 Section 31 of the Life of Samuel Johnson, Volume 1. Next day we got to Harwich to dinner, and my passage in the packet-boat to Helwitslois being secured, and my baggage put on board, we dined at our inn by ourselves. I happen to say it would be terrible if he should not find a speedy opportunity of returning to London and be confined to so dull a place. Johnson, don't, sir, accustom yourself to use big words for little matters. It would not be terrible, though I were to be detained some time here. The practice of using words of disproportionate magnitude is no doubt too frequent everywhere, but I think most remarkable among the French, of which all who have travelled in France must have been struck with innumerable instances. We went and looked at the church, and having gone into it and walked up to the altar, Johnson, whose piety was constant and fervent, sent me to my knees, saying, Now that you are going to leave your native country, recommend yourself to the protection of your Creator and Redeemer. After we came out of the church we stood talking for some time together of Bishop Barclay's ingenious sophistry to prove the non-existence of matter, and that everything in the universe is merely ideal. I observed that, though we are satisfied his doctrine is not true, it is impossible to refute it. I never shall forget the alacrity with which Johnson answered, striking his foot with mighty force against a large stone till he rebounded from it. I refute it, thus. This was a stout exemplification of the first truths of Père Bufier, or the original principles of Reed and of Beattie, without admitting which we can no more argue in metaphysics than we can argue in mathematics without axioms. To me it is not conceivable how Barclay can be answered by pure reasoning, but I know that the nice and difficult task was to have been undertaken by one of the most luminous minds of the present age had not politics turned him from calm philosophy aside. What an admirable display of subtlety united with brilliance might his contending with Barclay have afforded us. How must we, when we reflect on the loss of such an intellectual feast, regret that he should be characterised as the man who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, and to party gave up what was meant for mankind. My revered friend walked down with me to the beach where we embraced and parted with tenderness and engaged to correspond by letters. I said, I hope so you'll not forget me in my absence. Johnson. Nay, sir, it is more likely you should forget me than that I should forget you. As the vessel put out to sea I kept my eyes upon him for a considerable time, while he remained rolling his majestic frame in his usual manner, and at last I perceived him walk back into the town, and he disappeared. Utrecht, seeming at first very dull to me after the animated scenes of London, my spirits were grievously affected, and I wrote to Johnson a plaintive and desponding letter, to which he paid no regard. Afterwards, when I had acquired a firmer tone of mind, I wrote to him a second letter expressing much anxiety to hear from him. At length I received the following epistle, which was of important service to me, and I trust will be so to many others. Dear sir, you are not to think yourself forgotten or criminally neglected that you have had yet no letter from me. I love to see my friends, to hear from them, to talk to them, and to talk of them, but it is not without a considerable effort of resolution that I prevail upon myself to write. I would not, however, gratify my own indolence by the omission of any important duty or any office of real kindness. To tell you that I am or am not well, that I have or have not been in the country, that I drank your health in the room in which we sat last together, and that your acquaintance continued to speak of you with their former kindness, topics with which those letters are commonly filled, which are written only for the sake of writing, I sell them shall think worth communicating. But if I can have it in my power to calm any harassing disquiet, to excite any virtuous desire, to rectify any important opinion or fortify any generous resolution, you need not doubt, but I shall at least wish to prefer the pleasure of gratifying a friend much less esteemed than yourself, before the gloomy calm of idle vacancy. Whether I shall easily arrive at an exact punctuality of correspondence I cannot tell. I shall at present expect that you will receive this in return for two which I have had from you. The first indeed gave me an account so hopeless of the state of your mind that it hardly admitted or deserved an answer. By the second I was much better pleased, and the pleasure will still be increased by such a narrative of the progress of your studies as may evince the continuance of an equal and rational application of your mind to some useful inquiry. You will perhaps wish to ask what study I would recommend. I shall not speak of theology, because it ought not to be considered as a question whether you shall endeavour to know the will of God. I shall therefore consider only such studies as we are at liberty to pursue or to neglect. And of these I know not how you will make a better choice than by studying the civil law, as your father advises, and the ancient languages, as you are determined for yourself. At least resolve, while you remain in any settled residence, to spend a certain number of hours every day amongst your books. The dissipation of thought of which you complain is nothing more than the vacillation of a mind suspended between different motives, and changing its direction as any motive gains or loses strength. If you can but kindle in your mind any strong desire, if you can but keep predominant any wish for some particular excellence or attainment, the gusts of imagination will break away without any effect upon your conduct, and commonly without any traces left upon the memory. There lurks perhaps in every human heart a desire of distinction, which inclines every man first to hope and then to believe that nature has given him something peculiar to himself. This vanity makes one mind nurse aversion and another actuate desires till they rise by art much above their original state of power, and as affectation in time improves to habit, they at last tyrannize over him who at first encouraged them only for show. Every desire is a viper in the bosom, who, while he was chill, was harmless, but when warmth gave him strength, exerted it in poison. You know a gentleman who, when first he set his foot in the gay world as he prepared himself to whirl in the vortex of pleasure, imagined a total indifference and universal negligence to be the most agreeable concomitance of youth, and the strongest indication of an airy temper and a quick apprehension. Vacant to every object and sensible of every impulse, he thought that all appearance of diligence would deduct something from the reputation of genius, and hoped that he should appear to attain amidst all the ease of carelessness and all the tumult of diversion, that knowledge and those accomplishments, which mortals of the common fabric obtain only by mute abstraction and solitary drudgery. He tried this scheme of life a while, was made weary of it by his sense and his virtue, he then wished to return to his studies, and finding long habits of idleness and pleasure harder to be cured than he expected, still willing to retain his claim to some extraordinary prerogatives, resolved the common consequences of irregularity into an unalterable decree of destiny, and concluded that nature had originally formed him incapable of rational employment. Let all such fancies, elusive and destructive, be banished henceforward from your thoughts for ever. Resolve and keep your resolution. Choose and pursue your choice. If you spend this day in study, you will find yourself still more able to study tomorrow, not that you are to expect that you shall at once obtain a complete victory. Depravity is not very easily overcome. Resolution will sometimes relax and diligence will sometimes be interrupted, but let no accidental surprise or deviation, whether short or long, dispose you to despondency. Consider these failings as incidents to all mankind. Begin again where you left off, and endeavour to avoid the seducements that prevailed over you before. This, my dear Boswell, is advice which perhaps has been often given you, and given you without effect, but this advice, if you will not take from others, you must take from your own reflections if you purpose to do the duties of the station to which the bounty of Providence has called you. Let me have a long letter from you as soon as you can. I hope you continue your journal, and enrich it with many observations upon the country in which you reside. It will be a favour if you can get me any books in the Frisic language, and can inquire how the poor are maintained in the seven provinces. I am, dear Sir, your most affectionate servant, Sam Johnson, London, December the 8th, 1763. I am sorry to observe that neither in my own minutes nor in my letters to Johnson which have been preserved by him, can I find any information how the poor are maintained in the seven provinces, but I shall extract from one of my letters what I learnt concerning the other subject of his curiosity. I have made all possible inquiry with respect to the Frisic language, and find that it has been less cultivated than any other of the northern dialects, a certain proof of which is their deficiency of books. Of the Old Frisic there are no remains, except some ancient laws preserved by Scotanus in his Beschrivinger van die Hylkeid van Friesland, and his Historic Frisica. I have not yet been able to find these books. Professor Trott, who formerly was of the University of Vranikon in Friesland, and is at present preparing an edition of all the Frisic laws, gave me this information. Of the modern Frisic, or what is spoken by the Boers at this day, I have procured a specimen. It is Gisbert Yappix's Remellery, which is the only book that they have. It is amazing that they have no translation of the Bible, no treatises of devotion, nor even any of the ballads and story books which are so agreeable to country people. You shall have Yappix by the first convenient opportunity. I doubt not to pick up Scotanus. My dear Trott has promised me his assistance. 1764. Eittat. 55. Early in 1764, Johnson paid a visit to the Langton family, at their seat of Langton in Lincolnshire, where he passed some time much to his satisfaction. His friend, Bennett Langton, it will not be doubted, did everything in his power to make the place agreeable to so illustrious a guest, and the elder Mr. Langton and his lady being fully capable of understanding his value, were not wanting an attention. He, however, told me that old Mr. Langton, though a man of considerable learning, had so little allowance to make for his occasional laxity of talk, that because in the course of discussion he sometimes mentioned what might be said in favour of the peculiar tenets of the Romish Church, he went to his grave believing him to be of that communion. Johnson, during his stay at Langton, had the advantage of a good library, and saw several gentlemen of the neighbourhood. I have obtained from Mr. Langton the following particulars of this period. He was now fully convinced that he could not have been satisfied with a country living, for talking of a respectable clergyman in Lincolnshire he observed, this man, sir, fills up the duties of his life well, I approve of him, but could not imitate him. To a lady who endeavoured to vindicate herself from blame for neglecting social attention to worthy neighbours by saying, I would go to them if it would do them any good. He said, What good, madam, do you expect to have in your power to do them? It is showing them respect, and that is doing them good. So socially accommodating was he, that once when Mr. Langton and he were driving together in a coach, and Mr. Langton complained of being sick, he insisted that they should go out and sit on the back of it in the open air, which they did. And being sensible how strange their appearance must be, observed that a countryman whom they saw in a field would probably be thinking, if these two madmen should come down what would become of me. Soon after his return to London, which was in February, was founded that club which existed long without a name, but at Mr. Garrick's funeral became distinguished by the title of The Literary Club. Sir Joshua Reynolds had the merit of being the first proposer of it, to which Johnson acceded, and the original members were Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Johnson, Mr. Edmund Burke, Dr. Nugent, Mr. Bokelark, Mr. Langton, Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Chamier, and Sir John Hawkins. They met at the Turks head in Gerard Street, Soho, one evening in every week, at seven, and generally continued their conversation till a pretty late hour. This club has been gradually increased to its present number, thirty-five. After about ten years, instead of supping weekly, it was resolved to dine together once a fortnight, during the meeting of Parliament. Their original tavern, having been converted into a private house, they moved first to Princes in Sackville Street, then to Lateliers in Dover Street, and now meet at Parslow's St. James's Street. Between the time of its formation, and the time at which this work is passing through the press, June 1792, the following persons now dead were members of it. Mr. Dunning, afterwards Lord Ashburton, Mr. Samuel Dyer, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Shipley Bishop of St. Assoff, Mr. Veasey, Mr. Thomas Wharton, and Dr. Adam Smith. The present members are Mr. Burke, Mr. Langton, Lord Charlemont, Sir Robert Chambers, Dr. Percy Bishop of Dromor, Dr. Barnard Bishop of Killaloo, Dr. Marley Bishop of Clonford, Mr. Fox, Dr. George Fordice, Sir William Scott, Sir Joseph Banks, Sir Charles Bunbury, Mr. Wyndham of Norfolk, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Gibbon, Sir William Jones, Mr. Coleman, Mr. Stevens, Dr. Bernie, Dr. Joseph Wharton, Mr. Malone, Lord Ossary, Lord Spencer, Lord Lucan, Lord Palmerston, Lord Elliot, Lord McCartney, Mr. Richard Burke, Jr., Sir William Hamilton, Dr. Warren, Mr. Courtney, Dr. Hinchcliffe Bishop of Peterborough, The Duke of Leeds, Dr. Douglas Bishop of Salisbury, and the writer of this account. Sir John Hawkins represents himself as a sissida from this society, and assigns us the reason of his withdrawing himself from it that its late hours were inconsistent with his domestic arrangements. In this he is not accurate, for the fact was that he one evening attacked Mr. Burke in so rude a manner that all the company testified their displeasure, and at their next meeting his reception was such that he never came again. He is equally inaccurate with respect to Mr. Garrick, of whom he says, he trusted that the least intimation of a desire to come among us would procure him a ready admission, but in this he was mistaken. Johnson consulted me upon it, and when I could find no objection to receiving him, exclaimed, he will disturb us by his buffoonery, and afterwards so managed matters that he was never formally proposed, and by consequence never admitted. In justice both the Mr. Garrick and Dr. Johnson I think it necessary to rectify this misstatement. The truth is that not very long after the institution of our club, Sir Joshua Reynolds was speaking of it to Garrick. I like it much, said he, I think I shall be of you. When Sir Joshua mentioned this to Dr. Johnson, he was much displeased with the actor's conceit. He'll be of us, said Johnson. How does he know we will permit him? The first Duke in England has no right to hold such language. However, when Garrick was regularly proposed some time afterwards, Johnson, though he had taken a momentary offense at his arrogance, warmly and kindly supported him, and he was accordingly elected, was a most agreeable member, and continued to attend our meetings to the time of his death. Mrs. Piotzi has also given a similar misrepresentation of Johnson's treatment of Garrick in this particular, as if he had used these contemptuous expressions. If Garrick does apply, I'll blackball him. Surely, one ought to sit in a society like ours unelbowed by a game-ster pimp or player. I am happy to be enabled by such unquestionable authority as that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, as well as from my own knowledge, to vindicate at once the heart of Johnson and the social merit of Garrick. In this year, except what he may have done in revising Shakespeare, we did not find that he laboured much in literature. He wrote a review of Granger's sugarcane poem in the London Chronicle. He told me that Dr. Percy wrote the greatest part of this review, but I imagine that he did not recollect it distinctly, for it appears to be mostly, if not altogether, his own. He also wrote in the critical review an account of Goldsmith's excellent poem, The Traveller. The ease and independence to which he had at last attained by royal munificence increased his natural indolence. In his meditations, he thus accuses himself. Good Friday, April 20, 1764. I have made no reformation. I have lived totally useless, more sensual in thought, and more addicted to wine and meat. And next morning he thus feelingly complains. My indolence, since my last reception of the sacrament, has sunk into grosser sluggishness, and my dissipation spread into wilder negligence. My thoughts have been clouded with sensuality, and except that from the beginning of this year I have in some measure for borne excess of strong drink, my appetites have predominated over my reason. A kind of strange oblivion has overspread me, so that I know not what has become of the last year, and perceive that incidents and intelligence pass over me without living any impression. He then solemnly says, This is not the life to which heaven is promised, and he earnestly resolves an amendment. It was his custom to observe certain days with a pious abstraction, vis New Year's Day, the day of his wife's death, Good Friday, Easter Day, and his own birthday. He this year says, I have now spent fifty-five years in resolving, having from the earliest time almost that I can remember been forming schemes of a better life. I have done nothing. The need of doing, therefore, is pressing, since the time of doing is short. Oh God, grant me to resolve a right, and to keep my resolutions for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. Such a tenderness of conscience, such a fervent desire of improvement, will rarely be found. It is surely not decent in those who are hardened in indifference to spiritual improvement to treat this pious anxiety of Johnson with contempt. About this time he was afflicted with a very severe return of the hypochondriac disorder which was ever lurking about him. He was so ill as notwithstanding his remarkable love of company to be entirely averse to society, the most fatal symptom of that malady. Dr. Adams told me that as an old friend he was admitted to visit him, and that he found him in a deplorable state, sighing, groaning, talking to himself, and restlessly walking from room to room. He then used this emphatical expression of the misery which he felt. I would consent to have a limb amputated to recover my spirits. Talking to himself was indeed one of his singularities ever since I knew him. I was certain that he was frequently uttering pious ejaculations, for fragments of the Lord's prayer have been distinctly overheard. His friend, Mr. Thomas Davis, of whom Churchill says, that Davis hath a very pretty wife. When Dr. Johnson muttered, leadeth not into temptation, used with waggish and gallant humour to whisper Mrs. Davis, you, my dear, are the cause of this. The Life of Samuel Johnson Volume 1 by James Boswell Section 32 He had another particularity, of which none of his friends ever ventured to ask an explanation. It appeared to me some superstitious habit which he had contracted early, and from which he had never called upon his reason to disentangle him. This was his anxious care to go out or in at a door or passage by a certain number of steps from a certain point, or at least so as that either his right or his left foot, I am not certain which, should constantly make the first actual movement when he came close to the door or passage. Thus I conjecture, for I have upon innumerable occasions observed him suddenly stop, and then seemed to count his steps with a deep earnestness, and when he had neglected or gone wrong in this sort of magical movement, I have seen him go back again, put himself in a proper position to begin the ceremony, and, having gone through it, break from his abstraction, walk briskly on and join his companion. A strange instance of something of this nature, even when on horseback, happened when he was in the Isle of Skye. Sir Joshua Reynolds has observed him to go a good way about rather than cross a particular alley in Leicester Fields, but this Sir Joshua imputed to his having had some disagreeable recollection associated with it. That the most minute singularities which belonged to him, and made very observable parts of his appearance and manner, may not be omitted, it is requisite to mention that while talking or even musing as he sat in his chair, he commonly held his head to one side towards his right shoulder, and shook it in a tremulous manner, moving his body backwards and forwards and robbing his left knee in the same direction with the palm of his hand. In the intervals of articulating, he made various sounds with his mouth, sometimes as if ruminating or what is called chewing the cud, sometimes giving a half whistle, sometimes making his tongue play backwards from the roof of his mouth as if clucking like a hen, and sometimes protruding it against his upper gums in front as if pronouncing quickly under his breath too, too, too. All this accompanied sometimes with a thoughtful look, but more frequently with a smile. Generally when he concluded a period in the course of a dispute, by which time he was a good deal exhausted by violence and vociferation, he used to blow out his breath like a whale. This, I suppose, was a relief to his lungs, and seemed in him to be a contemptuous mode of expression, as if he had made the arguments of his opponent fly like chaff before the wind. I am fully aware how very obvious an occasion I here give for the sneering jocularity of such as have no relish of an exact likeness, which to render complete, he who draws it must not disdain the slightest strokes. But if whittling should be inclined to attack this account, let them have the candor to quote what I have offered in my defence. He was for some time in the summer at Easton Mordit, Northamptonshire, on a visit to the reverent Dr. Percy, now Bishop of Dromel. Whatever dissatisfaction he felt at what he considered as a slow progress in intellectual improvement, we find that his heart was tender, and his affections warm, as appears from the following very kind letter. To Joshua Reynolds, a squire in Leicester Fields, London, Dear Sir! I did not hear of your sickness till I heard likewise of your recovery, and therefore escaped that part of your pain which every man must feel to whom you are known as you are known to me. Having had no particular account of your disorder, I know not in what state it has left you. If the amusement of my company can exhilarate to the languor of a slow recovery, I will not delay a day to come to you, for I know not how I can so effectively promote my own pleasure as by pleasing you on my own interest, as by preserving you, in whom, if I should lose you, I should lose almost the only man whom I call a friend. Pray let me hear of you from yourself or from dear Miss Reynolds. Make my compliments to Mr. Mudge. I am, dear Sir, your most affectionate and most humble servant, Sam Johnson. At the reverent Mr. Percy's at Easton Mordit, Northamptonshire, by Castle Ashby, August the 19th, 1764, 1765, Eittat 56. Early in the year 1765 he paid a short visit to the University of Cambridge with his friend Mr. Beau Clark. There is a lively, picturesque account of his behaviour on this visit in The Gentleman's Magazine for March 1785, being an extract of a letter from the late Dr. John Sharp. The two following sentences are very characteristical. He drank his large potations of tea with me, interrupted by many an indignant contradiction and many a noble sentiment. Several persons got into his company the last evening at Trinity, where, about twelve, he began to be very great, stripped poor Mrs. Macaulay to the very skin, then gave her for his toast and drank her in two bumpers. The strictness of his self-examination and scrupulous Christian humility appear in his pious meditation on Easter Day this year. I purpose again to partake of the blessed sacrament, yet when I consider how vainly I have hitherto resolved at this annual commemoration of my Saviour's death to regulate my life by his laws, I am almost afraid to renew my resolutions. The concluding words are very remarkable and show that he laboured under a severe depression of spirits. Since the last Easter I have reformed no evil habit, my time has been unprofitably spent, and seems as a dream that has left nothing behind. My memory grows confused and I know not how the days pass over me. Good Lord, deliver me! No man was more gratefully sensible of any kindness done to him than Johnson. There is a little circumstance in his diary this year which shows him in a very amiable light. July the second I paid Mr. Simpson ten guineas which he had formally lent me in my necessity and for which Teddy expressed her gratitude. July the eighth I lent Mr. Simpson ten guineas more. Here he had a pleasing opportunity of doing the same kindness to an old friend which he had formally received from him. Indeed his liberality as to money was very remarkable. The next article in his diary is July the sixteenth I received seventy-five pounds lent Mr. Davis twenty-five. Trinity College Dublin at this time surprised Johnson with a spontaneous compliment of the highest academic honours by creating him Doctor of Laws. The diploma which is in my possession is as follows. This unsolicited mark of distinction conferred on so great a literary character did much honour to the judgment and liberal spirit of that learned body. Johnson acknowledged the favour in a letter to Dr. Leyland, one of their number, but I have not been able to obtain a copy of it. He appears this year to have been seized with a temporary fit of ambition, for he had thoughts both of studying law and of engaging in politics. His prayer before the study of law is truly admirable. Almighty God, the giver of wisdom, without whose help resolutions a vein, without whose blessings study is ineffectual, enable me, if it be thy will, to attain such knowledge as may qualify me to direct the doubtful and instruct the ignorant, to prevent wrongs and to terminate contentions, and grant that I may use that knowledge which I shall attain to thy glory and my own salvation. For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. His prayer in the view of becoming a politician is entitled, Engaging in Politics with H. Blank N. No doubt his friend, the right honourable William Gerard Hamilton, for whom during a long acquaintance he had a great esteem, and to whose conversation he once paid this high compliment. I am very unwilling to be left alone, sir, and therefore I go with my company down the first pair of stairs in some hopes that they may perhaps return again. I go with you, sir, as far as the street door. In what particular department he intended to engage does not appear, nor can Mr. Hamilton explain. His prayer is in general terms. Enlighten my understanding with knowledge of right, and govern my will by thy laws, that no deceit may mislead me, nor temptation corrupt me, that I may always endeavour to do good and hinder evil. There is nothing upon the subject in his diary. This year was distinguished by his being introduced into the family of Mr. Thrail, one of the most eminent brewers in England, and member of Parliament for the borough of Southwark. Foreigners are not a little amazed when they hear of brewers, distillers, and many similar departments of trade held forth as persons of considerable consequence. In this great commercial country it is natural that a situation which produces much wealth should be considered as very respectable, and no doubt honest industry is entitled to esteem. But perhaps the too rapid advance of men of low extraction tends to lessen the value of that distinction by birth and gentility, which has ever been found beneficial to the grand scheme of subordination. Johnson used to give this account of the rise of Mr. Thrail's father. He worked at six shillings a week for twenty years in the great brewery, which afterwards was his own. The proprietor of it had an only daughter who was married to a nobleman. It was not fit that a peer should continue the business. On the old man's death, therefore, the brewery was to be sold. To find a purchaser for so large a property was a difficult matter, and after some time it was suggested that it would be advisable to treat with Thrail, a sensible, active, honest man who had been employed in the house, and to transfer the whole to him for thirty thousand pounds, security being taken upon the property. This was accordingly settled. In eleven years Thrail paid the purchase-money. He acquired a large fortune and lived to be a member of Parliament for Sovik. But what was most remarkable was the liberality with which he used his riches. He gave his son and daughters the best education. The esteem which his good conduct procured him from the nobleman who had married his master's daughter made him be treated with much attention, and his son, both at school and at the University of Oxford, associated with young men of the first rank. His allowance from his father after he left college was splendid, no less than a thousand a year. This, in a man who had risen as old Thrail did, was a very extraordinary instance of generosity. He used to say, If this young dog does not find so much after I am gone as he expects, let him remember that he has had a great deal in my own time. The son, though in affluent circumstances, had good sense enough to carry on his father's trade, which was of such extent that I remember he once told me he would not quit it for an annuity of ten thousand a year—not said he that I get ten thousand a year by it, but it is an estate to a family. Having left daughters only, the property was sold for the immense sum of one hundred and thirty-five thousand pounds, a magnificent proof of what may be done by fair trade in no long period of time. There may be some who think that a new system of gentility might be established, upon principles totally different from what of hitherto prevailed. Our present heraldry, it may be said, is suited to the barbarous times in which it had its origin. It is chiefly founded upon ferocious merit, upon military excellence. Why, in civilised times, we may be asked, should there not be rank and honours upon principles which, independent of long custom, are certainly not less worthy, and which, when once allowed to be connected with elevation and precedency, would obtain the same dignity in our imagination? Why should not the knowledge, the skill, the expertness, the assiduity, and the spirited hazards of trade and commerce, when crowned with success, be entitled to give those flattering distinctions by which mankind are so universally captivated? Such are the specious but false arguments for a proposition which always will find numerous advocates in a nation where men are every day starting up from obscurity to wealth. To refute them is needless. The general sense of mankind cries out with irresistible force, en gentillant est toujours gentillant. Mr. Thrale had married Miss Hester Lynch Salisbury of Good Welsh Extraction, a lady of lively talents improved by education. That Johnson's introduction into Mr. Thrale's family, which contributed so much to the happiness of his life, was owing to her desire for his conversation, is very probable and a general supposition, but it is not the truth. Mr. Murphy, who was intimate with Mr. Thrale, having spoken very highly of Dr. Johnson, he was requested to make them acquainted. This being mentioned to Johnson, he accepted of an invitation to dinner at Thrale's, and was so much pleased with his reception, both by Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, and they so much pleased with him, that his invitations to their house were more and more frequent, till at last he became one of the family, and an apartment was appropriated to him, both in their house at Southwark and in their villa at Streatham. Johnson had a very sincere esteem for Mr. Thrale, as a man of excellent principles, a good scholar, well-skilled in trade, of a sound understanding, and of manners such as presented the character of a plain, independent English squire. As this family will frequently be mentioned in the course of the following pages, and as a false notion has prevailed that Mr. Thrale was inferior, and in some degree insignificant compared with Mrs. Thrale, it may be proper to give a true state of the case from the authority of Johnson himself in his own words. I know no man, said he, who is more master of his wife and family than Thrale, if he but holds up a finger he is obeyed. It is a great mistake to suppose that she is above him in literary attainments. She is more flippant, but he has ten times her learning. He is a regular scholar, but her learning is that of a schoolboy in one of the lower forms. My readers may naturally wish for some representation of the figures of this couple. Mr. Thrale was tall, well-proportioned, and stately. As for Madame, or my mistress, by which epithets Johnson used to mention Mrs. Thrale, she was short, plump, and brisk. She has herself given us a lively view of the idea which Johnson had of her person, on appearing before him in a dark-coloured gown. You little creatures should never wear those sort of clothes, however. They are unsuitable in every way. What, have not all insects gay colours? Mr. Thrale gave his wife a liberal indulgence, both in the choice of their company and in the mode of entertaining them. He understood and valued Johnson without remission from their first acquaintance to the day of his death. Mrs. Thrale was enchanted with Johnson's conversation for its own sake, and had also a very allowable manatee in appearing to be honoured with the attention of so celebrated a man. Nothing could be more fortunate for Johnson than this connection. He had at Mr. Thrale's all the comforts and even luxuries of life. His melancholy was diverted, and his irregular habits lessened by association with an agreeable and well-ordered family. He was treated with the utmost respect and even affection. The vivacity of Mrs. Thrale's literary talk roused him to cheerfulness and exertion, even when they were alone. But this was not often the case, for he found here a constant succession of what gave him the highest enjoyment—the society of the learned, the witty and the eminent in every way, who were assembled in numerous companies, called forth his wonderful powers and gratified him with admiration to which no man could be insensible. In the October of this year, he at length gave to the world his addition of Shakespeare, which, if it had no other merit but that of producing his preface, in which the excellencies and defects of that immortal part are displayed with a masterly hand, the nation would have had no reason to complain. A blind, indiscriminate admiration of Shakespeare had exposed the British nation to the ridicule of foreigners. Johnson, by candidly admitting the faults of his poet, had the moral credit in bestowing on him deserved and indisputable praise, and doubtless none of all his panagyrists have done him half so much honour. Their praise was, like that of a council, upon his own side of the cause. Johnson's was like the grave, well-considered and impartial opinion of the judge, which falls from his lips with weight, and is received with reverence. What he did as a commentator has no small share of merit, though his researches were not so ample, and his investigations so acute as they might have been, which we now certainly know from the labours of other, able and ingenious critics who have followed him. He has enriched his addition with a concise account of each play, and of its characteristic excellence. Many of his notes have illustrated obscurities in the text, and placed passages eminent for beauty in a more conspicuous light, and he has in general exhibited such a mode of annotation as may be beneficial to all subsequent editors. His Shakespeare was virulently attacked by Mr. William Kendrick, who obtained the degree of LLD from a Scotch University, and wrote for the booksellers in a great variety of branches. Though he certainly was not without considerable merit, he wrote with so little regard to decency and principles and decorum, and in so hasty a manner that his reputation was neither extensive nor lasting. I remember one evening, when some of his works were mentioned, Dr. Goldsmith said he had never heard of them, upon which Dr. Johnson observed, Sir, he is one of the many who have made themselves public without making themselves known. A young student of Oxford, of the name of Barkley, wrote an answer to Kendrick's review of Johnson's Shakespeare. Johnson was at first angry that Kendrick's attack should have the credit of an answer. But afterwards, considering the young man's good intention, he kindly noticed him, and probably would have done more had not the young man died. In his preface to Shakespeare, Johnson treated Voltaire very contemptuously, observing upon some of his remarks, these are the petty criticisms of petty wits. Voltaire, in revenge, made an attack upon Johnson, in one of his numerous literary sallies, which I remember to have read, but there being no general index to his voluminous works, have searched in vain, and therefore cannot quote it. Voltaire was an antagonist with whom I thought Johnson should not disdain to contend. I pressed him to answer. He said perhaps he might, but he never did. Mr. Burney, having occasion to write to Johnson for some receipts for subscriptions to his Shakespeare, which Johnson had admitted to deliver when the money was paid, he availed himself of that opportunity of thanking Johnson for the great pleasure which he had received from the perusal of his preface to Shakespeare, which, although it excited much clamour against him at first, is now justly ranked among the most excellent of his writings. To this letter, Johnson returned the following answer. To Charles Burney, Esquire, in Poland Street. Sir, I am sorry that your kindness to me has brought upon you so much trouble, though you have taken care to abate that sorrow by the pleasure which I received from your approbation. I defend my criticism in the same manner with you. We must confess the faults of our favourites to gain credit to our praise of his excellences. He that claims either in himself or for another the honours of perfection will surely injure the reputation which he designs to assist. Be pleased to make my compliments to your family. I am, sir, your most obliged and most humble servant, Sam Johnson. October the 16th, 1765. From one of his journals I transcribed what follows. At Church, October 65. To avoid all singularity, Bonaventura. To come in before service and compose my mind by meditation or by reading some portions of scriptures. Tety. If I can hear the sermon to attend it, and less attention be more troublesome than useful. To consider the act of prayer as a reposal of myself upon God and a resignation of all into his holy hand. End of section 32.