He talked both of threshing and thatching. He said, it was very difficult to determine how to agree with a thresher. ‘If you pay him by the day’s wages, he will thresh no more than he pleases; though to be sure, the negligence of a thresher is more easily detected than that of most labourers, because he must always make a sound while he works. If you pay him by the piece, by the quantity of grain which he produces, he will thresh only while the grain comes freely, and, though he leaves a good deal in the ear, it is not worth while to thresh the straw over again; nor can you fix him to do it sufficiently, because it is so difficult to prove how much less a man threshes than he ought to do. Here then is a dilemma: but, for my part, I would engage him by the day: I would rather trust his idleness than his fraud.’ He said, a roof thatched with Lincolnshire reeds would last seventy years, as he was informed when in that county; and that he told this in London to a great thatcher, who said, he believed it might be true. Such are the pains that Dr. Johnson takes to get the best information on every subject.
He proceeded:— ‘It is difficult for a farmer in England to find day-labourers, because the lowest manufacturers can always get more than a day-labourer. It is of no consequence how high the wages of manufacturers are; but it would be of very bad consequence to raise the wages of those who procure the immediate necessaries of life, for that would raise the price of provisions. Here then is a problem for politicians. It is not reasonable that the most useful body of men should be the worst paid; yet it does not appear how it can be ordered otherwise. It were to be wished, that a mode for its being otherwise were found out. In the mean time, it is better to give temporary assistance by charitable contributions to poor labourers, at times when provisions are high, than to raise their wages; because, if wages are once raised, they will never get down again.’
Happily the weather cleared up between one and two o’clock, and we got ready to depart; but our kind host and hostess would not let us go without taking a snatch, as they called it; which was in truth a very good dinner. While the punch went round, Dr. Johnson kept a close whispering conference with Mrs. M’Kinnon, which, however, was loud enough to let us hear that the subject of it was the particulars of Prince Charles’s escape. The company were entertained and pleased to observe it. Upon that subject, there was something congenial between the soul of Dr. Samuel Johnson, and that of an isle of Sky farmer’s wife. It is curious to see people, how far so ever removed from each other in the general system of their lives, come close together on a particular point which is common to each. We were merry with Corrichatachin, on Dr. Johnson’s whispering with his wife. She, perceiving this, humourously cried, ‘I am in love with him. What is it to live and not to love?’ Upon her saying something, which I did not hear, or cannot recollect, he seized her hand eagerly, and kissed it.
As we were going, the Scottish phrase of ‘honest man!’ which is an expression of kindness and regard, was again and again applied by the company to Dr. Johnson. I was also treated with much civility; and I must take some merit from my assiduous attention to him, and from my contriving that he shall be easy wherever he goes, that he shall not be asked twice to eat or drink any thing (which always disgusts him), that he shall be provided with water at his meals, and many such little things, which, if not attended to, would fret him. I also may be allowed to claim some merit in leading the conversation: I do not mean leading, as in an orchestra, by playing the first fiddle; but leading as one does in examining a witness — starting topics, and making him pursue them. He appears to me like a great mill, into which a subject is thrown to be ground. It requires, indeed, fertile minds to furnish materials for this mill. I regret whenever I see it unemployed; but sometimes I feel myself quite barren, and have nothing to throw in. I know not if this mill be a good figure; though Pope makes his mind a mill for turning verses.
We set out about four. Young Corrichatachin went with us. We had a fine evening, and arrived in good time at Ostig, the residence of Mr. Martin M’Pherson, minister of Slate. It is a pretty good house, built by his father, upon a farm near the church. We were received here with much kindness by Mr. and Mrs. M’Pherson, and his sister, Miss M’Pherson, who pleased Dr. Johnson much, by singing Erse songs, and playing on the guittar. He afterwards sent her a present of his Rasselas. In his bed-chamber was a press stored with books, Greek, Latin, French, and English, most of which had belonged to the father of our host, the learned Dr. M’Pherson; who, though his Dissertations have been mentioned in a former page as unsatisfactory, was a man of distinguished talents. Dr. Johnson looked at a Latin paraphrase of the song of Moses, written by him, and published in the Scots Magazine for 1747, and said, ‘It does him honour; he has a good deal of Latin, and good Latin.’ Dr. M’Pherson published also in the same magazine, June 1739, an original Latin ode, which he wrote from the isle of Barra, where he was minister for some years. It is very poetical, and exhibits a striking proof how much all things depend upon comparison: for Barra, it seems, appeared to him so much worse than Sky, his natale solum, that he languished for its ‘blessed mountains,’ and thought himself buried alive amongst barbarians where he was. My readers will probably not be displeased to have a specimen of this ode: —
‘Hei mihi! quantos patior dolores,
Dum procul specto juga ter beata;
Dum ferae Barrae steriles arenas
Solus oberro.
‘Ingemo, indignor, crucior, quod inter
Barbaros Thulen lateam colentes;
Torpeo languens, morior sepultus,
Carcere coeco.’
After wishing for wings to fly over to his dear country, which was in his view, from what he calls Thule, as being the most western isle of Scotland, except St. Kilda; after describing the pleasures of society, and the miseries of solitude, he at last, with becoming propriety, has recourse to the only sure relief of thinking men, — Sursum corda — the hope of a better world, disposes his mind to resignation: —
‘Interim fiat, tua, rex, voluntas:
Erigor sursum quoties subit spes
Certa migrandi Solymam supernam,
Numinis aulam.’
He concludes in a noble strain of orthodox piety: —
‘Vita tum demum vocitanda vita est.
Tum licet gratos socios habere,
Seraphim et sanctos TRIADEM verendam
Concelebrantes.’
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29.
After a very good sleep, I rose more refreshed than I had been for some nights. We were now at but a little distance from the shore, and saw the sea from our windows, which made our voyage seem nearer. Mr. M’Pherson’s manners and address pleased us much. He appeared to be a man of such intelligence and taste as to be sensible of the extraordinary powers of his illustrious guest. He said to me, ‘Dr. Johnson is an honour to mankind; and, if the expression may be used, is an honour to religion.’
Col, who had gone yesterday to pay a visit at Camuscross, joined us this morning at breakfast. Some other gentlemen also came to enjoy the entertainment of Dr. Johnson’s conversation. The day was windy and rainy, so that we had just seized a happy interval for our journey last night. We had good entertainment here, better accommodation than at Corrichatachin, and time enough to ourselves. The hours slipped along imperceptibly. We talked of Shenstone. Dr. Johnson said he was a good layer-out of land, but would not allow him to approach excellence as a poet. He said, he believed he had tried to read all his Love Pastorals, but did not get through them. I repeated the stanza,
‘She gazed as I slowly withdrew;
My path I could hardly discern;
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.’
He said, ‘That seems to be pretty.’ I observed that Shenstone, from his short maxims in prose, appeared to have some power of thinking; but Dr. Johnson would not allow him that merit. He agreed, however, with Shenstone, that it was wrong in the brother of one of his correspondents to burn his letters: ‘for, (said he,) Shenstone was
a man whose correspondence was an honour.’ He was this afternoon full of critical severity, and dealt about his censures on all sides. He said, Hammond’s Love Elegies were poor things. He spoke contemptuously of our lively and elegant, though too licentious, Lyrick bard, Hanbury Williams, and said, ‘he had no fame, but from boys who drank with him.’
While he was in this mood, I was unfortunate enough, simply perhaps, but I could not help thinking, undeservedly, to come within ‘the whiff and wind of his fell sword.’ I asked him, if he had ever been accustomed to wear a night-cap. He said ‘No.’ I asked, if it was best not to wear one. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, I had this custom by chance, and perhaps no man shall ever know whether it is best to sleep with or without a night-cap.’ Soon afterwards he was laughing at some deficiency in the Highlands, and said, ‘One might as well go without shoes and stockings.’ Thinking to have a little hit at his own deficiency, I ventured to add, —— — ‘ or without a night-cap, Sir.’ But I had better have been silent; for he retorted directly. ‘I do not see the connection there (laughing). Nobody before was ever foolish enough to ask whether it was best to wear a night-cap or not. This comes of being a little wrong-headed.’ He carried the company along with him: and yet the truth is, that if he had always worn a night-cap, as is the common practice, and found the Highlanders did not wear one, he would have wondered at their barbarity; so that my hit was fair enough.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30.
There was as great a storm of wind and rain as I have almost ever seen, which necessarily confined us to the house; but we were fully compensated by Dr. Johnson’s conversation. He said, he did not grudge Burke’s being the first man in the House of Commons, for he was the first man every where; but he grudged that a fellow who makes no figure in company, and has a mind as narrow as the neck of a vinegar cruet, should make a figure in the House of Commons, merely by having the knowledge of a few forms, and being furnished with a little occasional information. He told us, the first time he saw Dr. Young was at the house of Mr. Richardson, the author of Clarissa. He was sent for, that the doctor might read to him his Conjectures on original Composition, which he did, and Dr. Johnson made his remarks; and he was surprized to find Young receive as novelties, what he thought very common maxims. He said, he believed Young was not a great scholar, nor had studied regularly the art of writing; that there were very fine things in his Night Thoughts, though you could not find twenty lines together without some extravagance. He repeated two passages from his Love of Fame, — the characters of Brunetta and Stella, which he praised highly. He said Young pressed him much to come to Wellwyn. He always intended it, but never went. He was sorry when Young died. The cause of quarrel between Young and his son, he told us, was, that his son insisted Young should turn away a clergyman’s widow, who lived with him, and who, having acquired great influence over the father, was saucy to the son. Dr. Johnson said, she could not conceal her resentment at him, for saying to Young, that ‘an old man should not resign himself to the management of any body.’ I asked him, if there was any improper connection between them. ‘No, Sir, no more than between two statues. He was past fourscore, and she a very coarse woman. She read to him, and I suppose made his coffee, and frothed his chocolate, and did such things as an old man wishes to have done for him.’
Dr. Doddridge being mentioned, he observed that ‘he was author of one of the finest epigrams in the English language. It is in Orton’s Life of him. The subject is his family motto, — Dum vivimus, vivamus; which, in its primary signification, is, to be sure, not very suitable to a Christian divine; but he paraphrased it thus:
“Live, while you live, the epicure would say,
And seize the pleasures of the present day.
Live, while you live, the sacred preacher cries,
And give to GOD each moment as it flies.
Lord, in my views let both united be;
I live in pleasure, when I live to thee.”’
I asked if it was not strange that government should permit so many infidel writings to pass without censure. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is mighty foolish. It is for want of knowing their own power. The present family on the throne came to the crown against the will of nine tenths of the people. Whether those nine tenths were right or wrong, it is not our business now to enquire. But such being the situation of the royal family, they were glad to encourage all who would be their friends. Now you know every bad man is a Whig; every man who has loose notions. The church was all against this family. They were, as I say, glad to encourage any friends; and therefore, since their accession, there is no instance of any man being kept back on account of his bad principles; and hence this inundation of impiety.’ I observed that Mr. Hume, some of whose writings were very unfavourable to religion, was, however, a Tory. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, Hume is a Tory by chance as being a Scotchman; but not upon a principle of duty; for he has no principle. If he is any thing, he is a Hobbist.’
There was something not quite serene in his humour to-night, after supper; for he spoke of hastening away to London, without stopping much at Edinburgh. I reminded him that he had General Oughton and many others to see. JOHNSON. ‘Nay, I shall neither go in jest, nor stay in jest. I shall do what is fit.’ BOSWELL. ‘Ay, Sir, but all I desire is, that you will let me tell you when it is fit.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, I shall not consult you.’ BOSWELL. ‘If you are to run away from us, as soon as you get loose, we will keep you confined in an island.’ He was, however, on the whole, very good company. Mr. Donald McLeod expressed very well the gradual impression made by Dr. Johnson on those who are so fortunate as to obtain his acquaintance. ‘When you see him first, you are struck with awful reverence; — then you admire him; — and then you love him cordially.’
I read this evening some part of Voltaire’s History of the War in 1741, and of Lord Kames against Hereditary Indefeasible Right. This is a very slight circumstance, with which I should not trouble my reader, but for the sake of observing that every man should keep minutes of whatever he reads. Every circumstance of his studies should be recorded; what books he has consulted; how much of them he has read; at what times; how often the same authors; and what opinions he formed of them, at different periods of his life. Such an account would much illustrate the history of his mind.
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 1.
I shewed to Dr. Johnson verses in a magazine, on his Dictionary, composed of uncommon words taken from it: —
‘Little of Anthropopathy has he,’ &c.
He read a few of them, and said, ‘I am not answerable for all the words in my Dictionary’. I told him that Garrick kept a book of all who had either praised or abused him. On the subject of his own reputation, he said,’ Now that I see it has been so current a topick, I wish I had done so too; but it could not well be done now, as so many things are scattered in newspapers.’ He said he was angry at a boy of Oxford, who wrote in his defence against Kenrick; because it was doing him hurt to answer Kenrick. He was told afterwards, the boy was to come to him to ask a favour. He first thought to treat him rudely, on account of his meddling in that business; but then he considered, he had meant to do him all the service in his power, and he took another resolution; he told him he would do what he could for him, and did so; and the boy was satisfied. He said, he did not know how his pamphlet was done, as he had ‘read very little of it. The boy made a good figure at Oxford, but died. He remarked, that attacks on authors did them much service. ‘A man who tells me my play is very bad, is less my enemy than he who lets it die in silence. A man whose business it is to be talked of, is much helped by being attacked.’ Garrick, I observed, had been often so helped. JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir; though Garrick had more opportunities than almost any man, to keep the publick in mind of him, by exhibiting himself to such numbers, he would not have had so much reputation, had he not been so much attacked. Every attack produces a defence; and so attention is engaged. There is no sport in mere praise, when people are all of a mind.’ BOSWELL. ‘Then Hume is not the worse for Beattie’s attack?’ JOHNS
ON. ‘He is, because Beattie has confuted him. I do not say, but that there may be some attacks which will hurt an author. Though Hume suffered from Beattie, he was the better for other attacks.’ (He certainly could not include in that number those of Dr. Adams, and Mr. Tytler.) BOSWELL. ‘Goldsmith is the better for attacks.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir; but he does not think so yet. When Goldsmith and I published, each of us something, at the same time, we were given to understand that we might review each other. Goldsmith was for accepting the offer. I said, No; set Reviewers at defiance. It was said to old Bentley, upon the attacks against him, “Why, they’ll write you down.” “No, Sir,” he replied; “depend upon it, no man was ever written down but by himself.” ‘He observed to me afterwards, that the advantages authors derived from attacks, were chiefly in subjects of taste, where you cannot confute, as so much may be said on either side. He told me he did not know who was the authour of the Adventures of a Guinea, but that the bookseller had sent the first volume to him in manuscript, to have his opinion if it should be printed; and he thought it should.
The weather being now somewhat better, Mr. James McDonald, factor to Sir Alexander McDonald in Slate, insisted that all the company at Ostig should go to the house at Armidale, which Sir Alexander had left, having gone with his lady to Edinburgh, and be his guests, till we had an opportunity of sailing to Mull. We accordingly got there to dinner; and passed our day very cheerfully, being no less than fourteen in number.
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson Page 846