The Life of Samuel Johnson

by James Boswell

  Talking of the wonderful concealment of the authour of the celebrated letters signed Junius; he said, ‘I should have believed Burke to be Junius, because I know no man but Burke who is capable of writing these letters; but Burke spontaneously denied it to me. The case would have been different had I asked him if he was the authour; a man so questioned, as to an anonymous publication, may think he has a right to deny it.’

  He observed that his old friend, Mr. Sheridan, had been honoured with extraordinary attention in his own country, by having had an exception made in his favour in an Irish Act of Parliament concerning insolvent debtors. ‘Thus to be singled out (said he,) by a legislature, as an object of publick consideration and kindness, is a proof of no common merit.’

  At Streatham, on Monday, March 29, at breakfast he maintained that a father had no right to control the inclinations of his daughters in marriage.

  On Wednesday, March 31, when I visited him, and confessed an excess of which I had very seldom been guilty; that I had spent a whole night in playing at cards, and that I could not look back on it with satisfaction; instead of a harsh animadversion, he mildly said, ‘Alas, Sir, on how few things can we look back with satisfaction.’

  On Thursday, April 1, he commended one of the Dukes of Devonshire for ‘a dogged veracity.’ He said too, ‘London is nothing to some people; but to a man whose pleasure is intellectual, London is the place. And there is no place where œconomy can be so well practised as in London. More can be had here for the money, even by ladies, than any where else. You cannot play tricks with your fortune in a small place; you must make an uniform appearance. Here a lady may have well-furnished apartments, and elegant dress, without any meat in her kitchen.’

  I was amused by considering with how much ease and coolness he could write or talk to a friend, exhorting him not to suppose that happiness was not to be found as well in other places as in London; when he himself was at all times sensible of its being, comparatively speaking, a heaven upon earth. The truth is, that by those who from sagacity, attention, and experience, have learnt the full advantage of London, its pre-eminence over every other place, not only for variety of enjoyment, but for comfort, will be felt with a philosophical exultation. The freedom from remark and petty censure, with which life may be passed there, is a circumstance which a man who knows the teazing restraint of a narrow circle must relish highly. Mr. Burke, whose orderly and amiable domestic habits might make the eye of observation less irksome to him than to most men, said once very pleasantly, in my hearing, ‘Though I have the honour to represent Bristol, I should not like to live there; I should be obliged to be so much upon my good behaviour.’ In London, a man may live in splendid society at one time, and in frugal retirement at another, without animadversion. There, and there alone, a man’s own house is truly his castle, in which he can be in perfect safety from intrusion whenever he pleases. I never shall forget how well this was expressed to me one day by Mr. Meynell: ‘The chief advantage of London (said he,) is, that a man is always so near his burrow.’

  He said of one of his old acquaintances,892 ‘He is very fit for a travelling governour. He knows French very well. He is a man of good principles; and there would be no danger that a young gentleman should catch his manner; for it is so very bad, that it must be avoided. In that respect he would be like the drunken Helot.’893

  A gentleman894 has informed me, that Johnson said of the same person, ‘Sir, he has the most inverted understanding of any man whom I have ever known.’

  On Friday, April 2, being Good-Friday, I visited him in the morning as usual; and finding that we insensibly fell into a train of ridicule upon the foibles of one of our friends,895 a very worthy man, I, by way of a check, quoted some good admonition from The Government of the Tongue896 that very pious book. It happened also remarkably enough, that the subject of the sermon preached to us to-day by Dr. Burrows, the rector of St. Clement Danes, was the certainty that at the last day we must give an account of ‘the deeds done in the body;’ and, amongst various acts of culpability he mentioned evil-speaking. As we were moving slowly along in the crowd from church, Johnson jogged my elbow, and said, ‘Did you attend to the sermon?’ ‘Yes, Sir, (said I,) it was very applicable to us.’ He, however, stood upon the defensive. ‘Why, Sir, the sense of ridicule is given us, and may be lawfully used. The authour of The Government of the Tongue would have us treat all men alike.’

  In the interval between morning and evening service, he endeavoured to employ himself earnestly in devotional exercises; and, as he has mentioned in his Prayers and Meditations,a gave me Les Pensees de Pascal, that I might not interrupt him. I preserve the book with reverence. His presenting it to me is marked upon it with his own hand, and I have found in it a truly divine unction. We went to church again in the afternoon.

  On Saturday, April 3, I visited him at night, and found him sitting in Mrs. Williams’s room, with her, and one897 who he afterwards told me was a natural son of the second Lord Southwell. The table had a singular appearance, being covered with a heterogeneous assemblage of oysters and porter for his company, and tea for himself. I mentioned my having heard an eminent physician,898 who was himself a Christian, argue in favour of universal toleration, and maintain, that no man could be hurt by another man’s differing from him in opinion. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you are to a certain degree hurt by knowing that even one man does not believe.’

  On Easter-day, after solemn service at St. Paul’s, I dined with him: Mr. Allen the printer was also his guest. He was uncommonly silent; and I have not written down any thing, except a single curious fact, which, having the sanction of his inflexible veracity, may be received as a striking instance of human insensibility and inconsideration. As he was passing by a fishmonger who was skinning an eel alive, he heard him ‘curse it, because it would not lye still.’

  On Wednesday, April 7, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s. I have not marked what company was there. Johnson harangued upon the qualities of different liquors; and spoke with great contempt of claret, as so weak, that ‘a man would be drowned by it before it made him drunk.’ He was persuaded to drink one glass of it, that he might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from immediate sensation. He shook his head, and said, ‘Poor stuff! No, Sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port, for men; but he who aspires to be a hero (smiling,) must drink brandy. In the first place, the flavour of brandy is most grateful to the palate; and then brandy will do soonest for a man what drinking can do for him. There are, indeed, few who are able to drink brandy. That is a power rather to be wished for than attained. And yet, (proceeded he,) as in all pleasure hope is a considerable part, I know not but fruition comes too quick by brandy. Florence wine I think the worst; it is wine only to the eye; it is wine neither while you are drinking it, nor after you have drunk it; it neither pleases the taste, nor exhilarates the spirits.’ I reminded him how heartily he and I used to drink wine together, when we were first acquainted; and how I used to have a head-ache after sitting up with him. He did not like to have this recalled, or, perhaps, thinking that I boasted improperly, resolved to have a witty stroke at me: ‘Nay, Sir, it was not the wine that made your head ache, but the sense that I put into it.’ BOSWELL. ‘What, Sir! will sense make the head ache?’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir, (with a smile,) when it is not used to it.’ – No man who has a true relish of pleasantry could be offended at this; especially if Johnson in a long intimacy had given him repeated proofs of his regard and good estimation. I used to say, that as he had given me a thousand pounds in praise, he had a good right now and then to take a guinea from me.

  On Thursday, April 8, I dined with him at Mr. Allan Ramsay’s, with Lord Graham and some other company. We talked of Shakspeare’s witches. JOHNSON. ‘They are beings of his own creation; they are a compound of malignity and meanness, without any abilities; and are quite different from the Italian magician. King James says in his Dæmonology, ‘Magicians command the devils: witches are their servants. The Italian
magicians are elegant beings.’ RAMSAY. ‘Opera witches, not Drury-lane witches.’ Johnson observed, that abilities might be employed in a narrow sphere, as in getting money, which he said he believed no man could do, without vigorous parts, though concentrated to a point. RAMSAY. ‘Yes, like a strong horse in a mill; he pulls better.’

  Lord Graham, while he praised the beauty of Lochlomond, on the banks of which is his family seat, complained of the climate, and said he could not bear it. JOHNSON. ‘Nay, my Lord, don’t talk so: you may bear it well enough. Your ancestors have borne it more years than I can tell.’ This was a handsome compliment to the antiquity of the House of Montrose. His Lordship told me afterwards, that he had only affected to complain of the climate; lest, if he had spoken as favourably of his country as he really thought, Dr. Johnson might have attacked it. Johnson was very courteous to Lady Margaret Macdonald. ‘Madam, (said he,) when I was in the Isle of Sky, I heard of the people running to take the stones off the road, lest Lady Margaret’s horse should stumble.’

  Lord Graham commended Dr. Drummond at Naples, as a man of extraordinary talents; and added, that he had a great love of liberty. JOHNSON. ‘He is young, my Lord; (looking to his Lordship with an arch smile,) all boys love liberty, till experience convinces them they are not so fit to govern themselves as they imagined. We are all agreed as to our own liberty; we would have as much of it as we can get; but we are not agreed as to the liberty of others: for in proportion as we take, others must lose. I believe we hardly wish that the mob should have liberty to govern us. When that was the case some time ago, no man was at liberty not to have candles in his windows.’899 RAMSAY. ‘The result is, that order is better than confusion.’ JOHNSON. ‘The result is, that order cannot be had but by subordination.’

  On Friday, April 16, I had been present at the trial of the unfortunate Mr. Hackman, who, in a fit of frantick jealous love, had shot Miss Ray, the favourite of a nobleman.900 Johnson, in whose company I dined to-day, with some other friends, was much interested by my account of what passed, and particularly with his prayer for the mercy of heaven. He said, in a solemn fervid tone, ‘I hope he shall find mercy.’

  This day a violent altercation arose between Johnson and Beauclerk, which having made much noise at the time, I think it proper, in order to prevent any future misrepresentation, to give a minute account of it.

  In talking of Hackman, Johnson argued, as Judge Blackstone had done, that his being furnished with two pistols was a proof that he meant to shoot two persons. Mr. Beauclerk said, ‘No; for that every wise man who intended to shoot himself, took two pistols, that he might be sure of doing it at once. Lord – –’s901 cook shot himself with one pistol, and lived ten days in great agony. Mr. –,902 who loved buttered muffins, but durst not eat them because they disagreed with his stomach, resolved to shoot himself; and then he eat three buttered muffins for breakfast, before shooting himself, knowing that he should not be troubled with indigestion: he had two charged pistols; one was found lying charged upon the table by him, after he had shot himself with the other.’ ‘Well, (said Johnson, with an air of triumph,) you see here one pistol was sufficient.’ Beauclerk replied smartly, ‘Because it happened to kill him.’ And either then, or a very little afterwards, being piqued at Johnson’s triumphant remark, added, ‘This is what you don’t know, and I do.’ There was then a cessation of the dispute; and some minutes intervened, during which, dinner and the glass went on cheerfully; when Johnson suddenly and abruptly exclaimed, ‘Mr. Beauclerk, how came you to talk so petulantly to me, as “This is what you don’t know, but what I know”? One thing I know, which you don’t seem to know, that you are very uncivil.’ BEAUCLERK. ‘Because you began by being uncivil, (which you always are.)’ The words in parenthesis were, I believe, not heard by Dr. JOHNSON. Here again there was a cessation of arms. Johnson told me, that the reason why he waited at first some time without taking any notice of what Mr. Beauclerk said, was because he was thinking whether he should resent it. But when he considered that there were present a young Lord and an eminent traveller,903 two men of the world with whom he had never dined before, he was apprehensive that they might think they had a right to take such liberties with him as Beauclerk did, and therefore resolved he would not let it pass; adding, that ‘he would not appear a coward.’ A little while after this, the conversation turned on the violence of Hackman’s temper. Johnson then said, ‘It was his business to command his temper, as my friend, Mr. Beauclerk, should have done some time ago.’ BEAUCLERK. ‘I should learn of you, Sir.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you have given me opportunities enough of learning, when I have been in your company. No man loves to be treated with contempt.’ BEAUCLERK. (with a polite inclination towards Johnson,) ‘Sir, you have known me twenty years, and however I may have treated others, you may be sure I could never treat you with contempt.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you have said more than was necessary.’ Thus it ended; and Beauclerk’s coach not having come for him till very late, Dr. Johnson and another gentleman904 sat with him a long time after the rest of the company were gone; and he and I dined at Beauclerk’s on the Saturday se’nnight905 following.

  After this tempest had subsided, I recollect the following particulars of his conversation: –

  ‘I am always for getting a boy forward in his learning; for that is a sure good. I would let him at first read any English book which happens to engage his attention; because you have done a great deal when you have brought him to have entertainment from a book. He’ll get better books afterwards.’

  ‘Mallet, I believe, never wrote a single line of his projected life of the Duke of Marlborough. He groped for materials; and thought of it, till he had exhausted his mind. Thus it sometimes happens that men entangle themselves in their own schemes.’

  ‘To be contradicted, in order to force you to talk, is mighty unpleasing. You shine, indeed; but it is by being ground.’

  Of a gentleman who made some figure among the Literati of his time, (Mr. Fitzherbert,) he said, ‘What eminence he had was by a felicity of manner; he had no more learning than what he could not help.’

  On Saturday, April 24, I dined with him at Mr. Beauclerk’s, with Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Jones, (afterwards Sir William,) Mr. Langton, Mr. Steevens, Mr. Paradise, and Dr. Higgins. I mentioned that Mr. Wilkes had attacked Garrick to me, as a man who had no friend. ‘I believe he is right, Sir. $$ – He had friends, but no friend.a Garrick was so diffused, he had no man to whom he wished to unbosom himself. He found people always ready to applaud him, and that always for the same thing: so he saw life with great uniformity.’ I took upon me, for once, to fight with Goliath’s weapons, and play the sophist. – ‘Garrick did not need a friend, as he got from every body all he wanted. What is a friend? One who supports you and comforts you, while others do not. Friendship, you know, Sir, is the cordial drop, “to make the nauseous draught of life go down:”906 but if the draught be not nauseous, if it be all sweet, there is no occasion for that drop.’ JOHNSON. ‘Many men would not be content to live so. I hope I should not. They would wish to have an intimate friend, with whom they might compare minds, and cherish private virtues.’ One of the company mentioned Lord Chesterfield, as a man who had no friend. JOHNSON. ‘There were more materials to make friendship in Garrick, had he not been so diffused.’ Bo swell. ‘Garrick was pure gold, but beat out to thin leaf. Lord Chesterfield was tinsel.’ JOHNSON. ‘Garrick was a very good man, the cheerfullest man of his age; a decent liver in a profession which is supposed to give indulgence to licentiousness; and a man who gave away, freely, money acquired by himself. He began the world with a great hunger for money; the son of a half-pay officer, bred in a family, whose study was to make four-pence do as much as others made four-pence halfpenny do. But, when he had got money, he was very liberal.’ I presumed to animadvert on his eulogy on Garrick, in his Lives of the Poets. ‘You say, Sir, his death eclipsed the gaiety of nations.’ JOHNSON. ‘I could not have said more nor less. It is the truth; eclipsed, not extinguished; and his
death did eclipse; it was like a storm.’ BOSWELL. ‘But why nations? Did his gaiety extend farther than his own nation?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, some exaggeration must be allowed. Besides, nations may be said – if we allow the Scotch to be a nation, and to have gaiety, – which they have not. You are an exception, though. Come, gentlemen, let us candidly admit that there is one Scotchman who is cheerful.’ BEAUCLERK. ‘But he is a very unnatural Scotchman.’ I, however, continued to think the compliment to Garrick hyperbolically untrue. His acting had ceased some time before his death; at any rate he had acted in Ireland but a short time, at an early period of his life, and never in Scotland. I objected also to what appears an anticlimax of praise, when contrasted with the preceding panegyrick, – ‘and diminished the public stock of harmless pleasure!’ – ‘Is not harmless pleasure very tame?’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, harmless pleasure is the highest praise. Pleasure is a word of dubious import; pleasure is in general dangerous, and pernicious to virtue; to be able therefore to furnish pleasure that is harmless, pleasure pure and unalloyed, is as great a power as man can possess.’ This was, perhaps, as ingenious a defence as could be made; still, however, I was not satisfied.

  A celebrated wit907 being mentioned, he said, ‘One may say of him as was said of a French wit, Il n’a de l’esprit que contre Dieu.908 I have been several times in company with him, but never perceived any strong power of wit. He produces a general effect by various means; he has a cheerful countenance and a gay voice. Besides his trade is wit. It would be as wild in him to come into company without merriment, as for a highwayman to take the road without his pistols.’