 27 Johnson had not observed that I was in the room. I followed him, however, and he agreed to meet me in the evening at the mitre. I called on him, and we went thither at nine. We had a good supper and port wine, of which he then sometimes drank a bottle. The orthodox high church sound of the mitre, the figure and manner of the celebrated Samuel Johnson, the extraordinary power and precision of his conversation, and the pride arising from finding myself admitted as his companion, produced a variety of sensations and a pleasing elevation of mind beyond what I had ever before experienced. I find in my journal the following minutiae of our conversation, which, though it will give but a very faint notion of what past, is in some degree a valuable record, and it will be curious in this view as showing how habitual to his mind were some opinions which appear in his works. Collie Siberser was no means a blockhead, but by arrogating himself too much he was in danger of losing that degree of estimation to which he was entitled. His friends gave out that he intended his birthday owed should be bad, but that was not the case, sir, for he kept them many months by him, and a few years before he died he showed me one of them, with great solicitude to render it as perfect as might be, and I made some corrections to which he was not very willing to submit. I remember the following couplet in allusion to the king himself. Perched on the eagle-soring wing, thy lowly linnet loves to sing. Sir he had heard something of the fabulous tale of the wren sitting upon the eagle's wing, and he had applied it to a linnet. Gibber's familiar style, however, was better than that which Whitehead has assumed. Grand nonsense is insupportable. Whitehead is but a little man to inscribe verses to players. I did not presume to contvert this censure, which was tinctured with his prejudice against players, but I could not help thinking that a dramatic poet might, with propriety, pay a compliment to an eminent performer, as Whitehead has very happily done in his verses to Mr. Garrick. Sir, I do not think Gray a first-rate poet. He has not a bold imagination nor much command of words. The obscurity in which he has involved himself will not persuade us that he is sublime. His elegy in a churchyard has a happy selection of images, but I don't like what are called his great things. His ode, which begins, Ruins sees thee, Ruthless King, Confusion, on thy banner's weight, has been celebrated for its abruptness, and plunging into the subject all at once. But such arts as these have no merit, unless when they are original. We admire them only once, and this abruptness has nothing new in it. We have had it often before. Nay, we have it in the old song of Johnny Armstrong. Is there ever a man in Scotland, from the highest estate to the lowest degree, et cetera? And then, sir, yes there is a man in Westmoreland, and Johnny Armstrong they do call him. There now you plunge it once into the subject. You have no previous narration to lead you to it. The next two lines in that ode are, I think, very good. Though fanned by conquests crimson wing, they mock the air with idle state. Here let it be observed that although his opinion of Grey's poetry was widely different from mine, and I believe, from that of most men of taste, by whom it is with justice highly admired, there is certainly much absurdity in the clamour which has been raised, as if he had been culpably injurious to the merit of that bard, and had been actuated by Envy. Alas, ye little short-sided critics, could Johnson be envious of the talents of any of his contemporaries? That his opinion on this subject was what in private and in public he uniformly expressed, regardless of what others might think. We may wonder, and perhaps regret, but it is shallow and unjust to charge him with expressing what he did not think. Finding him in a placid humour, and wishing to avail myself of the opportunity which I fortunately had of consulting a sage, to hear whose wisdom I conceived in the ardour of youthful imagination, that men filled with a noble enthusiasm for intellectual improvement would gladly have resorted from distant lands, I opened my mind to him ingeniously, and gave him a little sketch of my life to which he was pleased to listen with great attention. I acknowledged, though that educated very strictly in the principles of religion, I had for some time been misled into a certain degree of infidelity, but that I was come now to a better way of thinking, and was fully satisfied of the truth of the Christian revelation, though I was not clear as to every point considered to be orthodox. Being at all times a curious examiner of the human mind, and pleased with an undisguised display of what had passed in it, he called to me with warmth, give me your hand, I have taken a liking to you. He then began to descend upon the force of testimony, and the little we could know of final causes, so that the objections of, why was it so, or why was it not so ought not to disturb us, adding that he himself had, at one period, been guilty of a temporary neglect of religion, but that it was not the result of argument, but mere absence of thought. After having given credit to reports of his bigotry, I was agreeably surprised when he expressed the following liberal sentiment, which has the additional value of obviating an objection to our holy religion, founded upon the discordant tenets of Christians themselves. For my part, sir, I think all Christians, whether papists or Protestants, agree in the essential articles, and that their differences are trivial and rather political than religious. We talked of belief in ghosts. He said, Sir, I make a distinction between what a man may experience by the mere strength of his imagination, and what imagination cannot possibly produce. Thus, suppose I should think that I saw a form, and heard a voice cry, Johnson, you are a very wicked fellow, and unless you repent, you will certainly be punished. My own unworthiness is so deeply impressed upon my mind that I might imagine I thus saw and heard, and therefore I should not believe that an external communication had been made to me. But if a form should appear, and a voice should tell me that a particular man had died at a particular place, and a particular hour, a fact which I had no apprehension of, nor any means of knowing, and this fact, with all its circumstances, should afterwards be unquestionably proved, I should in that case be persuaded that I had supernatural intelligence imparted to me. Here it is proper, once for all, to give a true and fair statement of Johnson's way of thinking upon the question, whether departed spirits are ever permitted to appear in this world or in any way to operate upon human life. He has been ignorantly misrepresented as weakly credulous upon that subject, and therefore I feel an inclination to disdain and treat with silent contempt, so foolish a notion concerning my illustrious friend, yet as I find that it has gained ground it is necessary to refute it. The real fact, then, is that Johnson had a very philosophical mind, and such a rational respect for testimony as to make him submit to his understanding to what was authentically proved, though he could not comprehend why it was so. Being thus disposed he was willing to inquire into the truth of any relation of supernatural agency, a general belief of which has prevailed in all nations and ages. But so far was he from being the dupe of implicit faith that he examined the matter with a jealous intention, and no man was more ready to refute its falsehood when he had discovered it. Churchill, in his poem entitled The Ghost, availed himself of the absurd credulity imputed to Johnson, and drew a caricature of him under the name of Pomposo, representing him as one of the believers of the story of a ghost in Cock Lane, which in the year 1762 had gained very general credit in London. Many of my readers I am convinced are to this hour under an impression that Johnson was thus foolishly deceived. It will therefore surprise them a good deal when they are informed upon undoubted authority that Johnson was one of those by whom the imposture was detected. The story had become so popular that he thought it should be investigated, and in this research he was assisted by the Reverend Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of Salisbury, the great detector of impostors, who informs me that after the gentleman who went and examined into evidence were satisfied of its falsity, Johnson wrote in their presence an account of it which was published in the newspapers and gentlemen's magazine and undeceived the world. Our conversation proceeded. Sir, said he, I am a friend to subordination as most conducive to the happiness of society. There is a reciprocal pleasure in governed and being governed. Dr. Goldsmith is one of the first men we now have as an author, and he a very worthy man too. He has been loose in his principles, but he is coming right. I mentioned Mallet's tragedy of Elvira, which had been acted the preceding winter at Drury Lane, and that the honourable Andrew Erskine, Mr. Dempster and myself, had joined in writing a pamphlet entitled Critical Strictures Against It. That the mildness of Dempster's disposition had, however, relented, and he had candidly said, We have hardly a right to abuse this tragedy, for bad as it is, how vain should either of us be to write one not near so good. Johnson, why, no, sir, this is not just reasoning. You may abuse a tragedy, though you cannot write one. You may scold a carpenter who has made you a bad table, though you cannot make a table. It is not your trade to make tables. When I talked to him of the paternal estate to which I was heir, he said, Sir, let me tell you that to be a scotch landlord, where you have a number of families dependent upon you, and attached to you, is perhaps as high a situation as humanity can arrive at. A merchant upon the change of London, with a hundred thousand pounds, is nothing. An English duke with an immense fortune is nothing. He has no tenants who consider themselves as under his patriarchal care, and who will follow him to the field upon an emergency. His notion of the dignity of a scotch landlord had been formed upon what he had heard of the Highland chiefs, for it is long since a lowland landlord has been so curtailed in his feudal authority, that he has little more influence over his tenants than an English landlord, and of late years most of the Highland chiefs have destroyed, by means too well known, the princely power which they once enjoyed. He proceeded, you're going abroad, Sir, and breaking off idle habits may be of great importance to you. I would go where there are courts and learned men. There is a good deal of Spain that has not been perambulated. I would have you go thither. A man of inferior talents to yours may furnish us with useful observations upon that country. His supposing me, at that period of life, capable of riding an account of my travels that would deserve to be read, elated me not a little. I appeal to every impartial reader, whether this fanciful detail of his frankness, complacency, and kindness to a young man, a stranger in a scotchman, does not refute the unjust opinion of the harshness of his general demeanor. His occasional reproofs of folly, impudence, or impiety, and even the sudden sallies of his constitutional irritability of temper, which have been preserved for the poignancy of their wit, have produced that opinion among those who have not considered such instances, though collected by Mrs. Piozzi into a small volume, and read over in a few hours, were in fact scattered through a long series of years, years in which his time was chiefly spent in instructing and delighting mankind by his writings and conversation, in acts of piety to God and goodwill to men. I complained to him that I had not yet acquired much knowledge, and asked his advice as to my studies. He said, Don't talk of study now. I will give you a plan, but it will require some time to consider of it. It is very good in you, I replied, to allow me to be with you thus. Had it been foretold to me some years ago that I should pass an evening with the author of the Rambler, how I should have exalted? What I then expressed was sincere from the heart. He was satisfied that it was, and cordially answered, Sir, I am glad we have met. I hope we shall pass many evenings and mornings together, too. We finished a couple of bottles of port, and sat till between one and two in the morning. He wrote this year in the critical review the account of Telemachus, a mask, by the Reverend George Graham of Eaton College. The subject of this beautiful poem was particularly interesting to Johnson, who had much experience of the conflict of opposite principles, which he describes as the contention between pleasure and virtue, a struggle which will always be continued while the present system of nature shall subsist, nor can history or poetry exhibit more than pleasure, triumphing over virtue, and virtue subjugating pleasure. As Dr. Oliver Goldsmith will frequently appear in this narrative, I shall endeavor to make my readers, in some degree, acquainted with his singular character. He was a native of Ireland, and a contemporary with Mr. Burke at Trinity College, Dublin, but did not then give much promise of future celebrity. He, however, observed to Mr. Malone that though he made no great figure in mathematics, which was a study in much reprieve there, he could turn a note of Horace into English better than any of them. He afterwards studied physics at Edinburgh, and upon the Continent, and I have been informed, was enabled to pursue his travels on foot, partly by demanding at universities to enter the lists as disputant, by which, according to the custom of many of them, he was entitled to the premium of a crown, when luckily for him his challenge was not accepted. So that, as I once observed to Dr. Johnson, he disputed his passage through Europe. He then came to England, and was employed successively in the capacities of an usher to an academy, a corrector in the press, a reviewer, and a writer for a newspaper. He had sagacity enough to cultivate assituously the acquaintance of Johnson, and his faculties were gradually enlarged by the contemplation of such a model. To me and to many others it appeared that he studiously copied the manner of Johnson, though indeed upon a smaller scale. At this time I think he had published nothing with his name, though it was pretty generally known that one Dr. Goldsmith was the author of an inquiry into the present state of polite learning in Europe, and of the citizen of the world, a series of letters supposed to be written from London by Chinese. No man had the art of displaying with more advantage as a writer whatever literary acquisitions he made. Niehill quid tegetit non ornevit. His mind resembled a fertile but thin soil. There was a quick but not a strong vegetation of whatever chance to be thrown upon it. No deep root could be struck. The oak of the forest did not grow there, but the elegant shrubbery and the fragrant parterre appeared in gay succession. It has been generally circulated and believed that he was a mere fool in conversation, but in truth this has been greatly exaggerated. He had no doubt a more than common share of that hurry of ideas which we find in his countrymen, and which sometimes produces a laughable confusion in expressing them. He was very much what the French call an entourdi, and from vanity and an eager desire of being conspicuous wherever he was he frequently talked carelessly without knowledge of the subject, or even without thought. His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar, awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. Those who were in any way distinguished excited envy in him to so ridiculous in excess that the instances of it are hardly credible. When accompanying two beautiful young ladies with their mother on a tour of France, he was seriously angry that more attention was paid to them than to him, and once at the exhibition of the Fantuccini in London, when those who sat next to him observed with what dexterity a puppet was made to toss a pike, he could not bear that it should have such praise, and exclaimed with some warmth, Pshaw! I can do it better myself! Note! He went home with Mr. Burke to supper, and broke his shin by attempting to exhibit to the company how much better he could jump over a stick than the puppets. End note! He, I am afraid, had no settled system of any sort, so that his conduct must not be strictly scrutinized, but his affections were social and generous, and when he had money he gave it away very liberally. His desire of imaginary consequence predominated over his attention to truth. When he began to rise into notice, he said he had a brother who was dean of Durham, a fiction so easily detected that it is wonderful how he should have been so inconsiderate as to hazard it. He boasted to me at this time of the power of his pen in commanding money, which I believe was true in a certain degree, though in the instance he gave was no means correct. He told me that he had sold a novel for four hundred pounds. This was his vicar of Wakefield. But Johnson informed me that he had made the bargain for Goldsmith, and the price was sixty pounds. And, sir, said he, a sufficient price, too, when it was sold, for then the fame of Goldsmith had not been elevated as it afterwards was by his traveller, and the bookseller had such faint hopes of profit by his bargain that he kept the manuscript by him a long time, and did not publish it till after the traveller had appeared. Then, to be sure, it was accidentally worth more money. Mrs. Piozzi and Sir John Hawkins have strangely misstated the history of Goldsmith's situation and Johnson's friendly interference when this novel was sold. I shall give it authentically from Johnson's own exact narration. I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea and promised to come directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it and saw its merit, told the landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a bookseller sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not without raiding his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill. Note, it may not be improper to annex here Mrs. Piozzi's account of this transaction in her own words as a specimen of the extreme inaccuracy with which all her anecdotes of Dr. Johnson are related, or rather discolored and distorted. I have forgotten the year, but it could scarcely, I think, be later than seventeen sixty-five or seventeen sixty-six, that he was called abruptly from our house after dinner, and returning, in about three hours, said he had been with an enraged author, whose landlady pressed him for payment within doors, while the bailiffs beset him without, that he was drinking himself drunk with Madeira to drown care, and fretting over a novel, which, when finished, was to be his whole fortune, but he could not get it done for distraction, or could he step out of doors to offer it for sale. Mr. Johnson, therefore, sent away the bottle, and went to the bookseller, recommending the performance and desiring some immediate relief, which, when he brought back to the writer, he called the woman of the house directly to partake a punch, and passed their time in merriment. Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson. Page one, nineteen. End note. My next meeting with Johnson was on Friday the first of July, when he and I and Dr. Goldsmith subbed together at the mitre. I was before this time pretty well acquainted with Goldsmith, who was one of the brightest ornaments of the Johnsonian school. Goldsmith's respectful attachment to Johnson was then at its height, for his own literary reputation had not yet distinguished him so much as to excite a vain desire of competition with his great master. He had increased my admiration of the goodness of Johnson's heart by incidental remarks in the course of conversation, such as, when I mentioned Mr. Levitt, whom he entertained under his roof, he is poor and honest which is a recommendation enough to Johnson. And when I wondered that he was very kind to a man of whom I had heard a very bad character, he has now become miserable, and that ensures the protection of Johnson. Goldsmith attempted this evening to maintain, I suppose from an affectation of paradox, that knowledge was not desirable on its own account, for it often was a source of unhappiness. Johnson, why, sir, that knowledge may in some cases produce unhappiness I allow, but upon the whole, knowledge, per se, is certainly an object which every man would wish to attain, although perhaps he may not take the trouble necessary for attaining it. Dr. John Campbell, the celebrated political and biographical writer, being mentioned, Johnson said, Campbell is a man of much knowledge, and has a good share of imagination. His Heroniptus Redivivus is very entertaining, as an account of the Hermetic philosophy, and as furnishing a curious history of the extravagances of the human mind. If it were merely imaginary it would be nothing at all. Campbell is not always rigidly careful of truth in his conversation, but I do not believe there is anything of this carelessness in his books. Campbell is a good man, a pious man. I'm afraid he has not been in the inside of a church for many years, but he never passes a church without pulling off his hat. This shows that he has good principles. I used to go pretty often to Campbell's on Sunday evening, till I began to consider that the shoals of Scotchman who flocked about him might probably say, when anything of mine was well done, I, I, he has learnt this of Cowell. Note. I am inclined to think that he was misinformed as to this circumstance. I own I am jealous for my worthy friend Dr. John Campbell. For though Milton could, without remorse, absent himself from public worship, Johnson's works, seven, one fifteen, I cannot. On the contrary I have the same habitual impressions upon my mind, with those of a truly venerable judge, who said to Mr. Langton, Friend Langton, if I have not been at church on Sunday I do not feel myself easy. Dr. Campbell was a sincerely religious man. Lord McCartney, who is eminent for his variety of knowledge and attention to men of talents, and knew him well, told me that when he called on him in a morning and found him reading a chapter in the Greek New Testament, told me that when he called on him in a morning he found him reading a chapter in the Greek New Testament, which he informed his lordship was his constant practice. The quantity of Dr. Campbell's composition is almost incredible, and his labours brought him large profits. After Joseph Wharton told me that Johnson said of him, he is the richest author that ever grazed the common of literature. End note. He talked very contemptuously of Churchill's poetry, observing that it had a temporary currency, only from its audacity of abuse, and being filled with living names, and that it would sink into oblivion. I ventured to hint that he was not quite a fair judge, as Churchill had attacked him violently. Johnson, nay, sir, I am a very fair judge. He did not attack me violently till he found I did not like his poetry, and his attack on me shall not prevent me from continuing to say what I think of him, from an apprehension that it may be ascribed to resentment. No, sir, I called the fellow a blockhead at first, and I will call him a blockhead still. However, I will acknowledge that I have a better opinion of him now than I once had, for he has shown more fertility than I expected. To be sure, he is a tree that cannot produce good fruit, he bears only crabs. But, sir, a tree that produces a great many crabs is better than a tree which produces only a few. In this depreciation of Churchill's poetry I could not agree with him. It is very true that the greatest part of it is upon the topics of the day, on which account, as it brought him great fame and profit at the time, it must proportionately slide out of the public attention, as other occasional objects succeed. But Churchill had extraordinary vigor both of thought and expression. His portraits of the players will be ever valuable to the true lovers of the drama, and his strong caricatures of several eminent men of his age will not be forgotten by the curious. Let me add that there are in his works many passages which are of a general nature, and his prophecy of famine is a poem of no ordinary merit. It is indeed falsely injurious to Scotland, but therefore may be allowed a greater share of invention. Bunnell Thornton had just published a burlesque owed on St. Cecilia's Day, adapted to the ancient British music, vis the saltbox, the Jews harp, the marrow bones and cleaver, the humstrom or hurdy-gurdy, et cetera. Johnson praised its humor and seemed much diverted with it. He repeated the following passage, in strains more exalted the saltbox shall join, and clattering and banging and clapping combine, with a rap and a tap, while the hollow side sounds, up and down leaps the flap, and with rattling rebounds. I mentioned the periodical paper called the connoisseur. He said it wanted matter. No doubt it has not the deep thinking of Johnson's writings, but surely it has just views of the surface of life and a very sprightly manner. His opinion of the world was not much higher than that of the connoisseur. Let me here apologize for the imperfect manner in which I am obliged to exhibit Johnson's conversation at this period. In the early part of my acquaintance with him I was so wrapped in admiration of his extraordinary colloquial talents and so little accustomed to his peculiar mode of expression that I found it extremely difficult to recollect and record his conversation with its genuine vigor and vivacity. In progress of time, when my mind was, as it were, strongly impregnated with the Johnsonian ear, I could, with much more facility in exactness, carry in my memory and commit to paper the exuberant variety of his wisdom and wit. At this time Miss Williams, as she was then called, although she did not reside with him in the temple under his roof, but had lodgings in Boltcourt, Fleet Street, had so much of his attention that he every night drank tea with her before he went home, however late it might be, and she always sat up for him. This it may be fairly conjectured, was not alone a proof of his regard for her, but of his own unwillingness to go into solitude, before that unseasonable hour at which he had habituated himself to expect the oblivion of her pose. Dr. Goldsmith, being a privileged man, went with him this night, strutting away and calling to me with an air of superiority, like that of an esoteric over an esoteric disciple of a sage of antiquity, I go to Miss Williams. I confess I then envied him this mighty privilege, of which he seemed so proud, but it was not long before I obtained the same mark of distinction. On Tuesday the 5th of July I again visited Johnson. He told me he had looked into the poems of a pretty voluminous writer, Mr. now Dr. John Ogilvy, one of the Presbyterian ministers of Scotland, which had lately come out, but could find no thinking in them. Boswell, is there not imagination in them, sir? Johnson, why, sir, there is in them what was imagination, but it is no more imagination in him than sound is sound in the echo, and his diction, too, is not his own. We have long ago seen white-robed innocence, and flower bespangled needs. Talking of London, he observed, Sir, if you wish to have a just notion of the magnitude of this city, you must not be satisfied with seeing its great streets and squares, but must survey the innumerable little lanes and courts. It is not in the showy evolutions of buildings, but in the multiplicity of human habitations which are crowded together that the wonderful immensity of London consists. I have often amused myself with thinking how different a place London is to different people. They whose narrow minds are contracted to the consideration of some one particular pursuit view it only through that medium. A politician thinks of it merely as the seat of government in its different departments. A Grazier is a vast market for cattle, a mercantile man has a place where a prodigious deal of business is done upon change, a dramatic enthusiast as the grand scene of theatrical entertainments, a man of pleasure as an assemblage of taverns, and the great emporium for ladies of easy virtue. But the intellectual man is struck with it, as comprehending the whole of human life in all its variety, contemplation of which is inexhaustible. On Wednesday, July 6, he was engaged to sup with me at my lodgings in Downing Street Westminster, but on the preceding night my landlord, having behaved very rudely to me and some company who were there with me, I had resolved not to remain another night in his house. I was exceedingly uneasy at the awkward appearance I supposed I should make to Johnson and the other gentleman whom I had invited, not being able to receive them at home, and being obliged to order supper at the mitre. I went to Johnson in the morning and talked to it as a serious distress. He laughed, and said, Consider, sir, how insignificant this will appear a twelve-month hence. Were this consideration to be applied to most of the little vexatious incidents of life by which our quiet is too often disturbed, it would prevent many painful sensations. I have tried it frequently, with good effect. But there is nothing, continued he, in this mighty misfortune, nay we shall be better at the mitre. I told him that I had been at Sir John Fielding's office, complaining of my landlord, and had been informed that though I had taken my lodgings for a year, I might, upon proof of bad behaviour, quit them when I pleased, without being under an obligation to pay rent for any longer than while I possessed them. The fertility of Johnson's mind could show itself, even upon, say, smaller matter as this. Why, sir, said he? I suppose this must be the law, since you have been told so in Bow Street. But if your landlord could hold you to your bargain and the lodgings should be yours for a year, you may certainly use them as you think fit. So, sir, you may quarter two life-guards men upon him, or you may send the greatest scoundrel you can find into your apartments, or you may say that you want to make some experiments in natural philosophy, and may burn a large quantity of asafetida in his house. I had as my guests this evening at the MITRE Tavern, Dr. Johnson, Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Thomas Davies, Mr. Eccles, an Irish gentleman for whose agreeable company I was obliged to Mr. Davies, and the Reverend Mr. John Ogilvy, who was desirous of being in company with my illustrious friend, while I, in my turn, was pride to have the honour of showing one of my countrymen upon what easy terms Johnson permitted me to live with him. Note the Northern Bard mentioned, page 41, when I asked Dr. Johnson's permission to introduce him, he obligingly agreed, adding, however, with a sly pleasantry, but he must give us none of his poetry. It is remarkable that Johnson and Churchill, however much they differed in other points, agreed upon this subject. See Churchill's journey. Under dark allegories flimsy veil let them with Ogilvy spin out a tale of rueful lengths. Churchill's Poems, 2.329. It is, however, but justice to Dr. Ogilvy, to observe that his day of judgment has no inconsiderable share of merit. End of note. Goldsmith, as usual, endeavoured, with too much eagerness to shine, and disputed very warmly with Johnson against the well-known maxim of the British Constitution, the king can do no wrong, affirming that what was morally false could not be politically true, and as the king might, in the exercise of his regal power, command and cause the doing of what was wrong, it certainly might be said in sense and in reason that he could do wrong. Johnson. Sir, you are to consider that in our Constitution, according to its true principles, the king is the head. He is supreme, he is above everything, and there is no power by which he can be tried. Therefore it is, sir, that we hold the king can do no wrong, that whatever may happen to be wrong in government may not be above our reach by being ascribed to majesty. Redress is always to be had against oppression by punishing the immediate agents. The king, though he should command, cannot force a judge to condemn a man unjustly, therefore it is the judge whom we prosecute and punish. Political institutions are formed upon the consideration of what will most frequently tend to the good of the whole, although now and then exceptions may occur. Thus it is better in general that a nation should have a supreme legislative power, although it may be at times abused. And then, sir, there is this consideration, that if the abuse be enormous, nature will rise up and claiming her original rights overturn a corrupt political system. I mark this animated sentence with peculiar pleasure as a noble instance of that truly dignified spirit of freedom which ever glowed in his heart, though he was charged with slavish tenets by superficial observers, because he was at all times indignant against that false patriotism, that pretended love of freedom, that unruly restlessness which is inconsistent with the stable authority of any good government. This generous statement which he uttered with great fervour struck me exceedingly and stirred my blood to that pitch of fancied resistance, the possibility of which I am glad to keep in mind, but to which I trust I shall never be forced. Great abilities, said he, are not requisite for an historian. For in historical composition all the greatest powers of the human mind are quiescent. He has facts ready to his hand, so there is no exercise of invention. Penetration is not required in any high degree, only about as much as is used in the lower kinds of poetry. Some penetration, accuracy, and colouring will fit a man for the task, if he can give the application which is necessary. Bale's dictionary is very useful work for those to consult who love the biographical part of literature, which is what I love most. Talking of the eminent writers in Queen Anne's reign, he observed, I think Dr. Arbuthnot was the first man among them. He was the most universal genius, being an excellent physician, a man of deep learning, and a man of much humour. Mr. Addison was, to be sure, a great man. His learning was not profound, but his morality, his humour, and his elegance of writing set him very high. Mr. Ogilvy was unlucky enough to choose for the topic of his conversation the praises of his native country. He began with saying that there was very rich land round Edinburgh. Goldsmith, who had studied physics there, contradicted this, very unruly with a sneering laugh. Disconcerted a little by this, Mr. Ogilvy then took new ground, where, I suppose, he thought himself perfectly safe, for he observed that Scotland had a great many noble, wild prospects. Johnson I believe, sir, you have a great many. Norway, too, has noble, wild prospects. And Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble, wild prospects. But, sir, let me tell you, the noblest prospect which a Scotsman ever sees is the high road that leads him to England. This unexpected and pointed sally produced a roar of applause. After all, however, those who admire the rude grandeur of nature cannot deny it to Caledonia. On Saturday, July 9th, I found Johnson surrounded with a numerous levee, but have not preserved any part of his conversation. On the 14th we had another evening by ourselves at the mitre. It happened to be a very rainy night. I made some common-face observations on the relaxation of nerves and depression of spirits, which such weather occasioned. Adding, however, that it was good for the vegetable creation. Johnson, who, as we have already seen, denied that the temperature of the air had any influence on the human frame, answered with a smile of ridicule, Why, yes, sir, it is good for vegetables, and for the animals who eat those vegetables, and for the animals who eat those animals. This observation of his aptly enough introduced a good supper, and I soon forgot in Johnson's company the influence of a moist atmosphere. Feeling myself now quite at ease as his companion, though I had all possible reverence for him, I expressed a regret that I could not be so easy with my father, though he was not much older than Johnson, and certainly, however respectable, had not more learning and greater abilities to depress me. I asked him the reason of this. Johnson, why, sir, I am a man of the world, I live in the world, and I take in some degree the colour of the world, as it moves along. Your father is a judge in a remote part of the island, and all his notions are taken from the old world. Besides, sir, there must always be a struggle between a father and son, while one aims at power and the other at independence. I said I was afraid my father would force me to be a lawyer. Johnson, sir, you need not be afraid of his forcing you to be a laborious, practising lawyer. That is not in his power. For, as the proverb says, one man may lead a horse to the water, but twenty cannot make him drink. He may be displeased that you are not what he wishes you to be, but that displeasure will not go far, if he insists only on you having as much law as is necessary for a man of property, and then endeavours to get you into Parliament. He is quite in the right. He enlarged very convincingly upon the excellence of rhyme, over blank verse in English poetry. I mentioned to him that Dr Adam Smith, in his lectures upon composition when I studied under him in the College of Glasgow, had maintained the same opinion strenuously, and I repeated some of his arguments. Johnson, sir, I was once in company with Smith, and we did not take to each other, but had I known that he loved rhyme as much as you tell me he does, I should have hugged him. Talking of those who denied the truth of Christianity, he said, it is always easy to be on the negative side. If a man were now to deny that there is salt upon the table, you could not reduce him to an absurdity. Come, let us try this a little further. I deny that Canada is taken, and I can support my denial by pretty good arguments. The French are a much more numerous people than we, and it is not likely that they would allow us to take it. But the Ministry have assured us in all the formality of the Gazette that it is taken. Very true, but the Ministry have put us to an enormous expense by the war in America, and it is in their interest to persuade us that we have got something for our money. But the fact is confirmed by thousands of men who were at the taking of it. Aye, but these men have still more interest in deceiving us. They don't want that you should think the French have beat them, but that they have beat the French. Now, suppose you should go over and find that it is really taken, that would only satisfy yourself, for when you come home we will not believe you. We will say you have been bribed. Yet, sir, notwithstanding all these plausible objections, we have no doubt that Canada is really ours, such is the weight of common testimony. How much stronger are the evidences of the Christian religion? Idleness is a disease which must be combated, but I would not advise a rigid adherence to a particular plan of study. I myself have never persisted in any plan for two days together. A man ought to read just as inclination leads him, for what he reads as a task will do him little good. A young man should read five hours in a day, and so may acquire a great deal of knowledge. To a man of vigorous intellect and arduous curiosity like his own, reading without a regular plan may be beneficial, though even such a man must submit to it, if he would attain a full understanding of any of the sciences. To such a degree of unrestrained frankness had he now accustomed to me, that in the course of this evening I talked of the numerous reflections which had been thrown out against him, on account of his having accepted a pension from his present majesty. Why, sir, said he with a hearty laugh? It is a foolish noise they make. I have accepted of a pension as a reward which has been thought due to my literary merit, and now that I have this pension, I am the same man in every respect that I have ever been. I retain the same principles. It is true that I cannot now curse, smiling, the House of Hanover, nor would it be decent for me to drink King James's health in the wine that King George gives me money to pay for. But, sir, I think that the pleasure of cursing the House of Hanover and drinking King James's health are amply overbalanced by three hundred pounds a year. Note, when I mentioned the same idle clamour to him several years afterwards, he said with a smile, I wish my pension were twice as large, that they might make twice as much noise. End of note. There was here most certainly an affectation of more Jacobitism than he really had, and indeed an intention of admitting, for the moment, in a much greater extent, than it really existed, the charge of disaffection imputed to him by the world, merely for the purpose of showing how dexterously he could repel an attack, even though he were placed in the most disadvantageous position. For I have heard him declare that if holding up his right hand would have secured victory at Caludan to Prince Charles's army, he was not sure he would have held it up, so little confidence had he in the right claim by the House of Stuart, and so fearful was he of the consequences of another revolution on the Throne of Great Britain. And Mr. Topham Boatlerk assured me he had heard him say this before he had his pension. At another time he said to Mr. Langton, nothing has ever offered that has made it worth my while to consider the question fully. He, however, also said to the same gentleman, talking of King James II, it was become impossible for him to reign any longer in this country. He no doubt had an early attachment to the House of Stuart, but his zeal had cooled as his reason strengthened. Indeed I heard him once say that, after the death of a violent wig, with whom he used to contend with great eagerness, he felt his Toryism much abated. I suppose he meant Mr. Wormsley. Yet there is no doubt that at earlier periods he was won't often to exercise both his pleasantry and ingenuity in talking Jacobitism. My much respected friend Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of Salisbury, has favoured me with the following admirable instance from his lordship's own recollection. One day, when dining at Old Mr. Langton's, where Miss Roberts's niece was one of the company, Johnson, with his usual complacent attention to the fair sex, took her by the hand and said, my dear, I hope you are a Jacobite. Old Mr. Langton, who though high and steady Tory was attached to the present royal family, seemed offended, and asked Johnson, with great warmth, what he could mean by putting such a question to his niece. Why, sir, said Johnson, I meant no offense to your niece. I meant her a great compliment. A Jacobite, sir, believes in the divine right of kings. He that believes in the divine right of kings believes in a divinity. A Jacobite believes in the divine right of bishops. He that believes in the divine right of bishops believes in the divine authority of the Christian religion. Therefore, sir, a Jacobite is neither an atheist nor a daist. That cannot be said of a wig, for a wiggism is a negation of all principle. He advised me, when abroad, to be as much as I could with the professors in the universities and with the clergy, for from their conversation I might expect the best kinds of everything, in whatever country I should be, with the additional advantage of keeping my learning alive. It will be observed that when giving me advice as to my travels, Dr. Johnson did not dwell upon cities and palaces and pictures and shows and arcadian scenes. He was of Lord Essex's opinion, who advises his kinsman, Roger Earl of Rutland, rather to go a hundred miles to speak with one wise man, and five miles to see a fair town. I described to him an impudent fellow from Scotland who affected to be a savage and railed at all established systems. Dr. Johnson, there is nothing surprising in this, sir. He wants to make himself conspicuous. He would tumble in a hog-star, as long as you looked at him and called to him to come out, but let him alone, never mind him, and he'll soon give it over. I added that the same person maintained that there was no distinction between virtue and vice. Dr. Johnson, why, sir, if the fellow does not think as he speaks, he's lying, and I see not what honour he can propose to himself from having the character of a liar. But if he does really think that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, why, sir, when he leaves our houses, let us count our spoons. Sir David Dalrymple, now one of the judges of Scotland, by the title of Lord Hales, had contributed much to increase my high opinion of Johnson on account of his writings, long before I attained to a personal acquaintance with him. I, in return, had informed Johnson of Sir David's eminent character for learning and religion, and Johnson was so much pleased that at one of our evening meetings he gave him for his toast. I, at this time, kept up a very frequent correspondence with Sir David, and I read to Dr. Johnson to-night the following passage from the letter which I had last received from him. It gives me pleasure to think that you have obtained the friendship of Mr. Samuel Johnson. He is one of the best moral writers which England has produced. At the same time I envy you, the free and undisguised converse with such a man. May I beg you to present my best respects to him, and to assure him of the veneration which I entertain for the author of The Rambler, and of Rassolas. Let me recommend this last work to you. With The Rambler you are certainly acquainted. In Rassolas you will see a tender-hearted operator who probes the wound only to heal it. Swift, on the contrary, mangles human nature. He cuts and slashes, as if he took pleasure in the operation. Like the tyrant who said, Johnson seemed to be gratified by this just and well-turned compliment. He recommended to me to keep a journal of my life, full and unreserved. He said it would be a very good exercise, and would yield me great satisfaction when the particulars were faded from my remembrance. I was uncommonly fortunate in having had a previous coincidence of opinion with him upon this subject, for I had kept such a journal for some time, and it was no small pleasure to me to have this to tell him and to receive his approbation. He counseled me to keep it private, and said that I might surely have a friend who would burn it in case of my death. From this habit I have been enabled to give the world so many anecdotes which would otherwise have been lost to posterity. I mentioned that I was afraid to put into my journal too many little incidents. Johnson, there is nothing, sir, too little for so little a creature as man. It is by studying little things that we attain the great art of having as little misery and as much happiness as possible. Next morning Mr. Dempster happened to call on me, and was so much struck even with the imperfect account which I gave him of Dr. Johnson's conversation, that to his honour, be it recorded, when I complained that drinking port and sitting up late with him affected my nerves for some time after, he said, one had better be palsy at eighteen than not keep company with such a man. On Tuesday, July 18, I found tall Sir Thomas Robinson sitting with Johnson. Sir Thomas said that the King of Prussia valued himself upon three things, upon being a hero, a musician, and an author. Johnson. Pretty well, sir, for one man. It has to be his being an author. I have not looked at his poetry, but his prose is poor stuff. He writes, just as you might suppose, Voltaire's foot boy to do, who has been his emanuences. He has such parts as the valet might have, and about as much of the colouring of the style as might be got by transcribing his works. When I was at Furnair, I repeated this to Voltaire in order to reconcile him somewhat to Johnson, whom he, in effecting the English mode of expression, had previously characterised as a superstitious dog. But after hearing such criticism on Frederick the Great, with whom he was then on bad terms, he explained, an honest fellow. But I think the criticism much too severe. For the memoirs of the House of Brandenburg are written as well as many works, as well as many works of that kind. His poetry, for the style of which he himself makes a frank apology, genre non un François Barba, though fraught with pernicious ravings of infidelity, has, in many places, a great animation, and in some, a pathetic tenderness. Upon this contemptuous animadversion on the King of Prussia, I observed to Johnson, it would seem, then, sir, that much less parts are necessary to make a king than to make an author. For the King of Prussia is confessedly the greatest king now in Europe, yet you think he makes a very poor figure as an author. Mr. Levitt, this day, showed me Dr. Johnson's library, which was contained in two garrets over his chambers, where Lintott, son of the celebrated bookseller of that name, had formerly his warehouse. I found a number of good books, but very dusty and in great confusion. The floor was strewed with manuscript leaves in Johnson's own handwriting, which I beheld with a degree of veneration, supposing they perhaps might contain portions of the Rambler or of Rasselas. I observed an apparatus for chemical experiments, of which Johnson was all his life very fond. The place seemed to be very favourable for retirement and meditation. Johnson told me that he went up thither, without mentioning it to his servant, when he wanted to study, secure from interruption, for he would not allow his servant to say that he was not at home when he really was. The servant's strict regard for truth, said he, must be weakened by such a practice. A philosopher may know that it is merely a form of denial, but few servants are such nice distinguishes. If I are a customer's servant to lie for me, have I not reason to apprehend that he will tell many lies for himself? I am, however, satisfied that every servant, of any degree of intelligence, understand saying his master is not at home, not at all as the affirmation of a fact, but as customary words, intimating that his master wishes not to be seen, so that there can be no bad effect from it. Mr. Temple, now vicar of St. Gluvius Cornwall, who had been my intimate friend for many years, had at this time chambers in Farrow's buildings, at the bottom of Inner Temple Lane, which he kindly lent me upon my quitting my lodgings, he being to return to Trinity Hall Cambridge. I found them particularly convenient for me, as they were so near Dr. Johnson's. End of Section 28. On Wednesday, July 20, Dr. Johnson, Mr. Dempster and my uncle, Dr. Boswell, who happened to be now in London, subbed with me at these chambers. Johnson. Pity is not natural to man. Children are always cruel. Savages are always cruel. Pity is acquired and improved by the cultivation of reason. We may have uneasy sensations from seeing a creature in distress, without pity. For we have not pity unless we wish to relieve him. When I am on my way to dine with a friend and finding it late, have bid the coachman make haste. If I happen to attend when he whips his horses, I may feel unpleasantly that the animals are put to pain, but I do not wish him to desist. No, sir, I wish him to drive on. Mr. Alexander Donaldson, bookseller of Edinburgh, had for some time opened a shop in London, and sold his cheap editions of the most popular English books, in defiance of the supposed common law right of literary property. Johnson, though he concurred in the opinion which was afterwards sanctioned by the judgment of the House of Lords, that there was no such right, was at this time very angry that the booksellers of London, for whom he uniformly professed much regard, should suffer from an invasion of what they had ever considered to be secure. And he was loud and violent against Mr. Donaldson. He is a fellow who takes advantage of the law to injure his brethren, for notwithstanding that the statute secures only 14 years of exclusive right, it has always been understood by the trade that he who buys the copyright of a book from the author obtains perpetual property, and upon that belief numberless bargains are made to transfer that property after the expiration of the statutory term. Now Donaldson, I say, takes advantage here of people who have really an equitable title from usage, and if we consider how few of the books of which they buy the property succeed so well as to bring profit, we should be of the opinion that the term of 14 years is too short. It should be 60 years. Dempster. Donaldson, sir, is anxious for the encouragement of literature. He reduces the price of books so that the poor students may buy them. Johnson, laughing. Well, sir, allowing that to be his motive, he is no better than Robin Hood, who robbed the rich in order to give to the poor. It is remarkable that when the great question concerning literary property came to be ultimately tried before the Supreme Tribunal of the country, in consequence of the very spirited exertions of Mr. Donaldson, Dr. Johnson was zealous against a perpetuity, but he thought that the term of the exclusive right of authors should be considerably enlarged. He was then for granting a hundred years. The conversation now turned upon Mr. David Hume's style. Johnson. Why, sir, his style is not English. The structure of his sentence is French. Now the French structure and the English structure may in the nature of things be equally good, but if you allow that the English language is established, he is wrong. My name might originally have been Nicholson, as well as Johnson, but were you to call me Nicholson now, you would call me very absurdly. Rousseau's treaty on the inequality of mankind was at this time a fashionable topic. It gave rise to the observation of Mr. Dempster, that the advantages of fortune in rank were nothing to a wise man who ought to value only merit. Johnson. If man were a savage living in the woods by himself, this might be true, but in civilized society we all depend upon each other, and our happiness is very much owing to the good opinion of mankind. Now, sir, in civilized society external advantages make us more respected. A man with a good coat upon his back meets with a better reception than he who has a bad one. Sir, you may analyze this and say what is there in it, but that will avail you nothing, for it is a part of a general system. Pound St. Paul's church into atoms, and consider any single atom. It is to be sure good for nothing, but put all these atoms together, and you have St. Paul's church. So it is with human felicity, which is made up of many ingredients. Each of which may be shown to be very insignificant in civilized society. Personal merit will not serve you so much as money will, sir. You may make the experiment. Go into the street and give one man a lecture on morality, and another a shilling, and see which will respect you most. If you wish only to support nature, Sir William Petty fixes your allowance at three pounds a year, but as times are much altered, let us call it six pounds. This sum will fill your belly, shelter you from the weather, and even get you a strong lasting coat, supposing it be made of good bull's hide. Now, sir, all beyond this is artificial, and is desired in order to obtain a greater degree of respect from our fellow creatures, and sir, if six hundred pounds a year procure a man more consequence, and of course more happiness, then six pounds a year the same proportion will hold to as six thousand, and so on as far as opulence can be carried. Perhaps he who has a large fortune may not be so happy as he who has a small one, but that must proceed from other causes than from having the large fortune. For Keteris Peribus, he who is rich in a civilized society, must be happier than he who is poor, as riches, if properly used, and it is a man's own fault if they are not, must be productive of the highest advantages. Money to be sure of itself is of no use, for its only use is to part with it. Rousseau and all those who deal in paradoxes are led away by a childish desire of novelity. When I was a boy I used always to choose the wrong side of a debate, because most ingenious things, that is to say, most new things could be set upon it. So there is nothing for which you may not muster up more plausible arguments than those which are urged against wealth and other external advantages. Why now, there is stealing. Why should it be thought a crime, when we consider by what unjust methods property has often been acquired, and that what was unjustly got it must be unjust to keep? Where is the harm in one man's taking the property of another from him? Besides, sir, when we consider the bad use that many people make of their property, and how much better use the thief may make of it, it may be defended as a very allowable practice. Yet, sir, the experience of mankind is discovered stealing to be so very bad a thing that they make no scruple to hang a man for it. When I was running about this town, a very poor fellow, I was a great arguer for the advantages of poverty, but I was, at the same time, very sorry to be poor. Sir, all the arguments which are brought to represent poverty as no evil show it to be evidently a great evil. You never find people laboring to convince you that they may live very happily upon a plentiful fortune. So you hear people talking how miserable a king must be, and yet they all wish to be in his place. It was suggested that kings must be unhappy, because they are deprived of the greatness of all satisfactions, easy and unreserved society. Johnson That is an ill-founded notion. Being a king does not exclude a man from such society. Great kings have always been social. The kings of Prussia, the only great king at present, is very social. Charles, the second, and the last king of England, who was a man of parts, was social, and our Henrys and Edwards were all social. Mr. Dempster, having endeavored to maintain that intrinsic merit, ought to make the only distinction amongst mankind. Johnson Why, sir, mankind have found that this cannot be. How shall we determine the proportion of intrinsic merit? Were that to be the only distinction amongst mankind, we should soon quarrel about the degree of it. Were all distinctions abolished, the strongest would not long acquiescence, but would endeavor to obtain a superiority by their bodily strength. But, sir, as subordination is very necessary for society, and contentions for superiority vary dangerous, mankind, that is to say, all civilized nations have settled it upon a plain invariable principle. A man is born to hereditary rank, or his being appointed to certain offices gives him a certain rank. Subordination tends greatly to human happiness. Were we all upon an equality, we should have no other enjoyment than mere animal pleasure. I said I considered distinction of rank to be of so much importance in civilized society that if I were asked on the same day to dine with the first Duke in England, and with the first man in Britain for genius, I should hesitate which to prefer. Johnson To be sure, sir, if you were to dine only once, and it were never to be known where you dined, you would choose rather to dine with the first man of genius, but to gain most respect, you should dine with the first Duke in England, for nine people in ten that you meet with would have a higher opinion of you for having dined with a Duke, and the great genius himself would receive you better because you have been with the great Duke. He took care to garner himself against any possible suspicion that his settled principles of reverence for rank and respect for wealth were at all owing to mean or interested motives, for he asserted his own independence as a literary man. No man, said he, whoever lived by literature has lived more independently than I have done. He said he had taken longer time than he needed to have done in composing his dictionary. He received our compliments upon that great work with complacency, and told us that the Academy, Dela Kruska, could scarcely believe that it was done by one man. Next morning I found him alone, and have preserved the following fragments of his conversation, of a gentleman who was mentioned, he said, I have not met with any man for a long time who has given me such gentle displeasure. He is totally unfixed in his principles and wants to puzzle other people. I said his principles had been poisoned by a noted Infandel writer, but that he was nevertheless a benevolent good man. Johnson. We can have no dependence upon that instinctive, that constitutional goodness which is not founded upon principle. I grant you that such a man may be a very amiable member of society. I can conceive him placed in such a situation, that he is not much tempted to deviate from what is right. And as every man prefers virtue, when there is not some strong incitement to transgress its precepts, I can conceive him doing nothing wrong. But if such a man stood in need of money, I should not like to trust him, and I should certainly not trust him with young ladies. For there, there is always temptation. Human other skeptical innovators are vain men, and will gratify themselves at any expense. Truth will not afford such food to their vanity, so they have be taken themselves to error. Truth, sir, is a cow which will yield such people no more milk, and so they are gone to milk the bull. If I could have allowed myself to gratify my vanity at the expense of truth, what fame might I have acquired? Everything which Hume has advanced against Christianity had passed through my mind long before he wrote. Always remember this, that after a system is well settled upon positive evidence, a few partial objections ought not to shake it. The human mind is so limited that it cannot take in all the parts of a subject, so that there may be objections raised against anything. There are objections against a plenum, and objections against a vacuum, yet one of them must certainly be true. I mentioned Hume's arguments against the belief of miracles, that it is more probable that the witnesses to the truth of them are mistaken or speak falsely, than that the miracles should be true. Johnson. Why, sir, the great difficulty of proving miracles should make us very cautious in believing them. But let us consider, although God has made nature to operate by certain fixed laws, yet it is not unreasonable to think that he may suspend those laws in order to establish a system highly advantageous to mankind. Now the Christian religion is a most beneficial system, as it gives us light and certainty where we were before in darkness and doubt. The miracles which prove it are attested by men who had no interest in deceiving us, but who, on the contrary, were told that they should suffer persecution and did actually lay down their lives in confirmation of the truth of the facts which they asserted. Indeed, for some centuries the heathens did not pretend to deny the miracles, but said they were performed by the aid of evil spirits. This is a circumstance of great weight. Then, sir, when we take the proofs derived from the prophecies which have been so exactly fulfilled, we have most satisfactory evidence, supposing a miracle possible, as to which, in my opinion, there can be no doubt, we have a strong evidence for the miracles in support of Christianity, as the nature of the thing admits. At night Mr. Johnson and I sucked in a private room at the Turk's head coffee-house in the Strand. I encourage this house, said he. For the mistress of it is a good civil woman and has not much business. Sir, I love the acquaintance of young people, because in the first place I don't like to think myself growing old. In the next place young acquaintances must last longest. If they do last, and then, sir, young men have more virtue than old men. They have more generous sentiments in every respect. I love the young dogs of this age. They have more wit and humor and knowledge of life than we had. But then the dogs are not so good scholars. Sir, in my early years I read very hard. It is a sad reflection, but a true one, that I knew almost as much at eighteen as I do now. My judgment, to be sure, was not so good, but I had all the facts. I remember very well, when I was at Oxford, an old gentleman said to me, young man, plie your books diligently now and acquire a stock of knowledge, for when years come upon you, you will find that pouring upon books will be but an irksome task. This account of his reading, given by himself in plain words, sufficiently confirms what I have already advanced upon the disputed questions asked to his application, and reconciles any seeming inconsistency in his way of talking upon it at different times, and shows that idleness in reading hard were with him relative terms, the import of which as used by him must be gathered from a comparison with what scholars of different degrees of ardour and aciduity have been known to do, and let it be remembered that he was now talking spontaneously and expressing his genuine sentiments, whereas at other times he might be induced from his spirit of contradiction, or more properly from his love of argumentative contests to speak lightly of his own application to study. It is pleasing to consider that the old gentleman's gloomy prophecy as to the irksomeness of books to men of an advanced age, which is too often fulfilled, was so far from being verified in Johnson that his ardour for literature never failed, and his last writings had more ease and vivacity than any of his earlier productions. He mentioned to me now, for the first time, that he had been distressed by Malan Kali, and for that reason he had been obliged to fly from study and meditation to the dissipating variety of life. Against Malan Kali he recommended constant occupation of mind, a great deal of exercise, moderation in eating and drinking, and especially to shun drinking at night. He said Malan Kali people were apt to fly to intemperance for relief, but that it sunk them much deeper in misery. He observed that laboring men who work hard and live sparingly are seldom or never troubled with low spirits. He again insisted on the duty of maintaining subordination of rank. Sir, I would no more deprive a nobleman of his respect than of his money. I consider myself as acting a part in the great system of society, and I do to others as I would have them do to me. I would behave to a nobleman, as I should expect he would behave to me, were I a nobleman, and he Sam Johnson. Sir, there is one Mrs. Makali in this town, a great Republican. One day when I was at her house I put on a very grave continence and said to her, Madam, I am now become a convert to your way of thinking. I am convinced that all mankind are upon an equal footing, and to give you an unquestionable proof, Madam, that I am earnest, here is a very sensible civil well-behaved fellow citizen, your footman. I desire that he may be allowed to sit down and dine with us. I thus, sir, showed her the absurdity of leveling doctrine. She has never liked me since. Sir, your levelers wish to level down as far as themselves, but they cannot bear leveling up to themselves. They would all have some people under them. Why not then have some people above them? I mentioned a certain author who disgusted me by his forwardness, and by showing no difference to no woman into those whose company he was admitted. Johnson. Suppose a shoemaker should claim an equality with him, as he does with a lord. How he would stare. Why, sir, do you stare, says the shoemaker. I do great service to society. Tis true I am paid for doing it, but so are you, sir, and I am sorry to say it, paid better than I am for doing something not so necessary. For mankind could do better without your books than without my shoes. Thus, sir, there would be a perpetual struggle for precedence, were there no fixed and variable rules for the distinction of rank, which creates no jealousy as it allowed to be accidental. He said Dr. Joseph Wharton was a very agreeable man, and his essay on the genius in writing of Pope, a very pleasing book. I wondered that he delayed so long to give us the continuation of it. Johnson. Why, sir, I suppose he finds himself a little disappointed in not having been able to persuade the world to be of his opinion as to Pope. We have now been favored with the concluding volume to which to use a parliamentary expression he has explained, so as not to appear quite so adverse to the opinion of the world concerning Pope, as was at first thought. And we all must agree that his work is a most valuable accession to English literature. A writer of deserved eminence being mentioned, Johnson said. Why, sir, he is a man of good parts, but being originally poor, he has got a love of mean company and low jocularity. A very bad thing, sir. To laugh is good, as to talk is good, but you ought no more to think it enough if you laugh than you are to think it enough if you talk. You may laugh as many ways as you talk, and surely every way of talking that is practice cannot be esteemed. I spoke of Sir James McDonald as a young man of most distinguished merit, who united the highest reputation at Eaton and Oxford with the patriarchal spirit of a great Highland chieftain. I mentioned that Sir James had said to me that he had never seen Mr. Johnson, but he had a great respect for him, though at the same time it was mixed with some degree of terror. Johnson. Sir, if he were to be acquainted with me, it might lessen both. The mention of this gentleman led us to talk of the western islands of Scotland to visit which he expressed a wish that then appeared to me a very romantic fancy, which a little thought would be afterwards realized. He told me that his father had put Martin's account of those islands into his hands when he was very young, that he was highly pleased with it, that he was particularly struck with the Saint Kilda Man's notion that the High Church of Glasgow had been hollowed out of a rock, a circumstance to which old Mr. Johnson had directed his attention. He said he would go to the Hebrides with me when I returned from my travels unless some very good companion should offer when I was absent, which he did not think probable, adding, There are few people to whom I take so much as you. And when I talked of my leaving England, he said with a very affectionate air, My dear Boswell, I should be very unhappy at parting. Did I think we were not to meet again? I cannot too often remind my readers that although such instances of his kindness are doubtless very flattering to me, yet I hope my recording them will be ascribed to a better motive than to vanity. For they afford unquestionable evidence of his tenderness and complacency, with some, while they were forced to acknowledge his great powers, have been so strenuous to deny. He maintained that a boy at school was the happiest of human beings. I supported a different opinion, from which I have never yet varied, that a man is happier, and I enlarged upon the anxiety and sufferings which are endured at school. Johnson. Ah, sir, a boy being flogged is not so severe as a man's having the hiss of the world against him. Men have a solicitude about fame, and the greater share they have of it, the more afraid they are of losing it. I silently ask myself, is it possible that the great Samuel Johnson really entertains any such apprehension, and is not confident that his exalted fame is established upon a foundation never to be shaken? He this evening drank a bumper to Sir David Dalrymple. As a man of worth, a scholar and a wit, I have, said he, never heard of him except from you, but let him know my opinion of him, for as he does not show himself much in the world, he should have the praise of the few who hear of him. End of Section 29. Section 30 of The Life of Samuel Johnson Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Read by Andrew Coleman. The Life of Samuel Johnson Volume 1 by James Boswell Section 30. On Tuesday, July 26, I found Mr. Johnson alone. It was a very wet day, and I again complained of the disagreeable effects of such weather. Johnson. Sir, this is all imagination, which physicians encourage. For man lives in air, as a fish lives in water, so that if the atmosphere press heavy from above, there is an equal resistance from below. To be sure, bad weather is hard upon people who are obliged to be abroad, and men cannot labour so well in the open air in bad weather, as in good. But, sir, a smith or a tailor, whose work is within doors, will surely do as much in rainy weather, as in fair. Some very delicate frames indeed may be affected by wet weather, but not common constitutions. We talked of the education of children, and I asked him what he thought was best to teach them first. Johnson. Sir, it is no matter what you teach them first, any more than what leg you shall put into your britches first. Sir, you may stand disputing which is best to put in first, but in the meantime your britches bear. Sir, while you are considering which of two things you should teach your child first, another boy has learnt them both. On Thursday, July 28, we again subbed in private at the Turk's head coffee-house. Johnson. Swift has a higher reputation than he deserves. His excellence is strong since. For his humour, though very well, is not remarkably good. I doubt whether the tail of a tub be his, for he never owned it, and it is much above his usual manner. Thompson, I think, had as much of the poet about him as most writers. Everything appeared to him through the medium of his favourite pursuit. He could not have viewed those two candles burning, but with a poetical eye. Has not Blank a great deal of wit, sir? Johnson. I do not think so, sir. He is indeed continually attempting wit, but he fails, and I have no more pleasure in hearing a man attempting wit and failing, than in seeing a man trying to leap over a ditch and tumbling into it. He laughed heartily when I mentioned to him a saying of his concerning Mr Thomas Sheridan, which Foot took a wicked pleasure to circulate. Why, sir? Sherry is dull, naturally dull, but it must have taken him a great deal of pains to become what we now see him. Such an excess of stupidity, sir, is not in nature. So, said he, I allowed him all his own merit. He now added, Sheridan cannot bear me. I bring his declamation to a point. I ask him a plain question, what do you mean to teach? Besides, sir, what influence can Mr Sheridan have upon the language of this great country by his narrow exertions? Sir, it is burning a farthing candle at Dover to show light at Calais. Talking of a young man who was uneasy from thinking that he was very deficient in learning and knowledge, he said, A man has no reason to complain who holds a middle place, and has many below him, and perhaps he has not six of his years above him, perhaps not one. Though we may not know anything perfectly, the general mass of knowledge that he has acquired is considerable. Time will do for him all that is wanting. The conversation then took a philosophical turn. Johnson Human experience, which is constantly contradicting theory, is the great test of truth. A system built upon the discoveries of a great many minds is always of more strength than what is produced by the mere workings of any one mind, which of itself can do little. There is not so poor a book in the world that would not be a prodigious effort where it wrought out entirely by a single mind without the aid of prior investigators. The French writers are superficial, because they are not scholars, and so proceed upon the mere power of their own minds, as we see how very little power they have. As to the Christian religion, sir, besides the strong evidence which we have for it, there is a balance in its favour from the number of great men who have been convinced of its truth, after a serious consideration of the question. Grotius was an acute man, a lawyer, a man accustomed to examine evidence, and he was convinced. Grotius was not a recluse, but a man of the world who certainly had no bias to the side of religion. Sir Isaac Newton set out an infidel, and came to be a very firm believer. He this evening again recommended to me to perambulate Spain. I said it would amuse him to get a letter from me dated at Salamancha. Johnson, I love the University of Salamancha. For when the Spaniards were in doubt as to the lawfulness of their conquering America, the University of Salamancha gave it as their opinion that it was not lawful. He spoke this with great emotion, and with that generous warmth which dictated the lines in his London against Spanish encroachment. I expressed my opinion of my friend Derek as but a poor writer. Johnson, to be sure, sir, he is. But you are to consider that his being a literary man has got for him all that he has. It has made him king of Bath. Sir, he has nothing to say for himself, but that he is a writer. Had he not been a writer, he must been sweeping the crossings in the streets, and asking half-bents from everybody that passed. In justice, however, to the memory of Mr. Derek, who was my first tutor in the ways of London, and showed me the town in all its variety of departments, both literary and sportive, the particulars of which Dr. Johnson advised me to put in writing. It is proper to mention that Johnson, at a subsequent period, said of him both as a writer and an editor. Sir, I have often said that if Derek's letters had been written by one of a more established name, they would have been thought very pretty letters. And I sent Derek to Dryden's relations to gather materials for his life, and I believe he got all that I myself should have got. Poor Derek. I remember him with kindness. Yet I cannot withhold from my readers a pleasant humorous sally which could not have hurt him had he been alive, and now is perfectly harmless. In his collection of poems, there is one upon entering the harbour of Dublin, his native city, after a long absence. It begins thus. Iblana, much-loved city hail, where first I saw the light of day, and after a solemn reflection on his being numbered with forgotten dead, there is the following stanza. Unless my lines protract my fame, and those who chance to read them cry, I knew him, Derek was his name, in yonder tomb his ashes lie, which was thus happily parodied by Mr. John Holm, to whom we owe the beautiful and pathetic tragedy of Douglas. Unless my deeds protract my fame, and he who passes sadly sings, I knew him, Derek was his name, on yonder tree his carcass swings. I doubt much whether the amiable and ingenious author of these belesque lines will recollect them, for they were produced extempore one evening while he and I were walking together in the dining-room at Eglinton Castle, in 1760, and I have never mentioned them to him since. Johnson said once to me, Sir, I honour Derek for his presence of mind. One night, when Floyd, another poor author, was wandering about the streets in the night, he found Derek fast asleep upon a bulk. Upon being suddenly waked, Derek started up. My dear Floyd, I am sorry to see you in this destitute state. Will you go home with me to my lodgings? I again begged his advice as to my method of study at Utrecht. Come, said he, let us make a day of it. Let us go down to Greenwich and Dine and talk of it there. The following Saturday was fixed for this excursion. As we walked along the Strand night, arm in arm, a woman of the town accosted us in the usual enticing manner. No, no, my girl, Sir Johnson, it won't do. He, however, did not treat her with harshness, and we talked of the wretched life of such women, and agreed that much more misery than happiness upon the whole is produced by illicit commerce between the sexes. On Saturday, July 30th, Dr. Johnson and I took a sculler at the Temple Stairs and set out for Greenwich. I asked him if he really thought a knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages an essential requisite to a good education. Johnson, most certainly, Sir. For those who know them have a very great advantage over those who do not. Nay, Sir, it is wonderful what a difference learning makes upon people even in the common intercourse of life, which does not appear to be much connected with it. And yet, said I, people go through the world very well, and carry on the business of life to good advantage, without learning. Johnson, why, Sir? That may be true in cases where learning cannot possibly be of any use. For instance, this boy rose us as well without learning as if he could sing the song of Orpheus to the Argonauts, who were the first sailors. He then called to the boy. What would you give, my lad, to know about the Argonauts? Sir, said the boy, I would give what I have. Johnson was much pleased with his answer, and we gave him a double fare. Dr. Johnson then turning to me. Sir, said he, a desire of knowledge is the natural feeling of mankind, and every human being, whose mind is not aborged, will be willing to give all that he has to get knowledge. We landed at the old swan, and walked to Billingsgate, where we took oars, and moved smoothly along the silver Thames. It was a very fine day. We were entertained with the immense number and variety of ships that were lying at anchor, and with a beautiful country on each side of the river. I talked of preaching, and of the great success which those called Methodists have. Johnson, Sir, it is owing to their expressing themselves in a plain and familiar manner, which is the only way to do good to the common people, and which clergymen of genius and learning ought to do from a principle of duty, when it is suited to their congregations, a practice for which they will be praised by men of sense. To insist against drunkenness as a crime, because it debases reason, the noblest faculty of man, would be of no service to the common people. But to tell them that they may die in a fit of drunkenness, and show them how dreadful that would be, cannot fail to make a deep impression. Sir, when your scotch clergy give up their homely manner, religion will soon decay in that country. Let this observation, as Johnson meant it, be ever remembered. I was much pleased to find myself with Johnson at Greenwich, which he celebrates in his London as a favourite scene. I had the poem in my pocket, and read the lines aloud with enthusiasm. On Thames's banks in silent thought we stood, where Greenwich smells upon the silver flood, pleased with the seat which gave Eliza birth, we kneel and kiss the consecrated earth. He remarked that the structure of Greenwich Hospital was too magnificent for a place of charity, and that its parts were too much detached to make one great whole. Buchanan, he said, was a very fine poet, and observed that he was the first to compliment it a lady, by ascribing to her the different perfections of the heathen goddesses. But that Johnston improved upon this, by making his lady at the same time free from their defects. He dwelt upon Buchanan's elegant verses to Mary, Queen of Scots, Nympha Caledoniai, etc., and spoke with enthusiasm of the beauty of Latin verse. All the modern languages, said he, cannot furnish so melodious a line as, for mozum resinare doches amorellida silvas. Afterwards he entered upon the business of the day, which was to give me his advice as to a course of study. And here I am to mention, with much regret, that my record of what he said is miserably scanty. I recollect with admiration an animating blaze of eloquence, which roused every intellectual power in me to the highest pitch, but must have dazzled me so much. For the note which I find of it is no more than this. He ran over the grand scale of human knowledge, advised me to select some particular branch to excel in, but to acquire a little of every kind. The defect of my minutes will be fully supplied by a long letter of praise, and I will be able to give it to him. The defect of my minutes will be fully supplied by a long letter upon the subject which he favored me with, after I had been some time at Utrecht, and which my readers will have the pleasure to peruse in its proper place. We walked in the evening in Greenwich Park. He asked me, I suppose, by way of trying my disposition. It is not this very fine. Having no exquisite relish of the beauties of nature, and being more delighted with the busy hum of men, I answered, Yes, sir, but not equal to Fleet Street. Johnson, you are right, sir. I am aware that many of my readers may sense here my want of taste. Let me, however, shelter myself under the authority of a very fashionable baronet in the brilliant world, who, on his attention being called the fragrance of a May evening in the country, observed, this may be very well, but for my part, I prefer the smell of a flambeau at the playhouse. We stayed so long at Greenwich that our sail up the river, in our return to London, was by no means so pleasant as in the morning, for the night air was so cold that it made me shiver. I was the more sensible of it from having sat up all the night before, recollecting and writing in my journal what I thought worthy of preservation, an exertion which during the first part of my acquaintance with Johnson I frequently made. I remember having sat up four nights in one week, without being much incommodated in the daytime. Johnson, whose robust frame was not in the least affected by the cold, scolded me, as if my shivering had been a poultry of feminacy, saying, Moidu shiva. Sir William Scott of the Commons told me, that when he complained of a headache in the post-chase as they were travelling together to Scotland, Johnson treated him in the same manner. At your age, sir, I had no headache. It is not easy to make allowance for sensations in others which we ourselves have not at the time. We must all have experienced how very differently we are affected by the complaints of our neighbours, when we are well, and when we are ill. In full health we can scarcely believe that they suffer much, so faint is the image of pain upon our imagination. When softened by sickness, we readily sympathise with the sufferings of others. We concluded the day at the Turks head coffee-house very socially. He was pleased to listen to a particular account which I gave him of my family, and of its hereditary estate, as to the extent and population of which he asked questions and made calculations, recommending, at the same time, a liberal kindness to the tenetry, as people over whom the proprietor was placed by providence. He took delight in hearing my description of the romantic seat of my ancestors. I must be there, sir, said he, and we will live in the old castle, and if there is not a room in it remaining we will build one. I was highly flattered, but could scarcely indulge a hope that Okinlech would indeed be honoured by his presence and celebrated by a description, as it afterwards was in his journey to the western islands. After we had again talked of my setting out for Holland, he said, I must see the out of England. I will accompany you to Harwich. I could not find words to express what I felt upon this unexpected and very great mark of his affectionate regard. Next day, Sunday, July 31st, I told him I had been that morning at a meeting of the people called Quakers, where I had heard a woman preach. Johnson. Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hinder legs. It is not done well, but you are surprised to find it done at all. On Tuesday, August the second, the day of my departure from London having been fixed for the fifth, Dr. Johnson did me the honour to pass a part of the morning with me at my chambers. He said that he always felt an inclination to do nothing. I observed that it was strange to think that the most indolent man in Britain had written the most laborious work, the English Dictionary. I mentioned an imprudent publication, by a certain friend of his, at an early period of life, and asked him if he thought it would hurt him. Johnson. No, sir. Not much. It may perhaps be mentioned at an election. I had now made good my title to be a privileged man, and was carried by him in the evening to drink tea with Miss Williams, whom, though under the misfortune of having lost her sight, I found to be agreeable in conversation, for she had a variety of literature and expressed herself well. But her peculiar value was the intimacy in which she had long lived with Johnson, by which she was well acquainted with his habits, and knew how to lead him on to talk. After tea he carried me to what he called his Walk, which was a long narrow paved court in the neighbourhood, overshadowed by some trees. There we sauntered a considerable time, and I complained to him that my love of London, and of his company, was such that I shrunk almost from the thought of going away, even to travel, which is generally so much desired by young men. He roused me by manly and spirited conversation. He advised me, when settled in any place abroad, to study with an eagerness after knowledge, and to apply to Greek an hour every day, and when I was moving about, to read diligently the Greek Book of Mankind. On Wednesday, August the 3rd, we had our last social evening at the Turks Head Coffee House, before my setting out for foreign parts. I had the misfortune, before we parted, to irritate him unintentionally. I mentioned to him how common it was in the world to tell absurd stories of him, and to ascribe to him very strange sayings. Johnson, what did they make me say, sir? Boswell, why, sir, as an instance very strange indeed, laughing heartily as I spoke, David Hume told me you said that you would stand before a battery of cannon to restore the convocation to its full powers. Little did I apprehend, that he had actually said this, but I was soon convinced of my error. For with a determined look, he thunted out, and would I not, sir? Shall the Presbyterian Kirk of Scotland have its general assembly, and the Church of England be denied its convocation? He was walking up and down the room, while I told him the anecdote. But when he uttered this explosion of high-church zeal, he had come close to my chair, and his eyes flashed with indignation. I bowed to the storm, and Iverted the force of it, by leading him to expatiate on the influence which religion derived from maintaining the Church with great external respectability. I must not admit to mention that he this year wrote The Life of Asham, and The Dedication to the Earl of Shaftesbury, prefixed to the edition of that writer's English Works, published by Mr. Bennett. On Friday, August the 5th, we set out early in the morning in the Harwich Stagecoach. A fat elderly gentlewoman, and a young Dutchman, seemed the most inclined among us to conversation. At the inn where we dined, the gentlewoman said that she had done her best to educate her children, and particularly that she had never suffered them to be a moment idle. Johnson, I wish, madam, you would educate me too, for I have been an idle fellow all my life. I am sure, sir, said she, you have not been idle. Johnson, nay, madam, it is very true, and that gentleman there, pointing to me, has been idle. He was idle at Edinburgh. His father sent him to Glasgow, where he continued to be idle. He then came to London, where he has been very idle, and now he is going to Utrecht, where he will be as idle as ever. I asked him privately how he could expose me so. Johnson, po, po, said he, they knew nothing about you, and we'll think of it no more. In the afternoon the gentlewoman talked violently against the Roman Catholics, and of the horrors of the Inquisition. To the utter astonishment of all the passengers but myself, who knew that he could talk upon any side of a question, he defended the Inquisition, and maintained that false doctrine should be checked on its first appearance, that the civil power should unite with the Church in punishing those who dared to attack the established religion, and that such only were punished by the Inquisition. He had in his pocket Pomponius Mela de Situ Orbis, in which he read occasionally, and seemed very intent upon ancient geography. Though by no means niggedly his attention to what was generally right was so minute that having observed at one of the stages that I ostentatiously gave a shilling to the coachman, when the custom was for each passenger to give only six pence, he took me aside and scolded me, saying that what I had done would make the coachman dissatisfied with all the rest of the passengers, who gave him no more than his due. This was a just reprimand, for in whatever way a man may indulge his generosity or his vanity in spending his money, for the sake of others he ought not to raise the price of any article for which there is a constant demand. He talked of Mr. Blacklock's poetry, so far as it was descriptive of visible objects, and observed that, as its author had the misfortune to be blind, we may be absolutely sure that such passages are combinations of what he has remembered of the works of other writers who could see. That foolish fellow Spence has laboured to explain philosophically how Blacklock may have done, by means of his own faculties, what it is impossible he should do. The solution, as I have given it, is plain. Suppose I know a man to be so lame that he is absolutely incapable to move himself, and I find him in a different room from that in which I left him. Shall I puzzle myself with idle conjectures, that perhaps his nerves have, by some unknown change, all at once become effective? No, sir. It is clear how he got into a different room. He was carried. Having stopped a night at Colchester, Johnson talked of that town with veneration, for having stood a siege for a chance the first. The Dutchman alone now remained with us. He spoke English tolerably well, and thinking to recommend himself to us by expatiating on the superiority of the criminal jurisprudence of this country, over that of Holland, he invaded against the barbarity of putting an accused person to the torture in order to force a confession. But Johnson was as ready for this as for the inquisition. Why, sir? You do not, I find, understand the law of your own country. The torture in Holland is considered as a favour to an accused person. For no man is put to the torture there, unless there is as much evidence against him as would amount to conviction in England. An accused person among you, therefore, has one chance more to escape punishment than those who are tried among us. At supper this night he talked of good eating with uncommon satisfaction. Some people, said he, have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part I mind my belly very studiously, and very carefully, for I look upon it that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else. He now appeared to me Jean-Baud de Philosophe, and he was for the moment not only serious, but vehement. Yet I have heard him, upon other occasions, talk with great contempt of people who were anxious to gratify their palates, and the 206th number of his Rambler is a masterly essay against gulosity. His practice indeed, I must acknowledge, may be considered as casting the balance of his different opinions upon this subject. For I never knew any man who reddished good eating more than he did. When at table he was totally absorbed in the business of the moment. His looks seemed riveted to his plate, nor would he, unless when in very high company, say one word, or even pay the least attention to what was said by others, till he had satisfied his appetite, which was so fierce, and indulged with such intenseness, that while in the act of eating the veins of his forehead swelled, and generally a strong perspiration was visible. To those whose sensations were delicate, this could not but be disgusting. And it was doubtless not very suitable to the character of a philosopher, should be distinguished by self-command. But it must be owned, that Johnson, though he could be rigidly albstemious, was not a temperate man, either in eating or drinking. He could refrain, but he could not use moderately. He told me that he had fasted two days without inconvenience, and that he had never been hungry but once. They who beheld with wonder how much he eat upon all occasions when his dinner was to his taste, could not easily conceive what he must have meant by hunger. And not only was he remarkable for the extraordinary quantity which he eat, but he was, or effected to be, a man of very nice discernment in the science of cookery. He used to descount critically on the dishes which had been at table where he had dined or sucked, and to recollect very minutely what he had liked. I remember when he was in Scotland his praising Gordon's pallets, a dish of pallets at the honourable Alexander Gordon's, with a warmth of expression which might have done honour to more important subjects. As for Maclaurin's imitation of a made dish, it was a rigid attempt. He about the same time was so much displeased with the performances of a nobleman's French cook that he exclaimed with vehemence, I'd throw such a rascal into the river. At his then proceeded to alarm a lady at whose house he was to sup by the following manifesto of his skill. I, madam, who live at a variety of good tables, am a much better judge of cookery than any person who has a very tolerable cook, but lives much at home. For his pallet is gradually adapted to the taste of his cook, whereas, madam, in trying by a wider range, I can more exquisitely judge. When invited to dine, even with an intimate friend, he was not pleased if something better than a plain dinner was not prepared for him. I have heard him say on such an occasion, this was a good dinner enough, to be sure, but it was not a dinner to ask a man to. On the other hand, he was wont to express, with great glee, his satisfaction when he had been entertained quite to his mind. One day, when we had dined with his neighbour and landlord in Bolt Court, Mr. Allen, the printer, whose old housekeeper had studied his taste in everything, he pronounced this eulogy, sir, we could not have had a better dinner had there been a synod of cooks. While we were left by ourselves, after the Dutchman had gone to bed, Dr. Johnson talked of that studied behaviour which many have recommended and practised. He disapproved of it, and said, I never considered whether I should be a grave man, or a merry man, but just let inclination for the time have its course. He flattered me with some hopes that he would, in the course of the following summer, come over to Holland, and accompany me in a tour through the Netherlands. I teased him with fanciful apprehensions of unhappiness, a moth having fluttered round the candle and burnt itself. He laid hold of this little instant to admonish me, saying with a sly look and in a solemn but quiet tone, that creature was its own tormentor, and I believe its name was Boswell.