Boswell's Life of Johnson
series of as deep distress as can affect humanity, in the amiable and
pious heroine who goes to her grave unrelieved, but resigned, and full
of hope of 'heaven's mercy.' Johnson paid her this high compliment upon
it: 'I know not, Madam, that you have a right, upon moral principles, to
make your readers suffer so much.'
Mr. Thomas Davies the actor, who then kept a bookseller's shop in
Russel-street, Covent-garden, told me that Johnson was very much his
friend, and came frequently to his house, where he more than once
invited me to meet him; but by some unlucky accident or other he was
prevented from coming to us.
Mr. Thomas Davies was a man of good understanding and talents, with the
advantage of a liberal education. Though somewhat pompous, he was
an entertaining companion; and his literary performances have no
inconsiderable share of merit. He was a friendly and very hospitable
man. Both he and his wife, (who has been celebrated for her beauty,)
though upon the stage for many years, maintained an uniform decency of
character; and Johnson esteemed them, and lived in as easy an intimacy
with them, as with any family which he used to visit. Mr. Davies
recollected several of Johnson's remarkable sayings, and was one of the
best of the many imitators of his voice and manner, while relating them.
He increased my impatience more and more to see the extraordinary man
whose works I highly valued, and whose conversation was reported to be
so peculiarly excellent.
At last, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was sitting in Mr. Davies's
back-parlour, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs. Davies, Johnson
unexpectedly came into the shop; and Mr. Davies having perceived him
through the glass-door in the room in which we were sitting, advancing
towards us,--he announced his aweful approach to me, somewhat in the
manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet on
the appearance of his father's ghost, 'Look, my Lord, it comes.' I found
that I had a very perfect idea of Johnson's figure, from the portrait
of him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had published
his Dictionary, in the attitude of sitting in his easy chair in deep
meditation, which was the first picture his friend did for him, which
Sir Joshua very kindly presented to me, and from which an engraving has
been made for this work. Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully
introduced me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his
prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to
Davies, 'Don't tell where I come from.'--'From Scotland,' cried Davies
roguishly. 'Mr. Johnson, (said I) I do indeed come from Scotland, but
I cannot help it.' I am willing to flatter myself that I meant this as
light pleasantry to sooth and conciliate him, and not as an humiliating
abasement at the expence of my country. But however that might be, this
speech was somewhat unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which he
was so remarkable, he seized the expression 'come from Scotland,' which
I used in the sense of being of that country; and, as if I had said that
I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, 'That, Sir, I find, is
what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.' This stroke
stunned me a good deal; and when we had sat down, I felt myself not a
little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might come next. He then
addressed himself to Davies: 'What do you think of Garrick? He has
refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he knows the
house will be full, and that an order would be worth three shillings.'
Eager to take any opening to get into conversation with him, I ventured
to say, 'O, Sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge such a trifle
to you.' 'Sir, (said he, with a stern look,) I have known David Garrick
longer than you have done: and I know no right you have to talk to me
on the subject.' Perhaps I deserved this check; for it was rather
presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any doubt of the
justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance and pupil.* I now
felt myself much mortified, and began to think that the hope which I had
long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was blasted. And, in truth,
had not my ardour been uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly
persevering, so rough a reception might have deterred me for ever from
making any further attempts. Fortunately, however, I remained upon the
field not wholly discomfited.
* That this was a momentary sally against Garrick there can
be no doubt; for at Johnson's desire he had, some years
before, given a benefit-night at his theatre to this very
person, by which she had got two hundred pounds. Johnson,
indeed, upon all other occasions, when I was in his company
praised the very liberal charity of Garrick. I once
mentioned to him, 'It is observed, Sir, that you attack
Garrick yourself, but will suffer nobody else to do it.'
Johnson, (smiling) 'Why, Sir, that is true.'--BOSWELL.
I was highly pleased with the extraordinary vigour of his conversation,
and regretted that I was drawn away from it by an engagement at another
place. I had, for a part of the evening, been left alone with him, and
had ventured to make an observation now and then, which he received very
civilly; so that I was satisfied that though there was a roughness in
his manner, there was no ill-nature in his disposition. Davies followed
me to the door, and when I complained to him a little of the hard blows
which the great man had given me, he kindly took upon him to console me
by saying, 'Don't be uneasy. I can see he likes you very well.'
A few days afterwards I called on Davies, and asked him if he thought I
might take the liberty of waiting on Mr. Johnson at his Chambers in the
Temple. He said I certainly might, and that Mr. Johnson would take it
as a compliment. So upon Tuesday the 24th of May, after having been
enlivened by the witty sallies of Messieurs Thornton, Wilkes, Churchill
and Lloyd, with whom I had passed the morning, I boldly repaired
to Johnson. His Chambers were on the first floor of No. 1,
Inner-Temple-lane, and I entered them with an impression given me by
the Reverend Dr. Blair, of Edinburgh, who had been introduced to him not
long before, and described his having 'found the Giant in his den;'
an expression, which, when I came to be pretty well acquainted with
Johnson, I repeated to him, and he was diverted at this picturesque
account of himself. Dr. Blair had been presented to him by Dr. James
Fordyce. At this time the controversy concerning the pieces published
by Mr. James Macpherson, as translations of Ossian, was at its height.
Johnson had all along denied their authenticity; and, what was still
more provoking to their admirers, maintained that they had no merit. The
subject having been introduced by Dr. Fordyce, Dr. Blair, relying on
the internal evidence of their antiquity, asked Dr. Johnson whether he
thought any man of a modern age could have written such poems? Johnson
replied, 'Yes, Sir, many men, many women, and many children.' Johnson,
at this time, did not know that Dr. Blair had just published a
Dissertation, not only defending their authenticity, but seriously
ranking them with the poems of Homer and Virgil; and when he was
afterwards informed of this circumstance, he expressed some displeasure
at Dr. Fordyce's having suggested the topick, and said, 'I am not sorry
that they got thus much for their pains. Sir, it was like leading one to
talk of a book when the authour is concealed behind the door.'
He received me very courteously; but, it must be confessed, that his
apartment, and furniture, and morning dress, were sufficiently uncouth.
His brown suit of cloaths looked very rusty; he had on a little old
shrivelled unpowdered wig, which was too small for his head; his
shirt-neck and knees of his breeches were loose; his black worsted
stockings ill drawn up; and he had a pair of unbuckled shoes by way
of slippers. But all these slovenly particularities were forgotten the
moment that he began to talk. Some gentlemen, whom I do not recollect,
were sitting with him; and when they went away, I also rose; but he said
to me, 'Nay, don't go.' 'Sir, (said I,) I am afraid that I intrude
upon you. It is benevolent to allow me to sit and hear you.' He seemed
pleased with this compliment, which I sincerely paid him, and answered,
'Sir, I am obliged to any man who visits me.' I have preserved the
following short minute of what passed this day:--
'Madness frequently discovers itself merely by unnecessary deviation
from the usual modes of the world. My poor friend Smart shewed the
disturbance of his mind, by falling upon his knees, and saying his
prayers in the street, or in any other unusual place. Now although,
rationally speaking, it is greater madness not to pray at all, than to
pray as Smart did, I am afraid there are so many who do not pray, that
their understanding is not called in question.'
Concerning this unfortunate poet, Christopher Smart, who was confined
in a mad-house, he had, at another time, the following conversation
with Dr. Burney:--BURNEY. 'How does poor Smart do, Sir; is he likely to
recover?' JOHNSON. 'It seems as if his mind had ceased to struggle with
the disease; for he grows fat upon it.' BURNEY. 'Perhaps, Sir, that
may be from want of exercise.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; he has partly as much
exercise as he used to have, for he digs in the garden. Indeed, before
his confinement, he used for exercise to walk to the ale-house; but
he was CARRIED back again. I did not think he ought to be shut up. His
infirmities were not noxious to society. He insisted on people praying
with him; and I'd as lief pray with Kit Smart as any one else. Another
charge was, that he did not love clean linen; and I have no passion for
it.'--Johnson continued. 'Mankind have a great aversion to intellectual
labour; but even supposing knowledge to be easily attainable, more
people would be content to be ignorant than would take even a little
trouble to acquire it.'
Talking of Garrick, he said, 'He is the first man in the world for
sprightly conversation.'
When I rose a second time he again pressed me to stay, which I did.
He told me, that he generally went abroad at four in the afternoon, and
seldom came home till two in the morning. I took the liberty to ask if
he did not think it wrong to live thus, and not make more use of
his great talents. He owned it was a bad habit. On reviewing, at the
distance of many years, my journal of this period, I wonder how, at my
first visit, I ventured to talk to him so freely, and that he bore it
with so much indulgence.
Before we parted, he was so good as to promise to favour me with his
company one evening at my lodgings; and, as I took my leave, shook me
cordially by the hand. It is almost needless to add, that I felt no
little elation at having now so happily established an acquaintance of
which I had been so long ambitious.
I did not visit him again till Monday, June 13, at which time I
recollect no part of his conversation, except that when I told him I had
been to see Johnson ride upon three horses, he said, 'Such a man, Sir,
should be encouraged; for his performances shew the extent of the
human powers in one instance, and thus tend to raise our opinion of
the faculties of man. He shews what may be attained by persevering
application; so that every man may hope, that by giving as much
application, although perhaps he may never ride three horses at a
time, or dance upon a wire, yet he may be equally expert in whatever
profession he has chosen to pursue.'
He again shook me by the hand at parting, and asked me why I did not
come oftener to him. Trusting that I was now in his good graces, I