Complete Works of Samuel Johnson

by Samuel Johnson

  ‘Buchanan (he observed,) has fewer centos than any modern Latin poet. He not only had great knowledge of the Latin language, but was a great poetical genius. Both the Scaligers praise him.’

  He again talked of the passage in Congreve with high commendation, and said, ‘Shakspeare never has six lines together without a fault. Perhaps you may find seven, but this does not refute my general assertion. If I come to an orchard, and say there’s no fruit here, and then comes a poring man, who finds two apples and three pears, and tells me, “Sir, you are mistaken, I have found both apples and pears,” I should laugh at him: what would that be to the purpose?’

  BOSWELL. ‘What do you think of Dr. Young’s Night Thoughts, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, there are very fine things in them.’ BOSWELL. ‘Is there not less religion in the nation now, Sir, than there was formerly?’ JOHNSON. ‘I don’t know, Sir, that there is.’ BOSWELL. ‘For instance, there used to be a chaplain in every great family, which we do not find now.’ JOHNSON. ‘Neither do you find any of the state servants which great families used formerly to have. There is a change of modes in the whole department of life.’

  Next day, October 20, he appeared, for the only time I suppose in his life, as a witness in a Court of Justice, being called to give evidence to the character of Mr. Baretti, who having stabbed a man in the street, was arraigned at the Old Bailey for murder. Never did such a constellation of genius enlighten the aweful Sessions-House, emphatically called JUSTICE HALL; Mr. Burke, Mr. Garrick, Mr. Beauclerk, and Dr. Johnson; and undoubtedly their favourable testimony had due weight with the Court and Jury. Johnson gave his evidence in a slow, deliberate, and distinct manner, which was uncommonly impressive. It is well known that Mr. Baretti was acquitted.

  On the 26th of October, we dined together at the Mitre tavern. I found fault with Foote for indulging his talent of ridicule at the expence of his visitors, which I colloquially termed making fools of his company. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, when you go to see Foote, you do not go to see a saint: you go to see a man who will be entertained at your house, and then bring you on a publick stage; who will entertain you at his house, for the very purpose of bringing you on a publick stage. Sir, he does not make fools of his company; they whom he exposes are fools already: he only brings them into action.’

  Talking of trade, he observed, ‘It is a mistaken notion that a vast deal of money is brought into a nation by trade. It is not so. Commodities come from commodities; but trade produces no capital accession of wealth. However, though there should be little profit in money, there is a considerable profit in pleasure, as it gives to one nation the productions of another; as we have wines and fruits, and many other foreign articles, brought to us.’ BOSWELL. ‘Yes, Sir, and there is a profit in pleasure, by its furnishing occupation to such numbers of mankind.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, you cannot call that pleasure to which all are averse, and which none begin but with the hope of leaving off; a thing which men dislike before they have tried it, and when they have tried it.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, the mind must be employed, and we grow weary when idle.’ JOHNSON. ‘That is, Sir, because, others being busy, we want company; but if we were all idle, there would be no growing weary; we should all entertain one another. There is, indeed, this in trade: — it gives men an opportunity of improving their situation. If there were no trade, many who are poor would always remain poor. But no man loves labour for itself.’ BOSWELL. ‘Yes, Sir, I know a person who does. He is a very laborious Judge, and he loves the labour.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, that is because he loves respect and distinction. Could he have them without labour, he would like it less.’ BOSWELL. ‘He tells me he likes it for itself.’— ‘Why, Sir, he fancies so, because he is not accustomed to abstract.’

  We went home to his house to tea. Mrs. Williams made it with sufficient dexterity, notwithstanding her blindness, though her manner of satisfying herself that the cups were full enough appeared to me a little aukward; for I fancied she put her finger down a certain way, till she felt the tea touch it. In my first elation at being allowed the privilege of attending Dr. Johnson at his late visits to this lady, which was like being è secretioribus consiliis, I willingly drank cup after cup, as if it had been the Heliconian spring. But as the charm of novelty went off, I grew more fastidious; and besides, I discovered that she was of a peevish temper.

  There was a pretty large circle this evening. Dr. Johnson was in very good humour, lively, and ready to talk upon all subjects. Mr. Fergusson, the self-taught philosopher, told him of a new-invented machine which went without horses: a man who sat in it turned a handle, which worked a spring that drove it forward. ‘Then, Sir, (said Johnson,) what is gained is, the man has his choice whether he will move himself alone, or himself and the machine too.’ Dominicetti being mentioned, he would not allow him any merit. ‘There is nothing in all this boasted system. No, Sir; medicated baths can be no better than warm water: their only effect can be that of tepid moisture.’ One of the company took the other side, maintaining that medicines of various sorts, and some too of most powerful effect, are introduced into the human frame by the medium of the pores; and, therefore, when warm water is impregnated with salutiferous substances, it may produce great effects as a bath. This appeared to me very satisfactory. Johnson did not answer it; but talking for victory, and determined to be master of the field, he had recourse to the device which Goldsmith imputed to him in the witty words of one of Cibber’s comedies: ‘There is no arguing with Johnson; for when his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.’ He turned to the gentleman, ‘Well, Sir, go to Dominicetti, and get thyself fumigated; but be sure that the steam be directed to thy head, for that is the peccant part’. This produced a triumphant roar of laughter from the motley assembly of philosophers, printers, and dependents, male and female.

  I know not how so whimsical a thought came into my mind, but I asked, ‘If, Sir, you were shut up in a castle, and a newborn child with you, what would you do?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, I should not much like my company.’ BOSWELL. ‘But would you take the trouble of rearing it?’ He seemed, as may well be supposed, unwilling to pursue the subject: but upon my persevering in my question, replied, ‘Why yes, Sir, I would; but I must have all conveniencies. If I had no garden, I would make a shed on the roof, and take it there for fresh air. I should feed it, and wash it much, and with warm water to please it, not with cold water to give it pain.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, does not heat relax?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you are not to imagine the water is to be very hot. I would not coddle the child. No, Sir, the hardy method of treating children does no good. I’ll take you five children from London, who shall cuff five Highland children. Sir, a man bred in London will carry a burthen, or run, or wrestle, as well as a man brought up in the hardiest manner in the country.’ BOSWELL. ‘Good living, I suppose, makes the Londoners strong.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, I don’t know that it does. Our Chairmen from Ireland, who are as strong men as any, have been brought up upon potatoes. Quantity makes up for quality.’ BOSWELL. ‘Would you teach this child that I have furnished you with, any thing?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, I should not be apt to teach it.’ BOSWELL. ‘Would not you have a pleasure in teaching it?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir, I should not have a pleasure in teaching it.’ BOSWELL. ‘Have you not a pleasure in teaching men? — There I have you. You have the same pleasure in teaching men, that I should have in teaching children.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, something about that.’ BOSWELL. ‘Do you think, Sir, that what is called natural affection is born with us? It seems to me to be the effect of habit, or of gratitude for kindness. No child has it for a parent whom it has not seen.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, I think there is an instinctive natural affection in parents towards their children.’

  Russia being mentioned as likely to become a great empire, by the rapid increase of population: — JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, I see no prospect of their propagating more. They can have no more children than they can get. I know of no way to make them breed more than they do. It is not from reason and pr
udence that people marry, but from inclination. A man is poor; he thinks, “I cannot be worse, and so I’ll e’en take Peggy.”’ BOSWELL. ‘But have not nations been more populous at one period than another?’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir; but that has been owing to the people being less thinned at one period than another, whether by emigrations, war, or pestilence, not by their being more or less prolifick. Births at all times bear the same proportion to the same number of people.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, to consider the state of our own country; — does not throwing a number of farms into one hand hurt population?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why no, Sir; the same quantity of food being produced, will be consumed by the same number of mouths, though the people may be disposed of in different ways. We see, if corn be dear, and butchers’ meat cheap, the farmers all apply themselves to the raising of corn, till it becomes plentiful and cheap, and then butchers’ meat becomes dear; so that an equality is always preserved. No, Sir, let fanciful men do as they will, depend upon it, it is difficult to disturb the system of life.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, is it not a very bad thing for landlords to oppress their tenants, by raising their rents?’ JOHNSON. ‘Very bad. But, Sir, it never can have any general influence; it may distress some individuals. For, consider this: landlords cannot do without tenants. Now tenants will not give more for land, than land is worth. If they can make more of their money by keeping a shop, or any other way, they’ll do it, and so oblige landlords to let land come back to a reasonable rent, in order that they may get tenants. Land, in England, is an article of commerce. A tenant who pays his landlord his rent, thinks himself no more obliged to him than you think yourself obliged to a man in whose shop you buy a piece of goods. He knows the landlord does not let him have his land for less than he can get from others, in the same manner as the shopkeeper sells his goods. No shopkeeper sells a yard of ribband for sixpence when seven-pence is the current price.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, is it not better that tenants should be dependant on landlords?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, as there are many more tenants than landlords, perhaps, strictly speaking, we should wish not. But if you please you may let your lands cheap, and so get the value, part in money and part in homage. I should agree with you in that.’ BOSWELL. ‘So, Sir, you laugh at schemes of political improvement.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, most schemes of political improvement are very laughable things.’

  He observed, ‘Providence has wisely ordered that the more numerous men are, the more difficult it is for them to agree in any thing, and so they are governed. There is no doubt, that if the poor should reason, “We’ll be the poor no longer, we’ll make the rich take their turn,” they could easily do it, were it not that they can’t agree. So the common soldiers, though so much more numerous than their officers, are governed by them for the same reason.’

  He said, ‘Mankind have a strong attachment to the habitations to which they have been accustomed. You see the inhabitants of Norway do not with one consent quit it, and go to some part of America, where there is a mild climate, and where they may have the same produce from land, with the tenth part of the labour. No, Sir; their affection for their old dwellings, and the terrour of a general change, keep them at home. Thus, we see many of the finest spots in the world thinly inhabited, and many rugged spots well inhabited.’

  The London Chronicle, which was the only news-paper he constantly took in, being brought, the office of reading it aloud was assigned to me. I was diverted by his impatience. He made me pass over so many parts of it, that my task was very easy. He would not suffer one of the petitions to the King about the Middlesex election to be read.

  I had hired a Bohemian as my servant while I remained in London, and being much pleased with him, I asked Dr. Johnson whether his being a Roman Catholick should prevent my taking him with me to Scotland. JOHNSON. ‘Why no, Sir, if he has no objection, you can have none.’ BOSWELL. ‘So, Sir, you are no great enemy to the Roman Catholick religion.’ JOHNSON. ‘No more, Sir, than to the Presbyterian religion.’ BOSWELL. ‘You are joking.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir, I really think so. Nay, Sir, of the two, I prefer the Popish.’ BOSWELL. ‘How so, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, the Presbyterians have no church, no apostolical ordination.’ BOSWELL. ‘And do you think that absolutely essential, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, as it was an apostolical institution, I think it is dangerous to be without it. And, Sir, the Presbyterians have no public worship: they have no form of prayer in which they know they are to join. They go to hear a man pray, and are to judge whether they will join with him.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, their doctrine is the same with that of the Church of England. Their confession of faith, and the thirty-nine articles, contain the same points, even the doctrine of predestination.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why yes, Sir, predestination was a part of the clamour of the times, so it is mentioned in our articles, but with as little positiveness as could be.’ BOSWELL. ‘Is it necessary, Sir, to believe all the thirty-nine articles?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, that is a question which has been much agitated. Some have thought it necessary that they should all be believed; others have considered them to be only articles of peace, that is to say, you are not to preach against them.’ BOSWELL. ‘It appears to me, Sir, that predestination, or what is equivalent to it, cannot be avoided, if we hold an universal prescience in the Deity.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, does not GOD every day see things going on without preventing them?’ BOSWELL. ‘True, Sir; but if a thing be certainly foreseen, it must be fixed, and cannot happen otherwise; and if we apply this consideration to the human mind, there is no free will, nor do I see how prayer can be of any avail.’ He mentioned Dr. Clarke, and Bishop Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity, and bid me read South’s Sermons on Prayer; but avoided the question which has excruciated philosophers and divines, beyond any other. I did not press it further, when I perceived that he was displeased, and shrunk from any abridgement of an attribute usually ascribed to the Divinity, however irreconcilable in its full extent with the grand system of moral government. His supposed orthodoxy here cramped the vigorous powers of his understanding. He was confined by a chain which early imagination and long habit made him think massy and strong, but which, had he ventured to try, he could at once have snapt asunder.

  I proceeded: ‘What do you think, Sir, of Purgatory, as believed by the Roman Catholicks?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, it is a very harmless doctrine. They are of opinion that the generality of mankind are neither so obstinately wicked as to deserve everlasting punishment, nor so good as to merit being admitted into the society of blessed spirits; and therefore that God is graciously pleased to allow of a middle state, where they may be purified by certain degrees of suffering. You see, Sir, there is nothing unreasonable in this.’ BOSWELL. ‘But then, Sir, their masses for the dead?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, if it be once established that there are souls in purgatory, it is as proper to pray for them, as for our brethren of mankind who are yet in this life.’ BOSWELL. ‘The idolatry of the Mass?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, there is no idolatry in the Mass. They believe GOD to be there, and they adore him.’ BOSWELL. ‘The worship of Saints?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, they do not worship saints; they invoke them; they only ask their prayers. I am talking all this time of the doctrines of the Church of Rome. I grant you that in practice, Purgatory is made a lucrative imposition, and that the people do become idolatrous as they recommend themselves to the tutelary protection of particular saints. I think their giving the sacrament only in one kind is criminal, because it is contrary to the express institution of CHRIST, and I wonder how the Council of Trent admitted it.’ BOSWELL. ‘Confession?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, I don’t know but that is a good thing. The scripture says, “Confess your faults one to another,” and the priests confess as well as the laity. Then it must be considered that their absolution is only upon repentance, and often upon penance also. You think your sins may be forgiven without penance, upon repentance alone.’

  I thus ventured to mention all the common objections against the Roman Catholick Church, that I might hear so great a man upon them. What he said is here accurately recorded. But it is
not improbable that if one had taken the other side, he might have reasoned differently.

  I must however mention, that he had a respect for ‘the old religion,’ as the mild Melancthon called that of the Roman Catholick Church, even while he was exerting himself for its reformation in some particulars. Sir William Scott informs me, that he heard Johnson say, ‘A man who is converted from Protestantism to Popery may be sincere: he parts with nothing: he is only superadding to what he already had. But a convert from Popery to Protestantism gives up so much of what he has held as sacred as any thing that he retains; there is so much laceration of mind in such a conversion, that it can hardly be sincere and lasting.’ The truth of this reflection may be confirmed by many and eminent instances, some of which will occur to most of my readers.

  When we were alone, I introduced the subject of death, and endeavoured to maintain that the fear of it might be got over. I told him that David Hume said to me, he was no more uneasy to think he should not be after this life, than that he had not been before he began to exist. JOHNSON: ‘Sir, if he really thinks so, his perceptions are disturbed; he is mad: if he does not think so, he lies. He may tell you, he holds his finger in the flame of a candle, without feeling pain; would you believe him? When he dies, he at least gives up all he has.’ BOSWELL: ‘Foote, Sir, told me, that when he was very ill he was not afraid to die.’ JOHNSON: ‘It is not true, Sir. Hold a pistol to Foote’s breast, or to Hume’s breast, and threaten to kill them, and you’ll see how they behave.’ BOSWELL: ‘But may we not fortify our minds for the approach of death?’ Here I am sensible I was in the wrong, to bring before his view what he ever looked upon with horrour; for although when in a celestial frame, in his Vanity of human wishes, he has supposed death to be ‘kind Nature’s signal for retreat,’ from this state of being to ‘a happier seat,’ his thoughts upon this aweful change were in general full of dismal apprehensions. His mind resembled the vast amphitheatre, the Colisaeum at Rome. In the centre stood his judgement, which, like a mighty gladiator, combated those apprehensions that, like the wild beasts of the Arena, were all around in cells, ready to be let out upon him. After a conflict, he drives them back into their dens; but not killing them, they were still assailing him. To my question, whether we might not fortify our minds for the approach of death, he answered, in a passion, ‘No, Sir, let it alone. It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time.’ He added, (with an earnest look,) ‘A man knows it must be so, and submits. It will do him no good to whine.’