Complete Works of Samuel Johnson

by Samuel Johnson

  Next day, Sunday, April 2, I dined with him at Mr. Hoole’s. We talked of Pope. JOHNSON. ‘He wrote his Dunciad for fame. That was his primary motive. Had it not been for that, the dunces might have railed against him till they were weary, without his troubling himself about them. He delighted to vex them, no doubt; but he had more delight in seeing how well he could vex them.’

  The Odes to Obscurity and Oblivion, in ridicule of ‘cool Mason and warm Gray,’ being mentioned, Johnson said, ‘They are Colman’s best things.’ Upon its being observed that it was believed these Odes were made by Colman and Lloyd jointly; — JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, how can two people make an Ode? Perhaps one made one of them, and one the other.’ I observed that two people had made a play, and quoted the anecdote of Beaumont and Fletcher, who were brought under suspicion of treason, because while concerting the plan of a tragedy when sitting together at a tavern, one of them was overheard saying to the other, ‘I’ll kill the King.’ JOHNSON. ‘The first of these Odes is the best: but they are both good. They exposed a very bad kind of writing.’ BOSWELL. ‘Surely, Sir, Mr. Mason’s Elfrida is a fine Poem: at least you will allow there are some good passages in it.’ JOHNSON. ‘There are now and then some good imitations of Milton’s bad manner.’

  I often wondered at his low estimation of the writings of Gray and Mason. Of Gray’s poetry I have in a former part of this work expressed my high opinion; and for that of Mr. Mason I have ever entertained a warm admiration. His Elfrida is exquisite, both in poetical description and moral sentiment; and his Caractacus is a noble drama. Nor can I omit paying my tribute of praise to some of his smaller poems, which I have read with pleasure, and which no criticism shall persuade me not to like. If I wondered at Johnson’s not tasting the works of Mason and Gray, still more have I wondered at their not tasting his works; that they should be insensible to his energy of diction, to his splendour of images, and comprehension of thought. Tastes may differ as to the violin, the flute, the hautboy, in short all the lesser instruments: but who can be insensible to the powerful impressions of the majestick organ?

  His Taxation no Tyranny being mentioned, he said, ‘I think I have not been attacked enough for it. Attack is the re-action; I never think I have hit hard, unless it rebounds.’ BOSWELL. ‘I don’t know, Sir, what you would be at. Five or six shots of small arms in every newspaper, and repeated cannonading in pamphlets, might, I think, satisfy you. But, Sir, you’ll never make out this match, of which we have talked, with a certain, political lady, since you are so severe against her principles.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, I have the better chance for that. She is like the Amazons of old; she must be courted by the sword. But I have not been severe upon her.’ BOSWELL. ‘Yes, Sir, you have made her ridiculous.’ JOHNSON. ‘That was already done, Sir. To endeavour to make her ridiculous, is like blacking the chimney.’

  I put him in mind that the landlord at Ellon in Scotland said, that he heard he was the greatest man in England, — next to Lord Mansfield. ‘Ay, Sir, (said he,) the exception defined the idea. A Scotchman could go no farther:

  “The force of Nature could no farther go.”’

  Lady Miller’s collection of verses by fashionable people, which were put into her Vase at Batheaston villa, near Bath, in competition for honorary prizes, being mentioned, he held them very cheap: ‘Bouts rimés (said he,) is a mere conceit, and an old conceit now, I wonder how people were persuaded to write in that manner for this lady.’ I named a gentleman of his acquaintance who wrote for the Vase. JOHNSON. ‘He was a blockhead for his pains.’ BOSWELL. ‘The Duchess of Northumberland wrote.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, the Duchess of Northumberland may do what she pleases: nobody will say anything to a lady of her high rank. But I should be apt to throw — — ‘s verses in his face.’

  I talked of the chearfulness of Fleet-street, owing to the constant quick succession of people which we perceive passing through it. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, Fleet-street has a very animated appearance; but I think the full tide of human existence is at Charing-cross.’

  He made the common remark on the unhappiness which men who have led a busy life experience, when they retire in expectation of enjoying themselves at ease, and that they generally languish for want of their habitual occupation, and wish to return to it. He mentioned as strong an instance of this as can well be imagined. ‘An eminent tallow-chandler in London, who had acquired a considerable fortune, gave up the trade in favour of his foreman, and went to live at a country-house near town. He soon grew weary, and paid frequent visits to his old shop, where he desired they might let him know their melting-days, and he would come and assist them; which he accordingly did. Here, Sir, was a man, to whom the most disgusting circumstance in the business to which he had been used was a relief from idleness.’

  On Wednesday, April 5, I dined with him at Messieurs Dilly’s, with Mr. John Scott of Amwell, the Quaker, Mr. Langton, Mr. Miller, (now Sir John,) and Dr. Thomas Campbell, an Irish Clergyman, whom I took the liberty of inviting to Mr. Billy’s table, having seen him at Mr. Thrale’s, and been told that he had come to England chiefly with a view to see Dr. Johnson, for whom he entertained the highest veneration. He has since published A Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland, a very entertaining book, which has, however, one fault; — that it assumes the fictitious character of an Englishman.

  We talked of publick speaking. — JOHNSON. ‘We must not estimate a man’s powers by his being able or not able to deliver his sentiments in publick. Isaac Hawkins Browne, one of the first wits of this country, got into Parliament, and never opened his mouth. For my own part, I think it is more disgraceful never to try to speak, than to try it and fail; as it is more disgraceful not to fight, than to fight and be beaten.’ This argument appeared to me fallacious; for if a man has not spoken, it may be said that he would have done very well if he had tried; whereas, if he has tried and failed, there is nothing to be said for him. ‘Why then, (I asked,) is it thought disgraceful for a man not to fight, and not disgraceful not to speak in publick?’ JOHNSON. ‘Because there may be other reasons for a man’s not speaking in publick than want of resolution: he may have nothing to say, (laughing.) Whereas, Sir, you know courage is reckoned the greatest of all virtues; because, unless a man has that virtue, he has no security for preserving any other.’

  He observed, that ‘the statutes against bribery were intended to prevent upstarts with money from getting into Parliament;’ adding, that ‘if he were a gentleman of landed property, he would turn out all his tenants who did not vote for the candidate whom he supported.’ LANGTON. ‘Would not that, Sir, be checking the freedom of election?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, the law does not mean that the privilege of voting should be independent of old family interest; of the permanent property of the country.’

  On Thursday, April 6, I dined with him at Mr. Thomas Davies’s, with Mr.

  Hicky, the painter, and my old acquaintance Mr. Moody, the player.

  Dr. Johnson, as usual, spoke contemptuously of Colley Cibber. ‘It is wonderful that a man, who for forty years had lived with the great and the witty, should have acquired so ill the talents of conversation: and he had but half to furnish; for one half of what he said was oaths.’ He, however, allowed considerable merit to some of his comedies, and said there was no reason to believe that the Careless Husband was not written by himself. Davies said, he was the first dramatick writer who introduced genteel ladies upon the stage. Johnson refuted this observation by instancing several such characters in comedies before his time. DAVIES (trying to defend himself from a charge of ignorance,) ‘I mean genteel moral characters.’ ‘I think (said Hicky,) gentility and morality are inseparable.’ BOSWELL. ‘By no means, Sir. The genteelest characters are often the most immoral. Does not Lord Chesterfield give precepts for uniting wickedness and the graces? A man, indeed, is not genteel when he gets drunk; but most vices may be committed very genteelly: a man may debauch his friend’s wife genteely: he may cheat at cards genteelly.’ HICKY. ‘I do not think that is genteel.’
BOSWELL. ‘Sir, it may not be like a gentleman, but it may be genteel.’ JOHNSON. ‘You are meaning two different things. One means exteriour grace; the other honour. It is certain that a man may be very immoral with exteriour grace. Lovelace, in Clarissa, is a very genteel and a very wicked character. Tom Hervey, who died t’other day, though a vicious man, was one of the genteelest men that ever lived.’ Tom Davies instanced Charles the Second. JOHNSON, (taking fire at any attack upon that Prince, for whom he had an extraordinary partiality,) ‘Charles the Second was licentious in his practice; but he always had a reverence for what was good. Charles the Second knew his people, and rewarded merit. The Church was at no time better filled than in his reign. He was the best King we have had from his time till the reign of his present Majesty, except James the Second, who was a very good King, but unhappily believed that it was necessary for the salvation of his subjects that they should be Roman Catholicks. He had the merit of endeavouring to do what he thought was for the salvation of the souls of his subjects, till he lost a great Empire. We, who thought that we should not be saved if we were Roman Catholicks, had the merit of maintaining our religion, at the experience of submitting ourselves to the government of King William, (for it could not be done otherwise,) — to the government of one of the most worthless scoundrels that ever existed. No; Charles the Second was not such a man as —— , (naming another King). He did not destroy his father’s will. He took money, indeed, from France: but he did not betray those over whom he ruled: He did not let the French fleet pass ours. George the First knew nothing, and desired to know nothing; did nothing, and desired to do nothing: and the only good thing that is told of him is, that he wished to restore the crown to its hereditary successor.’ He roared with prodigious violence against George the Second. When he ceased, Moody interjected, in an Irish tone, and with a comick look, ‘Ah! poor George the Second.’

  I mentioned that Dr. Thomas Campbell had come from Ireland to London, principally to see Dr. Johnson. He seemed angry at this observation. DAVIES. ‘Why, you know, Sir, there came a man from Spain to see Livy; and Corelli came to England to see Purcell, and when he heard he was dead, went directly back again to Italy.’ JOHNSON. ‘I should not have wished to be dead to disappoint Campbell, had he been so foolish as you represent him; but I should have wished to have been a hundred miles off.’ This was apparently perverse; and I do believe it was not his real way of thinking: he could not but like a man who came so far to see him. He laughed with some complacency, when I told him Campbell’s odd expression to me concerning him: ‘That having seen such a man, was a thing to talk of a century hence,’ — as if he could live so long.

  We got into an argument whether the Judges who went to India might with propriety engage in trade. Johnson warmly maintained that they might. ‘For why (he urged) should not Judges get riches, as well as those who deserve them less?’ I said, they should have sufficient salaries, and have nothing to take off their attention from the affairs of the publick. JOHNSON. ‘No Judge, Sir, can give his whole attention to his office; and it is very proper that he should employ what time he has to himself, to his own advantage, in the most profitable manner.’ ‘Then, Sir, (said Davies, who enlivened the dispute by making it somewhat dramatick,) he may become an insurer; and when he is going to the bench, he may be stopped,— “Your Lordship cannot go yet: here is a bunch of invoices: several ships are about to sail.”’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you may as well say a Judge should not have a house; for they may come and tell him, “Your Lordship’s house is on fire;” and so, instead of minding the business of his Court, he is to be occupied in getting the engine with the greatest speed. There is no end of this. Every Judge who has land, trades to a certain extent in corn or in cattle; and in the land itself, undoubtedly. His steward acts for him, and so do clerks for a great merchant. A Judge may be a farmer; but he is not to geld his own pigs. A Judge may play a little at cards for his amusement; but he is not to play at marbles, or at chuck-farthing in the Piazza. No, Sir; there is no profession to which a man gives a very great proportion of his time. It is wonderful, when a calculation is made, how little the mind is actually employed in the discharge of any profession. No man would be a Judge, upon the condition of being totally a Judge. The best employed lawyer has his mind at work but for a small proportion of his time: a great deal of his occupation is merely mechanical. I once wrote for a magazine: I made a calculation, that if I should write but a page a day, at the same rate, I should, in ten years, write nine volumes in folio, of an ordinary size and print.’ BOSWELL. ‘Such as Carte’s History?’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir. When a man writes from his own mind, he writes very rapidly. The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write: a man will turn over half a library to make one book.’

  I argued warmly against the Judges trading, and mentioned Hale as an instance of a perfect Judge, who devoted himself entirely to his office. JOHNSON. ‘Hale, Sir, attended to other things besides law: he left a great estate.’ BOSWELL. ‘That was, because what he got, accumulated without any exertion and anxiety on his part.’

  While the dispute went on, Moody once tried to say something upon our side. Tom Davies clapped him on the back, to encourage him. Beauclerk, to whom I mentioned this circumstance, said, ‘that he could not conceive a more humiliating situation than to be clapped on the back by Tom Davies.’

  We spoke of Rolt, to whose Dictionary of Commerce Dr. Johnson wrote the Preface. JOHNSON. ‘Old Gardner the bookseller employed Rolt and Smart to write a monthly miscellany, called The Universal Visitor. There was a formal written contract, which Allen the printer saw. Gardner thought as you do of the Judge. They were bound to write nothing else; they were to have, I think, a third of the profits of this sixpenny pamphlet; and the contract was for ninety-nine years. I wish I had thought of giving this to Thurlow, in the cause about Literary Property. What an excellent instance would it have been of the oppression of booksellers towards poor authours!’ (smiling)! Davies, zealous for the honour of the Trade, said, Gardner was not properly a bookseller. JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir; he certainly was a bookseller. He had served his time regularly, was a member of the Stationers’ company, kept a shop in the face of mankind, purchased copyright, and was a bibliopole, Sir, in every sense. I wrote for some months in The Universal Visitor, for poor Smart, while he was mad, not then knowing the terms on which he was engaged to write, and thinking I was doing him good. I hoped his wits would soon return to him. Mine returned to me, and I wrote in The Universal Visitor no longer.’

  Friday, April 7, I dined with him at a Tavern, with a numerous company. JOHNSON. ‘I have been reading Twiss’s Travels in Spain, which are just come out. They are as good as the first book of travels that you will take up. They are as good as those of Keysler or Blainville; nay, as Addison’s, if you except the learning. They are not so good as Brydone’s, but they are better than Pococke’s. I have not, indeed, cut the leaves yet; but I have read in them where the pages are open, and I do not suppose that what is in the pages which are closed is worse than what is in the open pages. It would seem (he added,) that Addison had not acquired much Italian learning, for we do not find it introduced into his writings. The only instance that I recollect, is his quoting “Stavo bene; per star meglio, sto qui.”’

  I mentioned Addison’s having borrowed many of his classical remarks from Leandro Alberti. Mr. Beauclerk said, ‘It was alledged that he had borrowed also from another Italian authour.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, all who go to look for what the Classicks have said of Italy, must find the same passages; and I should think it would be one of the first things the Italians would do on the revival of learning, to collect all that the Roman authors have said of their country.’

  Ossian being mentioned; — JOHNSON. ‘Supposing the Irish and Erse languages to be the same, which I do not believe, yet as there is no reason to suppose that the inhabitants of the Highlands and Hebrides ever wrote their native language, it is not to be credited that a long poem was preserved among
them. If we had no evidence of the art of writing being practised in one of the counties of England, we should not believe that a long poem was preserved there, though in the neighbouring counties, where the same language was spoken, the inhabitants could write.’ BEAUCLERK. ‘The ballad of Lilliburlero was once in the mouths of all the people of this country, and is said to have had a great effect in bringing about the Revolution. Yet I question whether any body can repeat it now; which shews how improbable it is that much poetry should be preserved by tradition.’

  One of the company suggested an internal objection to the antiquity of the poetry said to be Ossian’s, that we do not find the wolf in it, which must have been the case had it been of that age.

  The mention of the wolf had led Johnson to think of other wild beasts; and while Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Langton were carrying on a dialogue about something which engaged them earnestly, he, in the midst of it, broke out, ‘Pennant tells of Bears— ‘[what he added, I have forgotten.] They went on, which he being dull of hearing, did not perceive, or, if he did, was not willing to break off his talk; so he continued to vociferate his remarks, and Bear (‘like a word in a catch’ as Beauclerk said,) was repeatedly heard at intervals, which coming from him who, by those who did not know him, had been so often assimilated to that ferocious animal, while we who were sitting around could hardly stifle laughter, produced a very ludicrous effect. Silence having ensued, he proceeded: ‘We are told, that the black bear is innocent; but I should not like to trust myself with him.’ Mr. Gibbon muttered, in a low tone of voice. ‘I should not like to trust myself with you.’ This piece of sarcastick pleasantry was a prudent resolution, if applied to a competition of abilities.