After repeating to him some of his pointed, lively sayings, I said, ‘It is a pity, Sir, you don’t always remember your own good things, that you may have a laugh when you will.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, it is better that I forget them, that I may be reminded of them, and have a laugh on their being brought to my recollection.’
When I recalled to him his having said as we sailed up Loch-lomond, ‘That if he wore any thing fine, it should be VERY fine;’ I observed that all his thoughts were upon a great scale. JOHNSON. ‘Depend upon it, Sir, every man will have as fine a thing as he can get; as a large diamond for his ring.’ BOSWELL. ‘Pardon me, Sir: a man of a narrow mind will not think of it, a slight trinket will satisfy him:
“Nec sufferre queat majoris pondera gemmae.”’
I told him I should send him some Essays which I had written, which I hoped he would be so good as to read, and pick out the good ones. JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, send me only the good ones; don’t make ME pick them.’
As a small proof of his kindliness and delicacy of feeling, the following circumstance may be mentioned: One evening when we were in the street together, and I told him I was going to sup at Mr. Beauclerk’s, he said, ‘I’ll go with you.’ After having walked part of the way, seeming to recollect something, he suddenly stopped and said, ‘I cannot go, — but I do not love Beauclerk the less.’
On the frame of his portrait, Mr. Beauclerk had inscribed, —
‘ —— —— Ingenium ingens
Inculto latet hoc sub corpore.’
After Mr. Beauclerk’s death, when it became Mr. Langton’s property, he made the inscription be defaced. Johnson said complacently, ‘It was kind in you to take it off;’ and then after a short pause, added, ‘and not unkind in him to put it on.’
He said, ‘How few of his friends’ houses would a man choose to be at when he is sick.’ He mentioned one or two. I recollect only Thrale’s.
He observed, ‘There is a wicked inclination in most people to suppose an old man decayed in his intellects. If a young or middle-aged man, when leaving a company, does not recollect where he laid his hat, it is nothing; but if the same inattention is discovered in an old man, people will shrug up their shoulders, and say, “His memory is going.”’
Sir Joshua Reynolds communicated to me the following particulars: —
Johnson thought the poems published as translations from Ossian had so little merit, that he said, ‘Sir, a man might write such stuff for ever, if he would ABANDON his mind to it.’
He said, ‘A man should pass a part of his time with THE LAUGHERS, by which means any thing ridiculous or particular about him might be presented to his view, and corrected.’ I observed, he must have been a bold laugher who would have ventured to tell Dr. Johnson of any of his particularities.*
* I am happy, however, to mention a pleasing instance of his
enduring with great gentleness to hear one of his most
striking particularities pointed out: — Miss Hunter, a niece
of his friend Christopher Smart, when a very young girl,
struck by his extraordinary motions, said to him, Pray, Dr.
Johnson, why do you make such strange gestures?’ From bad
habit, he replied. ‘Do you, my dear, take care to guard
against bad habits.’ This I was told by the young lady’s
brother at Margate. — Boswell.
Dr. Goldsmith said once to Dr. Johnson, that he wished for some additional members to THE LITERARY CLUB, to give it an agreeable variety; for (said he,) there can now be nothing new among us: we have travelled over one another’s minds. Johnson seemed a little angry, and said, ‘Sir, you have not travelled over MY mind, I promise you.’ Sir Joshua, however, thought Goldsmith right; observing, that ‘when people have lived a great deal together, they know what each of them will say on every subject. A new understanding, therefore, is desirable; because though it may only furnish the same sense upon a question which would have been furnished by those with whom we are accustomed to live, yet this sense will have a different colouring; and colouring is of much effect in every thing else as well as in painting.’
Johnson used to say that he made it a constant rule to talk as well as he could both as to sentiment and expression, by which means, what had been originally effort became familiar and easy. The consequence of this, Sir Joshua observed, was, that his common conversation in all companies was such as to secure him universal attention, as something above the usual colloquial style was expected.
Yet, though Johnson had this habit in company, when another mode was necessary, in order to investigate truth, he could descend to a language intelligible to the meanest capacity. An instance of this was witnessed by Sir Joshua Reynolds, when they were present at an examination of a little blackguard boy, by Mr. Saunders Welch, the late Westminster Justice. Welch, who imagined that he was exalting himself in Dr. Johnson’s eyes by using big words, spoke in a manner that was utterly unintelligible to the boy; Dr. Johnson perceiving it, addressed himself to the boy, and changed the pompous phraseology into colloquial language. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was much amused by this procedure, which seemed a kind of reversing of what might have been expected from the two men, took notice of it to Dr. Johnson, as they walked away by themselves. Johnson said, that it was continually the case; and that he was always obliged to TRANSLATE the Justice’s swelling diction, (smiling,) so as that his meaning might be understood by the vulgar, from whom information was to be obtained.
Sir Joshua once observed to him, that he had talked above the capacity of some people with whom they had been in company together. ‘No matter, Sir, (said Johnson;) they consider it as a compliment to be talked to, as if they were wiser than they are. So true is this, Sir, that Baxter made it a rule in every sermon that he preached, to say something that was above the capacity of his audience.’
Johnson’s dexterity in retort, when he seemed to be driven to an extremity by his adversary, was very remarkable. Of his power in this respect, our common friend, Mr. Windham of Norfolk, has been pleased to furnish me with an eminent instance. However unfavourable to Scotland, he uniformly gave liberal praise to George Buchanan, as a writer. In a conversation concerning the literary merits of the two countries, in which Buchanan was introduced, a Scotchman, imagining that on this ground he should have an undoubted triumph over him, exclaimed, ‘Ah, Dr. Johnson, what would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an Englishman?’ ‘Why, Sir, (said Johnson, after a little pause,) I should NOT have said of Buchanan, had he been an ENGLISHMAN, what I will now say of him as a SCOTCHMAN, — that he was the only man of genius his country ever produced.’
Though his usual phrase for conversation was TALK, yet he made a distinction; for when he once told me that he dined the day before at a friend’s house, with ‘a very pretty company;’ and I asked him if there was good conversation, he answered, ‘No, Sir; we had TALK enough, but no CONVERSATION; there was nothing DISCUSSED.’
Such was his sensibility, and so much was he affected by pathetick poetry, that, when he was reading Dr. Beattie’s Hermit in my presence, it brought tears into his eyes.
Mr. Hoole told him, he was born in Moorfields, and had received part of his early instruction in Grub-street. ‘Sir, (said Johnson, smiling,) you have been REGULARLY educated.’ Having asked who was his instructor, and Mr. Hoole having answered, ‘My uncle, Sir, who was a taylor;’ Johnson, recollecting himself, said, ‘Sir, I knew him; we called him the metaphysical taylor. He was of a club in Old-street, with me and George Psalmanazar, and some others: but pray, Sir, was he a good taylor?’ Mr. Hoole having answered that he believed he was too mathematical, and used to draw squares and triangles on his shop-board, so that he did not excel in the cut of a coat;— ‘I am sorry for it (said Johnson,) for I would have every man to be master of his own business.’
In pleasant reference to himself and Mr. Hoole, as brother authours, he often said, ‘Let you and I, Sir, go together, and eat a beef-steak in Grub-street.’
He said to Sir William Scott, ‘The age is running mad after innovation; all the business of the world is to be done in a new way; men are to be hanged in a new way; Tyburn itself is not safe from the fury of innovation.’ It having been argued that this was an improvement,— ‘No, Sir, (said he, eagerly,) it is NOT an improvement: they object that the old method drew together a number of spectators. Sir, executions are intended to draw spectators. If they do not draw spectators they don’t answer their purpose. The old method was most satisfactory to all parties; the publick was gratified by a procession; the criminal was supported by it. Why is all this to be swept away?’ I perfectly agree with Dr. Johnson upon this head, and am persuaded that executions now, the solemn procession being discontinued, have not nearly the effect which they formerly had. Magistrates both in London, and elsewhere, have, I am afraid, in this had too much regard to their own case.
Johnson’s attention to precision and clearness in expression was very remarkable. He disapproved of parentheses; and I believe in all his voluminous writings, not half a dozen of them will be found. He never used the phrases the former and the latter, having observed, that they often occasioned obscurity; he therefore contrived to construct his sentences so as not to have occasion for them, and would even rather repeat the same words, in order to avoid them. Nothing is more common than to mistake surnames when we hear them carelessly uttered for the first time. To prevent this, he used not only to pronounce them slowly and distinctly, but to take the trouble of spelling them; a practice which I have often followed; and which I wish were general.
Such was the heat and irritability of his blood, that not only did he pare his nails to the quick; but scraped the joints of his fingers with a pen-knife, till they seemed quite red and raw.
The heterogeneous composition of human nature was remarkably exemplified in Johnson. His liberality in giving his money to persons in distress was extraordinary. Yet there lurked about him a propensity to paultry saving. One day I owned to him that ‘I was occasionally troubled with a fit of NARROWNESS.’ ‘Why, Sir, (said he,) so am I. BUT I DO NOT TELL IT.’ He has now and then borrowed a shilling of me; and when I asked for it again, seemed to be rather out of humour. A droll little circumstance once occurred: as if he meant to reprimand my minute exactness as a creditor, he thus addressed me;— ‘Boswell, LEND me sixpence — NOT TO BE REPAID.’
This great man’s attention to small things was very remarkable. As an instance of it, he one day said to me, ‘Sir, when you get silver in change for a guinea, look carefully at it; you may find some curious piece of coin.’
Though a stern TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN, and fully prejudiced against all other nations, he had discernment enough to see, and candour enough to censure, the cold reserve too common among Englishmen towards strangers: ‘Sir, (said he,) two men of any other nation who are shewn into a room together, at a house where they are both visitors, will immediately find some conversation. But two Englishmen will probably go each to a different window, and remain in obstinate silence. Sir, we as yet do not enough understand the common rights of humanity.’
Johnson, for sport perhaps, or from the spirit of contradiction, eagerly maintained that Derrick had merit as a writer. Mr. Morgann* argued with him directly, in vain. At length he had recourse to this device. ‘Pray, Sir, (said he,) whether do you reckon Derrick or Smart the best poet?’ Johnson at once felt himself roused; and answered, ‘Sir, there is no settling the point of precedency between a louse and a flea.’
* Author of the Essay on the Character of Falstaff. — ED.
He was pleased to say to me one morning when we were left alone in his study, ‘Boswell, I think I am easier with you than with almost any body.’
He would not allow Mr. David Hume any credit for his political principles, though similar to his own; saying of him, ‘Sir, he was a Tory by chance.’
His acute observation of human life made him remark, ‘Sir, there is nothing by which a man exasperates most people more, than by displaying a superiour ability or brilliancy in conversation. They seem pleased at the time; but their envy makes them curse him in their hearts.’
Johnson’s love of little children, which he discovered upon all occasions, calling them ‘pretty dears,’ and giving them sweetmeats, was an undoubted proof of the real humanity and gentleness of his disposition.
His uncommon kindness to his servants, and serious concern, not only for their comfort in this world, but their happiness in the next, was another unquestionable evidence of what all, who were intimately acquainted with him, knew to be true.
Nor would it be just, under this head, to omit the fondness which he shewed for animals which he had taken under his protection. I never shall forget the indulgence with which he treated Hodge, his cat: for whom he himself used to go out and buy oysters, lest the servants having that trouble should take a dislike to the poor creature. I am, unluckily, one of those who have an antipathy to a cat, so that I am uneasy when in the room with one; and I own, I frequently suffered a good deal from the presence of this same Hodge. I recollect him one day scrambling up Dr. Johnson’s breast, apparently with much satisfaction, while my friend smiling and half-whistling, rubbed down his back, and pulled him by the tail; and when I observed he was a fine cat, saying, ‘Why yes, Sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better than this;’ and then as if perceiving Hodge to be out of countenance, adding, ‘but he is a very fine cat, a very fine cat indeed.’
This reminds me of the ludicrous account which he gave Mr. Langton, of the despicable state of a young Gentleman of good family. ‘Sir, when I heard of him last, he was running about town shooting cats.’ And then in a sort of kindly reverie, he bethought himself of his own favourite cat, and said, ‘But Hodge shan’t be shot; no, no, Hodge shall not be shot.’
On Thursday, April 10, I introduced to him, at his house in Bolt-court, the Honourable and Reverend William Stuart, son of the Earl of Bute; a gentleman truly worthy of being known to Johnson; being, with all the advantages of high birth, learning, travel, and elegant manners, an exemplary parish priest in every respect.
After some compliments on both sides, the tour which Johnson and I had made to the Hebrides was mentioned. JOHNSON. ‘I got an acquisition of more ideas by it than by any thing that I remember. I saw quite a different system of life.’ BOSWELL. ‘You would not like to make the same journey again?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why no, Sir; not the same: it is a tale told. Gravina, an Italian critick, observes, that every man desires to see that of which he has read; but no man desires to read an account of what he has seen: so much does description fall short of reality. Description only excites curiosity: seeing satisfies it. Other people may go and see the Hebrides.’ BOSWELL. ‘I should wish to go and see some country totally different from what I have been used to; such as Turkey, where religion and every thing else are different.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir; there are two objects of curiosity, — the Christian world, and the Mahometan world. All the rest may be considered as barbarous.’ BOSWELL. ‘Pray, Sir, is the Turkish Spy a genuine book?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir. Mrs. Manley, in her Life, says that her father wrote the first two volumes: and in another book, Dunton’s Life and Errours, we find that the rest was written by one Sault, at two guineas a sheet, under the direction of Dr. Midgeley.’
About this time he wrote to Mrs. Lucy Porter, mentioning his bad health, and that he intended a visit to Lichfield. ‘It is, (says he,) with no great expectation of amendment that I make every year a journey into the country; but it is pleasant to visit those whose kindness has been often experienced.’
On April 18, (being Good-Friday,) I found him at breakfast, in his usual manner upon that day, drinking tea without milk, and eating a cross-bun to prevent faintness; we went to St. Clement’s church, as formerly. When we came home from church, he placed himself on one of the stone-seats at his garden-door, and I took the other, and thus in the open air and in a placid frame of mind, he talked away very easily. JOHNSON. ‘Were I a country gentleman, I sh
ould not be very hospitable, I should not have crowds in my house.’ BOSWELL. ‘Sir Alexander Dick tells me, that he remembers having a thousand people in a year to dine at his house: that is, reckoning each person as one, each time that he dined there.’ JOHNSON. ‘That, Sir, is about three a day.’ BOSWELL. ‘How your statement lessens the idea.’ JOHNSON. ‘That, Sir, is the good of counting. It brings every thing to a certainty, which before floated in the mind indefinitely.’
BOSWELL. ‘I wish to have a good walled garden.’ JOHNSON. ‘I don’t think it would be worth the expence to you. We compute in England, a park wall at a thousand pounds a mile; now a garden-wall must cost at least as much. You intend your trees should grow higher than a deer will leap. Now let us see; for a hundred pounds you could only have forty-four square yards, which is very little; for two hundred pounds, you may have eighty-four square yards, which is very well. But when will you get the value of two hundred pounds of walls, in fruit, in your climate? No, Sir, such contention with Nature is not worth while. I would plant an orchard, and have plenty of such fruit as ripen well in your country. My friend, Dr. Madden, of Ireland, said, that “in an orchard there should be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to be stolen, and enough to rot upon the ground.” Cherries are an early fruit, you may have them; and you may have the early apples and pears.’ BOSWELL. ‘We cannot have nonpareils.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you can no more have nonpareils than you can have grapes.’ BOSWELL. ‘We have them, Sir; but they are very bad.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, never try to have a thing merely to shew that you CANNOT have it. From ground that would let for forty shillings you may have a large orchard; and you see it costs you only forty shillings. Nay, you may graze the ground when the trees are grown up; you cannot while they are young.’ BOSWELL. ‘Is not a good garden a very common thing in England, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Not so common, Sir, as you imagine. In Lincolnshire there is hardly an orchard; in Staffordshire very little fruit.’ BOSWELL. ‘Has Langton no orchard?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘How so, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, from the general negligence of the county. He has it not, because nobody else has it.’ BOSWELL. ‘A hot-house is a certain thing; I may have that.’ JOHNSON. ‘A hot-house is pretty certain; but you must first build it, then you must keep fires in it, and you must have a gardener to take care of it.’ BOSWELL. ‘But if I have a gardener at any rate ?— ‘ JOHNSON. ‘Why, yes.’ BOSWELL. ‘I’d have it near my house; there is no need to have it in the orchard.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, I’d have it near my house. I would plant a great many currants; the fruit is good, and they make a pretty sweetmeat.’
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson Page 953
