‘His Dictionary, his moral Essays, and his productions in polite literature, will convey useful instruction, and elegant entertainment, as long as the language in which they are written shall be understood.’
a Mr. Malone thinks it is rather a proof that he felt nothing of those cheerful sensations which he has described: that on these topicks it is the poet, and not the man, that writes.
b One of the most natural instances of the effect of blank verse occurred to the late Earl of Hopeton. His Lordship observed one of his shepherds poring in the fields upon Milton’s Paradise Lost; and having asked him what book it was, the man answered, ‘An’t please your Lordship, this is a very odd sort of an authour: he would fain rhyme, but cannot get at it.’
c See p. 556.
a Of Johnson’s conduct towards Warburton, a very honourable notice is taken by the editor990 of Tracts by Warburton and a Warburtonian, not admitted into the Collection of their respective Works. After an able and ‘fond, though not undistinguishing,’ consideration of Warburton’s character, he says, ‘In two immortal works, Johnson has stood forth in the foremost rank of his admirers. By the testimony of such a man, impertinence must be abashed, and malignity itself must be softened. Of literary merit, Johnson, as we all know, was a sagacious but a most severe judge. Such was his discernment, that he pierced into the most secret springs of human actions; and such was his integrity, that he always weighed the moral characters of his fellow-creatures in the “balance of the sanctuary.”991 He was too courageous to propitiate a rival, and too proud to truckle to a superiour. Warburton he knew, as I know him, and as every man of sense and virtue would wish to be known, – I mean, both from his own writings, and from the writings of those who dissented from his principles, or who envied his reputation. But, as to favours, he had never received or asked any from the Bishop of Gloucester; and, if my memory fails me not, he had seen him only once, when they met almost without design, conversed without much effort, and parted without any lasting impressions of hatred or affection. Yet, with all the ardour of sympathetick genius, Johnson has done that spontaneously and ably, which, by some writers, had been before attempted injudiciously, and which, by others, from whom more successful attempts might have been expected, has not hitherto been done at all. He spoke well of Warburton, without insulting those whom Warburton despised. He suppressed not the imperfections of this extraordinary man, while he endeavoured to do justice to his numerous and transcendental excellencies. He defended him when living, amidst the clamours of his enemies; and praised him when dead, amidst the silence of his friends.’
Having availed myself of this editor’s eulogy on my departed friend, for which I warmly thank him, let me not suffer the lustre of his reputation, honestly acquired by profound learning and vigorous eloquence, to be tarnished by a charge of illiberality. He has been accused of invidiously dragging again into light certain writings of a person992 respectable by his talents, his learning, his station and his age, which were published a great many years ago, and have since, it is said, been silently given up by their authour. But when it is considered that these writings were not sins of youth, but deliberate works of one well-advanced in life, overflowing at once with flattery to a great man of great interest in the Church, and with unjust and acrimonious abuse of two men of eminent merit; and that, though it would have been unreasonable to expect an humiliating recantation, no apology whatever has been made in the cool of the evening, for the oppressive fervour of the heat of the day; no slight relenting indication has appeared in any note, or any corner of later publications; is it not fair to understand him as superciliously persevering? When he allows the shafts to remain in the wounds, and will not stretch forth a lenient hand, is it wrong, is it not generous to become an indignant avenger?
a Let me here express my grateful remembrance of Lord Somerville’s kindness to me, at a very early period. He was the first person of high rank that took particular notice of me in the way most flattering to a young man, fondly ambitious of being distinguished for his literary talents; and by the honour of his encouragement made me think well of myself, and aspire to deserve it better. He had a happy art of communicating his varied knowledge of the world, in short remarks and anecdotes, with a quiet pleasant gravity, that was exceedingly engaging. Never shall I forget the hours which I enjoyed with him at his apartments in the Royal Palace of Holy-Rood House, and at his seat near Edinburgh, which he himself had formed with an elegant taste.
b [This neglect did not arise from any ill-will towards Lord Marchmont, but from inattention; just as he neglected to correct his statement concerning the family of Thomson the poet, after it had been shewn to be erroneous (ante, p. 718).]
a I should have thought that Johnson, who had felt the severe affliction from which Parnell never recovered, would have preserved this passage.
a Let not my readers smile to think of Johnson’s being a candidate for female favour; Mr. Peter Garrick assured me, that he was told by a lady, that in her opinion Johnson was ‘a very seducing man.’ Disadvantages of person and manner may be forgotten, where intellectual pleasure is communicated to a susceptible mind; and that Johnson was capable of feeling the most delicate and disinterested attachment, appears from the following letter, which is published by Mrs. Thrale,997 with some others to the same person, of which the excellence is not so apparent: –
‘TO MISS BOOTHBY.
‘DEAREST MADAM, ‘January {1} 1755.
‘Though I am afraid your illness leaves you little leisure for the reception of airy civilities, yet I cannot forbear to pay you my congratulations on the new year; and to declare my wishes that your years to come may be many and happy. In this wish, indeed, I include myself, who have none but you on whom my heart reposes; yet surely I wish your good, even though your situation were such as should permit you to communicate no gratifications to, dearest, dearest Madam, your, &c.
‘SAM. JOHNSON.’
b Gent. Mag. vol. lv. p. 10.
a The late Mr. James Ralph told Lord Macartney, that he passed an evening with Dr. Young at Lord Melcombe’s (then Mr. Dodington) at Hammersmith. The Doctor happening to go out into the garden, Mr. Dodington observed to him, on his return, that it was a dreadful night, as in truth it was, there being a violent storm of rain and wind. ‘No, Sir, (replied the Doctor,) it is a very fine night. The Lord is abroad.’
a See p. 77.
a From this disreputable class, I except an ingenious though not satisfactory defence of HAMMOND, which I did not see till lately, by the favour of its authour, my amiable friend, the Reverend Mr. Bevill, who published it without his name. It is a juvenile performance, but elegantly written, with classical enthusiasm of sentiment, and yet with a becoming modesty, and great respect for Dr. Johnson.
b January 1791.
a Afterwards Sir Robert Chambers, one of his Majesty’s Judges in India.
a Jones’s Persian Grammar.
a Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland.
a Published by Kearsley, with this well-chosen motto: –
‘From his cradle
He was a Scholar, and a ripe and good one:
And to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing Heaven.’1006
SHAKSPEARE.
a Shakspeare makes Hamlet thus describe his father: –
‘See what a grace was seated on this brow:
Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself,
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald, Mercury,
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.’1007
Milton thus pourtrays our first parent, Adam: –
‘His fair large front and eye sublime declar’d
Absolute rule; and hyacinthin locks
Round from his parted forelock manl
y hung
Clust’ring, but not beneath his shoulders broad.’1008
a See p. 201.
a London Chronicle, May 2, 1769. This respectable man is there mentioned to have died on the 3rd of April, that year, at Cofflect {Coffleet}, the seat of Thomas Veale, Esq. in his way to London.
a William, the first Viscount Grimston.
a See p. 415.
b Here Johnson condescended to play upon the words Long and short. But little did he know that, owing to Mr. Long’s reserve in his presence, he was talking thus of a gentleman distinguished amongst his acquaintance for acuteness of wit; one to whom I think the French expression, ‘Il pétille d’esprit,’1015 is particularly suited. He has gratified me by mentioning that he heard Dr. Johnson say, ‘Sir, if I were to lose Boswell, it would be a limb amputated.’
c William Weller Pepys, Esq., one of the Masters in the High Court of Chancery, and well known in polite circles. My acquaintance with him is not sufficient to enable me to speak of him from my own judgement. But I know that both at Eton and Oxford he was the intimate friend of the late Sir James Macdonald, the Marcellus1016 of Scotland, whose extraordinary talents, learning, and virtues, will ever be remembered with admiration and regret.
a Pr. and Med. p. 191.
a [Richard Berenger, Esq., many years Gentleman of the Horse, and first equerry to his present Majesty.]
a See this explained, ante, p. 791.
a [As this subject frequently recurs in these volumes, the reader may be led erroneously to suppose that Dr. Johnson was so fond of such discussions, as frequently to introduce them. But the truth is, that the authour himself delighted in talking concerning ghosts, and what he has frequently denominated the mysterious; and therefore took every opportunity of leading Johnson to converse on such subjects.]
a St. Matthew, chap. xxvii. vv. 52, 53.
b See ante, p. 702.
a See ante, p. 807.
a Johnson, whose memory was wonderfully retentive, remembered the first four lines of this curious production, which have been communicated to me by a young lady1034 of his acquaintance: –
‘When first I drew my vital breath,
A little minikin I came upon earth:
And then I came from a dark abode,
Into this gay and gaudy world.’
a Mr. Wilkes probably did not know that there is in an English sermon the most comprehensive and lively account of that entertaining faculty, for which he himself is so much admired. It is in Dr. Barrow’s first volume, and fourteenth sermon, ‘Against foolish Talking and Jesting.’ My old acquaintance, the late Corbyn Morris, in his ingenious Essay on Wit, Humour, and Ridicule, calls it ‘a profuse description of Wit;’ but I do not see how it could be curtailed, without leaving out some good circumstance of discrimination. As it is not generally known, and may perhaps dispose some to read sermons, from which they may receive real advantage, while looking only for entertainment, I shall here subjoin it:–
‘But first (says the learned preacher) it may be demanded, what the thing we speak of is? Or what this facetiousness (or wit as he calls it before) doth import? To which questions I might reply, as Democritus did to him that asked the definition of a man, “ ’Tis that which we all see and know.” Any one better apprehends what it is by acquaintance, than I can inform him by description. It is, indeed, a thing so versatile and multiform, appearing in so many shapes, so many postures, so many garbs, so variously apprehended by several eyes and judgements, that it seemeth no less hard to settle a clear and certain notion thereof, than to make a portrait of Proteus,1038 or to define the figure of the fleeting air. Sometimes it lieth in pat allusion to a known story, or in seasonable application of a trivial saying, or in forging an apposite tale; sometimes it playeth in words and phrases, taking advantage from the ambiguity of their sense, or the affinity of their sound: sometimes it is wrapped in a dress of humourous expression: sometimes it lurketh under an odd similitude: sometimes it is lodged in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish reason, in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly diverting or cleverly retorting an objection: sometimes it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a startling metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of contradictions, or in acute nonsense: sometimes a scenical representation of persons or things, a counterfeit speech, a mimical look or gesture, passeth for it: sometimes an affected simplicity, sometimes a presumptuous bluntness giveth it being: sometimes it riseth only from a lucky hitting upon what is strange: sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter to the purpose. Often it consisteth in one knows not what, and springeth up one can hardly tell how. Its ways are unaccountable, and inexplicable; being answerable to the numberless rovings of fancy, and windings of language. It is, in short, a manner of speaking out of the simple and plain way, (such as reason teacheth and proveth things by,) which by a pretty surprizing uncouthness in conceit or expression, doth affect and amuse the fancy, stirring in it some wonder, and breeding some delight thereto. It raiseth admiration, as signifying a nimble sagacity of apprehension, a special felicity of invention, a vivacity of spirit, and reach of wit more than vulgar; it seeming to argue a rare quickness of parts, that one can fetch in remote conceits applicable; a notable skill, that he can dextrously accommodate them to the purpose before him; together with a lively briskness of humour, not apt to damp those sportful flashes of imagination. (Whence in Aristotle such persons are termed e]pidénioi, dextrous men, and et7rsqouoi, men of facile or versatile manners, who can easily turn themselves to all things, or turn all things to themselves.) It also procureth delight, by gratifying curiosity with its rareness, as semblance of difficulty: (as monsters, not for their beauty, but their rarity; as juggling tricks, not for their use, but their abstruseness, are beheld with pleasure:) by diverting the mind from its road of serious thoughts; by instilling gaiety and airiness of spirit; by provoking to such dispositions of spirit in way of emulation or complaisance; and by seasoning matters, otherwise distasteful or insipid, with an unusual and thence grateful tang.’
a When I mentioned this to the Bishop of Killaloe, ‘With the goat,’ said his Lordship. Such, however, is the engaging politeness and pleasantry of Mr. Wilkes, and such the social good humour of the Bishop, that when they dined together at Mr. Dilly’s, where I also was, they were mutually agreeable.
a Mr. Benjamin Stillingfleet, authour of tracts relating to natural history, &c.
b Next day I endeavoured to give what had happened the most ingenious turn I could, by the following verses: –
TO THE HONOURABLE MISS MONCKTON.
‘Not that with th’ excellent Montrose
I had the happiness to dine;
Not that I late from table rose,
From Graham’s wit, from generous wine.
It was not these alone which led
On sacred manners to encroach:
And made me feel what most I dread,
JOHNSON’S just frown, and self-reproach.
But when I enter’d, not abash’d,
From your bright eyes were shot such rays,
At once intoxication flash’d,
And all my frame was in a blaze.
But not a brilliant blaze I own,
Of the dull smoke I’m yet asham’d;
I was a dreary ruin grown,
And not enlighten’d though inflam’d.
Victim at once to wine and love,
I hope, MARIA, you’ll forgive;
While I invoke the powers above,
That henceforth I may wiser live.’
The lady was generously forgiving, returned me an obliging answer, and I thus obtained an Act of Oblivion, and took care never to offend again.
a I recollect a ludicrous paragraph in the newspapers, that the King had pensioned both a He-bear and a She-bear.
a Men of rank and fortune, however, should be pretty well assured of having a real claim to the approbation of the publick, as writers, before they venture to stand forth. Dryden,
in his preface to All for Love, thus expresses himself: –
‘Men of pleasant conversation (at least esteemed so) and endued with a trifling kind of fancy, perhaps helped out by a smattering of Latin, are ambitious to distinguish themselves from the herd of gentlemen, by their poetry:
“Rarus enim fermè sensus communis in illa
Fortuna.” —— 1046
And is not this a wretched affectation, not to be contented with what fortune has done for them, and sit down quietly with their estates, but they must call their wits in question, and needlessly expose their nakedness to publick view? Not considering that they are not to expect the same approbation from sober men, which they have found from their flatterers after the third bottle: If a little glittering in discourse has passed them on us for witty men, where was the necessity of undeceiving the world? Would a man who has an ill title to an estate, but yet is in possession of it, would he bring it of his own accord to be tried at Westminster? We who write, if we want the talents, yet have the excuse that we do it for a poor subsistence; but what can be urged in their defence, who, not having the vocation of poverty to scribble, out of mere wantonness take pains to make themselves ridiculous? Horace was certainly in the right where he said, “That no man is satisfied with his own condition.”1047 A Poet is not pleased, because he is not rich; and the rich are discontented because the poets will not admit them of their number.’
b This gave me very great pleasure, for there had been once a pretty smart altercation between Dr. Barnard and him, upon a question, whether a man could improve himself after the age of forty-five; when Johnson in a hasty humour, expressed himself in a manner not quite civil. Dr. Barnard made it the subject of a copy of pleasant verses, in which he supposed himself to learn different perfections from different men. They concluded with delicate irony: –
The Life of Samuel Johnson Page 192
