The Life of Samuel Johnson

by James Boswell

  ‘December 31, 1782.’ ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  1783: ætat. 74.] – IN 1783, he was more severely afflicted than ever, as will appear in the course of his correspondence; but still the same ardour for literature, the same constant piety, the same kindness for his friends, and the same vivacity both in conversation and writing, distinguished him.

  Having given Dr. Johnson a full account of what I was doing at Auchinleck, and particularly mentioned what I knew would please him, – my having brought an old man1075 of eighty-eight from a lonely cottage to a comfortable habitation within my enclosures, where he had good neighbours near to him, – I received an answer in February, of which I extract what follows: –

  ‘I am delighted with your account of your activity at Auchinleck, and wish the old gentleman, whom you have so kindly removed, may live long to promote your prosperity by his prayers. You have now a new character and new duties; think on them and practise them.

  ‘Make an impartial estimate of your revenue, and whatever it is, live upon less. Resolve never to be poor. Frugality is not only the basis of quiet, but of beneficence. No man can help others that wants help himself; we must have enough before we have to spare.

  ‘I am glad to find that Mrs. Boswell grows well; and hope that to keep her well, no care nor caution will be omitted. May you long live happily together.

  ‘When you come hither, pray bring with you Baxter’s Anacreon. I cannot get that edition in London.’

  On Friday, March 21, having arrived in London the night before, I was glad to find him at Mrs. Thrale’s house, in Argyll-street, appearances of friendship between them being still kept up. I was shewn into his room, and after the first salutation he said, ‘I am glad you are come. I am very ill.’ He looked pale, and was distressed with a difficulty of breathing; but after the common inquiries he assumed his usual strong animated style of conversation. Seeing me now for the first time as a Laird, or proprietor of land, he began thus: ‘Sir, the superiority of a country-gentleman over the people upon his estate is very agreeable; and he who says he does not feel it to be agreeable, lies; for it must be agreeable to have a casual superiority over those who are by nature equal with us.’ BOSWELL. ‘Yet, Sir, we see great proprietors of land who prefer living in London.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, the pleasure of living in London, the intellectual superiority that is enjoyed there, may counterbalance the other. Besides, Sir, a man may prefer the state of the country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for it.’ He said, ‘It is better to have five per cent. out of land than out of money, because it is more secure; but the readiness of transfer, and promptness of interest, make many people rather choose the funds. Nay, there is another disadvantage belonging to land, compared with money. A man is not so much afraid of being a hard creditor, as of being a hard landlord.’ BOSWELL. ‘Because there is a sort of kindly connection between a landlord and his tenants.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; many landlords with us never see their tenants. It is because if a landlord drives away his tenants, he may not get others; whereas the demand for money is so great, it may always be lent.’

  He talked with regret and indignation of the factious opposition to Government at this time, and imputed it, in a great measure, to the Revolution. ‘Sir, (said he, in a low voice, having come nearer to me, while his old prejudices seemed to be fermenting in his mind,) this Hanoverian family is isolee1076 here. They have no friends. Now the Stuarts had friends who stuck by them so late as 1745. When the right of the King is not reverenced, there will not be reverence for those appointed by the King.’

  His observation that the present royal family has no friends, has been too much justified by the very ungrateful behaviour of many who were under great obligations to his Majesty; at the same time there are honourable exceptions; and the very next year after this conversation, and ever since, the King has had as extensive and generous support as ever was given to any monarch, and has had the satisfaction of knowing that he was more and more endeared to his people.

  He repeated to me his verses on Mr. Levett, with an emotion which gave them full effect; and then he was pleased to say, ‘You must be as much with me as you can. You have done me good. You cannot think how much better I am since you came in.’

  He sent a message to acquaint Mrs. Thrale that I was arrived. I had not seen her since her husband’s death. She soon appeared, and favoured me with an invitation to stay to dinner, which I accepted. There was no other company but herself and three of her daughters, Dr. Johnson, and I. She too said, she was very glad I was come, for she was going to Bath, and should have been sorry to leave Dr. Johnson before I came. This seemed to be attentive and kind; and I who had not been informed of any change, imagined all to be as well as formerly. He was little inclined to talk at dinner, and went to sleep after it; but when he joined us in the drawing-room, he seemed revived, and was again himself.

  Talking of conversation, he said, ‘There must, in the first place, be knowledge, there must be materials; in the second place, there must be a command of words; in the third place, there must be imagination, to place things in such views as they are not commonly seen in; and in the fourth place, there must be presence of mind, and a resolution that is not to be overcome by failures: this last is an essential requisite; for want of it many people do not excel in conversation. Now I want it: I throw up the game upon losing a trick.’ I wondered to hear him talk thus of himself, and said, ‘I don’t know, Sir, how this may be; but I am sure you beat other people’s cards out of their hands.’ I doubt whether he heard this remark. While he went on talking triumphantly, I was fixed in admiration, and said to Mrs. Thrale, ‘O, for short-hand to take this down!’ ‘You’ll carry it all in your head, (said she;) a long head is as good as short-hand.’

  It has been observed and wondered at, that Mr. Charles Fox never talked with any freedom in the presence of Dr. Johnson, though it is well known, and I myself can witness, that his conversation is various, fluent, and exceedingly agreeable. Johnson’s own experience, however, of that gentleman’s reserve was a sufficient reason for his going on thus: ‘Fox never talks in private company; not from any determination not to talk, but because he has not the first motion. A man who is used to the applause of the House of Commons, has no wish for that of a private company. A man accustomed to throw for a thousand pounds, if set down to throw for sixpence, would not be at the pains to count his dice. Burke’s talk is the ebullition1077 of his mind; he does not talk from a desire of distinction, but because his mind is full.’

  He thus curiously characterised one of our old acquaintance:1078‘∗∗∗∗∗∗∗∗isa good man, Sir; but he is a vain man and a liar. He, however, only tells lies of vanity; of victories, for instance, in conversation, which never happened.’ This alluded to a story which I had repeated from that gentleman, to entertain Johnson with its wild bravado: ‘This Johnson, Sir, (said he,) whom you are all afraid of, will shrink if you come close to him in argument, and roar as loud as he. He once maintained the paradox, that there is no beauty but in utility. “Sir, (said I,) what say you to the peacock’s tail, which is one of the most beautiful objects in nature, but would have as much utility if its feathers were all of one colour.” He felt what I thus produced, and had recourse to his usual expedient, ridicule; exclaiming, “A peacock has a tail, and a fox has a tail;” and then he burst out into a laugh. “Well, Sir, (said I, with a strong voice, looking him full in the face,) you have unkennelled your fox; pursue him if you dare.” He had not a word to say, Sir.’ Johnson told me, that this was a fiction from beginning to end.a

  After musing for some time, he said, ‘I wonder how I should have any enemies; for I do harm to nobody.’a Boswell. ‘In the first place, Sir, you will be pleased to recollect, that you set out with attacking the Scotch; so you got a whole nation for your enemies.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, I own, that by my definition of oats I meant to vex them.’ BOSWELL. ‘Pray, Sir, can you trace the cause of y
our antipathy to the Scotch?’ JOHNSON. ‘I cannot, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘Old Mr. Sheridan says, it was because they sold Charles the First.’ JOHNSON. ‘Then, Sir, old Mr. Sheridan has found out a very good reason.’

  Surely the most obstinate and sulky nationality, the most determined aversion to this great and good man, must be cured, when he is seen thus playing with one of his prejudices, of which he candidly admitted that he could not tell the reason. It was, however, probably owing to his having had in his view the worst part of the Scottish nation, the needy adventurers, many of whom he thought were advanced above their merits by means which he did not approve. Had he in his early life been in Scotland, and seen the worthy, sensible, independent gentlemen, who live rationally and hospitably at home, he never could have entertained such unfavourable and unjust notions of his fellow-subjects. And accordingly we find, that when he did visit Scotland, in the latter period of his life, he was fully sensible of all that it deserved, as I have already pointed out, when speaking of his Journey to the Western Islands.

  Next day, Saturday, March 22, I found him still at Mrs. Thrale’s, but he told me that he was to go to his own house in the afternoon. He was better, but I perceived he was but an unruly patient, for Sir Lucas Pepys, who visited him, while I was with him said, ‘If you were tractable, Sir, I should prescribe for you.’

  I related to him a remark which a respectable friend1079 had made to me, upon the then state of Government, when those who had been long in opposition had attained to power, as it was supposed, against the inclination of the Sovereign. ‘You need not be uneasy (said this gentleman,) about the King. He laughs at them all; he plays them one against another.’ JOHNSON. ‘Don’t think so, Sir. The King is as much oppressed as a man can be. If he plays them one against another, he wins nothing.’

  I had paid a visit to General Oglethorpe in the morning, and was told by him that Dr. Johnson saw company on Saturday evenings, and he would meet me at Johnson’s, that night. When I mentioned this to Johnson, not doubting that it would please him, as he had a great value for Oglethorpe, the fretfulness of his disease unexpectedly shewed itself; his anger suddenly kindled, and he said, with vehemence, ‘Did not you tell him not to come? Am I to be hunted in this manner?’ I satisfied him that I could not divine that the visit would not be convenient, and that I certainly could not take it upon me of my own accord to forbid the General.

  I found Dr. Johnson in the evening in Mrs. Williams’s room, at tea and coffee with her and Mrs. Desmoulins, who were also both ill; it was a sad scene, and he was not in a very good humour. He said of a performancea that had lately come out, ‘Sir, if you should search all the mad-houses in England, you would not find ten men who would write so, and think it sense.’

  I was glad when General Oglethorpe’s arrival was announced, and we left the ladies. Dr. Johnson attended him in the parlour, and was as courteous as ever. The General said he was busy reading the writers of the middle age. Johnson said they were very curious. OGLETHORPE. ‘The House of Commons has usurped the power of the nation’s money, and used it tyrannically. Government is now carried on by corrupt influence, instead of the inherent right in the King.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, the want of inherent right in the King occasions all this disturbance. What we did at the Revolution was necessary: but it broke our constitution.’b OGLETHORPE. ‘My father did not think it necessary.’

  On Sunday, March 23, I breakfasted with Dr. Johnson, who seemed much relieved, having taken opium the night before. He however protested against it, as a remedy that should be given with the utmost reluctance, and only in extreme necessity. I mentioned how commonly it was used in Turkey, and that therefore it could not be so pernicious as he apprehended. He grew warm and said, ‘Turks take opium, and Christians take opium; but Russel, in his account of Aleppo, tells us, that it is as disgraceful in Turkey to take too much opium, as it is with us to get drunk. Sir, it is amazing how things are exaggerated. A gentleman was lately telling in a company where I was present, that in France, as soon as a man of fashion marries, he takes an opera girl into keeping; and this he mentioned as a general custom. “Pray, Sir, (said I,) how many opera girls may there be?” He answered, “About fourscore.” “ Well then, Sir, (said I,) you see there can be no more than fourscore men of fashion who can do this.”’

  Mrs. Desmoulins made tea; and she and I talked before him upon a topick which he had once borne patiently from me when we were by ourselves, – his not complaining of the world, because he was not called to some great office, nor had attained to great wealth. He flew into a violent passion, I confess with some justice, and commanded us to have done. ‘Nobody, (said he,) has a right to talk in this manner, to bring before a man his own character, and the events of his life, when he does not choose it should be done. I never have sought the world; the world was not to seek me. It is rather wonderful that so much has been done for me. All the complaints which are made of the world are unjust. I never knew a man of merit neglected: it was generally by his own fault that he failed of success. A man may hide his head in a hole: he may go into the country, and publish a book now and then, which nobody reads, and then complain he is neglected. There is no reason why any person should exert himself for a man who has written a good book: he has not written it for any individual. I may as well make a present to the postman who brings me a letter. When patronage was limited, an authour expected to find a Maecenas,1080 and complained if he did not find one. Why should he complain? This Maecenas has others as good as he, or others who have got the start of him.’ Boswell. ‘But surely, Sir, you will allow that there are men of merit at the bar who never get practice.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you are sure that practice is got from an opinion that the person employed deserves it best; so that if a man of merit at the bar does not get practice, it is from errour, not from injustice. He is not neglected. A horse that is brought to market may not be bought, though he is a very good horse: but that is from ignorance, not from intention.’

  There was in this discourse much novelty, ingenuity, and discrimination, such as is seldom to be found. Yet I cannot help thinking that men of merit, who have no success in life, may be forgiven for lamenting, if they are not allowed to complain. They may consider it as hard that their merit should not have its suitable distinction. Though there is no intentional injustice towards them on the part of the world, their merit not having been perceived, they may yet repine against fortune, or fate, or by whatever name they choose to call the supposed mythological power of Destiny. It has, however, occurred to me, as a consolatory thought, that men of merit should consider thus: – How much harder would it be if the same persons had both all the merit and all the prosperity. Would not this be a miserable distribution for the poor dunces? Would men of merit exchange their intellectual superiority, and the enjoyments arising from it, for external distinction and the pleasures of wealth? If they would not, let them not envy others, who are poor where they are rich, a compensation which is made to them. Let them look inwards and be satisfied; recollecting with conscious pride what Virgil finely says of the Corycius Senex,1081 and which I have, in another place,a with truth and sincerity applied to Mr. Burke:-

  ‘Regum cequabat opes animis.’ 1082

  On the subject of the right employment of wealth, Johnson observed, ‘A man cannot make a bad use of his money, so far as regards Society, if he does not hoard it; for if he either spends it or lends it out, Society has the benefit. It is in general better to spend money than to give it away; for industry is more promoted by spending money than by giving it away. A man who spends his money is sure he is doing good with it: he is not so sure when he gives it away. A man who spends ten thousand a year will do more good than a man who spends two thousand and gives away eight.’

  In the evening I came to him again. He was somewhat fretful from his illness. A gentleman1083 asked him, whether he had been abroad to-day. ‘Don’t talk so childishly, (said he.) You may as well ask if I hanged myself to-day.’ I mentioned politicks. Johnson. ‘Sir, I’d
as soon have a man to break my bones as talk to me of publick affairs, internal or external. I have lived to see things all as bad as they can be.’

  Having mentioned his friend the second Lord Southwell, he said, ‘Lord Southwell was the highest-bred man without insolence that I ever was in company with; the most qualitied I ever saw. Lord Orrery was not dignified: Lord Chesterfield was, but he was insolent. Lord∗∗∗∗∗∗∗∗∗1084 is a man of coarse manners, but a man of abilities and information. I don’t say he is a man I would set at the head of a nation, though perhaps he may be as good as the next Prime Minister that comes; but he is a man to be at the head of a Club; I don’t say our Club; for there’s no such Club.’ Boswell. ‘But, Sir, was he not once a factious man?’ JOHNSON. ‘O yes, Sir; as factious a fellow as could be found: one who was for sinking us all into the mob.’ BOSWELL. ‘How then, Sir, did he get into favour with the King?’ JOHNSON. ‘Because, Sir, I suppose he promised the King to do whatever the King pleased.’

  He said, ‘Goldsmith’s blundering speech to Lord Shelburne, which has been so often mentioned, and which he really did make to him, was only a blunder in emphasis: “I wonder they should call your Lordship Malagrida, for Malagrida was a very good man;” meant, I wonder they should use Malagrida as a term of reproach.’1085