On Sunday, April 15, being Easter-day, after solemn worship in St. Paul’s church, I found him alone; Dr. Scott of the Commons came in. He talked of its having been said that Addison wrote some of his best papers in The Spectator when warm with wine. Dr. Johnson did not seem willing to admit this. Dr. Scott, as a confirmation of it, related, that Blackstone, a sober man, composed his Commentaries with a bottle of port before him; and found his mind invigorated and supported in the fatigue of his great work, by a temperate use of it.
I told him, that in a company where I had lately been, a desire was expressed to know his authority for the shocking story of Addison’s sending an execution into Steele’s house. ‘Sir, (said he,) it is generally known, it is known to all who are acquainted with the literary history of that period. It is as well known, as that he wrote Cato.’ Mr. Thomas Sheridan once defended Addison to me, by alledging that he did it in order to cover Steele’s goods from other creditors, who were going to seize them.
We talked of the difference between the mode of education at Oxford, and that in those Colleges where instruction is chiefly conveyed by lectures. JOHNSON. ‘Lectures were once useful; but now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are unnecessary. If your attention fails, and you miss a part of a lecture, it is lost; you cannot go back as you do upon a book.’ Dr. Scott agreed with him. ‘But yet (said I), Dr. Scott, you yourself gave lectures at Oxford.’ He smiled. ‘You laughed (then said I) at those who came to you.’
Dr. Scott left us, and soon afterwards we went to dinner. Our company consisted of Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins, Mr. Levett, Mr. Allen, the printer, and Mrs. Hall, sister of the Reverend Mr. John Wesley, and resembling him, as I thought, both in figure and manner. Johnson produced now, for the first time, some handsome silver salvers, which he told me he had bought fourteen years ago; so it was a great day. I was not a little amused by observing Allen perpetually struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like the little frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the stately ox.
I mentioned a kind of religious Robinhood Society, which met every Sunday evening, at Coachmakers’-hall, for free debate; and that the subject for this night was, the text which relates, with other miracles, which happened at our SAVIOUR’S death, ‘And the graves were opened, and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after his resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many.’ Mrs. Hall said it was a very curious subject, and she should like to hear it discussed. JOHNSON, (somewhat warmly) ‘One would not go to such a place to hear it, — one would not be seen in such a place — to give countenance to such a meeting.’ I, however, resolved that I would go. ‘But, Sir, (said she to Johnson,) I should like to hear you discuss it.’ He seemed reluctant to engage in it. She talked of the resurrection of the human race in general, and maintained that we shall be raised with the same bodies. JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Madam, we see that it is not to be the same body; for the Scripture uses the illustration of grain sown, and we know that the grain which grows is not the same with what is sown. You cannot suppose that we shall rise with a diseased body; it is enough if there be such a sameness as to distinguish identity of person.’ She seemed desirous of knowing more, but he left the question in obscurity.
Of apparitions, he observed, ‘A total disbelief of them is adverse to the opinion of the existence of the soul between death and the last day; the question simply is, whether departed spirits ever have the power of making themselves perceptible to us; a man who thinks he has seen an apparition, can only be convinced himself; his authority will not convince another, and his conviction, if rational, must be founded on being told something which cannot be known but by supernatural means.’
He mentioned a thing as not unfrequent, of which I had never heard before, — being called, that is, hearing one’s name pronounced by the voice of a known person at a great distance, far beyond the possibility of being reached by any sound uttered by human organs. ‘An acquaintance, on whose veracity I can depend, told me, that walking home one evening to Kilmarnock, he heard himself called from a wood, by the voice of a brother who had gone to America; and the next packet brought accounts of that brother’s death.’ Macbean asserted that this inexplicable calling was a thing very well known. Dr. Johnson said, that one day at Oxford, as he was turning the key of his chamber, he heard his mother distinctly call Sam. She was then at Lichfield; but nothing ensued. This phaenomenon is, I think, as wonderful as any other mysterious fact, which many people are very slow to believe, or rather, indeed, reject with an obstinate contempt.
Some time after this, upon his making a remark which escaped my attention, Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Hall were both together striving to answer him. He grew angry, and called out loudly, ‘Nay, when you both speak at once, it is intolerable.’ But checking himself, and softening, he said, ‘This one may say, though you are ladies.’ Then he brightened into gay humour, and addressed them in the words of one of the songs in The Beggar’s Opera: —
‘But two at a time there’s no mortal can bear.’
‘What, Sir, (said I,) are you going to turn Captain Macheath?’ There was something as pleasantly ludicrous in this scene as can be imagined. The contrast between Macheath, Polly, and Lucy — and Dr. Samuel Johnson, blind, peevish Mrs. Williams, and lean, lank, preaching Mrs. Hall, was exquisite.
I stole away to Coachmakers’-hall, and heard the difficult text of which we had talked, discussed with great decency, and some intelligence, by several speakers. There was a difference of opinion as to the appearance of ghosts in modern times, though the arguments for it, supported by Mr. Addison’s authority, preponderated. The immediate subject of debate was embarrassed by the bodies of the saints having been said to rise, and by the question what became of them afterwards; did they return again to their graves? or were they translated to heaven? Only one evangelist mentions the fact, and the commentators whom I have looked at, do not make the passage clear. There is, however, no occasion for our understanding it farther, than to know that it was one of the extraordinary manifestations of divine power, which accompanied the most important event that ever happened.
On Friday, April 20, I spent with him one of the happiest days that I remember to have enjoyed in the whole course of my life. Mrs. Garrick, whose grief for the loss of her husband was, I believe, as sincere as wounded affection and admiration could produce, had this day, for the first time since his death, a select party of his friends to dine with her. The company was Miss Hannah More, who lived with her, and whom she called her Chaplain; Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, Dr. Johnson, and myself. We found ourselves very elegantly entertained at her house in the Adelphi, where I have passed many a pleasing hour with him ‘who gladdened life.’ She looked well, talked of her husband with complacency, and while she cast her eyes on his portrait, which hung over the chimney-piece, said, that ‘death was now the most agreeable object to her.’ The very semblance of David Garrick was cheering. Mr. Beauclerk, with happy propriety, inscribed under that fine portrait of him, which by Lady Diana’s kindness is now the property of my friend Mr. Langton, the following passage from his beloved Shakspeare: —
‘A merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour’s talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest;
Which his fair tongue (Conceit’s expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished:
So sweet and voluble is his discourse316.’
We were all in fine spirits; and I whispered to Mrs. Boscawen, ‘I believe this is as much as can be made of life.’ In addition to a splendid entertainment, we were regaled with Lichfield ale, which had a peculiar appropriated value. Sir Jos
hua, and Dr. Burney, and I, drank cordially of it to Dr. Johnson’s health; and though he would not join us, he as cordially answered, ‘Gentlemen, I wish you all as well as you do me.’
The general effect of this day dwells upon my mind in fond remembrance; but I do not find much conversation recorded. What I have preserved shall be faithfully given.
One of the company mentioned Mr. Thomas Hollis, the strenuous Whig, who used to send over Europe presents of democratical books, with their boards stamped with daggers and caps of liberty. Mrs. Carter said, ‘He was a bad man. He used to talk uncharitably.’ JOHNSON. ‘Poh! poh! Madam; who is the worse for being talked of uncharitably? Besides, he was a dull poor creature as ever lived: And I believe he would not have done harm to a man whom he knew to be of very opposite principles to his own. I remember once at the Society of Arts, when an advertisement was to be drawn up, he pointed me out as the man who could do it best. This, you will observe, was kindness to me. I however slipt away, and escaped it.’
Mrs. Carter having said of the same person, ‘I doubt he was an Atheist.’ JOHNSON. ‘I don’t know that. He might perhaps have become one, if he had had time to ripen, (smiling.) He might have exuberated into an Atheist.’
Sir Joshua Reynolds praised Mudge’s Sermons. JOHNSON. ‘Mudge’s Sermons are good, but not practical. He grasps more sense than he can hold; he takes more corn than he can make into meal; he opens a wide prospect, but it is so distant, it is indistinct. I love Blair’s Sermons. Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and every thing he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such was my candour.’ (smiling.) MRS. BOSCAWEN. ‘Such his great merit to get the better of all your prejudices.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Madam, let us compound the matter; let us ascribe it to my candour, and his merit.’
In the evening we had a large company in the drawing-room, several ladies, the Bishop of Killaloe, Dr. Percy, Mr. Chamberlayne, of the Treasury, &c. &c. Somebody said the life of a mere literary man could not be very entertaining. JOHNSON. ‘But it certainly may. This is a remark which has been made, and repeated, without justice; why should the life of a literary man be less entertaining than the life of any other man? Are there not as interesting varieties in such a life? As a literary life it may be very entertaining.’ BOSWELL. ‘But it must be better surely, when it is diversified with a little active variety — such as his having gone to Jamaica; or — his having gone to the Hebrides.’ Johnson was not displeased at this.
Talking of a very respectable authour, he told us a curious circumstance in his life, which was, that he had married a printer’s devil. REYNOLDS. ‘A printer’s devil, Sir! Why, I thought a printer’s devil was a creature with a black face and in rags.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir. But I suppose, he had her face washed, and put clean clothes on her. (Then looking very serious, and very earnest.) And she did not disgrace him; the woman had a bottom of good sense. The word bottom thus introduced, was so ludicrous when contrasted with his gravity, that most of us could not forbear tittering and laughing; though I recollect that the Bishop of Killaloe kept his countenance with perfect steadiness, while Miss Hannah More slyly hid her face behind a lady’s back who sat on the same settee with her. His pride could not bear that any expression of his should excite ridicule, when he did not intend it; he therefore resolved to assume and exercise despotick power, glanced sternly around, and called out in a strong tone, ‘Where’s the merriment?’ Then collecting himself, and looking aweful, to make us feel how he could impose restraint, and as it were searching his mind for a still more ludicrous word, he slowly pronounced, ‘I say the woman was fundamentally sensible;’ as if he had said, hear this now, and laugh if you dare. We all sat composed as at a funeral.
He and I walked away together; we stopped a little while by the rails of the Adelphi, looking on the Thames, and I said to him with some emotion that I was now thinking of two friends we had lost, who once lived in the buildings behind us, Beauclerk and Garrick. ‘Ay, Sir, (said he, tenderly) and two such friends as cannot be supplied.’
For some time after this day I did not see him very often, and of the conversation which I did enjoy, I am sorry to find I have preserved but little. I was at this time engaged in a variety of other matters, which required exertion and assiduity, and necessarily occupied almost all my time.
One day having spoken very freely of those who were then in power, he said to me, ‘Between ourselves, Sir, I do not like to give opposition the satisfaction of knowing how much I disapprove of the ministry.’ And when I mentioned that Mr. Burke had boasted how quiet the nation was in George the Second’s reign, when Whigs were in power, compared with the present reign, when Tories governed;— ‘Why, Sir, (said he,) you are to consider that Tories having more reverence for government, will not oppose with the same violence as Whigs, who being unrestrained by that principle, will oppose by any means.’
This month he lost not only Mr. Thrale, but another friend, Mr. William Strahan, Junior, printer, the eldest son of his old and constant friend, Printer to his Majesty.
‘TO MRS. STRAHAN.
‘DEAR MADAM,
‘The grief which I feel for the loss of a very kind friend is sufficient to make me know how much you suffer by the death of an amiable son; a man, of whom I think it may truly be said, that no one knew him who does not lament him. I look upon myself as having a friend, another friend, taken from me.
‘Comfort, dear Madam, I would give you if I could, but I know how little the forms of consolation can avail. Let me, however, counsel you not to waste your health in unprofitable sorrow, but go to Bath, and endeavour to prolong your own life; but when we have all done all that we can, one friend must in time lose the other.
‘I am, dear Madam,
‘Your most humble servant,
‘SAM. JOHNSON.’
‘April 23, 1781.’
On Tuesday, May 8, I had the pleasure of again dining with him and Mr. Wilkes, at Mr. Billy’s. No negociation was now required to bring them together; for Johnson was so well satisfied with the former interview, that he was very glad to meet Wilkes again, who was this day seated between Dr. Beattie and Dr. Johnson; (between Truth and Reason, as General Paoli said, when I told him of it.) WILKES. ‘I have been thinking, Dr. Johnson, that there should be a bill brought into parliament that the controverted elections for Scotland should be tried in that country, at their own Abbey of Holy-Rood House, and not here; for the consequence of trying them here is, that we have an inundation of Scotchmen, who come up and never go back again. Now here is Boswell, who is come up upon the election for his own county, which will not last a fortnight.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, I see no reason why they should be tried at all; for, you know, one Scotchman is as good as another.’ WILKES. ‘Pray, Boswell, how much may be got in a year by an Advocate at the Scotch bar?’ BOSWELL. ‘I believe two thousand pounds.’ WlLKES. ‘How can it be possible to spend that money in Scotland?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, the money may be spent in England: but there is a harder question. If one man in Scotland gets possession of two thousand pounds, what remains for all the rest of the nation?’ WILKES. ‘You know, in the last war, the immense booty which Thurot carried off by the complete plunder of seven Scotch isles; he re-embarked with three and six-pence.’ Here again Johnson and Wilkes joined in extravagant sportive raillery upon the supposed poverty of Scotland, which Dr. Beattie and I did not think it worth our while to dispute.
The subject of quotation being introduced, Mr. Wilkes censured it as pedantry. JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir, it is a good thing; there is a community of mind in it. Classical quotation is the parole of literary men all over the world.’ WlLKES. ‘Upon the continent they all quote the vulgate Bible. Shakspeare is chiefly quoted here; and we quote also Pope, Prior, Butler, Waller, and sometimes Cowley.’
We talked of Letter-writing. JOHNSON. ‘It is now become so much the fashion to publish letters, that in order to avoid it, I put as little into mine as I can.’ BOSWELL. ‘Do what you will, Sir, you cannot avoid it. Should yo
u even write as ill as you can, your letters would be published as curiosities:
“Behold a miracle! instead of wit,
See two dull lines with Stanhope’s pencil writ332.”’
He gave us an entertaining account of Bet Flint, a woman of the town, who, with some eccentrick talents and much effrontery, forced herself upon his acquaintance. ‘Bet (said he) wrote her own Life in verse, which she brought to me, wishing that I would furnish her with a Preface to it. (Laughing.) I used to say of her that she was generally slut and drunkard; occasionally, whore and thief. She had, however, genteel lodgings, a spinnet on which she played, and a boy that walked before her chair. Poor Bet was taken up on a charge of stealing a counterpane, and tried at the Old Bailey. Chief Justice —— — , who loved a wench, summed up favourably, and she was acquitted. After which Bet said, with a gay and satisfied air, ‘Now that the counterpane is my own, I shall make a petticoat of it.’
Talking of oratory, Mr. Wilkes described it as accompanied with all the charms of poetical expression. JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; oratory is the power of beating down your adversary’s arguments, and putting better in their place.’ WlLKES. ‘But this does not move the passions.’ JOHNSON. ‘He must be a weak man, who is to be so moved.’ WlLKES. (naming a celebrated orator) ‘Amidst all the brilliancy of — — ‘s imagination, and the exuberance of his wit, there is a strange want of taste. It was observed of Apelles’s Venus, that her flesh seemed as if she had been nourished by roses: his oratory would sometimes make one suspect that he eats potatoes and drinks whisky.’
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson Page 798