The Life of Samuel Johnson

by James Boswell

  ‘London, March 28, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  Notwithstanding his afflicted state of body and mind this year, the following correspondence affords a proof not only of his benevolence and conscientious readiness to relieve a good man from errour, but by his cloathing one of the sentiments in his Rambler in different language, not inferiour to that of the original, shews his extraordinary command of clear and forcible expression.

  A clergyman at Bath wrote to him, that in The Morning Chronicle, a passage in The Beauties of Johnson, article Death, had been pointed out as supposed by some readers to recommend suicide, the words being, ‘To die is the fate of man; but to die with lingering anguish is generally his folly;’ and respectfully suggesting to him, that such an erroneous notion of any sentence in the writings of an acknowledged friend of religion and virtue, should not pass uncontradicted.

  Johnson thus answered the clergyman’s letter:–

  To THE REVEREND MR. —,1071 at Bath

  ‘SIR, – Being now in the country in a state of recovery, as I hope, from a very oppressive disorder, I cannot neglect the acknowledgement of your Christian letter. The book called The Beauties of Johnson is the production of I know not whom: I never saw it but by casual inspection, and considered myself as utterly disengaged from its consequences. Of the passage you mention, I remember some notice in some paper; but, knowing that it must be misrepresented, I thought of it no more, nor do I know where to find it in my own books. I am accustomed to think little of newspapers; but an opinion so weighty and serious as yours has determined me to do, what I should, without your seasonable admonition, have omitted; and I will direct my thought to be shewn in its true state.a If I could find the passage, I would direct you to it. I suppose the tenour is this: – “Acute diseases are the immediate and inevitable strokes of Heaven; but of them the pain is short, and the conclusion speedy: chronical disorders, by which we are suspended in tedious torture between life and death, are commonly the effect of our own misconduct and intemperance. To die, &c.” – This, Sir, you see, is all true and all blameless. I hope, some time in the next week, to have all rectified. My health has been lately much shaken; if you favour this with any answer, it will be a comfort to me to know that I have your prayers. I am, &c.,

  ‘May 15, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  This letter, as might be expected, had its full effect, and the clergyman acknowledged it in grateful and pious terms.b

  The following letters require no extracts from mine to introduce them:–

  ‘To James Boswell, Esq.

  ‘Dear Sir, – The earnestness and tenderness of your letter is such, that I cannot think myself shewing it more respect than it claims by sitting down to answer it the day on which I received it.

  ‘This year has afflicted me with a very irksome and severe disorder. My respiration has been much impeded, and much blood has been taken away. I am now harrassed by a catarrhous cough, from which my purpose is to seek relief by change of air; and I am, therefore, preparing to go to Oxford.

  ‘Whether I did right in dissuading you from coming to London this spring, I will not determine. You have not lost much by missing my company; I have scarcely been well for a single week. I might have received comfort from your kindness; but you would have seen me afflicted, and, perhaps, found me peevish. Whatever might have been your pleasure or mine, I know not how I could have honestly advised you to come hither with borrowed money. Do not accustom yourself to consider debt only as an inconvenience; you will find it a calamity. Poverty takes away so many means of doing good, and produces so much inability to resist evil, both natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means to be avoided. Consider a man whose fortune is very narrow; whatever be his rank by birth, or whatever his reputation by intellectual excellence, what good can he do? or what evil can he prevent? That he cannot help the needy is evident; he has nothing to spare. But, perhaps, his advice or admonition may be useful. His poverty will destroy his influence: many more can find that he is poor, than that he is wise; and few will reverence the understanding that is of so little advantage to its owner. I say nothing of the personal wretchedness of a debtor, which, however, has passed into a proverb. Of riches, it is not necessary to write the praise. Let it, however, be remembered, that he who has money to spare, has it always in his power to benefit others; and of such power a good man must always be desirous.

  ‘I am pleased with your account of Eastera. We shall meet, I hope, in Autumn, both well and both cheerful; and part each the better for the other’s company.

  ‘Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, and to the young charmers. I am, &c.

  ‘London, June 3, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  ‘To MR. PERKINS

  ‘Dear Sir, – I am much pleased that you are going a very long journey, which may by proper conduct restore your health and prolong your life.

  ‘Observe these rules:

  ‘1. Turn all care out of your head as soon as you mount the chaise.

  ‘2. Do not think about frugality; your health is worth more than it can cost.

  ‘3. Do not continue any day’s journey to fatigue.

  ‘4. Take now and then a day’s rest.

  ‘5. Get a smart sea-sickness, if you can.

  ‘6. Cast away all anxiety, and keep your mind easy.

  ‘This last direction is the principal; with an unquiet mind, neither exercise, nor diet, nor physick, can be of much use.

  ‘I wish you, dear Sir, a prosperous journey, and a happy recovery. I am, dear Sir, your most affectionate, humble servant,

  ‘July 28, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  ‘To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

  ‘Dear Sir, – Being uncertain whether I should have any call this autumn into the country, I did not immediately answer your kind letter. I have no call; but if you desire to meet me at Ashbourne, I believe I can come thither; if you had rather come to London, I can stay at Streatham; take your choice.

  ‘This year has been very heavy. From the middle of January to the middle of June I was battered by one disorder after another; I am now very much recovered, and hope still to be better. What happiness it is that Mrs. Boswell has escaped.

  ‘My Lives are reprinting, and I have forgotten the authour of Gray’s characterb: write immediately, and it may be perhaps yet inserted.

  ‘Of London or Ashbourne you have your free choice; at any place I shall be glad to see you. I am, dear Sir, yours, &c.

  ‘Aug. 24, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  On the 30th of August, I informed him that my honoured father had died that morning; a complaint under which he had long laboured having suddenly come to a crisis, while I was upon a visit at the seat of Sir Charles Preston, from whence I had hastened the day before, upon receiving a letter by express.

  ‘To James Boswell, Esq.

  ‘Dear Sir, – I have struggled through this year with so much infirmity of body, and such strong impressions of the fragility of life, that death, wherever it appears, fills me with melancholy; and I cannot hear without emotion, of the removal of any one, whom I have known, into another state.

  ‘Your father’s death had every circumstance that could enable you to bear it; it was at a mature age, and it was expected; and as his general life had been pious, his thoughts had doubtless for many years past been turned upon eternity. That you did not find him sensible must doubtless grieve you; his disposition towards you was undoubtedly that of a kind, though not of a fond father. Kindness, at least actual, is in our power, but fondness is not; and if by negligence or imprudence you had extinguished his fondness, he could not at will rekindle it. Nothing then remained between you but mutual forgiveness of each other’s faults, and mutual desire of each other’s happiness.

  ‘I shall long to know his final disposition of his fortune.

  ‘You, dear Sir, have nowa new station, and have therefore new cares, and new employments. Life, as Cowley seems to say, ought to resemble a well-ordered poem;1073 of which one rule gene
rally received is, that the exordium should be simple, and should promise little. Begin your new course of life with the least show, and the least expence possible; you may at pleasure encrease both, but you cannot easily diminish them. Do not think your estate your own, while any man can call upon you for money which you cannot pay; therefore, begin with timorous parsimony. Let it be your first care not to be in any man’s debt.

  ‘When the thoughts are extended to a future state, the present life seems hardly worthy of all those principles of conduct, and maxims of prudence, which one generation of men has transmitted to another; but upon a closer view, when it is perceived how much evil is produced, and how much good is impeded by embarrassment and distress, and how little room the expedients of poverty leave for the exercise of virtue, it grows manifest that the boundless importance of the next life enforces some attention to the interests of this.

  ‘Be kind to the old servants, and secure the kindness of the agents and factors; do not disgust them by asperity, or unwelcome gaiety, or apparent suspicion. From them you must learn the real state of your affairs, the characters of your tenants, and the value of your lands.

  ‘Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell; I think her expectations from airand exercise are the best that she can form. I hope she will live long and happily.

  ‘I forget whether I told you that Rasay has been here; we dined cheerfully together. I entertained lately a young gentleman from Corrichatachin. ‘I received your letters only this morning. I am, dear Sir, yours, &c.

  ‘London, Sept. 7, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  In answer to my next letter, I received one from him, dissuading me from hastening to him as I had proposed; what is proper for publication is the following paragraph, equally just and tender: – ‘One expence, however, I would not have you to spare: let nothing be omitted that can preserve Mrs. Boswell, though it should be necessary to transplant her for a time into a softer climate. She is the prop and stay of your life. How much must your children suffer by losing her.’

  My wife was now so much convinced of his sincere friendship for me, and regard for her, that, without any suggestion on my part, she wrote him a very polite and grateful letter: –

  ‘DR. JOHNSON to MRS. BOSWELL.

  ‘DEAR LADY, – I have not often received so much pleasure as from your invitation to Auchinleck. The journey thither and back is, indeed, too great for the latter part of the year; but if my health were fully recovered, I would suffer no little heat and cold, nor a wet or a rough road to keep me from you. I am, indeed, not without hope of seeing Auchinleck again; but to make it a pleasant place I must see its lady well, and brisk, and airy. For my sake, therefore, among many greater reasons, take care, dear Madam, of your health, spare no expence, and want no attendance that can procure ease, or preserve it. Be very careful to keep your mind quiet; and do not think it too much to give an account of your recovery to, Madam, your, &c.

  ‘London, Sept. 7, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  ‘To James Boswell, Esq.

  ‘Dear Sir, – Having passed almost this whole year in a succession of disorders, I went in October to Brighthelmston, whither I came in a state of so much weakness, that I rested four times in walking between the inn and the lodging. By physick and abstinence I grew better, and am now reasonably easy, though at a great distance from health. I am afraid, however, that health begins, after seventy, and often long before, to have a meaning different from that which it had at thirty. But it is culpable to murmur at the established order of the creation, as it is vain to oppose it. He that lives must grow old; and he that would rather grow old than die, has God to thank for the infirmities of old age.

  ‘At your long silence I am rather angry. You do not, since now you are the head of your house, think it worth your while to try whether you or your friend can live longer without writing, nor suspect that after so many years of friendship, that when I do not write to you, I forget you. Put all such useless jealousies out of your head, and disdain to regulate your own practice by the practice of another, or by any other principle than the desire of doing right.

  ‘Your œconomy, I suppose, begins now to be settled; your expences are adjusted to your revenue, and all your people in their proper places. Resolve not to be poor: whatever you have, spend less. Poverty is a great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys liberty, and it makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult.

  ‘Let me know the history of your life, since your accession to your estate. How many houses, how many cows, how much land, in your own hand, and what bargains you make with your tenants.…

  ‘Of my Lives of the Poets, they have printed a new edition in octavo, I hear, of three thousand. Did I give a set to Lord Hailes? If I did not, I will do it out of these. What did you make of all your copy?

  ‘Mrs. Thrale and the three Misses are now for the winter in Argyll-street. Sir Joshua Reynolds has been out of order, but is well again; and I am, dear Sir, your affectionate humble servant,

  ‘London, Dec.7,1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  ‘To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

  ‘Dear Sir, ‘Edinburgh, Dec. 20, 1782.

  ‘I was made happy by your kind letter, which gave us the agreeable hopes of seeing you in Scotland again.

  ‘I am much flattered by the concern you are pleased to take in my recovery. I am better, and hope to have it in my power to convince you by my attention of how much consequence I esteem your health to the world and to myself. I remain, Sir, with grateful respect, your obliged and obedient servant,

  ‘MARGARET BOSWELL.’

  The death of Mr. Thrale had made a very material alteration with respect to Johnson’s reception in that family. The manly authority of the husband no longer curbed the lively exuberance of the lady; and as her vanity had been fully gratified, by having the Colossus of Literature attached to her for many years, she gradually became less assiduous to please him. Whether her attachment to him was already divided by another object, I am unable to ascertain; but it is plain that Johnson’s penetration was alive to her neglect or forced attention; for on the 6th of October this year, we find him making a ‘parting use of the library’ at Streatham, and pronouncing a prayer, which he composed on leaving Mr. Thrale’s family.a

  ‘Almighty God, Father of all mercy, help me by thy grace, that I may, with humble and sincere thankfulness, remember the comforts and conveniences which I have enjoyed at this place; and that I may resign them with holy submission, equally trusting in thy protection when Thou givest, and when Thou takest away. Have mercy upon me, O Lord, have mercy upon me.

  ‘To thy fatherly protection, O Lord, I commend this family. Bless, guide, and defend them, that they may so pass through this world, as finally to enjoy in thy presence everlasting happiness, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.’

  One cannot read this prayer, without some emotions not very favourable to the lady whose conduct occasioned it.

  In one of his memorandum-books I find, ‘Sunday, went to church at Streatham. Templo valedixi cum osculo.’1074

  He met Mr. Philip Metcalfe often at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, and other places, and was a good deal with him at Brighthelmston this autumn, being pleased at once with his excellent table and animated conversation. Mr. Metcalfe shewed him great respect, and sent him a note that he might have the use of his carriage whenever he pleased. Johnson (3rd October, 1782) returned this polite answer: – ‘Mr. Johnson is very much obliged by the kind offer of the carriage; but he has no desire of using Mr. Metcalfe’s carriage, except when he can have the pleasure of Mr. Metcalfe’s company.’ Mr. Metcalfe could not but be highly pleased that his company was thus valued by Johnson, and he frequently attended him in airings. They also went together to Chichester, and they visited Petworth, and Cowdry, the venerable seat of the Lords Montacute. ‘Sir, (said Johnson,) I should like to stay here four-and-twenty hours. We see here how our ancestors lived.’

  That his curiosity was still unabated, appears from two letter
s to Mr. John Nichols, of the 10th and 20th of October this year. In one he says, ‘I have looked into your Anecdotes, and you will hardly thank a lover of literary history for telling you, that he has been much informed and gratified. I wish you would add your own discoveries and intelligence to those of Dr. Rawlinson, and undertake the Supplement to Wood. Think of it.’ In the other, ‘I wish, Sir, you could obtain some fuller information of Jortin, Markland, and Thirlby. They were three contemporaries of great eminence.’

  ‘To SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS

  ‘Dear Sir, – I heard yesterday of your late disorder, and should think ill of myself if I had heard of it without alarm. I heard likewise of your recovery, which I sincerely wish to be complete and permanent. Your country has been in danger of losing one of its brightest ornaments, and I of losing one of my oldest and kindest friends: but I hope you will still live long, for the honour of the nation: and that more enjoyment of your elegance, your intelligence, and your benevolence, is still reserved for, dear Sir, your most affectionate, &c.

  ‘Brighthelmston, Nov. 14, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  The Reverend Mr. Wilson having dedicated to him his Archaeological Dictionary, that mark of respect was thus acknowledged: –

  ‘To THE REVEREND MR. WILSON, Clitberoe, Lancashire

  ‘Reverend Sir, – That I have long omitted to return you thanks for the honour conferred upon me by your Dedication, I intreat you with great earnestness not to consider as more faulty than it is. A very importunate and oppressive disorder has for some time debarred me from the pleasures, and obstructed me in the duties of life. The esteem and kindness of wise and good men is one of the last pleasures which I can be content to lose; and gratitude to those from whom this pleasure is received, is a duty of which I hope never to be reproached with the final neglect. I therefore now return you thanks for the notice which I have received from you, and which I consider as giving to my name not only more bulk, but more weight; not only as extending its superficies, but as increasing its value. Your book was evidently wanted, and will, I hope, find its way into the school, to which, however, I do not mean to confine it; for no man has so much skill in ancient rites and practices as not to want it. As I suppose myself to owe part of your kindness to my excellent friend, Dr. Patten, he has likewise a just claim to my acknowledgements, which I hope you, Sir, will transmit. There will soon appear a new edition of my Poetical Biography; if you will accept of a copy to keep me in your mind, be pleased to let me know how it may be conveniently conveyed to you. The present is small, but it is given with good will by, Reverend Sir, your most, &c.