Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother,--
You can hang or drown at last.
As he opened a note which his servant brought to him, he said, 'An odd
thought strikes me: we shall receive no letters in the grave[1258].'
He requested three things of Sir Joshua Reynolds:--To forgive him thirty
pounds which he had borrowed of him; to read the Bible; and never to
use his pencil on a Sunday[1259]. Sir Joshua readily acquiesced[1260].
Indeed he shewed the greatest anxiety for the religious improvement of
his friends, to whom he discoursed of its infinite consequence. He
begged of Mr. Hoole to think of what he had said, and to commit it to
writing: and, upon being afterwards assured that this was done, pressed
his hands, and in an earnest tone thanked him. Dr. Brocklesby having
attended him with the utmost assiduity and kindness as his physician and
friend, he was peculiarly desirous that this gentleman should not
entertain any loose speculative notions, but be confirmed in the truths
of Christianity, and insisted on his writing down in his presence, as
nearly as he could collect it, the import of what passed on the subject:
and Dr. Brocklesby having complied with the request, he made him sign
the paper, and urged him to keep it in his own custody as long as he
lived[1261].
Johnson, with that native fortitude, which, amidst all his bodily
distress and mental sufferings, never forsook him, asked Dr. Brocklesby,
as a man in whom he had confidence, to tell him plainly whether he could
recover. 'Give me (said he) a direct answer.' The Doctor having first
asked him if he could bear the whole truth, which way soever it might
lead, and being answered that he could, declared that, in his opinion,
he could not recover without a miracle. 'Then, (said Johnson,) I will
take no more physick, not even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may
render up my soul to GOD unclouded.' In this resolution he persevered,
and, at the same time, used only the weakest kinds of sustenance. Being
pressed by Mr. Windham to take somewhat more generous nourishment, lest
too low a diet should have the very effect which he dreaded, by
debilitating his mind, he said, 'I will take any thing but inebriating
sustenance[1262].'
The Reverend Mr. Strahan, who was the son of his friend, and had been
always one of his great favourites, had, during his last illness, the
satisfaction of contributing to soothe and comfort him. That gentleman's
house, at Islington, of which he is Vicar, afforded Johnson,
occasionally and easily, an agreeable change of place and fresh air; and
he attended also upon him in town in the discharge of the sacred offices
of his profession.
Mr. Strahan has given me the agreeable assurance, that, after being in
much agitation, Johnson became quite composed, and continued so till his
death[1263].
Dr. Brocklesby, who will not be suspected of fanaticism, obliged me with
the following accounts:--
'For some time before his death, all his fears were calmed and absorbed
by the prevalence of his faith, and his trust in the merits and
_propitiation_ of JESUS CHRIST.
'He talked often to me about the necessity of faith in the _sacrifice_
of Jesus, as necessary beyond all good works whatever, for the salvation
of mankind.
'He pressed me to study Dr. Clarke and to read his Sermons. I asked him
why he pressed Dr. Clarke, an Arian[1264]. "Because, (said he,) he is
fullest on the _propitiatory sacrifice_."'
Johnson having thus in his mind the true Christian scheme, at once
rational and consolatory, uniting justice and mercy in the DIVINITY,
with the improvement of human nature, previous to his receiving the Holy
Sacrament in his apartment, composed and fervently uttered this
prayer[1265]:--
'Almighty and most merciful Father, I am now as to human eyes, it
seems, about to commemorate, for the last time, the death of thy Son
JESUS CHRIST, our Saviour and Redeemer. Grant, O LORD, that my whole
hope and confidence may be in his merits, and thy mercy; enforce and
accept my imperfect repentance; make this commemoration available to the
confirmation of my faith, the establishment of my hope, and the
enlargement of my charity; and make the death of thy Son JESUS CHRIST
effectual to my redemption. Have mercy upon me, and pardon the multitude
of my offences. Bless my friends; have mercy upon all men. Support me,
by thy Holy Spirit, in the days of weakness, and at the hour of death;
and receive me, at my death, to everlasting happiness, for the sake of
JESUS CHRIST. Amen.'
Having, as has been already mentioned, made his will on the 8th and 9th
of December, and settled all his worldly affairs, he languished till
Monday, the 13th of that month, when he expired, about seven o'clock in
the evening, with so little apparent pain that his attendants hardly
perceived when his dissolution took place.
Of his last moments, my brother, Thomas David[1266], has furnished me
with the following particulars:--
'The Doctor, from the time that he was certain his death was near,
appeared to be perfectly resigned[1267], was seldom or never fretful or
out of temper, and often said to his faithful servant, who gave me this
account, "Attend, Francis, to the salvation of your soul, which is the
object of greatest importance:" he also explained to him passages in the
scripture, and seemed to have pleasure in talking upon religious
subjects.
'On Monday, the 13th of December, the day on which he died, a Miss
Morris[1268], daughter to a particular friend of his, called, and said
to Francis, that she begged to be permitted to see the Doctor, that she
might earnestly request him to give her his blessing. Francis went into
his room, followed by the young lady, and delivered the message. The
Doctor turned himself in the bed, and said, "GOD bless you, my dear!"
These were the last words he spoke. His difficulty of breathing
increased till about seven o'clock in the evening, when Mr. Barber and
Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in the room, observing that the noise
he made in breathing had ceased, went to the bed, and found he was
dead[1269].'
About two days after his death, the following very agreeable account was
communicated to Mr. Malone, in a letter by the Honourable John Byng, to
whom I am much obliged for granting me permission to introduce it in
my work.
'DEAR SIR,
'Since I saw you, I have had a long conversation with Cawston[1270], who
sat up with Dr. Johnson, from nine o'clock, on Sunday evening, till ten
o'clock, on Monday morning. And, from what I can gather from him, it
should seem, that Dr. Johnson was perfectly composed, steady in hope,
and resigned to death. At the interval of each hour, they assisted him
to sit up in his bed, and move his legs, which were in much pain; when
he regularly addressed himself to fervent prayer; and though, sometimes,
his voice failed him, his senses never did, during that time. The only
sustenance he received, was cyder and water. He said his mind was
prepared, and the time to his dissolution seemed long. At six in the
morning, he enquired the hour, and, on being informed, said that all
went on regularly, and he felt he had but a few hours to live.
'At ten o'clock in the morning, he parted from Cawston, saying, "You
should not detain Mr. Windham's servant:--I thank you; bear my
remembrance to your master." Cawston says, that no man could appear more
collected, more devout, or less terrified at the thoughts of the
approaching minute.
'This account, which is so much more agreeable than, and somewhat
different from, yours, has given us the satisfaction of thinking that
that great man died as he lived, full of resignation, strengthened in
faith, and joyful in hope.'
A few days before his death, he had asked Sir John Hawkins, as one of
his executors, where he should be buried; and on being answered,
'Doubtless, in Westminster-Abbey,' seemed to feel a satisfaction, very
natural to a Poet; and indeed in my opinion very natural to every man of
any imagination, who has no family sepulchre in which he can be laid
with his fathers. Accordingly, upon Monday, December 20, his remains
were deposited in that noble and renowned edifice; and over his grave
was placed a large blue flag-stone, with this inscription:--
'SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
_Obiit_ XIII _die Decembris_,
_Anno Domini_
M. DCC. LXXXIV.
Aetatis suoe_ LXXV.'
His funeral was attended by a respectable number of his friends,
particularly such of the members of the LITERARY CLUB as were then in
town; and was also honoured with the presence of several of the Reverend
Chapter of Westminster. Mr. Burke, Sir Joseph Banks, Mr. Windham, Mr.
Langton, Sir Charles Bunbury, and Mr. Colman, bore his pall[1271]. His
schoolfellow, Dr. Taylor, performed the mournful office of reading the
burial service[1272].
I trust, I shall not be accused of affectation, when I declare, that I
find myself unable to express all that I felt upon the loss of such a
'Guide[1273], Philosopher, and Friend[1274].' I shall, therefore, not
say one word of my own, but adopt those of an eminent friend[1275],
which he uttered with an abrupt felicity, superior to all studied
compositions:--'He has made a chasm, which not only nothing can fill up,
but which nothing has a tendency to fill up. Johnson is dead. Let us go
to the next best:--there is nobody; no man can be said to put you in
mind of Johnson[1276].'
As Johnson had abundant homage paid to him during his life[1277], so no
writer in this nation ever had such an accumulation of literary honours
after his death. A sermon upon that event was preached in St. Mary's
Church, Oxford, before the University, by the Reverend Mr. Agutter, of
Magdalen College[1278]. The _Lives_, the _Memoirs_, the _Essays_, both
in prose and verse, which have been published concerning him, would make
many volumes. The numerous attacks too upon him, I consider as part of
his consequence, upon the principle which he himself so well knew and
asserted[1279]. Many who trembled at his presence, were forward in
assault, when they no longer apprehended danger. When one of his little
pragmatical foes was invidiously snarling at his fame, at Sir Joshua
Reynolds's table, the Reverend Dr. Parr exclaimed, with his usual bold
animation, 'Ay, now that the old lion is dead, every ass thinks he may
kick at him.'
A monument for him, in Westminster Abbey, was resolved upon soon after
his death, and was supported by a most respectable contribution[1280];
but the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's having come to a resolution of
admitting monuments there, upon a liberal and magnificent plan, that
Cathedral was afterwards fixed on, as the place in which a cenotaph
should be erected to his memory[1281]: and in the cathedral of his
native city of Lichfield, a smaller one is to be erected. To compose his
epitaph, could not but excite the warmest competition of genius[1282].
If _laudari a laudato viro_ be praise which is highly estimable[1283],
I should not forgive myself were I to omit the following sepulchral
verses on the authour of THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY, written by the Right
Honourable Henry Flood[1284]:--
'No need of Latin or of Greek to grace
Our JOHNSON'S memory, or inscribe his grave;
His native language claims this mournful space,
To pay the Immortality he gave.'
The character of SAMUEL JOHNSON has, I trust, been so developed in the
course of this work, that they who have honoured it with a perusal, may
be considered as well acquainted with him. As, however, it may be
expected that I should collect into one view the capital and
distinguishing features of this extraordinary man, I shall endeavour to
acquit myself of that part of my biographical undertaking[1285], however
difficult it may be to do that which many of my readers will do better
for themselves.
His figure was large and well formed, and his countenance of the cast of
an ancient statue; yet his appearance was rendered strange and somewhat
uncouth, by convulsive cramps, by the scars of that distemper which it
was once imagined the royal touch could cure, and by a slovenly mode of
dress. He had the use only of one eye; yet so much does mind govern and
even supply the deficiency of organs, that his visual perceptions, as
far as they extended, were uncommonly quick and accurate[1286]. So
morbid was his temperament, that he never knew the natural joy of a free
and vigorous use of his limbs: when he walked, it was like the
struggling gait of one in fetters; when he rode, he had no command or
direction of his horse, but was carried as if in a balloon[1287]. That
with his constitution and habits of life he should have lived
seventy-five years, is a proof that an inherent _vivida vis_[1288] is a
powerful preservative of the human frame.
Man is, in general, made up of contradictory qualities; and these will
ever shew themselves in strange succession, where a consistency in
appearance at least, if not in reality, has not been attained by long
habits of philosophical discipline. In proportion to the native vigour
of the mind, the contradictory qualities will be the more prominent, and
more difficult to be adjusted; and, therefore, we are not to wonder,
that Johnson exhibited an eminent example of this remark which I have
made upon human nature. At different times, he seemed a different man,
in some respects; not, however, in any great or essential article, upon
which he had fully employed his mind, and settled certain principles of
duty, but only in his manners, and in the display of argument and fancy
in his talk. He was prone to superstition, but not to credulity. Though
his imagination might incline him to a belief of the marvellous and the
mysterious, his vigorous reason examined the evidence with
jealousy[1289]. He was a sincere and zealous Christian, of high
Church-of-England and monarchical principles, which he would not tamely
suffer to be questioned; and had, perhaps, at an early period, narrowed
his mind somewhat too much, both as to religion and politicks. His being
impressed with the danger of extreme latitude in either, though he was
of a very independent spirit, occasioned his appearing somewhat
unfavourable to the prevalence of that noble freedom of sentiment which
is the best possession of man. Nor can it be denied, that he had many
prejudices; which, however, frequently suggested many of his pointed
sayings, that rather shew a playfulness of fancy than any settled
malignity. He was steady and inflexible in maintaining the obligations
of religion and morality; both from a regard for the order of society,
and from a veneration for the GREAT SOURCE of all order; correct, nay
stern in his taste; hard to please, and easily offended[1290]; impetuous
and irritable in his temper, but of a most humane and benevolent
heart[1291], which shewed itself not only in a most liberal charity, as
far as his circumstances would allow, but in a thousand instances of
active benevolence. He was afflicted with a bodily disease, which made
him often restless and fretful; and with a constitutional melancholy,
the clouds of which darkened the brightness of his fancy, and gave a
gloomy cast to his whole course of thinking: we, therefore, ought not to
wonder at his sallies of impatience and passion at any time; especially
when provoked by obtrusive ignorance, or presuming petulance; and
allowance must be made for his uttering hasty and satirical sallies even
against his best friends. And, surely, when it is considered, that,
'amidst sickness and sorrow[1292],'he exerted his faculties in so many
works for the benefit of mankind, and particularly that he atchieved the
great and admirable DICTIONARY of our language, we must be astonished at
his resolution. The solemn text, 'of him to whom much is given, much
will be required[1293],' seems to have been ever present to his mind, in
a rigorous sense, and to have made him dissatisfied with his labours and
acts of goodness, however comparatively great; so that the unavoidable
consciousness of his superiority was, in that respect, a cause of
disquiet. He suffered so much from this, and from the gloom which
perpetually haunted him, and made solitude frightful, that it may be
said of him, 'If in this life only he had hope, he was of all men most
miserable[1294].' He loved praise, when it was brought to him; but was
too proud to seek for it. He was somewhat susceptible of flattery. As he
was general and unconfined in his studies, he cannot be considered as
master of any one particular science; but he had accumulated a vast and
various collection of learning and knowledge, which was so arranged in
his mind, as to be ever in readiness to be brought forth. But his
superiority over other learned men consisted chiefly in what may be
called the art of thinking, the art of using his mind; a certain
continual power of seizing the useful substance of all that he knew, and
exhibiting it in a clear and forcible manner; so that knowledge, which
we often see to be no better than lumber in men of dull understanding,
was, in him, true, evident, and actual wisdom. His moral precepts are
practical; for they are drawn from an intimate acquaintance with human
nature. His maxims carry conviction; for they are founded on the basis
of common sense, and a very attentive and minute survey of real life.
His mind was so full of imagery, that he might have been perpetually a
poet; yet it is remarkable, that, however rich his prose is in this
respect, his poetical pieces, in general, have not much of that
splendour, but are rather distinguished by strong sentiment and acute
observation, conveyed in harmonious and energetick verse, particularly
in heroick couplets. Though usually grave, and even aweful, in his
deportment, he possessed uncommon and peculiar powers of wit and humour;
he frequently indulged himself in colloquial pleasantry; and the
heartiest merriment[1295] was often enjoyed in his company; with this
great advantage, that as it was entirely free from any poisonous
tincture of vice or impiety, it was salutary to those who shared
in it. He had accustomed himself to such accuracy in his common
conversation[1296], that he at all times expressed his thoughts with
great force, and an elegant choice of language, the effect of which was
aided by his having a loud voice, and a slow deliberate utterance[1297].
In him were united a most logical head with a most fertile imagination,
which gave him an extraordinary advantage in arguing: for he could
reason close or wide, as he saw best for the moment. Exulting in his
intellectual strength and dexterity, he could, when he pleased, be the
greatest sophist that ever contended in the lists of declamation; and,
from a spirit of contradiction and a delight in shewing his powers, he
would often maintain the wrong side with equal warmth and ingenuity; so
that, when there was an audience, his real opinions could seldom be
gathered from his talk[1298]; though when he was in company with a
single friend, he would discuss a subject with genuine fairness: but he
was too conscientious to make errour permanent and pernicious, by
deliberately writing it; and, in all his numerous works, he earnestly
inculcated what appeared to him to be the truth; his piety being
constant, and the ruling principle of all his conduct[1299].
Such was SAMUEL JOHNSON, a man whose talents, acquirements, and
virtues, were so extraordinary, that the more his character is
considered, the more he will be regarded by the present age, and by
posterity, with admiration and reverence[1300].
APPENDIX A.
(_Page_ 115, _note_ 4.)
There are at least three accounts of this altercation and three versions
of the lines. Two of these versions nearly agree. The earliest is found
in a letter by Richard Burke, senior, dated Jan. 6, 1773 (_Burke
Corres_. i. 403); the second in _The Annual Register_ for 1776, p. 223;
and the third in Miss Reynolds's _Recollections_ (Croker's _Boswell_,
8vo. p. 833). R. Burke places the scene in Reynolds's house. Whether he
himself was present is not clear. 'The dean,' he says, 'asserted that
after forty-five a man did not improve. "I differ with you, Sir,"
answered Johnson; "a man may improve, and you yourself have great room
for improvement." The dean was confounded, and for the instant silent.
Recovering, he said, "On recollection I see no cause to alter my
opinion, except I was to call it improvement for a man to grow (which I
allow he may) positive, rude, and insolent, and save arguments by
brutality."' Neither the _Annual Register_ nor Miss Reynolds reports the
Dean's speech. But she says that 'soon after the ladies withdrew, Dr.
Johnson followed them, and sitting down by the lady of the house [that
is by herself, if they were at Sir Joshua's] he said, "I am very sorry
for having spoken so rudely to the Dean." "You very well may, Sir."
"Yes," he said, "it was highly improper to speak in that style to a
minister of the gospel, and I am the more hurt on reflecting with what
mild dignity he received it."' If Johnson really spoke of the Dean's
_mild dignity_, it is clear that Richard Burke's account is wrong. But
it was written just after the scene, and Boswell says there was 'a
pretty smart altercation.' Miss Reynolds continues:--'When the Dean came
up into the drawing-room, Dr. Johnson immediately rose from his seat,
and made him sit on the sofa by him, and with such a beseeching look for
pardon and with such fond gestures--literally smoothing down his arms
and his knees,' &c. The _Annual Register_ says that Barnard the next day
sent the verses addressed to 'Sir Joshua Reynolds & Co.' On the next
page I give Richard Burke's version of the lines, and show the various
readings.
MISS REYNOLD'S RICHARD BURKE'S VERSION. _Annual Register_
VERSION
I lately thought no man alive
Could e'er improve past forty-five,
And ventured to assert it;
The observation was not new,
But seem'd to me so just and true,
That none could controvert it.
'No, Sir,' says Johnson, ''tis not so;
'Tis _That's_ your mistake, and I can show
An instance, if you doubt it;
You who perhaps are _You, Sir, who are near_ forty-eight,
still May _much_ improve, 'tis not too late;
I wish you'd set about it.'
Encouraged thus to mend my faults,
I turn'd his counsel in my thoughts,
could Which way I _should_ apply it:
Genius I knew was _Learning and wit seem'd_ past my reach,
what none can For who can learn _where none will_ teach? when
And wit--I could not buy it.
Then come, my friends, and try your skill,
may You _can improve me, if you will; inform
(My books are at a distance).
