Mr. Henderson, with whom I had sauntered in the venerable walks of Merton-College, and found him a very learned and pious man, supped with us. Dr. Johnson surprised him not a little, by acknowledging with a look of horrour, that he was much oppressed by the fear of death. The amiable Dr. Adams suggested that GOD was infinitely good. JOHNSON. ‘That he is infinitely good, as far as the perfection of his nature will allow, I certainly believe; but it is necessary for good upon the whole, that individuals should be punished. As to an individual, therefore, he is not infinitely good; and as I cannot be sure that I have fulfilled the conditions on which salvation is granted, I am afraid I may be one of those who shall be damned.’ (looking dismally.) DR. ADAMS. ‘What do you mean by damned?’ JOHNSON. (passionately and loudly) ‘Sent to Hell, Sir, and punished everlastingly.’ DR. ADAMS. ‘I don’t believe that doctrine.’ JOHNSON. ‘Hold, Sir, do you believe that some will be punished at all?’ DR. ADAMS. ‘Being excluded from Heaven will be a punishment; yet there may be no great positive suffering.’ JOHNSON. ‘Well, Sir; but, if you admit any degree of punishment, there is an end of your argument for infinite goodness simply considered; for, infinite goodness would inflict no punishment whatever. There is not infinite goodness physically considered; morally there is.’ BOSWELL. ‘But may not a man attain to such a degree of hope as not to be uneasy from the fear of death?’ JOHNSON. ‘A man may have such a degree of hope as to keep him quiet. You see I am not quiet, from the vehemence with which I talk; but I do not despair.’ MRS. ADAMS. ‘You seem, Sir, to forget the merits of our Redeemer.’ JOHNSON. ‘Madam, I do not forget the merits of my Redeemer; but my Redeemer has said that he will set some on his right hand and some on his left.’ He was in gloomy agitation, and said, ‘I’ll have no more on’t.’ If what has now been stated should be urged by the enemies of Christianity, as if its influence on the mind were not benignant, let it be remembered, that Johnson’s temperament was melancholy, of which such direful apprehensions of futurity are often a common effect. We shall presently see that when he approached nearer to his aweful change, his mind became tranquil, and he exhibited as much fortitude as becomes a thinking man in that situation.
From the subject of death we passed to discourse of life, whether it was upon the whole more happy or miserable. Johnson was decidedly for the balance of misery: in confirmation of which I maintained, that no man would choose to lead over again the life which he had experienced. Johnson acceded to that opinion in the strongest terms. This is an inquiry often made; and its being a subject of disquisition is a proof that much misery presses upon human feelings; for those who are conscious of a felicity of existence, would never hesitate to accept of a repetition of it. I have met with very few who would. I have heard Mr. Burke make use of a very ingenious and plausible argument on this subject;— ‘Every man (said he) would lead his life over again; for, every man is willing to go on and take an addition to his life, which, as he grows older, he has no reason to think will be better, or even so good as what has preceded.’ I imagine, however, the truth is, that there is a deceitful hope that the next part of life will be free from the pains, and anxieties, and sorrows, which we have already felt. We are for wise purposes ‘Condemn’d to Hope’s delusive mine;’ as Johnson finely says; and I may also quote the celebrated lines of Dryden, equally philosophical and poetical: —
‘When I consider life, ’tis all a cheat,
Yet fool’d with hope, men favour the deceit:
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow’s falser than the former day;
Lies worse; and while it says we shall be blest
With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strange cozenage! none would live past years again;
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;
And from the dregs of life think to receive,
What the first sprightly running could not give927.’
It was observed to Dr. Johnson, that it seemed strange that he, who has so often delighted his company by his lively and brilliant conversation, should say he was miserable. JOHNSON. ‘Alas! it is all outside; I may be cracking my joke, and cursing the sun. Sun, how I hate thy beams!’ I knew not well what to think of this declaration; whether to hold it as a genuine picture of his mind, or as the effect of his persuading himself contrary to fact, that the position which he had assumed as to human unhappiness, was true. We may apply to him a sentence in Mr. Greville’s Maxims, Characters, and Reflections; a book which is entitled to much more praise than it has received: ‘ARISTARCHUS is charming: how full of knowledge, of sense, of sentiment. You get him with difficulty to your supper; and after having delighted every body and himself for a few hours, he is obliged to return home; — he is finishing his treatise, to prove that unhappiness is the portion of man.’
On Sunday, June 13, our philosopher was calm at breakfast. There was something exceedingly pleasing in our leading a College life, without restraint, and with superiour elegance, in consequence of our living in the Master’s house, and having the company of ladies. Mrs. Kennicot related, in his presence, a lively saying of Dr. Johnson to Miss Hannah More, who had expressed a wonder that the poet who had written Paradise Lost should write such poor Sonnets:— ‘ Milton, Madam, was a genius that could cut a Colossus from a rock; but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones.’
We talked of the casuistical question, Whether it was allowable at any time to depart from Truth? JOHNSON. ‘The general rule is, that Truth should never be violated, because it is of the utmost importance to the comfort of life, that we should have a full security by mutual faith; and occasional inconveniences should be willingly suffered that we may preserve it. There must, however, be some exceptions. If, for instance, a murderer should ask you which way a man is gone, you may tell him what is not true, because you are under a previous obligation not to betray a man to a murderer.’ BOSWELL. ‘Supposing the person who wrote Junius were asked whether he was the authour, might he deny it?’ JOHNSON. ‘I don’t know what to say to this. If you were sure that he wrote Junius, would you, if he denied it, think as well of him afterwards? Yet it may be urged, that what a man has no right to ask, you may refuse to communicate; and there is no other effectual mode of preserving a secret and an important secret, the discovery of which may be very hurtful to you, but a flat denial; for if you are silent, or hesitate, or evade, it will be held equivalent to a confession. But stay, Sir; here is another case. Supposing the authour had told me confidentially that he had written Junius, and I were asked if he had, I should hold myself at liberty to deny it, as being under a previous promise, express or implied, to conceal it. Now what I ought to do for the authour, may I not do for myself? But I deny the lawfulness of telling a lie to a sick man for fear of alarming him. You have no business with consequences; you are to tell the truth. Besides, you are not sure what effect your telling him that he is in danger may have. It may bring his distemper to a crisis, and that may cure him. Of all lying, I have the greatest abhorrence of this, because I believe it has been frequently practised on myself.’
I cannot help thinking that there is much weight in the opinion of those who have held, that Truth, as an eternal and immutable principle, ought, upon no account whatever, to be violated, from supposed previous or superiour obligations, of which every man being to judge for himself, there is great danger that we too often, from partial motives, persuade ourselves that they exist; and probably whatever extraordinary instances may sometimes occur, where some evil may be prevented by violating this noble principle, it would be found that human happiness would, upon the whole, be more perfect were Truth universally preserved.
In the notes to the Dunciad, we find the following verses, addressed to Pope: —
‘While malice, Pope, denies thy page
Its own celestial fire;
While criticks, and while bards in rage
Admiring, won’t admire:
While wayward pens thy worth assail,
An
d envious tongues decry;
These times, though many a friend bewail,
These times bewail not I.
But when the world’s loud praise is thine,
And spleen no more shall blame;
When with thy Homer thou shalt shine
In one establish’d fame!
When none shall rail, and every lay
Devote a wreath to thee:
That day (for come it will) that day
Shall I lament to see.’
It is surely not a little remarkable, that they should appear without a name. Miss Seward, knowing Dr. Johnson’s almost universal and minute literary information, signified a desire that I should ask him who was the authour. He was prompt with his answer: ‘Why, Sir, they were written by one Lewis, who was either under-master or an usher of Westminster-school, and published a Miscellany, in which Grongar Hill first came out.’ Johnson praised them highly, and repeated them with a noble animation. In the twelfth line, instead of ‘one establish’d fame,’ he repeated ‘one unclouded flame,’ which he thought was the reading in former editions: but I believe was a flash of his own genius. It is much more poetical than the other.
On Monday, June 14, and Tuesday, 15, Dr. Johnson and I dined, on one of them, I forget which, with Mr. Mickle, translator of the Lusiad, at Wheatley, a very pretty country place a few miles from Oxford; and on the other with Dr. Wetherell, Master of University-College. From Dr. Wetherell’s he went to visit Mr. Sackville Parker, the bookseller; and when he returned to us, gave the following account of his visit, saying, ‘I have been to see my old friend, Sack. Parker; I find he has married his maid; he has done right. She had lived with him many years in great confidence, and they had mingled minds; I do not think he could have found any wife that would have made him so happy. The woman was very attentive and civil to me; she pressed me to fix a day for dining with them, and to say what I liked, and she would be sure to get it for me. Poor Sack! He is very ill, indeed. We parted as never to meet again. It has quite broke me down.’ This pathetic narrative was strangely diversified with the grave and earnest defence of a man’s having married his maid. I could not but feel it as in some degree ludicrous.
In the morning of Tuesday, June 15, while we sat at Dr. Adams’s, we talked of a printed letter from the Reverend Herbert Croft, to a young gentleman who had been his pupil, in which he advised him to read to the end of whatever books he should begin to read. JOHNSON. ‘This is surely a strange advice; you may as well resolve that whatever men you happen to get acquainted with, you are to keep to them for life. A book may be good for nothing; or there may be only one thing in it worth knowing; are we to read it all through? These Voyages, (pointing to the three large volumes of Voyages to the South Sea, which were just come out) who will read them through? A man had better work his way before the mast, than read them through; they will be eaten by rats and mice, before they are read through. There can be little entertainment in such books; one set of Savages is like another.’ BOSWELL. ‘I do not think the people of Otaheité can be reckoned Savages.’ JOHNSON. ‘Don’t cant in defence of Savages.’ BOSWELL. ‘They have the art of navigation.’ JOHNSON. ‘A dog or a cat can swim.’ BOSWELL. ‘They carve very ingeniously.’ JOHNSON. ‘A cat can scratch, and a child with a nail can scratch.’ I perceived this was none of the mollia tempora fandi; so desisted.
Upon his mentioning that when he came to College he wrote his first exercise twice over; but never did so afterwards; MISS ADAMS. ‘I suppose, Sir, you could not make them better?’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Madam, to be sure, I could make them better. Thought is better than no thought.’ MISS ADAMS. ‘Do you think, Sir, you could make your Ramblers better?’ JOHNSON. ‘Certainly I could.’ BOSWELL. ‘I’ll lay a bet, Sir, you cannot.’ JOHNSON. ‘But I will, Sir, if I choose. I shall make the best of them you shall pick out, better.’ BOSWELL. ‘But you may add to them. I will not allow of that.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, there are three ways of making them better; — putting out, — adding, — or correcting.’
During our visit at Oxford, the following conversation passed between him and me on the subject of my trying my fortune at the English bar: Having asked whether a very extensive acquaintance in London, which was very valuable, and of great advantage to a man at large, might not be prejudicial to a lawyer, by preventing him from giving sufficient attention to his business; — JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you will attend to business, as business lays hold of you. When not actually employed, you may see your friends as much as you do now. You may dine at a Club every day, and sup with one of the members every night; and you may be as much at publick places as one who has seen them all would wish to be. But you must take care to attend constantly in Westminster-Hall; both to mind your business, as it is almost all learnt there, (for nobody reads now;) and to shew that you want to have business. And you must not be too often seen at publick places, that competitors may not have it to say, ‘He is always at the Playhouse or at Ranelagh, and never to be found at his chambers.’ And, Sir, there must be a kind of solemnity in the manner of a professional man. I have nothing particular to say to you on the subject. All this I should say to any one; I should have said it to Lord Thurlow twenty years ago.’
The PROFESSION may probably think this representation of what is required in a Barrister who would hope for success, to be by much too indulgent; but certain it is, that as
‘The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame951,’
some of the lawyers of this age who have risen high, have by no means thought it absolutely necessary to submit to that long and painful course of study which a Plowden, a Coke, and a Hale considered as requisite. My respected friend, Mr. Langton, has shewn me in the hand-writing of his grandfather, a curious account of a conversation which he had with Lord Chief Justice Hale, in which that great man tells him, ‘That for two years after he came to the inn of court, he studied sixteen hours a day; however (his Lordship added) that by this intense application he almost brought himself to his grave, though he were of a very strong constitution, and after reduced himself to eight hours; but that he would not advise any body to so much; that he thought six hours a day, with attention and constancy, was sufficient; that a man must use his body as he would his horse, and his stomach; not tire him at once, but rise with an appetite.’
On Wednesday, June 19, Dr. Johnson and I returned to London; he was not well to-day, and said very little, employing himself chiefly in reading Euripides. He expressed some displeasure at me, for not observing sufficiently the various objects upon the road. ‘If I had your eyes, Sir, (said he) I should count the passengers.’ It was wonderful how accurate his observation of visual objects was, notwithstanding his imperfect eyesight, owing to a habit of attention. That he was much satisfied with the respect paid to him at Dr. Adams’s is thus attested by himself: ‘I returned last night from Oxford, after a fortnight’s abode with Dr. Adams, who treated me as well as I could expect or wish; and he that contents a sick man, a man whom it is impossible to please, has surely done his part well.’
After his return to London from this excursion, I saw him frequently, but have few memorandums: I shall therefore here insert some particulars which I collected at various times.
The Reverend Mr. Astle, of Ashbourne, in Derbyshire, brother to the learned and ingenious Thomas Astle, Esq., was from his early years known to Dr. Johnson, who obligingly advised him as to his studies, and recommended to him the following books, of which a list which he has been pleased to communicate, lies before me in Johnson’s own hand-writing: —
Universal History (ancient.) — Rollin’s Ancient History. — Puffendorf’s Introduction to History. — Vertot’s History of Knights of Malta. — Vertot’s Revolution of Portugal. — Vertot’s Revolutions of Sweden. — Carte’s History of England. — Present State of England. — Geographical Grammar. — Prideaux’s Connection. — Nelson’s Feasts and Fasts. — Duty of Man. — Gentleman’s Religion. — Clarendon’s History. — Watts’s Improvement of the Mind. — Watts’s
Logick. — Nature Displayed. — Lowth’s English Grammar. — Blackwall on the Classicks. — Sherlock’s Sermons. — Burnet’s Life of Hale. — Dupin’s History of the Church. — Shuckford’s Connection. — Law’s Serious Call. — Walton’s Complete Angler. — Sandys’s Travels. — Sprat’s History of the Royal Society. — England’s Gazetteer. — Goldsmith’s Roman History. — Some Commentaries on the. Bible.
It having been mentioned to Dr. Johnson that a gentleman who had a son whom he imagined to have an extreme degree of timidity, resolved to send him to a publick school, that he might acquire confidence;— ‘ Sir, (said Johnson,) this is a preposterous expedient for removing his infirmity; such a disposition should be cultivated in the shade. Placing him at a publick school is forcing an owl upon day.’
Speaking of a gentleman whose house was much frequented by low company; ‘Rags, Sir, (said he,) will always make their appearance where they have a right to do it.’
Of the same gentleman’s mode of living, he said, ‘Sir, the servants, instead of doing what they are bid, stand round the table in idle clusters, gaping upon the guests; and seem as unfit to attend a company, as to steer a man of war.’
A dull country magistrate gave Johnson a long tedious account of his exercising his criminal jurisdiction, the result of which was his having sentenced four convicts to transportation. Johnson, in an agony of impatience to get rid of such a companion, exclaimed, ‘I heartily wish, Sir, that I were a fifth.’
Johnson was present when a tragedy was read, in which there occurred this line: —
‘Who rules o’er freemen should himself be free962.’
The company having admired it much, ‘I cannot agree with you (said Johnson:) It might as well be said, —
‘Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.’
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson Page 814
