that we are friends.'
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
DEAR SIR, Your anxiety about my health is very friendly, and very
agreeable with your general kindness. I have, indeed, had a very
frightful blow. On the 17th of last month, about three in the morning,
as near as I can guess, I perceived myself almost totally deprived of
speech. I had no pain. My organs were so obstructed, that I could say
_no_, but could scarcely say _yes_. I wrote the necessary directions,
for it pleased GOD to spare my hand, and sent for Dr. Heberden and Dr.
Brocklesby. Between the time in which I discovered my own disorder, and
that in which I sent for the doctors, I had, I believe, in spite of my
surprize and solicitude, a little sleep, and Nature began to renew its
operations. They came, and gave the directions which the disease
required, and from that time I have been continually improving in
articulation. I can now speak, but the nerves are weak, and I cannot
continue discourse long; but strength, I hope, will return. The
physicians consider me as cured. I was last Sunday at church. On Tuesday
I took an airing to Hampstead, and dined with THE CLUB[716], where Lord
Palmerston was proposed, and, against my opinion, was rejected[717]. I
designed to go next week with Mr. Langton to Rochester, where I purpose
to stay about ten days, and then try some other air. I have many kind
invitations. Your brother has very frequently enquired after me. Most of
my friends have, indeed, been very attentive[718]. Thank dear Lord
Hailes for his present.
I hope you found at your return every thing gay and prosperous, and your
lady, in particular, quite recovered and confirmed. Pay her my respects.
I am, dear Sir, Your most humble servant, SAM. JOHNSON. London, July 3,
1783.'
'To MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.
DEAR MADAM, The account which you give of your health is but melancholy.
May it please GOD to restore you. My disease affected my speech, and
still continues, in some degree, to obstruct my utterance; my voice is
distinct enough for a while; but the organs being still weak are quickly
weary: but in other respects I am, I think, rather better than I have
lately been; and can let you know my state without the help of any
other hand.
In the opinion of my friends, and in my own, I am gradually mending. The
Physicians consider me as cured; and I had leave, four days ago, to wash
the cantharides from my head. Last Tuesday I dined at THE CLUB.
I am going next week into Kent, and purpose to change the air frequently
this summer; whether I shall wander so far as Staffordshire I cannot
tell. I should be glad to come. Return my thanks to Mrs. Cobb, and Mr.
Pearson, and all that have shewn attention to me.
Let us, my dear, pray for one another, and consider our sufferings as
notices mercifully given us to prepare ourselves for another state.
I live now but in a melancholy way. My old friend Mr. Levett is dead,
who lived with me in the house, and was useful and companionable; Mrs.
Desmoulins is gone away[719]; and Mrs. Williams is so much decayed, that
she can add little to another's gratifications. The world passes away,
and we are passing with it; but there is, doubtless, another world,
which will endure for ever. Let us all fit ourselves for it.
I am, &c., SAM. JOHNSON. London, July 5, 1783.'
