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I 


'J^ 


D'^  JOHNSON 


DR  JOHNSON 


HIS    FRIENDS  and   HIS   CRITICS 


BY 


GEORGE   BIRKBECK   HILL,   D.C.L. 


PEMBROKE    COLLEGE,    OXFORD 


LONDON 
SMITH,    ELDER,    &    CO.,    15    WATERLOO    PLACE 

1878 

iA  U    rig/iis    reserved^ 


<A 


AUG  i  6  1966 


1100802 


TO 


SIR  ROWLAND   HILL,  K.C.B.  D.C.L.  F.R.S. 


ETC. 


jrs  ^^olitmc  is  Jlcbkatctr 


WITH    MUCH    RESPECT    AND    AFFECTION 
BY    HIS    NEPHEW 

THE    AUTHOR 


PREFACE. 


Though  I  cannot  say  with  Lord  Macaulay  that  I 
was  never  better  pleased  than  when  at  fourteen  I 
was  master  of  Boswell's  'Life  of  Johnson/ yet  I  was 
still  a  schoolboy  when  I  first  read  the  book.  When 
later  on  I  entered  the  University  of  Oxford  I  was 
proud  as  a  member  of  Pembroke  College  to  boast 
of  the  great  man  who  is  the  glory  of  that  society. 
I  little  thought,  however,  in  those  days  that  the 
study  of  his  life  was  to  fill  up  much  of  the  leisure 
time  of  not  a  few  of  my  busiest  years,  and  that,  on 
my  retirement  from  a  laborious  occupation,  and  my 
recovery  from  a  tedious  illness,  I  should  attempt 
to  describe  Oxford  as  it  was  known  to  him. 

It  might  at  first  sight  seem  that  he  who  should 
at  the  present  day  venture  to  write  about  Johnson 
would  justly  incur  the  same  kind  of  criticism  as 
that  which  Johnson  himself  passed  on  one  of  the 
writers  of  his  time.     '  How,'   he   says   *  must   the 


viii  PREFACE. 

unlearned  reader  be  surprised  when  he  shall  be  told 
that  Mr.  Blackwell  has  neither  digged  in  the  ruins 
of  any  demolished  city,  nor  found  out  the  way 
to  the  library  of  Fez,  nor  had  a  single  book  in 
his  hands  that  has  not  been  in  the  possession  of 
every  man  that  was  inclined  to  read  it,  for  years 
and  ages  ;  and  that  his  book  relates  to  a  people 
who  above  all  others  have  furnished  employment 
to  the  studious,  and  amusements  to  the  idle.* 

My  justification  is  twofold  In  the  first  place 
I  have  *  found  out  the  way '  in  Oxford  to  rooms  in 
Christ  Church  and  Pembroke  College  in  which  are 
stored  up  the  documents  which  have  enabled  me  to 
set  a  matter  at  rest  which  has  been  the  puzzle  of 
Johnsonian  critics  for  more  than  forty  years.  Only 
the  other  day  I  discovered  an  entry  in  the  battel- 
books  of  Christ  Church,  which,  combined  with  what 
I  had  previously  found  out,  has,  in  my  opinion, 
settled  beyond  doubt  the  question  of  the  duration 
of  Johnson's  residence  at  the  University.  I  have, 
moreover,  in  the  hours  that  I  have  spent  in  the 
Bodleian  Library,  turned  over  many  an  interesting 
record  of  Oxford  as  it  was  in  the  early  part  of  last 
century.  But  the  chief  part  of  my  labour  has  cer- 
tainly lain  among  books  that  have  been  for  years 


PREFACE.  ix 


in  the  possession  of  every  man  that  was  inclined  to 
read  them.  When  I  first  began  to  study  these 
works  I  read  with  the  eager  interest  of  one  who 
was  merely  anxious  to  learn,  and  not  as  one  who 
had  any  thoughts  of  setting  up  for  a  teacher  him- 
self. I  was  as  yet  but  half  of  Chaucer's  Oxford 
scholar  of  whom  it  was  said  *  Gladly  wolde  he  lerne 
and  gladly  teche.'  I  was,  to  use  Johnson's  words, 
merely  'filling  the  hunger  of  ignorance  and  quench- 
ing the  thirst  of  curiosity.'  I  had  all  the  pleasure 
of  a  reader  while  I  was  altogether  free  from  the 
necessity  of  exerting  that  almost  painful  tiegree  of 
attention  which  is  too  often  the  lot  of  one  who 
intends  to  write.  But  as  I  continued  to  read  and 
passed  from  Boswell  to  the  works  of  Hawkins, 
Murphy,  Madame  Piozzi,  Madame  D'Arblay,  and 
other  writers,  who  had  themselves  known  Johnson, 
I  began  to  feel  that  in  every  separate  portrait  that 
had  been  drawn  of  that  great  man  there  were  great 
imperfections.  Boswell's  indeed  was  worth  all  the 
rest  taken  together,  but  even  Boswell  had  not  seen 
Johnson  in  every  light.  The  sketch  that  Lord 
Macaulay  has  given  in  his  celebrated  Review,  which 
I  had  once  accepted  without  misgiving,  now  seemed 
to  me  singularly  unjust  and  distorted.  Even  the 
Life  of  Johnson  that  he  contributed  to  the  *Ency- 


PREFACE. 


dopaedia  Britannica,'  finely  though  it  is  written,  I 
yet  found  to  be  greatly  wanting  in  truthfulness. 
Mr.  Carlyle's  noble  portrait  of  my  hero,  while  it 
delighted  me,  did  not  fully  satisfy  me.  It  was  too 
much  like  a  portrait  drawn  by  Rembrandt,  in 
which  the  light  that  the  artist  lets  in  on  his  picture 
but  too  often  serves  to  give  the  spectator  a  greater 
impression  of  gloom. 

If  Johnson  had  had  but  scant  justice  done  to 
him,  the  greatest  injustice,  I  felt,  had  been  done  to 
Boswell.  Mr.  Carlyle  had,  indeed,  defended  him, 
as  he  had  defended  Johnson,  from  the  violent  attacks 
of  Macaulay,  but  he  had  not  gone  into  the  whole 
case.  In  some  points  also  even  he,  I  held,  had  not 
formed  a  right  estimate  of  Boswell's  character.  As 
these  convictions  grew  upon  me  I  began  to  set 
forth  the  views  that  I  had  formed  in  articles  that  I 
contributed  from  time  to  time  to  some  among  the 
leading  newspapers.  I  also  formed  the  plan  of 
writing  sketches  of  the  lives  of  some  of  Johnson's 
friends.  Two  of  these  sketches  I  had  finished  and 
published,  when  the  continuance  of  my  task  was 
hindered  by  the  serious  illness,  of  which  I  have 
spoken.  On  my  partial  recovery,  when  I  took  up 
the  pen  that  had  lain  idle  for  two  long  years,  I 


PREFACE.  xi 


resolved  to  recast  much  of  what  I  had  already 
written,  and  to  combine  that  which  lay  scattered 
in  a  variety  of  papers.  At  the  same  time  I  began 
to  use  the  fresh  materials  which  I  had  gathered 
together,  and  to  add  to  the  essays  that  I  had  al- 
ready written.  The  contents  of  this  book  therefore 
may  be  divided  into  three  parts.  The  largest  of 
these  divisions  consists  of  matter  that  is  here 
published  for  the  first  time.  The  second  division 
consists  of  articles  which  I  have  so  recast  and  so 
enlarged  that,  so  far  as  form  at  least  is  concerned, 
they  may  fairly  claim  to  be  original.  The  third 
portion  is  composed  of  essays  that  are  republished 
in  the  same  form  in  which  they  at  first  appeared. 
But  even  to  many  of  these  I  have  made  consi- 
derable additions. 

I  trust  that  I  have  done  something  to  give  a 
juster  view  of  Johnson  and  his  biographer,  and  that 
I  have,  in  the  chapters  which  do  not  concern  them 
so  directly,  helped  some  little  towards  a  better 
understanding  of  one  or  two  among  the  men  whom 
they  reckoned  as  their  friends.  Should  my  book  be 
received  with  any  degree  of  favour,  I  shall  hope  in 
another  volume  to  write  of  others  among  Johnson's 
friends  and,  perhaps,  of  others  among  his  critics. 


xii  PREFACE. 

—  -  -^- 

I  must  not  forget  to  express  my  grateful 
acknowledgments  to  the  Editors  and  Proprietors  of 
'  The  Cornhill  Magazine/  '  The  Pall  Mall  Gazette/ 
*  The  Saturday  Review/  and  *  The  Times/  for  the 
permission  they  have  kindly  given  me  to  use 
in  this  volume  my  various  contributions  to  their 
papers, 

GEORGE  BIRKBECK  HILL. 

The  Poplars,  Burghfield: 
May  28,  1878. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Oxford  in  Johnson's  Time    .       .       ,       .      i 
II.  Lord  Macaulay  on  Johnson     .       .       .    .    97 

III.  Mr.  Carlyle  on  Boswell       .       .       .       .146 

IV.  Lord  Macaulay  on  Boswell     .       .       ,    .  160 
V.  The  Melancholy  of  Johnson  and  Cowper  200 

VI.  Lord  Chesterfield  and  Johnson    .       .    .  214 

VII.  Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters       .       .       .230 

VIII.  Bennet  Langton 248 

IX.  TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK 280 

X.  Oliver  Goldsmith 319 

APPENDIX. 

The  Duration  of  Johnson's  Residence  at 
Oxford 329 


DR.   JOHNSON: 

HIS    FRIENDS    AND    HIS    CRITICS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

OXFORD  IN  Johnson's  time. 

The  Oxford  of  last  century  is  with  most  readers  the 
Oxford  not  of  Johnson,  but  of  Gibbon.  They  call  to 
mind  the  just  indignation  which  the  great  historian  felt  in 
his  riper  years  against  that  University  where  he  spent  the 
most  idle  and  unprofitable  fourteen  months  of  his  whole 
life.  '  To  the  University  of  Oxford  I  acknowledge  no 
obligation/  he  wrote,  '  and  she  will  as  cheerfully  renounce 
me  for  a  son  as  I  am  willing  to  disclaim  her  for  a  mother.' 
It  is  but  a  few  pages  that  he  gives  to  this  mother  whom 
he  thus  renounces,  but  his  description  is  so  lively,  his 
satire  so  pointed,  and  his  scorn  so  marked,  that  it  is  the 
sketch  that  he  thus  paints  that  remains  fixed  in  our 
minds  as  the  very  picture  of  Oxford  herself. 


DR.  JOHNSON. 


We  call  to  mind  the  lad  in  his  fifteenth  year  suddenly 
raised  from  a  boy  to  a  man ;  his  decent  allowance  of 
money ;  the  indefinite  and  dangerous  latitude  of  credit 
that  he  could  command ;  his  velvet  cap  and  silk  gown 
which  distinguished  him  as  a  gentleman- commoner  from 
an  ordinary  student ;  the  key  which  was  delivered  into  his 
hands,  which  gave  him  the  free  use  of  a  numerous  and 
learned  library  ;  his  three  elegant  and  well-furnished 
rooms  in  the  new  building — a  stately  pile,  as  he  calls  it 
— of  Magdalen  College  ;  his  first  tutor— one  of  the  best 
of  the  tribe — who  proposed  to  read  with  him  one  hour 
every  day,  and  who,  with  a  smile,  accepted  his  first 
apology  for  his  omission  to  attend,  and  encouraged  him 
t?o  repeat  the  offence  with  less  ceremony  ;  his  second 
tutor,  who  well  remembered  that  he  had  a  salary  to 
receive,  and  only  forgot  that  he  had  a  duty  to  perform, 
who  never  summoned  him  to  attend  even  the  ceremony 
of  a  lecture  ;  his  growing  debts  ;  the  tour  he  made  to 
Bath,  the  visit  to  Buckinghamshire,  and  the  four  excur- 
sions to  London,  as  if  he  had  been  an  independent 
stranger  in  a  hired  lodging,  without  once  hearing  the 
voice  of  admonition,  without  once  feeling  the  hand  of 
control ;  his  first  appearance  before  the  Vice- Chancellor, 
who  said  that  he  was  not  old  enough  as  yet  to  sign  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles,  but,  directing  him  to  return  when  he 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME. 


was  sixteen,  recommended  him  in  the  meantime  to  the 
instruction  of  his  college ;  the  forgetfulness  of  his  college 
to  instruct,  his  own  forgetfulness  to  return,  and  the  forget- 
fulness of  the  Vice-Chancellor  to  send  for  him  ;  his 
groping  his  way,  unaided  and  untaught,  into  the  dangerous 
mazes  of  controversy,  and  his  bewilderment  into  the 
errors  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 

We  call  to  mind  the  Fellows  of  Magdalen — those 
decent,  easy  men — into  whose  common-room  he  was, 
as  a  gentleman-commoner,  of  right  admitted  ;  their  days 
filled  by  a  series  of  uniform  employments — the  chapel 
and  the  hall,  the  coffee-house  and  the  common-room — 
till  they  retired,  weary  and  well  satisfied,  to  a  long  slum- 
ber ;  their  conversation  that  stagnated  in  a  round  of 
college  business,  Tory  politics,  personal  anecdotes,  and 
private  scandal ;  their  dull  and  deep  potations,  and  their 
toasts  that  were  not  expressive  of  the  most  lively  loyalty 
for  the  House  of  Hanover.  We  call  to  mind  the  tradi- 
tion that  prevailed  that  some  of  his  predecessors  had 
spoken  Latin  declamations  in  the  hall,  and  the  total 
absence  in  his  time  of  public  exercises  and  examinations. 
We  remember,  too,  that  in  the  University  itself  he  could 
find  nothing  to  make  up  for  the  shameless  neglect  of  his 
college  ;   for  in  the  University  the  greater  part  of  the 


DR.  JOHNSON. 


public  professors  had  for  these   many  years  given  up 
altogether  even  the  pretence  of  teaching.^ 

But  just  as  may  be  the  picture  that  we  shall  thus 
raise  before  ourselves  of  Magdalen  College,  just  as  may 
be  the  picture  that  we  shall  raise  of  the  University  of 
Oxford  as  a  whole,  we  shall  wander  very  far  from  the 
truth  if  we  go  on  to  infer  that  every  one  of  the  numerous 
colleges  and  halls  was  a  second  Magdalen.  Had  Gibbon 
been  entered. at  some  other  college,  the  University  of 
Oxford  would  not,  to  her  great  and  lasting  disgrace,  have 
been  disclaimed  by  one  of  the  greatest  of  her  sons. 
There  were  bad  colleges  and  indolent  tutors  in  his  time 
as  there  are  bad  colleges  and  indolent  tutors  now. 
Though  doubtless  there  were  many  more  bad  colleges 
and  many  more  indolent  tutors  in  those  days,  when  the 
University,  neither  by  examination  nor  by  any  other  way, 
exercised  the  slightest  control  over  the  studies  of  the 

^  *  What  do  you  think  of  being  Greek  Professor  at  one  of  our 
Universities  ?  It  is  a  very  pretty  sinecure,  and  requires  very  little 
knowledge  (much  less  than  I  hope  you  have  already)  of  that  Xditi- 
gi\2Lge.'—Lord  Chesterfield' s  Letters  to  his  Son  (January  15,  1 748). 
Cumberland,  who  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  in  1746,  had 
the  same  kind  of  tutors  as  Gibbon.  His  first  tutor  left  him  to 
choose  and  pursue  his  studies  as  he  liked.  From  his  second, 
whose  zeal  or  whose  piety  was  afterwards  rewarded  with  a  bishopric, 
he  never  received  a  single  lecture. — Memoirs  of  Richard  Cumber- 
land, vol.  i.  p.  91. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME.  5 

students.  Richard  Lovell  Edgevvorth,  who  entered  Cor- 
pus Christi  College  eight  years  after  Gibbon  left  Mag- 
dalen, and  who  was  not  likely  to  have  loved  a  place 
merely  because  it  was  venerable,  bears  high  testimony  to 
the  merits  of  his  college.  *  I  applied  assiduously  not 
only  to  my  studies,'  he  writes,  *  under  my  excellent  tutor, 
but  also  to  the  perusal  of  the  best  English  writers. 
Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  my  having  added  to  my 
stock  of  knowledge  some  new  fact  or  idea  ;  and  I  remem- 
ber with  satisfaction  the  pleasure  I  then  felt  from  the 
consciousness  of  intellectual  improvement.' 

More  than  one  hundred  years  have  passed  since  these 
men  left  Oxford.  Magdalen  can  still  boast  of  its  grace- 
ful tower,  its  venerable  cloisters,  its  noble  hall,  and 
Addison's  Walk.  Corpus,  if  you  ask  what  it  can  show 
that  is  beautiful  or  venerable,  must  still  borrow  its 
prospect  from  its  neighbours,  and  point  to  Merton 
Tower  on  its  left  and  the  Cathedral  Tower  on  its  right. 
But  a  second  Edgeworth,  perhaps,  if  fate  were  to  place 
him  there,  would  not  boast  of  Magdalen,  nor  would  a 
second  Gibbon,  if  a  second  could  arise,  disclaim  Corpus. 

It  is  difficult,  we  must  remember,  at  any  time  to  arrive 
at  a  fair  estimate  of  an  ancient  seat  of  learning.  Some 
men  are  more  touched  with  resentment  when  they  come 
to  learn  by  experience  where  their  education  was  faulty 


DR,  JOHNSON. 


than  moved  by  gratitude  for  the  training  they  received, 
however  judicious,  considered  as  a  whole,  it  may  have 
been.  Their  deficiencies  they  attribute  to  their  teachers, 
and  to  the  system  under  which  they  were  brought  up. 
Their  merits  they  derive  from  themselves  alone.  Some 
men,  on  the  other  hand,  look  upon  their  Alma  Mater  as 
a  mother  indeed.  Her  failings  they  will  not  see,  much 
less  will  they  avow.  They  are  proud  of  being  her  sons, 
and  they  increase  their  pride  by  magnifying  her  merits. 
But  much  more  difficult  is  it  to  form  this  estimate  when 
we  are  considering  an  age  in  which  party  spirit  ran  high, 
and  the  Church  brought  anything  but  peace  into  the 
world.  Johnson,  in  writing  his  '  Debates  of  Parliament,' 
always  took  care,  as  he  says,  that  the  Whig  dogs  came  oft 
worse.  Consciously  or  unconsciously  judgments  were 
formed  and  evidence  was  given  in  much  the  same  way  as 
the  composition  of  these  '  Debates '  was  managed.  Thus,  if 
we  may  trust  Prideaux,  Dean  of  Norwich,  Christ  Church 
under  Dean  Aldrich  was,  though  not  the  worst,  yet  one 
of  the  worst  colleges  in  Oxford.  '  It  is  totally  spoilt,'  he 
wrote  in  one  letter,  '  and  for  that  reason  when  chosen  a 
Canon  and  Professor  of  Oriental  Literature  I  refused  to 
go.'  In  another  letter  he  admitted  that  bad  though  it 
was,  there  was  at  least  one  other  college  worse.  '  Who- 
ever advised  you  there  [to  Exeter  College]  was  no  friend. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  7 

That  is  worse  than  Christ  Church,  for  at  the  latter  there 
is  something  of  ingenuity  and  genteel  carriage  in  the  genius 
of  the  place,  but  in  the  other  I  never  knew  anything 
all  the  while  I  was  at  Oxford  but  drinking  and  duncery/ 

If  Prideaux  spoke  ill  of  Aldrich's  college,  Aldrich  in 
return  used  to  speak  slightingly  of  Prideaux  as  'an  inaccu- 
rate, muddy-headed  man.'  If  we  turn  from  Prideaux  to 
Hearne,  we  should  be  inclined  to  consider  Christ  Church 
as  looked  after,  under  Aldrich,  if  anything,  too  carefully. 
'  The  Dean  used  to  rise  to  five  o'clock  prayers,  summer 
and  winter.  He  visited  the  chambers  of  the  young 
gentlemen  on  purpose  to  see  that  they  employed  their 
time  in  useful  and  commendable  studies.  .  .  .  He  was 
always  for  encouraging  industry,  learning,  integrity,  and 
whatever  deserves  commendation.'  It  is  no  wonder, 
therefore,  putting  aside  all  differences  in  their  colleges, 
that  not  only  men  like  Gibbon  and  Edgeworth  who  had 
but  little  in  common,  but  also  that  men  like  Gibbon  and 
Johnson  who,  widely  as  they  differed  in  many  things,  yet 
were  both  scholars,  felt  so  differently  towards  Oxford. 

It  is,  indeed,  interesting  to  compare  the  feelings  of 
scornful  indignation  with  which  the  younger  of  the  two 
looked  upon  Oxford,  with  the  love  that  the  elder,  through 
his  long  life,  bore  to  his  old  college  and  his  old  university. 
In  the  last  summer  of  his  life,  when  his  strength  that  was 


DR.  JOHNSON. 


rapidly  ebbing  away  had  returned  with  the  warm  weather, 
it  was  to  Oxford  that  Johnson  longed  to  go  as  his  first 
jaunt  after  his  illness.  Boswell,  who  travelled  with  him, 
tells  us  that  the  old  man  *  seemed  to  feel  himself  elevated 
as  he  approached  Oxford,  that  magnificent  and  venerable 
seat  of  learning,  orthodoxy,  and  Toryism.'  The  regard 
which  he  bore  to  his  old  college  had  always  been  strong, 
and  remained  with  him  to  the  last.  A  short  time  before  his 
death  he  presented  its  library  with  his  books,  and  had  he 
not  been  reminded  of  the  necessities  of  his  relations  he 
would  have  left  it  his  house  at  Lichfield.  He  always  took 
pleasure  *  in  mentioning  how  many  of  the  sons  of  Pem- 
broke were  poets ;  adding  with  a  smile  of  sportive 
triumph,  "  Sir,  we  are  a  nest  of  singing-birds." '  And  yet 
his  obligations  to  Oxford  would  not  seem,  at  first  sight,  to 
have  been  very  great.  He  had  come  up  like  the  young 
enthusiast  of  his  own  noble  poem,  though  it  most  certainly 
was  not  ease  that  he  had  quitted  for  fame.  We  may  feel 
certain  that  he  was  recalling  his  own  feelings  when,  nearly 
twenty  years  after  he  left  college,  he  wrote  those  fine  lines  : 

When  first  the  college  rolls  receive  his  name, 
The  young  enthusiast  quits  his  ease  for  fame  ; 
Through  all  his  veins  the  fever  of  renown 
Burns  from  the  strong  contagion  of  the  gown  ; 
O'er  Bodley's  dome  his  future  labours  spread, 
And  Bacon's  mansion  trembles  o'er  his  head. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  9 

We  know  that  the  Hnes  that  follow,  in  which  he  bids 
us  *  mark  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail,'  so  truly  told 
of  his  own  sufferings,  that  when  in  his  old  age  he 
tried  to  read  them  aloud  he  burst  into  a  passion  of 
tears. 

The  eagerness,  the  ambition,  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  entered  Oxford  were  soon  deadened.  He  came 
to  a  place  rich  in  endowments,  though  his  own  college 
indeed  was  poor.  He  soon  gave  proof  of  his  power  and 
his  knowledge.  His  translation  into  Latin  verse  of  Pope's 
*  Messiah '  *  kept  him  high  in  the  estimation  of  his  college, 
and,  indeed,  of  all  the  university.'  Pope,  when  he  read 
it,  with  much  kindness  said,  *  the  writer  of  this  poem  will 
leave  it  a  question  for  posterity  whether  his  or  mine  be 
the  original.'  And  yet,  with  all  the  proofs  Johnson  gave 
of  his  great  powers,  he  was  forced  by  poverty  to  leave 
Oxford  without  even  taking  his  degree.  Nay  even,  there  is 
good  reason  to  believe  that,  like  Gibbon,  he  stayed  there 
but  fourteen  short  months.^  His  college  bills  came  to 
only  some  eight  shillings  a  week.  Fifty  pounds,  no 
doubt,  would  have  covered,  and  much  more  than  covered, 
his  whole  yearly  expenses.  Whitfield,  who  was,  however, 
a  servitor,  only  cost  his  relations  about  eight  pounds  a 
year.  One  of  the  colleges  forty  years  before  Johnson's 
•  See  Appendix. 


lo  DR.  yOHNSON. 


time  'was  popularly  said  to  be  wealthier  than  the 
wealthiest  abbeys  of  the  Continent.'  But  Johnson,  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  wealth  which  the  piety  of  past  ages 
had  left  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  had  to  leave 
Oxford  because  he  was  poor.  A  few  years  later  on, 
when  he  had  published  his  poem  of  'London'  and 
had  become  famous,  when  he  found  that  the  want  of 
a  degree  stood  in  the  way  of  his  advancement  in  life, 
when  without  it  he  could  neither,  as  he  at  one  time 
wished,  get  the  mastership  of  a  grammar-school,  nor,  as 
he  at  another  time  wished,  practise  in  Doctor's  Com- 
mons, he  learnt  that  '  it  was  thought  too  great  a  favour 
even  to  be  asked '  of  the  University  that  it  should  confer 
on  him  its  degree. 

Johnson  might  not  unreasonably  have  borne  towards 
Oxford  an  ill-will  that  would  have  lasted  through  life. 
No  doubt  he  was  a  high  Tory  and  a  high  Churchman, 
and  as  such  would  be  the  less  inclined  to  find  any- 
thing wrong  in  the  seat  of  Toryism  and  orthodoxy. 
But  it  was  not  to  his  prejudices  alone  that  his  affections 
were  due.  Whatever  the  length  of  his  residence  was  — 
whether  three  years,  as  his  biographers  say,  or  only 
fourteen  months,  as  seems  more  probable — he  never 
regretted  the  time  that  he  spent  at  the  University.  He 
delighted  to  expatiate  on  the  advantages  of  Oxford  for 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME. 


learning,  and  on  the  excellent  rules  of  discipline  in 
every  college.  'That  the  rules  are  sometimes  ill  ob- 
served may  be  true,  but  is  nothing  against  the  system/ 
When  the  University  at  length  did  honour  to  itself  by 
giving  him  his  Master's  Degree,  he  took  as  much  pleasure 
in  his  gown  as  if  he  had  been  five  and  twenty  years 
younger.  *  I  have  been  in  my  gown  ever  since  I  came 
here '  he  writes.  *  It  was  at  my  first-coming  quite  new 
and  handsome.'  He  made  frequent  visits  to  Oxford, 
and  '  he  prided  himself,'  as  we  learn  from  Lord  Stowell, 
'  in  being  accurately  academic  in  all  points  ;  and  he  wore 
his  gown  almost  ostentatiously.'  The  Christ  Church 
men  had  mocked  at  his  worn-out  shoes  when  he  was 
an  undergraduate.  Nearly  fifty  years  later  he  must  have 
felt  that  an  ample  apology  was  offered  for  the  insult, 
for  a  Canon  of  Christ  Church  invited  him  to  dinner. 
'  Sir,'  he  said  to  Boswell,  *  it  is  a  great  thing  to  dine  with 
the  Canons  of  Christ  Church.' 

He  delighted,  as  Madame  Piozzi  tells  us,  in  his 
partiality  for  Oxford.  He  one  day  in  her  presence 
entertained  five  Cambridge  men  with  various  instances 
of  the  superiority  of  his  own  university.  She  reminded 
him  that  there  were  no  less  than  five  Cambridge  men  in 
the  room.  *  I  did  not,'  said  he,  '  think  of  that  till  you  told 
me,  but  the  wolf  does  not  count  the  sheep.'     In  speaking 


DR,  JOHNSON, 


of  a  Cambridge  friend  for  whom  he  had  a  high  regard, 
he  said,  '  a  fellow  deserves  to  be  of  Oxford  that  talks  so.' 
Hannah  More  met  him  at  dinner  at  his  old  college  two 
years  before  his  death.  He  looked  very  ill — spiritless 
and  wan,  but  after  dinner  he  took  her  over  the  College  and 
would  let  no  one  show  it  but  himself  '  This  was  my  room, 
this  Shenstone's.'  Then  after  pointing  out  all  the  rooms 
of  the  poets  who  had  been  of  his  college,  *  In  short,'  said 
he,  '  We  were  a  nest  of  singing  birds.  Here  we  walked, 
there  we  played  at  cricket.'  We  very  much  doubt,  by  the 
way,  Johnson's  playing  at  cricket.  His  sight,  as  we  know, 
debarred  him  from  almost  all  the  games  of  boyhood. 
*  He  ran  over  with  pleasure  the  history  of  the  juvenile 
days  he  passed  there.  When  we  came  into  the  common- 
room  we  spied  a  fine  large  print  of  Johnson,  framed  and 
hung  up  that  very  morning,  with  this  motto,  "  And  is  not 
Johnson  ours,  himself  a  host  ?  "  Under  which  stared  you 
in  the  face,  "  From  Miss  More's  Sensibility." ' 

In  his  Life  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  who  was  a  Pem- 
broke man,  he  tells  us  that  Browne  was  the  first  man  of 
eminence  graduated  from  the  new  college,  and  adds,  '  to 
which  the  zeal  or  gratitude  of  those  that  love  it  most  can 
wish  little  better  than  that  it  may  long  proceed  as  it 
began.' 

Johnson  was,  it  is  true,  by  nature  easily  contented. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  13 

'  Sir,'  he  once  said,  *  I  have  never  complained  of  the 
world,  nor  do  I  think  that  I  have  reason  to  complain. 
It  is  rather  to  be  wondered  at  that  I  have  so  much.' 
But  it  was  not  only  the  habit  of  easy  contentment  that 
made  him  bear  no  ill-will  against  his  college.  There  had 
been  no  shameful  neglect  of  duty  on  the  part  of  his 
tutors,  no  unworthy  example  set  by  the  Fellows  to  excite 
his  indignation  as  it  excited  Gibbon's.  Gibbon  com- 
plained that  though  the  government  of  his  college  and, 
indeed,  of  the  University,  was  in  the  hands  of  the  clergy, 
yet  he  received  no  instruction  in  religion.  Johnson,  on 
the  other  hand,  said  that  it  was  to  Oxford  that  was  due  the 
first  occasion  of  his  thinking  in  earnest  of  religion,  after 
he  became  capable  of  rational  enquiry.  The  tutors  of 
Pembroke  were  not,  indeed,  so  far  as  abiHty  went,  worthy 
of  their  illustrious  pupil.  Each  of  them  might  have  said 
with  Dr.  Adams,  *  I  was  his  nominal  tutor ;  but  he  was 
above  my  mark.'  Yet  Johnson  revered  Adams'  learning, 
and  felt  that  he  had  received  a  high  compliment.  *  His 
eyes  flashed  with  grateful  satisfaction '  when  Boswell  told 
him  what  Adams  had  said,  and  he  exclaimed,  *  That  was 
liberal  and  noble.'  But  the  tutors  of  Pembroke,  if  they 
were  not  very  able,  were  at  least  honest  men,  and  did  their 
duty.  Of  one  of  them,  Jorden,  he  said,  'Whenever  a 
young  man  becomes  Jorden's  pupil  he  becomes  his  son.' 


14  DR.  JOHNSON. 


He  retained  for  him  a  great  regard,  and  when  he  visited 
Oxford  twenty-five  years  after  he  had  left  he  learnt  with 
regret  that  he  was  dead. 

Every  reader  of  Boswell  will  remember  how  Johnson, 
like  Gibbon,  was  one  day  absent  from  a  lecture,  and  how 
his  tutor  after  dinner  sent  for  him  to  his  room.  *  I  ex- 
pected a  sharp  rebuke  for  my  idleness,  and  went  with  a 
beating  heart.  When  we  were  seated  he  told  me  he  had 
sent  for  me  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  him,  and  to  tell 
me  he  was  not  angry  with  me  for  missing  his  lecture. 
This  was  indeed  a  most  severe  reprimand.'  If  we  may 
trust  Hawkins'  statement,  he  once,  on  being  fined  for  not 
attending  a  lecture,  said  to  his  tutor,  *Sir,  you  have 
sconced  me  two-pence  for  non-attendance  at  a  lecture 
not  worth  a  penny.'  If  he  really  made  this  rude  speech, 
it  is  not  impossible  that  a  second  most  severe  reprimand 
followed  in  a  second  glass  of  wine  in  the  kindly  tutor's 
room. 

What  it  was  that  led  old  Michael  Johnson  to  select 
Pembroke  College  for  his  son  we  can  only  conjecture. 
Hawkins  says  that  he  was  placed  there  in  the  position  of 
a  commoner  by  a  neighbouring  gentleman  in  quality  of 
assistant  to  his  son  in  his  studies,  who  entered  as  a 
gentleman-commoner.  This  statement  is  confirmed  by 
Johnson's  old  friend,  Dr.  Taylor.     But  Pembroke  was 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  15 

the  college  of  his  god-father,  Dr.  Samuel  Swinfen,  of 
Lichfield,  from  whom,  no  doubt,  he  took  his  name,  and 
who  may  have  borne  part  of  the  expenses  of  his  educa- 
tion. Even  if  Johnson  went  as  a  kind  of  tutor  to 
another  student,  it  was  likely  enough  on  Dr.  Swinfen's 
advice  that  Pembroke  College  was  chosen  for  the  two 
young  men.  It  had  borne  a  high  name  even  at  the  end 
of  the  previous  century.  In  February  1695-6,  a  Mr. 
Lapthome  wrote  to  a  Mr.  Coffin  :  *  I  have  placed  my 
son  in  Pembrook  Colledge,  the  Society  being  under  the 
care  of  the  Bishop  of  Bristol,  Dr.  Hall,  who  is  Master 
and  constantly  resident.  The  house,  tho'  it  bee  but  a 
little  one,  yet  is  reputed  to  be  one  of  the  best  for 
sobriety  and  order.'  ^  Bishop  Hall  was  master  for  forty- 
five  years,  so  that  he  had  time  to  work  a  thorough 
reform,  if  a  reform  had  been  needed.  He  had  died  the 
year  Johnson  was  born.  The  master  in  Johnson's  time 
was  that  'fine  Jacobite  fellow,'  Dr.  Matthew  Panting. 
Hearne  calls  him  '  an  honest  gent,'  and  tells  how  *  he  had 
to  preach  the  sermon  at  St.  Mary's  on  the  day  on  which 
George,  Duke  and  Elector  of  Brunswick,  usurped  the 
English  throne,  but  his  sermon  took  no  notice,  at  most 
very  little,  of  the  Duke  of  Brunswick.' 

'  Historical    Manuscripts    Commission,    '  Appendix    to    Fifth 
Report,'  p.  385. 


DR.  JOHNSON. 


The  buildings  have  been  not  a  little  altered  since 
Johnson's  day  ;  yet  we  can  still  bring  back  before  our- 
selves the  little  college  as  it  was  when  his  father,  proud 
of  his  son,  brought  him  up  to  Oxford  on  the  last  day  of 
October  in  the  year  1728.  The  tower  has  undergone 
considerable  changes,  but  we  can  still  look  up  with 
reverence  to  the  second  floor  above  the  gateway,  where 
Johnson  lived  and  whence  he  was  overheard  by  the 
Master  from  his  house  hard  by  uttering,  in  his  strong 
emphatic  voice,  '  Well,  I  have  a  mind  to  see  what  is  done 
in  other  places  of  learning.  I'll  go  and  visit  the  Univer- 
sities abroad.  I'll  go  to  France  and  Italy.  I'll  go  to 
Padua.  And  I'll  mind  my  business.  For  an  Athenian 
blockhead  is  the  worst  of  all  blockheads.'  We  can  think 
how  it  was  in  that  room  no  doubt  that,  at  the  end  of  his 
first  year's  residence,  he  recorded  in  his  diary,  Desidice 
valedixi;  sy  rents  istius  cantibus  surdam  post  hoc  aurem 
obversurus.  *  I  bid  farewell  to  Sloth,  being  resolved 
henceforth  not  to  listen  to  her  syren  strains.'  We  can 
stand  in  the  gateway  and  remember  how  he  used  to 
lounge  there  with  a  circle  of  young  students  whom  he 
was  entertaining  with  his  wit  and  keeping  from  their 
studies.  To  those  around  him  he  seemed  'a  gay  and 
frolicsome  fellow  ;  but  'it  was  bitterness,'  he  said,  'that 
they  mistook  for  frolic.     I  was  miserably  poor,  and  I 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME,  17 

thought  to  fight  my  way  by  my  literature  and  my  wit.' 
'•  They  all  feared  him,  however,'  as  one  of  them  nearly 
fifty  years  afterwards  admitted.  He  used  to  criticise  the 
words  they  used,  *  for  even  then  he  was  delicate  in 
language.  Sir,  I  remember  you  would  not  let  us  say 
prodigious  at  college.' 

The  quadrangle  is  much  as  he  knew  it.  The  pre- 
sent library  was  in  his  time  the  hall.  The  raised  dais  at 
the  western  end,  where  the  high  table  stood,  was  an 
addition  made  by  Clayton,  the  first  Master,  to  a  more 
ancient  building  which  had  formed  part  of  an  earlier 
foundation  called  Broadgate  Hall.  The  eastern  end  is, 
I  believe,  all  that  is  left  of  this  ancient  foundation. 
Bishop  Bonner  belonged  to  this  society,  and  must  have 
dined  many  a  day  within  these  walls  while  he  was  still  a 
young  student  unstained  by  blood,  little  thinking  how 
hateful  a  name  he  was  destined  to  bear  through  all  time. 
It  was  in  the  hall  that  at  the  classical  lecture  Johnson 
sat  as  far  away  from  Meeke  as  he  could,  that  he  might 
not  hear  him  construe,  for  he  could  not  bear  his  supe- 
riority. In  this  venerable  building  is  treasured  up  John- 
son's writing-desk.  What  memorial  is  preserved  of  Meeke  ? 

It  was  here,  too,  that  he  made  his  first  decla- 
mation. He  wrote  but  one  copy,  and  that  coarsely, 
and  he  had  given  it  into  the  hands  of  his  tutor.     He  had 

c 


1 8  DR.  JOHNSON. 


got  but  little  of  it  by  heart,  and  he  trusted  to  his  present 
powers  to  supply  what  he  forgot.  *  A  prodigious  risk,' 
said  some  one.  '  Not  at  all,'  exclaimed  Johnson.  *  No 
man,  I  suppose,  leaps  at  once  into  deep  water  who  does 
not  know  how  to  swim.' 

It  was  here  that  would  have  been  recited  his 
exercise  on  Gunpowder  Plot  Day,  had  he  not  been 
loo  indolent  to  write  it,  to  Boswell's  great  regret, 
who  thinks  that  he  would  probably  have  produced 
something  sublime.  November  was  kept  with  great 
solemnity  at  Pembroke  College.  Seven  years  before 
Johnson's  time  *  Mr.  Peyne,  Bachelor  of  Arts,  made,'  as 
an  old  diary  tells  us,  '  an  oration  in  the  hall  suitable  to 
the  day.*  Here,  early  in  every  November,  was  kept  *  a 
great  Gaudy  in  the  college,  when  the  Master  dined  in 
public,  and  the  Juniors  (by  an  ancient  custom  they  were 
obliged  to  observe)  went  round  the  fire  in  the  hall'  We 
can  picture  to  ourselves  among  the  Juniors  in  November, 
1728,  Samuel  Johnson,  who  had  but  just  entered  the 
college,  going  round  the  fire  with  the  others.  Warton 
records  how  Johnson,  in  one  of  his  visits  to  Oxford, 
when,  talking  of  the  form  of  old  halls,  said,  '  In  these 
halls  the  fire-place  was  anciently  always  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  till  the  Whigs  removed  it  on  one  side.'  If  in 
his  time  the  fire  in  Pembroke  hall  was  still  in  the  middle 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME. 


of  the  room,  the  ancient  custom  did  not  press  very 
heavily.  Here  day  after  day  he  heard  the  Latin  Grace 
which  the  learned  Camden  had  written  for  the  society, 
and  no  doubt  the  signal  for  Grace  was  given,  as  it  was 
for  many  a  year  after,  by  three  blows  with  a  piece  of 
wood,  in  honour  of  the  Trinity.  The  ordinary  dinner- 
hour  was  early,  as  is  shown  by  Hearne  in  one  of  those 
delightfully  foolish  passages  in  which  the  foolish  old 
Jacobite  antiquarian  abounds.  On  February  27,  1722-3, 
he  solemnly  records,  *  It  hath  been  an  old  custom  in 
Oxford  for  the  scholars  of  all  houses,  on  Shrove-Tuesday, 
to  go  to  dinner  at  ten  o'clock  (at  which  time  the  little 
bell  called  pan-cake  bell  rings,  or  at  least  should  ring,  at 
St.  Maries),  and  at  four  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  it  was 
always  followed  in  Edmund  Hall  as  long  as  I  have  been 
in  Oxford  till  yesterday,  when  they  went  to  dinner  at 
twelve  and  to  supper  at  six.  Nor  were  there  any  fritters 
at  dinner  as  there  used  always  to  be.  When  laudable 
old  customs  alter,  'tis  a  sign  learning  dwindles.' 

The  hbrary  in  Johnson's  days,  where  he  read  in  the 
French  Lobo's  '  Voyage  to  Abyssinia,'  was  in  a  large  room 
over  the  hall.  It  had  been  removed  there  a  few  years 
earlier  from  a  room  above  a  side  chapel  in  the  church  of 
St.  Aldate's,  which  stands  just  outside  the  college  gates. 
He  borrowed  the  book    a  few  years  after  he  left  and 

c  2 


20  DR.  JOHNSON. 


translated  it  for  a  Birmingham  bookseller,  receiving  as 
his  payment  for  his  first  literary  venture  five  guineas. 
Whether  he  forgot  to  return  the  book,  or  whether 
he  returned  it  and  it  has  been  since  carried  off  as  a 
curiosity  by  some  one  who  had  a  greater  regard  for 
the  great  moralist  than  for  morality,  I  know  not.  At  all 
events,  the  book  is  no  longer  in  the  library.  So  far  as  it 
goes,  it  would  seem  to  show  that  the  Fellows  of  Pem- 
broke took  a  lively  interest  in  modern  literature,  when 
we  find  that  a  foreign  book  of  travels  was  to  be  found  on 
their  shelves  three  or  four  years  at  most  after  it  was 
published. 

The  side  chapel  beneath  the  old  library  was  the  college 
chapel.  Six  months  before  he  came  into  residence  the 
foundations  of  the  present  chapel  were  laid.  During  the 
whole  of  his  stay  at  Oxford  he  had  rising  before  his  eyes 
a  building  which  for  ugliness  has,  perhaps,  but  one  rival 
in  Oxford.  Johnson,  however,  cared  nothing  for  archi- 
tecture. *  A  building,'  he  said,  *  is  not  at  all  more  con- 
venient for  being  decorated  with  superfluous  carved 
work.'  Perhaps  it  is  fortunate  for  his  reputation  that  in 
architecture  he  lay  claim  to  neither  taste  nor  knowledge. 
Otherwise  he  might  have  described  Pembroke  chapel  as 
a  stately  pile,  as  Gibbon  described  the  new  building  at 
Magdalen.     In  Logan's  print  of  the  college  we  see  a 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME,  21 

pleasant  row  of  trees  where  now  this  chapel  stands.  As 
it  is  not  easy  to  see  that  either  piety  or  convenience  was 
increased  when  the  members  of  a  society  who,  in  going  to 
service,  had  hitherto  taken  a  few  paces  to  the  north,  now 
began  to  take  the  same  number  of  paces  to  the  south,  we 
may  be  allowed  to  regret  the  loss  of  the  trees.  On  the 
Fellows'  garden  the  present  hall  is  built ;  but  to  this 
garden  it  is  probable  that  Johnson  had  no  right  of 
admission,  as  he  was  not  a  fellow- commoner.  The 
common-room,  where  he  used  to  play  at  draughts  with 
Phil.  Jones,  who  loved  beer  and  did  not  get  very  forward 
in  the  Church,  and  with  Fludyer,  who  turned  out  a 
scoundrel  and  a  Whig,  stood  where  now  the  kitchen 
stands.  It  was  a  detached  building,  with  a  sanded  floor 
and  wooden  chairs.  Carpets  were  not  generally  seen  in 
Oxford  common-rooms  till  well  on  in  the  present  century. 
In  an  out-house  the  grate  of  the  old  fire-place  is  stowed 
away.  Johnson  must  have  warmed  his  feet  at  it  many  a 
time.  Perhaps  Whitfield,  who  was  a  servitor  of  the 
college,  more  than  once  cleaned  it.  Less  interesting 
relics  have  received  more  honourable  treatment. 

In  every  Oxford  common-room  at  this  date  all  the 
members  of  the  college — tutors,  fellows,  and  commoners, 
with  the  exception,  no  doubt,  of  the  servitors — met  on  an 
equal   footing.      More   than   forty   years   later  Johnson 


22  DR.  JOHNSON. 


learned  that  in  some  of  the  colleges  the  Fellows 
had  excluded  the  students  from  the  common-room. 
*  They  are  in  the  right,  Sir,*  he  said ;  '  there  can  be  no 
real  conversation,  no  fair  exertion  of  mind  amongst  them, 
if  the  young  men  are  by ;  for  a  man  who  has  a  character 
does  not  choose  to  stake  it  in  their  presence.*  According 
to  Gibbon,  it  was  rather  the  younger  men  who  lost  their 
character  by  this  association,  than  the  older  men  who 
staked  theirs.  '  The  dull  and  deep  potations  of  the 
Fellows,'  he  said,  'excused  the  brisk  intemperance  of 
youth.' 

The  Master's  house  has  been  greatly  altered.  It  is  no 
longer  as  it  was  when  Johnson  was  at  college,  nor  as  it  was 
when,  more  than  twenty  years  later,  he  visited  the  Master 
of  that  day,  and  was  not  asked  to  dinner.  With  the  old 
college  servants,  whom  he  found  all  still  there,  he  was 
highly  pleased.  The  Fellows  in  residence  pressed  him 
very  much  to  have  a  room  in  college.  But  the  Master 
showed  him  no  civility,  nor  did  he  even  order  a  copy  of  his 
Dictionary.  As  he  left  his  house  he  said,  '  There  lives  a 
man  who  lives  by  the  revenues  of  literature,  and  will  not 
move  a  finger  to  support  it.* 

Close  to  the  college  stands  an  old  inn,  which  must 
have  been  old  in  Johnson's  time.  As  we  pass  it  we  think 
of  the  day  when  he  and  Edwards  '  were  drinking  together 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME,  23 

at  an  ale-house  near  Pembroke  Gate,' and  giving  instances 
of  fine  lines  in  modem  Latin  verse.  Edwards  must 
have  altogether  lost  his  interest  in  literature,  for  when  he 
met  Johnson  forty-nine  years  after  he  said  to  him,  *  I  am 
told  you  have  written  a  very  pretty  book  called  *The 
Rambler.'  Johnson  was  unwilling  that  he  should  leave 
the  world  in  total  darkness,  and  sent  him  a  set. 

The  college  accounts — the  buttery-books,  as  they  are 
called — are  still  preserved.  The  offices  of  the  servants 
are  given  in  Latin,  and  we  find  the  Promus  against  whom 
Johnson  wrote  his  epigram  : 

Limosum  nobis  Promus  dat  callidus  haustum. 

He  must  have  forgotten,  or  at  least  forgiven,  his  muddy 
beer,  for  at  the  time  when  he  was  so  pleased  to  find  the 
old  college  servants,  he  was  particularly  pleased  to  find 
*  the  very  old  butler.'  Among  the  scribbling  at  the  end 
of  the  books  I  eagerly  searched  for  Johnson's  name,  but 
I  could  not  find  it.  Shenstone  and  Sheny  occur  many 
times.  There  is  even  some  kind  of  evidence  of  Phil. 
Jones'  love  of  beer  ;  for  we  find  entered,  '  O  yes,  O  yes, 
come  forth,  Phil  Jones,  and  answer  to  your  charge  for 
exceeding  the  batells.'  His  excess,  perhaps,  was  in 
liquor. 

Mr.  Meeke  is  entered  as  '  Honest  Jack  Meek  of  Pemb. 


24  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Coll'  The  young  servitor  who  kept  the  buttery-book 
must  have  had  an  admiration  for  the  Master's  daughter, 
for  he  has  written  down,  *  Pretty  Miss  Pan.,  dear  Miss 
Panting.'  He  confided,  too,  to  the  same  record  the  in- 
dignation that  he  felt  at  some  harsh  treatment  that  he 
had  received.  '  Nothing  is  so  imperious  as  a  Fellow  of  a 
college  upon  his  own  dunghill,  nothing  so  contemptible 
abroad.' 

By  the  help  of  these  old  books  the  curious  can  still 
follow  Johnson's  expenditure  from  week  to  week.  Mr. 
Carlyle,  in  his  article  on  Boswell's  *  Life  of  Johnson,'  says, 
*  Meat  he  has  probably  little.  .  .  .  The  Rev.  Dr.  Hall 
(the  Master  of  Pembroke  forty  years  ago)  remarks,  "As 
far  as  we  can  judge  from  a  cursory  view  of  the  weekly 
account  in  the  buttery-books,  Johnson  appears  to  have 
lived  as  well  as  other  commoners  and  scholars."  Alas  ! 
such  "  cursory  view  of  the  buttery-books  "  now,  from  the 
safe  distance  of  a  century,  in  the  safe  chair  of  a  college 
Mastership,  is  one  thing ;  the  continual  view  of  the 
empty  or  locked  buttery  itself  was  quite  a  different 
thing.' 

This  is  nonsense  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Whatever  was 
Johnson's  want  of  proper  clothing  and  of  ready  cash,  he 
lived,  so  far  as  food  went,  as  the  accounts  show,  in  the 
same  way  as  his   fellow-students.     They  all  dined  m 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  25 

common,  and  for  his  other  meals,  so  long  as  he  was  in 
residence  there  was  no  empty  or  locked  buttery  for  him. 
If  a  student  could  not  pay  for  his  food,  he  would  have 
been  sent  away  and  not  allowed  to  stay  and  starve.  No 
doubt  Johnson  left  because  he  could  not  afford  to  stay 
any  longer,  but  while  he  was  at  college  he  had,  we  may 
be  sure,  abundant  food.  Whitfield,  who,  as  we  have 
said,  was  a  servitor,  and  waited  on  the  others  when  they 
dined,  and  dined  himself  with  the  other  servitors  on  what 
was  left,  says  that  when  *  I  thought  to  get  peace  and 
purity  by  outward  austerities,  I  always  chose  the  worst 
sort  of  food,  though  my  place  furnished  me  with  variety.' 

Mr.  Carlyle,  in  his  '  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship,'  makes 
another  error  about  Johnson.  He  writes,  *  One  always 
remembers  that  story  of  the  shoes  at  Oxford  :  the  rough, 
seamy-faced,  raw-boned  college  servitor  stalking  about  in 
winter  season  with  his  shoes  worn  out  ;  how  the  charit- 
able gentleman-commoner  secretly  places  a  new  pair  at 
his  door  ;  and  the  raw-boned  servitor  lifting  them,  look- 
ing at  them  near,  with  his  dim  eyes,  with  what  thoughts 
— pitches  them  out  of  window  ! ' 

Johnson  was  most  assuredly  not  a  servitor,  nor  is 
there  anything  to  show  that  it  was  a  gentleman-com- 
moner who  placed  the  shoes.  Hawkins,  from  whom  the 
story   comes,   says  it  was  a  gentleman  of  his   college. 


DR,  JOHNSON. 


Furthermore,  it  is  not  on  evidence  where  the  shoes  were 
thrown.  It  is  more  Hkely  that  they  were  thrown  down 
the  stairs  than  out  of  the  window.  Johnson  was  so  far 
from  being  a  servitor  that,  if  we  can  trust  Hawkins,  he 
for  a  time  joined  with  the  other  students  in  persecuting 
them.  'It  was  the  practice  for  a  servitor,'  Hawkins 
writes,  '  by  order  of  the  Master,  to  go  round  to  the  rooms 
of  the  young  men,  and  knocking  at  the  door  to  enquire  if 
they  were  within  :  and  if  no  answer  was  returned  to 
report  them  absent.  Johnson  could  not  endure  this 
intrusion,  and  would  frequently  be  silent,  when  the 
utterance  of  a  word  would  have  ensured  him  from  cen- 
sure, and  ....  would  join  with  others  of  the  young  men 
in  college  in  hunting,  as  they  called  it,  the  servitor  who 
was  thus  diligent  in  his  duty,  and  this  they  did  with  the 
noise  of  pots  and  candlesticks,  singing  to  the  tune  of 
"  Chevy  Chase  "  the  words  in  that  old  ballad — 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  horn.' 

We  cannot  tell  how  far  this  account  is  true  ;  Hawkins 
knew  Johnson  well,  and  knew  him  rather  early  in  life, 
but  he  is  by  no  means  trustworthy.  He  certainly  too 
often  '  Hes,' — we  use  the  word  as  Johnson  used  it — 
though  we  will  not  go  on  to  add  '  he  knows  that  he  lies.' 
If  Johnson  had  gone  to  college   three   years  later,   or 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME. 


Whitfield  three  years  earlier,  the  great  champion  of  the 
High  Church  party  might,  in  after  life,  have  had  it  to 
boast,  if  it  were  a  boast,  that  he  had  in  his  youth  hunted 
the  great  leader  of  the  Methodists. 

In  the  attempt  to  bring  before  ourselves  college  life  as 
it  was  in  these  days,  we  must  not  overlook  this  class  of 
servitors — these  scholars  among  servants  and  servants 
among  scholars.  To  many  of  them  the  position  must 
have  been  most  galling.  No  commoner  could  appear  in 
public  with  a  servitor  without  loss  of  position  ;  and  as 
each  order  in  the  University  constantly  wore  its  appro- 
priate gown,  a  servitor  was  at  once  distinguished.  If 
a  commoner  visited  a  servitor  he  had  to  visit  him 
privately.  To  whatever  post  a  servitor  might  rise  in 
after-life — and  some  rose  very  high — '  it  was  always  in  the 
power  of  a  purse-proud  collegian  to  point  out  that  he 
had  waited  on  him,  though,  perhaps,  all  the  obligation 
he  had  lain  under  to  such  a  patron  was  the  receiving 
six-pence  a  week,  not  as  an  act  of  generosity,  but  as  a 
tribute  imposed  on  him  by  the  standing  rules  of  the 
society.' 

Whitfield's  narrative  shows  that  the  servitor's  life, 
even  at  a  well-ordered  college  like  Pembroke,  was  not  an 
easy  one,  though  he  did  not  seem  to  have  felt  anything 
painful  in  the  position  so  long  as  he  was  left  alone.     He 


28  DR,  yOHNSON. 


had  been  used  to  waiting  in  his  mother's  inn  at  Gloucester, 
and  must  therefore  have  looked  upon  a  servitorship  as  a" 
rise  in  life.  The  account  that  he  gives  of  the  circum- 
stances that  brought  him  to  Oxford  is  curious.  An  old 
school-fellow  who  was  himself  a  servitor  at  Pembroke 
came  to  pay  his  mother  a  visit,  and  told  her  how  he  had 
not  only  discharged  his  college  expenses  for  the  term, 
but  had  received  a  penny.  She  cried  out,  *  This  will  do 
for  my  son.'  Then  turning  to  Whitfield  she  said,  '  Will 
you  go  to  Oxford,  George  ? '  I  replied,  *  With  all  my 
heart  !  *  He  found  that  his  having  been  used  to  a 
public-house  was  of  service  to  him  at  Pembroke.  *  For 
many  of  the  servitors  being  sick  at  my  first  coming  up, 
by  my  diligent  and  steady  attendance  I  ingratiated  myself 
into  the  gentlemen's  favours  so  far,  that  many  who  had  it 
in  their  power  chose  me  to  be  their  servitor.' 

The  servitors  slept  several  together  in  the  same  room ; 
though  this  could  not  have  been  looked  upon  in  those 
days  as  any  very  gi'eat  hardship,  for  only  fifty  years 
before  Whitfield's  time  we  read  of  three  gentlemen- 
commoners  chumming*  together.  No  doubt  the  great 
size  of  some  of  the  rooms  in  college  is  explained  by  the 
fact  that  they  were  intended  to  be  shared  by  three  or 
four  students.     The  sitting-room  of  the  present  day  must 

'  They  call  chamber-fellows  by  the  name  of  chums. — Hearne. 


I 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  29 

have  been  the  common  bed-room,  while  the   bed-room 
and,  perhaps,  the  pantry  were  used  as  studies. 

Whitfield  says  that  he  was  sohcited  to  join  in  excess 
of  riot  with  several  who  lay  in  the  same  room.  *  But 
God  gave  me  grace  to  withstand  them  \  and  once  in 
particular  it  being  cold,  my  limbs  were  so  benumbed  by 
sitting  alone  in  my  study  because  I  would  not  go  out 
amongst  them,  that  I  could  scarce  sleep  all  night.' 

He  speaks  of  the  kindness  of  his  tutor,  but  when  he 
joined  Wesley's  small  set  he  met  with  harsh  treatment 
from  the  Master  who  frequently  chid  him,  and  once 
threatened  to  expel  him  if  ever  he  visited  the  poor  again. 
By  the  collegians — by  some  only  we  would  hope — 
he  was  most  grossly  treated.  '  I  had  no  sooner,'  he 
writes,  '  received  the  Sacrament  publicly  on  a  week-day 
at  St.  Mary's,  but  I  was  set  up  as  a  mark  for  all  the 
polite  students  that  knew  me  to  shoot  at  ....  I  daily 
underwent  some  contempt  from  the  collegians.  Some 
hav€  thrown  dirt  at  me,  and  others  took  away  their  pay 
from  me.' 

Johnson,  Hawkins  tells  us,  would  have  done  away 
with  the  whole  system  of  servitors,  as  indeed  it  has  been 
long  done  away  with.  '  He  thought  that  the  scholar's 
like  the  Christian  life  levelled  all  distinctions  of  rank  and 
worldly  pre-eminence.'     But  years  later  on  when  he  was 


30  DR.  JOHNSON. 


passing  the  night  in  the  house  of  Lord  Macaulay's  great- 
uncle,  the  minister  of  Calder,  *  he  gave  such  an  account 
of  the  education  at  Oxford  in  all  its  gradations,  that 
the  advantage  of  being  a  servitor  to  a  youth  of  little 
fortune  struck  Mrs.  Macaulay  much.'  Johnson  undertook 
to  get  her  son  made  a  servitor  if  they  sent  the  boy  to 
him.  He  did  in  fact  obtain  a  servitorship  for  him, 
though  the  lad  did  not  accept  it,  as  he  had  other  views. 

Could  Johnson  have  looked  nearly  sixty  years  forward 
and  seen  how  another  Macaulay  would  misunderstand 
him  and  abuse  him,  and  yet  spread  his  fame  far  more 
widely  than  ever,  he  might  have  hesitated  about  the 
benefit  he  proposed  to  confer.  And  yet  had  his  offer 
been  accepted  who  can  tell  what  the  result  might  have 
been  ?  The  members  of  a  family  commonly  go  to  the 
same  university,  and  many  a  man  has  gone  to  Oxford  or 
to  Cambridge  merely  because  his  uncle  went  before  him. 
It  is  as  pleasant  to  picture  to  ourselves  Thomas  Babington 
Macaulay  at  Oxford  as  it  is  impossible  to  guess  what  sort 
of  a  man  an  Oxford  Macaulay  would  have  been. 

Servitorships,  as  we  have  said,  have  been  abolished. 
We  must  not  forget,  however,  that  they  were  not  an  un- 
mixed evil.  As  many  a  poor  man  has  worked  his  pas- 
sage over  the  sea  to  some  settlement  where  a  freer  and  a 
larger  life  awaited  him,  so  by  a  servitorship  has  many  a 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME. 


man  worked  his  way  from  a  life  of  low  drudgery  to  some 
high  and  honourable  calling.  The  student-servant  is  no 
longer  to  be  found  at  Oxford.  But  the  poor  student 
who,  in  his  eagerness  to  fight  his  way  by  his  learning,  is 
ready  for  any  duty,  however  humble  it  may  be,  finds  one 
way  barred  to  him  that  was  open  to  the  men  of  former 
generations. 

While  from  Whitfield  we  learn  what  was  the  posi- 
tion of  a  servitor  in  Pembroke  College  in  Johnson's 
time,  we  get  a  curious  and  pleasant  insight  into  the  life 
of  a  gentleman-commoner  by  means  of  the  diary^  kept  by 
Mr.  Erasmus  Phihpps  (afterwards  the  fifth  baronet  of 
that  name),  of  Picton  Castle.  He  entered  into  residence 
on  August  I,  1720,  only  eight  years  before  Johnson.  He 
was  fond  of  sports.  He  more  than  once  was  present 
at  the  races  on  Poit  Mead  ;  he  saw  Lord  Tracey's  mare 
*  Whimsey '  run,  the  swiftest  galloper  in  England,  and  yet 
he  does  not  note  down  in  his  diary  either  how  much  he 
had  betted  on  her  or  against  her,  or  how  much  he  had 
lost  or  won,  as  we  should  expect  a  young  heir  to  a 
baronetcy  of  the  present  day  to  note  down.  '  I  could 
not  help  thinking,'  he  records,  *  of  Job's  description  of 

*  Published  in  Notes  and  Queries^  2nd  series,  vol.  x.  p.  366.  My 
attention  was  drawn  to  this  diary  by  Mr.  Wordsworth's  Social  Life 
at  the  English  Universities. 


32  DR,  JOHNSON, 


the  horse,  and  particularly  of  that  description  in  it,  iit 
swalloweth  the  ground^  which  is  an  expression  for  prodi- 
gious swiftness,  in  use  among  the  Arabians,  Job's  country- 
men, at  this  day.'  He  went  to  see  a  foot-race  between 
tailors  for  geese,  and  another  day  he  went  to  a  great 
cock-match  in  Holywell,  fought  between  the  Earl  of 
Plymouth  and  the  town  cocks,  which  beat  his  lordship. 
One  night  he  went  '  to  the  Ball  at  the  "  Angel,"  a  guinea 
touch.'  Another  night  he  and  some  gentlemen-commoners 
of  Balliol  *  made  a  private  ball  for  Miss  Brigandine,  my 
partner,  Miss  Hume,  &c.'  Curiously  enough,  on  an  old 
pane  of  glass  in  University  College,  in  the  hand-writing 
of  the  early  part  of  last  century,  I  have  found  a  name 
written  which  we  can  please  ourselves  with  thinking  is 
that  of  young  Mr.  Philipps'  partner.  There  is  the 
difference  of  one  letter  in  the  spelling,  but  this  may  be 
due  to  the  mistake  of  the  printer  of  '  Notes  and  Queries.* 
The  inscription  is  as  follows  : 

Charming  Pen  Stonehouse, 
Loveliest  of  women.  Heaven  is  in  thy  soul  ; 
Beauty  and  virtue  shine  for  ever  round  you. 
Brightening  each,  thou  art  all  divine, 
Nanny  Brigantine. 

I  have  already  pointed  out  the  much  greater  inti- 
macy that  existed  between  the  Fellows  and  the  com- 
moners   in    those   days.      A   gentleman-commoner,    no 


I 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  33 

doubt,  was  on  still  closer  terms.  One  day  Mr.  Philipps 
went  out  riding  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wilder,  the  Vice- 
gerent of  his  college,  and  another  gentleman,  to  Newn- 
ham,  where  they  dined.  The  Vice-gerent,  as  his  name 
implies,  is  in  authority  second  only  to  the  Master,  and  is 
specially  answerable  for  the  discipline  of  the  college. 
Yet  Mr.  Philipps  notes  down  :  *  Coming  home  a  dispute 
arose  between  these  two  gentlemen,  whom  with  great 
difficulty  I  kept  from  blows.' 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Wilder  had  left  before  Johnson's  time. 
This  reverend  Vice-gerent  must  have  enjoyed  what  John- 
son would  have  called  *  a  frisk  with  the  lads,'  for  one  fine 
day  in  summer,  he,  the  author  of  the  diary,  and  four 
other  Pembrokians,  went  fishing  up  the  river  as  far  as 
Burnt  Island,  where  they  landed  and  dressed  a  leg  of 
mutton,  which  they  despatched  in  the  wherry.  Mr.  Phi- 
lipps' tutor,  Mr.  Horn,  shared  in  th.se  amusements.  One 
day  he  gave  him  an  Essay  on  Friendship,  and  in  the 
evening,  I  suppose  as  a  practical  commentary  on  his 
essay,  the  two  went  together  to  Godstow  by  water,  with 
some  others,  taking  music  and  wine. 

Another  of  the  Fellows,  Mr.  Tristram,  took  him  to  a 
poetical  club  at  '  The  Tuns,'  where  he  drank  Gallicia 
wine,  and  was  entertained  with  two  fables  of  Dr.  Evans' 
composition,  *  which  were,  indeed,  masterly  in  their  kind, 

D 


34  DR.  JOHNSON. 


but  the  doctor  is  allowed  to  have  a  peculiar  knack  and 
excellence  at  a  fable.' 

This  Mr.  Tristram  seems  to  have  been  somewhat  of  a 
humourist  He  once  greatly  offended  poor  Hearne,  who, 
in  his  diary,  records,  'Beyond  High  Bridge  is  a  little 
house  called  "Antiquity  Hall,"  which  one  Wise  of  Trinity 
College,  and  one  Tristram  of  Pembroke  College  (both  of 
them  very  conceited  fellows  and  of  little  understanding, 
though  both  are  Masters  of  Arts),  have  had  a  draught 
taken  of,  and  printed  with  very  silly,  ridiculous  things 
and  words  in  it,  for  which  they  are  much  laughed  at  by 
all  people,  who  cannot  but  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the 
weakest  things  ever  done.' 

Dr.  BHss,  in  a  note,  tells  us  where  the  point  of  the 
jest  lay.  '  The  silly  things  and  words  which  gave  Hearne 
so  much  offence  were  inserted  in  order  to  ridicule  some 
of  his  own  plates,  in  which  he  has  given  explanations  of 
the  objects,  or  what  they  were  intended  to  represent. 
Wise  and  Tristram  have  done  the  same,  and  have  intro- 
duced Hearne  himself  as  entering  at  the  court-yard 
holding  up  his  gown  behind,  according  to  his  usual  man- 
ner of  walking.'  Johnson  must  have  known  Tristram, 
and,  perhaps,  enjoyed  his  humour. 

But  to  return  to  Mr.  Philipps.  He,  a  second  time, 
went  to   'The  Tuns,'  with   three  other  Pembrokians, 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  35 

'where  they  motto'd,  epigrammatiz'd/  &c.  He  evidently 
had  a  liking  for  literary  pursuits.  He  was  present  in  the 
Sheldonian  Theatre  on  a  speech-day,  and  present  as  one 
competent  to  criticise,  and  not,  as  young  men  attend  now, 
merely  to  make  a  noise.  *The  Proctor's  speech,'  he 
notes  down,  was  a  delicate  and  masterly  piece  of  oratory.' 
With  an  honest  pride  in  his  college,  he  adds,  *Mr. 
Church,  the  Junior  Collector,  a  Pembrokian,  came  off 
very  handsomely.'  He  wrote  an  essay  on  Pride,  and  took 
it  to  the  Master,  who  then  desired  him  to  declaim  in  the 
Hall  on  the  following  thesis, '  Virtutem  amplectimur  ipsani^ 
prcEtnia  si  tollas'  He  presented  to  the  Bodleian  Library 
a  Malabar  Grammar,  a  very  great  curiosity,  and  received 
the  thanks  of  the  Keeper.  The  same  day  he  presented 
to  the  library  of  his  own  college  Mr.  Prior's  Works  in 
folio,  neatly  bound,  *  which  cost  me  £^\  3^.'  He  was 
entered,  as  he  records,  a  benefactor  to  the  library.  He 
fell  acquainted  with  Mr.  Solomon  Negri,  a  native  of 
Damascus,  a  great  critic  in  the  Arabic  language,  who  had 
come  to  Oxford  to  transcribe  Arabic  manuscripts,  and  he 
enjoyed  abundance  of  satisfaction  in  his  conversation. 
He  met  another  day  in  Mr.  Tristram's  room  Mr.  Wanley, 
the  famous  antiquarian,  and  Mr.  Hunt,  who  is  skilled  in 
the  Arabic.  On  leaving  Pembroke,  he  presented  one  of 
the  scholars  with  his  key  of  the  garden,  for  which  he  had 

D  2 


36  DR.  JOHNSON. 

on  entrance  paid  ten  shillings,  treated  the  whole  college 
in  the  common-room,  and  then  took  U[>  his  caution 
money  (;£^io)  from  the  Bursar,  and  lodged  it  with  the 
Master  for  the  use  of  Pembroke  College.  Altogether,  if 
we  put  aside  the  ride  to  Newnham,  young  Mr.  Philipps 
gives  us  a  very  pleasant  picture  of  life  in  his  little  college. 
In  the  two  years  in  which  he  was  in  residence  he  left 
Oxford  but  twice.  He  went  to  London  for  a  few  weeks 
each  Christmas.  He  travelled  in  Bartlett's  stage,  paying 
ten  shillings  for  his  *  passage,'  and  taking  two  days  on  the 
road.  In  Gibbon's  time  (1752)  the  Long  Vacation,  as  he 
tells  us,  emptied  the  Colleges  of  Oxford  as  well  as  the 
Courts  of  Westminster.  But  both  Johnson  and  Philipps 
stayed  up  the  Long  Vacation.  Johnson  was,  perhaps, 
absent  one  week,  but  certainly  not  more.  The  following 
table  which  I  have  compiled  from  the  batell-books  shows 
the  number  of  men  (graduates  and  undergraduates)  in 
residence  at  Pembroke  at  the  end  of  each  fourth  week 
from  June  to  December,  1729  : — 

Membets 
in  residence 

June  20,  1729 54 

July  18,  „ 34 

Aug.  13,  „ 25 

Sept.  12,  „ 16 

Oct.  10,  „  .        .        .        .        .        .        .30 

Nov.   7,  ........  52 

Dec.    5,  „ 49 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  37 

At  Christmas  there  were  still  sixteen  men  left  in  the 
college.  How  little  those  who  did  leave  Oxford  in  the 
Vacation  were  given  to  roving  after  the  manner  of  the 
modem  undergraduate  is  shown  by  a  curious  letter 
published  among  the  Historical  Manuscripts.  '  He  hath, 
says  the  writer,  speaking  of  a  young  Oxonian,  *  a  fancy 
to  pass  over  into  the  Isle  of  Wight.  But  this  I  dissuade 
him  from,  because  he  can  see  nothing  worth  the  hazard 
of  passing  the  sea  to  it ;  and  he  has  agreed  to  let  it 
alone.' 

Shortly  after  Johnson  left  Pembroke  College,  Shen- 
stone  the  poet  entered.  In  the  same  year  entered  also 
Richard  Graves,  the  author  of  the  *  Spiritual  Quixote.'^ 
In  a  series  of  letters  that  were  published  more  than  fifty 
years  later  Mr.  Graves  gives  an  interesting  account  of  the 
*  sets '  into  which  the  college  was  at  that  time  divided. 
As  Johnson  certainly  did  noi  leave  three  years,  and, 
perhaps,  not  one  year,  before  Graves  entered,  we  may 
assume  that  no  great  change  had  come  over  the  college 
in  this  short  time. 

Graves'  account,  which  I  slightly  abridge,  is  as  fol- 
lows : — '  The  young  people  of  the  college  at  that  time 

*  It  is  curious  that  his  name  is  not  given  in  any  edition  of 
Boswell  that  I  have  seen,  among  the  men  of  note  who  were  edu- 
cated at  Pembroke. 


38  DR.  JOHNSON. 


(as  I  believe  is  the  case  in  most  colleges)  were  divided 
into  different  small  associations  according  to  their 
dififerent  tastes  and  pursuits.  Having  been  elected  from 
a  public  school  and  brought  with  me  the  character  of  a 
tolerably  good  Grecian,  I  was  invited  by  a  very  worthy 
person,  now  living,  to  a  very  sober  little  party  who 
amused  themselves  in  the  evening  with  reading  Greek 
and  drinking  water.  (Dr  Cheyne  had  then  brought 
water-drinking  into  great  vogue.)  Here  I  continued  six 
months,  and  we  read  over  Theophrastus,  Epictetus, 
Phalaris's  Epistles,  and  such  other  Greek  authors  as  are 
seldom  read  at  school.  But  I  was  at  length  seduced 
from  this  mortified  symposium  to  a  very  different  party,  a 
set  of  jolly,  sprightly  young  fellows,  most  of  them  West- 
country  lads,  who  drank  ale,  smoked  tobacco,  punned, 
and  sung  bacchanalian  catches  the  whole  evening  :  our 
"  pious  orgies  "  generally  began  with — 

Let's  be  jovial,  fill  our  glasses. 

Madness  'tis  for  us  to  think, 
How  the  world  is  ruled  by  asses, 

And  the  wisest  sway'd  by  chink.' 

To  this  set  belonged,  we  may  readily  believe,  Phil  Jones, 
who  loved  beer,  and  Edwards,  who  considered  supper 
as  a  turnpike  through  which  one  must  pass  in  order  to  go 
to  bed. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  39 

*  I  own  with  shame,'  continues  Mr.  Graves,  '  that 
being  then  not  seventeen,  I  was  so  far  captivated  with 
the  social  disposition  of  these  young  people  (many  of 
whom  were  ingenious  lads  and  good  scholars)  that  I 
began  to  think  t/ie?n  the  only  wise  men,  and  to  have  a 
contempt  for  every  degree  of  temperance  and  sobriety. 
Some  gentlemen-commoners,  however,  who  considered 
the  above-mentioned  as  very  low  company  (chiefly  on 
account  of  the  liquor  they  drank),  good-naturedly  invited 
me  to  their  party  ;  they  treated  me  with  port  wine  and 
arrack-punch  ;  and  now  and  then  when  they  had  drunk 
so  much  as  hardly  to  distinguish  wine  from  water,  they 
would  conclude  with  a  bottle  or  two  of  claret.  They 
kept  late  hours,  drank  their  favourite  toasts  on  their 
knees,  and  in  short  were  what  were  then  called  "  bucks 
of  the  first  head."  This  was  deemed  good  company  and 
high  life  ;  but  it  neither  suited  my  taste,  my  fortune,  or 
my  constitution. 

'  There  was  besides  a  sort  of  flying  squadron  of  plain 
sensible,  matter-of-fact  men,  confined  to  no  club,  but 
associating  with  each  party.  They  anxiously  enquired 
after  the  news  of  the  day,  and  the  politics  of  the  times. 
They  had  come  to  the  University  on  their  way  to  the 
Temple,  or  to  get  a  sHght  smattering  of  the  sciences 
before  they  settled  in  the  country.' 


40  DR.  JOHNSON. 


At  length  he  became  acquainted  with  Shenstone,  and 
was  invited  by  him  to  breakfast,  together  with  a  Mr. 
Whistler.  This  latter  gentleman  was  *  a  young  man  of 
great  delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  though  with  every  assist- 
ance at  Eton,  he  had  such  a  dislike  to  learning  languages 
that  he  could  not  read  the  classics  in  the  original.  Yet 
no  one  formed  a  better  judgment  of  them.  He  wrote, 
moreover,  great  part  of  a  tragedy  on  the  story  of  Dido.' 
The  three  young  men  dragged  out  the  breakfast  in 
literary  talk.  Each  one  quoted  his  favourite  humourist. 
*  Mr.  Whistler,  who  was  a  year  or  two  older  than  either  of 
us,  and  had  finished  his  school  education  at  Eton,  pre- 
ferred Pope's  "  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  as  a  higher  species  of 
humour  than  anything  we  had  produced.'  They  con- 
stantly met  afterwards  in  each  other's  rooms,  and  *  read 
plays  and  poetry,  "  Spectators  "  or  "  Tatlers,"  and  sipped 
Florence  wine.'  Graves  says  that  he  at  least  did  not 
neglect  his  more  serious  studies.  He  was  a  scholar  of 
the  house,  and  had  some  dry  studies  prescribed  to  him, 
which  he  had  to  pursue  with  regularity  and  strict  atten- 
tion  the  whole  morning. 

We  may  amuse  ourselves  with  guessing  to  which  set 
Johnson  belonged.  Among  the  gentlemen- commoners, 
we  may  be  sure  he  never  spent  a  single  evening.  We 
can  picture  him  to  ourselves  equally  well  reading  Greek 


\ 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  41 

with  the  water-drinkers,  or  drinking  ale  and  singing 
catches  with  the  West-country  lads,  or  talking  politics 
with  the  matter-of-fact  men. 

*  At  this  time,'  says  Mr.  Graves,  '  every  schoolboy  so 
soon  as  he  was  entered  at  the  University,  cut  off  his 
hair,  and  without  any  regard  to  his  complexion,  put  on  a 
wig,  black,  white,  brown,  or  grizzle,  as  ''lawless  fancy" 
suggested.'  Shenstone  had  the  courage  to  wear  his  own 
hair,  though  *  it  often  exposed  him  to  the  ill-natured  re- 
marks of  people  who  had  not  half  his  sense.'  *  After  I  was 
elected,'  Mr.  Graves  rates,  *  at  All  Souls,  where,  though 
there  were  very  many  studious  young  men,^  yet  there  was 
often  a  party  of  loungers  in  the  gateway,  on  my  expostu- 
lating with  Mr.  Shenstone  for  not  visiting  me  so  often 
as  usual,  he  said,  "  he  was  ashamed  to  face  his  enemies 
in  the  gate." ' 

In  a  satire  published  four  years  before  Johnson  matri- 
culated, we  have  a  lively  description  of  the  Oxford  fop.  *  A 
college  smart  is  a  character  few  are  unacquainted  with.  He 
is  one  that  spends  his  time  in  a  constant  circle  of  engage- 
ments and  assignations ;  he  rises  at  ten,  tattles  over  his 
tea-table  till  twelve,  dines,  dresses,  waits  upon  his  mistress, 

'  The  Oxonian  of  the  present  day  will  learn  with  not  a  little 
satisfaction  that  there  once  were  studious  young  men  in  All  Souls' 
College. 


42  DR.  JOHNSON, 


drinks  tea  again,  flutters  about  in  public  till  it  is  dark, 
then  to  the  tavern,  knocks  into  college  at  two  in  the 
morning,  sleeps  till  ten  again,  and  disposes  of  the  follow- 
ing day  just  as  he  did  of  the  last.  He  affects  great  com- 
pany, and  scrapes  acquaintance  with  "  golden  tuffs  "  {sic) 
and  brocaded  gowns  ;  and,  after  a  course  of  studies  of 
this  nature  for  three  or  four  years,  he  huddles  over  the 
public  exercises,  disputes,  and  passes  examination  in  the 
sciences  after  the  modern  fashion,  without  understanding 
a  word  of  what,  like  a  parrot,  he  is  taught  memorially  to 
utter.'  Such  a  gentleman  as  this  could  not  be  content 
with  a  stuff  gown.  '  Silk  gowns,  tye-wigs,  and  ruffles  are 
become  necessary  accompHshments  for  a  man  of  sense.' 
He  had  no  need  to  fear  crosses  in  love.  *  Anything  in  a 
cap  and  gown  that  has  the  appearance  of  a  man,  a  little 
money,  and  tolerable  assurance,  never  fails  in  his  ad- 
dresses.' 

These  '  university  gallants  '  had  their  troubles.  They 
made  a  brave  show  for  a  time,  but  paid  dearly  for  it.  In 
a  mock  ballad  opera  published  after  the  Oxford  Act — the 
Commemoration,  as  it  is  now  called — of  1733,  we  have 
three  of  them  represented  under  the  names  of  Spendthrift, 
Sprightly,  and  Thoughtless.  Thoughtless  is  discovered 
wandering  up  and  down  Merton  Walks  and  lamenting  his 
folly  in  having  spent  all  his  Midsummer  quarteridge  {sic) 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  43 

of  50/.,  only  to  make  a  gaudy  appearance  for  a  few  days 
this  Public  Act.  He  had  sold  his  books,  his  furniture, 
and  even  his  bed,  and  so  he  thinks  he  may  as  well '  walk 
the  parade '  all  night  as  sneak  into  college.  He  ends 
by  wishing  that  he  *had  been  help  building  the  new 
town  at  Georgia,  rather  than  in  this  cursed  place.' 
That  colony  had  been  founded  by  Oglethorpe  only  the 
year  before. 

Thoughtless'  companions  are  in  just  as  bad  a  way,  and 
even  some  of  the  Fellows  are  no  better  off.  *  There  is  a 
universal  complaint,'  says  the  Proctor,  'from  all  our 
members,  masters,  bachelors,  as  undergraduates,  that 
this  Act  has  exhausted  their  pockets.  Most  of  our  col- 
leges are  beset  with  bailiffs.'  The  play  ends  in  an  ale- 
house, where  the  three  luckless  undergraduates,  and 
Haughty  and  Pedant,  the  two  Fellows,  resolve  to  go  in  a 
body  to  seek  their  fortunes  in  Georgia. 

Sprightly,  Thoughtless,  and  Spendthrift  are  not  un- 
common in  Oxford  even  in  these  latter  days.  They  go 
eastward  to  Australia  instead  of  westward  to  Georgia,  and 
they  have  not  Fellows  for  their  comrades ;  in  most  other 
respects,  however,  they  are  very  like  '  the  college  smarts  * 
of  many  generations  back.  Extravagance  was  largely 
caused  by  that  '  mischievous  and  unstatutable  practice  of 
scholars  having  private  entertainments  and  company  at 


44  DR.  JOHNSON. 


their  chambers.'  Convocation  protested  against  it,  as  a 
practice  which  is  '  generally  attended  with  great  intemper- 
ance and  excess,  and  always  with  expenses  that  are  both 
needless  and  hurtful.*  All  bursars,  deans,  and  censors 
were  earnestly  recommended  to  prevent  it,  as  much  as 
in  their  power,  and  to  oblige  all  persons  to  attend 
in  the  common  hall  at  the  usual  hours  of  dinner  and 
supper. 

A  Fellow  of  Pembroke,  of  Johnson's  time,  published 
a  letter  to  his  brother  Fellows  of  the  University,  entitled 
'The  Expense  of  University  Education  Reduced'  In 
fourteen  years  it  went  through  four  editions.  Haughty 
and  Pedant  of  the  *  Mock  Comic  Opera '  were  no  doubt 
exaggerations  ;  yet  this  letter  shows  that  there  was  some 
truth  in  the  satire.  Even  the  best  endowed  fellowships, 
we  are  told,  were  but  barely  sufficient  for  maintenance, 
for  decent  apparel,  and  for  a  few  useful  books.  Yet 
every  Fellow  thought  himself  bound  to  spend  his  money 
in  absurd  and  conceited  entertainments  for  every  trifling 
acquaintance  who  has  a  mind  to  visit  Oxford  on  his  way 
*  to  the  Bath.'  Yet  one  such  entertainment  in  a  Fellow's 
private  chamber  exceeded  a  month's  allowance  from  his 
founder. 

The  ale  in  the  common  cellar  was  a  great  source  of 
extravagance.     Ale  in  itself  was  a  liquor  innocent,  cheer- 


I 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  45 

fill,  and  useful.  It  wanted  its  situation  changed.  At 
present  it  was  too  near.  It  was  drunk  even  in  the  morn- 
ing, a  time  that  was  friendly  to  the  Muses  without  its 
pretended  aid.  If  the  ale  is  excellent,  its  fame  reaches  to 
distant  parts.  'My  friends  will  oblige  me  so  far  as  to 
come  and  taste  it.  They  will  be  so  just  as  to  speak  very 
well  of  it  to  others,  who  likewise  may  want  to  give  their 
opinion  whether  it  doth  indeed  answer  the  high  character 
that  is  given  of  it.  Nay,  I  am  not  sure  that  my  intimate 
acquaintances  will  not  sometimes  carry  their  complaisance 
so  far  as  to  send  for  it  to  their  own  colleges.' 

To  the  college  servants,  too,  another  large  stream  will 
run  at  their  master's  expense.  *  Their  state  of  servitude, 
the  most  miserable  that  can  be  conceived  amongst  so 
many  masters,  requires  frequent  consolation  and  relief. 
The  kicks  and  cuffs  and  bruises  they  submit  to  entitle 
them,  when  those  who  were  displeased  relent,  to  this  sort 
of  compensation.  They  likewise,  at  other  times,  can  in- 
sinuate their  little  merits  towards  rae,  and  being  always 
about  me  know  the  mollia  tetnpora^  as  well  as  persons  of 
the  best  education  and  address.  There  is  not  a  college 
servant,  but  if  he  have  learnt  to  suffer,  and  to  be  officious, 
and  be  inclined  to  tipple,  may  forget  his  cares  in  a  gallon 
or  two  of  ale  every  day  of  his  life.' 

The  state  of  life  thus  described  seems  strange  enough. 


46  DR.  JOHNSON. 


It  is  well  to  remember  that  when  we  try  to  study  the 
manners  of  a  past  age,  it  is  to  the  satirist  and  the  moralist 
that  we  have  chiefly  to  go.  They  both  alike,  though  from 
different  reasons  and  in  different  ways,  exaggerate  whatever 
is  vicious,  extravagant,  or  absurd.  There  is  one  little 
trait  of  bygone  life  that  comes  out  in  this  letter  that 
will  amuse  the  bursar  of  the  present  time.  When  he 
suffers  under  the  ever-repeated  complaints  of  the  badness 
of  the  college  ale,  he  will  smile  when  he  finds  that  one 
hundred  and  forty  years  ago  a  Fellow,  in  remarking  that 
the  undergraduates  sent  out  into  the  town  for  ale,  noted 
down  '  There  is  that  humour  in  young  men  as  to  despise 
what  is  before  them,  and  is  cheaper,  and  to  covet  what  is 
at  a  distance,  and  of  greater  price,  though  not  more 
excellent.' 

The  abstemious  Pembroke  Fellow  did  not  escape 
attack.  At  that  time,  at  the  Commemoration,  a  licensed 
buffoon,  under  the  name  of  '  Terrae  Filius,'  used  *  to  sport 
and  play  with  the  reputation  of  others.'  At  the  Grand 
Commemoration  of  1733  he  was  not  allowed  to  speak. 
The  '  Terrae  Filius  Speech,'  as  it  was  to  have  been  spoken, 
was  nevertheless  published.  Its  scurrility  is  extraordinary. 
In  fact,  the  gross  licentiousness  of  the  satires  commonly 
written  on  the  University  authorities  is  very  striking.  The 
author  of  '  University  Education '  comes  off  very  easily, 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  47 

when  compared  with  many  others.  'Say,  abstemious 
Don,  have  you  never  transgressed  your  own  rules?  never 
exceeded  a  twopenny  commons  and  a  halfpenny  small  for 
dinner  or  supper  ?  How  came  the  cook,  then,  to  convey 
privately  into  your  own  apartment  a  cold  fowl  or  neat's 
tongue,  with  a  bottle  or  two  of  good  wine,  to  stuff  your 
maw  with  in  secret  ? '  All  Souls'  College,  if  we  may  trust 
Terrae  Filius,  was  most  given  to  drinking.  He  had  been 
to  look  for  it,  but  he  could  not  find  it.  It  used  to  stand 
above  Queen's,  but  it  would  seem  to  have  been  translated 
over  the  way  to  the  Three  Tuns  Tavern.  So  deserted 
was  it  as  a  place  of  learning  that  a  cat  had  lately  been 
starved  to  death  in  its  library.  Terras  Filius  can  be 
proved  to  have  libelled  the  Fellows  of  All  Souls' 
College,  for  at  least  on  one  night  in  every  year,  if  they 
did  drink,  at  all  events  they  drank  at  home.  *  On  the 
14th  January  in  every  year,'  as  Hearne  tells  us,  'being 
All  Souls'  College  Mallard,  'tis  usual  with  the  Fellows 
and  their  friends  to  have  a  supper,  and  to  sit  up  all 
night  drinking  and  singing.' 

In  the  year  17 16,  it  was  said  that  there  were  '300 
ale-houses  in  Oxford  of  the  worst  fame  and  reputation, 
without  even  the  least  offer  of  discommuning  them.' 
Only  five  years  before  Johnson  entered,  the  senior 
Proctor  and  his  pro-proctor  were  found  by   the   Vice- 


48  DR.  JOHNSON, 


Chancellor  at  a  tavern,  at  an  unreasonable  hour,  and  '  to 
their  great  reluctance '  were  forthwith  sent  to  their 
colleges.  I  suspect  that  the  Vice-Chancellor  was  in- 
spired quite  as  much  with  zeal  against  the  Hanoverians 
as  with  any  love  of  temperance  and  early  hours.  It  was 
'on  the  Coronation-day  of  the  Duke  of  Brunswick, 
commonly  called  King  George,'  that  these  gentlemen  had 
thus  met  together.  The  proctor  and  the  pro-proctor 
both  belonged  to  Merton,  the  stronghold  of  the  Hano- 
verian party,  and  they  had,  no  doubt,  assembled  to 
drink  loyal  toasts.  On  the  tenth  of  June  late  drinking 
would  have  been  quite  another  matter.  A  few  honest 
lads  who  had  come  together  to  drink  to  '  the  King  over 
the  water,'  on  his  birthday,  would  have  had  no  fear  of 
being  troubled  by  the  Vice-Chancellor. 

Story,  the  Quaker,  visiting  Oxford  in  the  year  1731, 
records  in  his  journal,  '  Of  all  places  wherever  I  have 
been,  the  scholars  of  Oxford  were  the  rudest,  most  giddy 
and  unruly  rabble,  and  most  mischievous.  They  used 
to  come  to  the  Meeting  House  to  make  fun.  Some  of 
them  looked  wild  and  airy,  but  others  more  solid  ;  some 
sat  down  and  were  quiet,  others  restless  and  floating,  full 
of  tricks,  whisperings,  smirkings,  and  sometimes  fleer- 
ings.'  He  adds,  however,  that  when  he  addressed  them 
'  several  were  affected  and  chained.' 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME.  49 

Some  sixteen  years  earlier,  as  I  shall  presently  show, 
the  Quakers  had  had  far  worse  treatment  to  undergo  in 
Oxford,  but  the  head  of  the  Quaker  family  in  the  town 
had,  as  Story  says,  *  borne  a  faithful  testimony  in  that  old 
seat  of  the  power  of  darkness  against  all  the  envy,  scoffs, 
flouts,  and  jeers,  and  other  immoralities  of  the  young 
brood  hatched  in  this  place,  till  by  patience  in  well- 
doing he  is  now  treated  with  general  respect.'  Johnson 
in  his  old  age  said  to  Boswell,  that  he  liked  individuals 
among  the  Quakers,  but  not  the  sect.  At  Oxford  he 
would  have  found  it  hard  to  distinguish  between  the 
individuals  and  the  sect. 

It  was  at  the  very  time  that  Johnson  entered  Oxford 
that  the  two  Wesleys  were  laying  the  foundations  of  their 
sect.  Three  or  four  years  later,  Whitfield  saw  them  '  go 
through  a  ridiculing  crowd  to  receive  the  holy  sacrament 
at  St.  Mary's.'  They  went  by  the  name  of  the  Sacramen- 
tarians,  Bible-bigots,  Bible-moths,  the  Holy  Club,  and 
the  Godly  Club.  There  were  three  points  to  which,  they 
said,  they  would  adhere,  though  their  practice  of  them 
had  brought  upon  them  reproaches.  The  three  points 
were  as  follows  : — 

I.  Visiting  and  relieving  the  prisoners  and  the  sick, 
and  giving  away  copies  of  the  Bible,  the  Prayer  Book, 
and  the  '  Whole  Duty  of  Man.' 


50  DR.  JOHNSON. 


a.  Weekly  Communion. 

3.  Strict  observance  of  the  Fasts  of  the  Church. 

They  had  been  attacked  by  even  *  forcible  arguments 
and  menaces.'  One  'worthy  gentleman'  wrote  to  his 
son :  '  You  can't  conceive  what  a  noise  this  ridiculous 
society  you  have  engaged  in  has  made  here.  .  .  .  Besides 
follies  at  Oxford,  to  hear  that  you  were  noted  for  going 
into  the  villages  about  Holt,  entering  into  poor  people's 
houses,  calling  their  children  together,  teaching  them 
their  prayers  and  catechism,  and  giving  them  a  shilling 
at  your  departure.' 

The  Vice-Chancellor  and  the  Heads  of  Houses, 
strongly  as  they  were  against  the  Methodists,  had 
themselves  become  alarmed  at  the  progress  of  what  is 
called  infidelity.  They  had,  when  Johnson  had  been  in 
residence  barely  three  months,  put  forth  *  a  Programma  in 
which  they  exhorted  the  tutors  to  discharge  their  duty  by 
double  diligence ;  and  forbade  the  undergraduates  to 
read  such  books  as  might  tend  to  the  weakening  of 
their  faith.' 

It  is  not  at  all  likely  that  Johnson  ever  met  Wesley 
in  these  early  days,  though  he  knew  him  in  after  life,  and 
enjoyed  his  society — so  much  of  it,  that  is  to  say,  as  he 
could  get.  *  John  Wesley's  conversation  is  good,'  he  said, 
*  but  he  is  never  at  leisure.     He  is  always  obliged  to  go 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  51 

at  a  certain  hour.     This  is  very  disagreeable  to  a  man 
who  loves  to  fold  his  legs  and  have  out  his  talk,  as  I  do.' 
For  Methodistical  students  Johnson  had  no   liking. 
Years  later  he  defended  the   expulsion  of  six  of  them 
from  the  University.     *  Sir,  that  expulsion  was  extremely 
just  and  proper.     What  have  they  to  do  at  an  University, 
who  are  not  willing  to  be  taught,  but  will  presume  to 
teach  ?     Sir,  they  were  examined  and  found  to  be  mighty 
ignorant  fellows.'     Boswell :  '  But  was  it  not  hard,  Sir, 
to  expel  them,  for  I  am  told  they  were  good  beings. 
[ohnson  :  '  I  believe  they  might  be  good  beings,  but  they 
were  not  fit  to  be  in  the  University  of  Oxford.     A  cow 
is  a  very  good  animal  in  the  field,  but  we  turn  her  out 
of  a  garden.' 

The  case  of  these  six  Methodists  throws  so  much 
light  on  the  state  of  Oxford  last  century,  that  though  they 
were  nearly  forty  years  later  than  Johnson's  days  as  an 
undergraduate,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  give  a  brief  account 
of  it.  All  the  six  were  members  of  St.  Edmund  Hall. 
The  Principal  was  satisfied  with  their  conduct,  and  had 
no  wish  to  trouble  them.  But  the  Vice- Principal,  who 
was  their  tutor,  appealed  to  the  Vice-Chancellor  as  the 
Visitor  of  the  society  to  expel  them.  He  thereupon, 
acting,  it  must  be  remembered,  in  his  capacity  of  Visitor 
and  not  of  Vice-Chancellor,  held  an  enquiry.     The  chief 

E  2 


52  DR.  JOHNSON. 


charges  made  against  them  by  the  Vice-Principal  were  as 
follow : — 

*  I.  Three  of  the  six  had  been  bred  to  trades,  while 
all  the  six  were  at  their  entrance  and  still  continued  to  be 
destitute  of  such  a  knowledge  of  the  learned  languages 
as  is  necessary  for  performing  the  usual  exercises  of  the 
Hall  and  the  University. 

*  2.  They  were  all  enemies  to  the  doctrine  and 
discipline  of  the  Church  of  England,  which  appeared 
either  by  their  preaching  or  expounding  in,  or  frequenting 
illicit  conventicles,  and  by  several  other  actions  and 
expressions. 

*  3.  They  neglected  to  attend  lectures,  or  misbehaved 
themselves  when  they  did  attend.' 

In  a  pamphlet  published  by  Dr.  Nowell,  the  Principal 
of  St.  Mary  Hall,  in  defence  of  the  Vice-Chancellor,  a 
full  report  is  given  of  the  proceedings.  Considerably 
abridged,  it  is  as  follows  : — 

*  J.  Matthews,  thirty  years  of  age,  accused  that  he  was 
brought  up  to  the  trade  of  a  weaver,  and  had  kept  a 
tap-house. — Confessed.  Accused  that  he  is  totally  ig- 
norant of  Greek  and  Latin,  which  appeared  by  his 
declining  all  examination.  Accused  of  being  a  reported 
Methodist,  that  he  entered  himself  at  Edmund  Hall  with 
a  design  to  get  into  holy  orders,  that  he  still  continues 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  53 

to  be  wholly  illiterate  and  incapable  of  doing  the  exercises 
of  the  Hall. — Proved.  That  he  had  frequented  illicit 
conventicles  held  in  a  private  house  in  Oxford. — Con- 
fessed. 

*  T.  Jones,  accused  to  have  been  brought  up  to  the 
trade  of  a  barber,  which  he  had  followed  very  lately. — 
Confessed. 

*  J.  Shipman,  accused  that  he  had  been  brought  up  to 
the  trade  of  a  draper,  and  that  he  was  totally  illiterate, 
which  appeared  in  his  examination. 

*  B.  Kay  confesses  that  he  has  been  present  at  meetings 
held  in  Mrs.  Durbridge's  house,  where  he  heard  ex- 
tempore prayers  offered  up  by  a  stay-maker.  Had 
endeavoured  to  persuade  a  young  man  of  Magdalen 
College  to  attend  also.  Holds  that  the  Spirit  of  God 
works  irresistibly. 

'  T.  Grove  confessed  that  he  had  lately  preached  to  an 
assembly  of  people  called  Methodists  in  a  barn,  and  had 
offered  up  extempore  prayers.' 

These  four  and  two  others  were  expelled.  One 
Benjamin  Blatch  had  also  been  accused.  He  confessed 
his  ignorance,  and  declined  all  examination.  *  But ' — we 
quote  Dr.  Nowell's  own  words — *  as  he  was  represented 
to  be  a  man  of  fortune,  and  declared  that  he  was  not 
designed  for  holy  orders,  the  Vice-Chancellor  did  not 


54  DR.  JOHNSON. 


think  fit  to  remove  him  for  this  reason  only,  though  he 
was  supposed  to  be  one  of  "  the  righteous  overmuch." ' 
The  Vice- Chancellor  had  been  reproached  with  his 
cruelty   in   thus   depriving  these   men   of   their  living. 

*  There  is  no  fear  of  their  starving,'  replied  Dr.  Nowell. 

*  Mr.  J s  makes  a  good  periwig ;  he  need  not  starve. 

Mr.  M s  and  Mr.  S n  may  maintain  themselves 

•and  serve  their  country  better  at  the  loom,  or  at  the  tap, 
or  behind  the  counter,  than  they  were  likely  to  do  in  the 
pulpit.  Tractant  fabrilia  fabri'  There  was,  he  main 
tained,  no  need  of  excuse,  for  the  Vice- Chancellor's 
whole  proceeding  '  was  an  act  of  discipline  commendable 
in  itself  and  pleasing  to  the  true  friends  of  learning  and 
religion.' 

Commendable  and  pleasing  though  this  act  was,  yet 
it  led  to  hot  controversy.  The  Apostles  themselves,  it 
was  objected,  were  not  men  of  learning.  These  six 
students  were  not  so  ignorant  as  had  been  asserted. 
They  had  been  confused  and  frightened  when  they  had 
been  called  upon  to  give  a  proof  of  their  learning  in  a 
public  court.  There  were  much  more  ignorant  men — 
men  who  were  abandoned  as  well  as  ignorant— who  were 
not  expelled.  They  h^d  been  called  upon  as  a  proof  of 
their  knowledge  of  Latin  to  construe  the  Statutes  of  the 
University ;  and  it  was  not  reasonable,  it  was  maintained, 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  55 

to  expect  that  they  should  be  familiar  with  the  barbarous 
Latin  in  which  these  statutes  are  written. 

Perhaps  the  Vice-Chancellor  required  them  to  trans- 
late the  section  De  Conventiculis  illicitis  reprimendis^ 
where  it  is  written,  *  Ne  quis  confoederationes  sive  con- 
spirationes  ineat  unde  Cancellarius,  Procuratores,  seu  alii 
Ministri  Universitatis  in  executione  Officiorum  suorum 
secundum  Statuta  et  Ordinationes  ejusdem  impediri  vel 
perturbari  possint,  sub  poena  bannitionis  ab  Universitate.' 
Cicero  might  certainly  have  been  puzzled  with  such 
Latin ;  but  to  a  Methodistical  student  it  would  have 
appeared,  I  should  have  thought,  a  good  deal  like  the 
Latin  that  he  himself  was  wont  to  write.  In  Greek 
they  had  been  asked  to  translate  a  passage  from  the 
New  Testament  in  the  original. 

If,  it  was  objected,  all  academics  were  expelled  who 
could  not  construe  the  Greek  Testament  and  the  Univer- 
sity Statutes,  the  colleges  would  be  much  more  empty. 
'  At  the  great  examination,'  as  the  advocate  for  the  six 
students  asserted,  *  all  the  classical  learning  required  is  to 
be  able  to  construe  one  Greek  and  two  Latin  books ;  and 
the  custom  of  the  place  while  I  resided  there  allowed  the 
candidate  himself  to  fix  on  the  three  books — Epictetus, 
for  instance,  Eutropius  and  Cornelius  Nepos.'  Why 
were   not   the   vicious   expelled  ?     Why  was    not   Mr. 


56  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Welling  expelled,  who  also  belonged  to  Edmund  Hall, 
and  who  had  said  that  whoever  believed  the  miracles  of 
Moses  must  be  a  knave.  What  was  the  history  of  this 
drunken  infidel  ?  He  was  a  poor  foundling  beggar-boy, 
bred  in  a  workhouse,  and  thence  received  into  the  house 
of  a  hatter  to  run  errands.  Next  he  had  been  the  scout 
of  an  apothecary.  Then  he  had  been  taken  into  the 
house  of  a  pious  clergyman  and  schoolmaster,  where  he 
got  a  smattering  of  learning.  Next  he  had  been  assistant 
in  a  school.  Here  he  maintained  his  Deistical  principles, 
till  the  maid-servant  being  found  with  child,  both  he  and 
she  were  dismissed.  He  married  her,  and  she  getting  a 
place  in  a  Jew's  family,  could  now  contribute  to  his 
support. 

The  charge  brought  against  Mr.  Welling  about  Moses* 
miracles  was  too  serious  for  the  Vice-Chancellor  to  over- 
look, and  he  at  once  instituted  an  enquiry.  Mr.  W. 
Wrighte,  a  gentleman-commoner  of  Edmund  Hall,  gave 
evidence  as  follows.  When  walking  in  St.  John's  Garden, 
he  saw  the  said  Welling  to  be  concerned  in  liquor.  (It 
was  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day,  and  Welling  had  been 
helping  to  celebrate  the  patron  saint  of  the  college  at  the 
college  dinner.)  He  took  occasion  to  expostulate  with 
him  thereon.  A  dispute  then  arose  concerning  some 
points  in  religion.     Welling  said,  '  What,  fool,  do  you 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  57 

believe  in  the  miracles  of  Moses?'  Upon  which  in- 
formant threatened  him  very  severely.  Next  day  Welling 
came  to  ask  pardon,  and  since  then  informant  has  taken 
occasion  to  examine  into  his  real  sentiments  in  regard  to 
the  miracles  of  Moses.  Before  the  Vice-Chancellor 
Welling  declared  his  unfeigned  assent  to  Divine  revela- 
tion in  general,  and  the  miracles  of  Moses  in  particular. 
But  the  Vice-Chancellor  was  not  satisfied  till  he  had 
read  a  declaration  of  orthodoxy  and  regret  of  drunken- 
ness before  congregation.  He  had  since  obtained 
a  cure  of  souls,  and,  as  it  was  asserted,  when  asked 
why  he  had  been  ordained,  had  replied,  *Why  should 
I  not  read  the  Bible  for  money  as  well  as  any  other 
book?' 

A  yet  worse  instance  was  brought  forward  by  the 
advocate  of  the  six  Methodists  than  even  Mr.  Welling's. 
Not  many  years  before  this  the  sacrament  had  been 
administered  to  an  ass  in  the  chapel  or  the  ante-chapel 
of  one  of  the  colleges ;  and  yet  the  man  who  had  ad- 
ministered it  was  not  expelled,  but  had  merely  lost  his 
fellowship. 

All  these  arguments  availed  nought.  The  six  Method- 
ists were  not  allowed  to  return.  There  is  little  doubt 
that  in  an  University  they  were,  to  use  Johnson's  com- 
parison, like  a  cow  in  a  garden.     It  is  equally  clear  that 


58  DR.  JOHNSON. 


they  were  expelled,  not  for  their  ignorance,  but  their 
Methodism.  The  gentleman  of  fortune  who,  as  Dr. 
Nowell  admitted, '  had  not  had  any  school  learning,'  was 
allowed  to  stay,  partly  because  he  was  a  gentleman  of 
fortune,  and  partly  because  he  was  not  designed  for  holy 
orders.  Had  Johnson  been  brought  before  the  Vice- 
Chancellor  of  his  day,  and  had  he  been  accused  of  having 
been  brought  up  to  the  trade  of  a  bookbinder,  we  should 
have  found  entered  against  the  charge  'confessed.'^  It 
is  worth  noticing,  moreover,  that  not  many  years  before 
Dr.  Nowell's  time,  one  among  the  Heads  of  Halls, 
as  soon  as  he  was  appointed  Principal,  refused  to 
admit  any  students,  but  shut  up  the  gate  altogether, 
and  wholly  lived  in  the  country.  '  Whereas,'  as  Hearne 
says,  "twas  expected  that  he,  being  a  disciplinarian, 
and  a  sober,  studious,  regular,  and  learned  man,  would 
have  made  it  flourish  in  a  most  remarkable  manner.' 
While  the  head  of  a  Hall  could  thus  shamefully  shirk 
his  duty  ;  while  the  tutor  of  Magdalen  could  well  re- 
member that  he  had  a  salary  to  receive  and  only  forgot 
that  he  had  a  duty  to  perform  ;  while  the  Fellows  of  that 
society,  by  their  dull  and  deep  potations,  could  excuse 
the  brisk  intemperance  of  youth  ;  these  six  Methodist 
students  might  have  been  borne  with  by  the  Vice- 
'  He  had,  at  all  events,  learnt  how  to  bind  a  book. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  59 

Principal  of  St.  Edmund  Hall  and  its  Visitor,  the  Vice- 
Chancellor. 

Mighty  though  Methodism  was  to  be,  yet  the 
Oxford  of  Johnson's  time  saw  nothing  of  its  destined 
greatness.  The  young  giant  was  one  of  her  own  chil- 
dren, yet  she  mocked  it  from  its  very  birth  and  cast  it 
out  of  her  house  with  scorn.  Oxford  was  looking  back- 
wards to  a  time  that  had  happily  passed  by,  never  to 
return.  Her  golden  age  was  the  age  of  the  Stuarts. 
The  Wesleys  and  Whitfield  bade  men  look  across  this 
world  to  some  far  happier  and  far  better  world  beyond. 
Oxford  also  had  her  hopes  for  the  future  as  well  as  her 
longings  for  what  was  past.  The  golden  age  was, 
indeed,  no  more,  but  Astraea  might  once  more  return. 
The  poet  might  again  sing. 

And  now  Time's  whiter  series  is  begun, 
Which  in  soft  centuries  shall  smoothly  run. 

For  Oxford  there  was  no  need  to  cross  the  River  of 
Death  ;  it  would  be  enough  for  her  that  the  king  who  was 
over  the  water  should  come  back  to  his  own  again.  She 
had  suffered  grievously  under  the  tyrant  James.  Yet  her 
wrongs  were  forgotten,  and  she  was  ready  once  more  to 
put  the  generosity  of  the  Stuarts  to  the  proof.  The  town, 
widely  though  it  had  always  differed  from  the  University, 


6o  DR,  JOHNSON. 


was  at  one  with  it  in  this.  Gownsmen  and  townsmen 
alike  were  Jacobite  to  the  backbone.  Old  Michael 
Johnson,  staunch  Jacobite  as  he  was,  though  '  he  had 
reconciled  himself  by  casuistical  arguments  of  expediency 
and  necessity  to  take  the  oaths '  as  a  magistrate  of  Lich- 
field, must  have  felt,  as  he  placed  his  son  at  Oxford,  that 
there  was  little  chance  that  the  young  student's  loyalty 
would  ever  be  shaken.  Was  not  the  whole  University 
loyal,  and  was  not  the  Master  of  Pembroke  *a  fine 
Jacobite  fellow '  ? 

George  I.  had  not  been  many  months  on  the  throne 
before  town  and  gown,  joining  together  in  a  mad  riot, 
showed  their  hatred  of  him  and  the  Whigs  who  supported 
him.  On  the  king's  birthday.  May  28,  in  the  year  17 15, 
the  Quaker  Story  chanced  to  visit  Oxford  He  went  to 
view  the  college  buildings  and  gardens,  and  found  them, 
in  their  kinds,  pleasant  and  commodious.  But  the  great 
load  of  the  power  of  darkness  which  he  felt  was  an  over- 
balance to  any  satisfaction  he  had  therein.  At  the 
Friends'  afternoon  meeting  some  scholars  were  present, 
but  he  found  them  fluctuating  and  unsettled.  By  even- 
ing the  city  was  in  an  uproar.  A  great  mob  of  scholars 
and  townsmen  appeared  in  the  streets  cursing  and  damn- 
ing the  Presbyterians.  The  members  of  the  Constitution 
Club  had  met  at  the  King's  Head  Tavern  to  drink  pros- 


1 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME.  6i 

parity  to  the  Royal  Family,  and  had  had  a  bonfire  lighted 
before  the  tavern.  The  mob  surrounded  the  house  and 
bore  away  the  burning  wood.  It  next  broke  into  the 
Presbyterian  Chapel,  and  tearing  down  the  wainscot  and 
bearing  out  the  benches  and  the  pulpit,  made  a  great 
Jacobite  bonfire  at  the  head  of  High  Street.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  Constitution  Club  took  refuge  in  New  College, 
and,  if  we  can  believe  the  charge  that  was  brought  against 
them,  thence  shot  off  several  blunderbusses  at  a  venture 
among  the  people.  The  mob  round  the  blazing  pile 
were  heard  to  vow  that  the  next  night  they  would  serve 
the  Quakers  as  they  had  served  the  Presbyterians.  By 
nine  o'clock  on  the  following  evening — the  evening  of 
May  29,  a  day  for  many  a  long  year  dear  to  Oxford — 
the  mob  began  to  assemble  again.  This  night  it  was  the 
Quakers  whom  they  cursed  and  damned. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  great  bell  of  Christ  Church 
rang  out,  as  it  had  rung  out  for  many  a  year  before,  and 
would  ring  out  for  many  a  year  to  come,  calling  the 
scholars  within  their  colleges.  What  scholar  was  likely 
on  such  a  night  as  this  to  be  asked  troublesome  ques- 
tions by  his  Dean  ?  They  gutted  the  Quakers'  Meeting- 
house, as  they  had  vowed,  and  then  they  gutted  the  Baptist 
Chapel.  They  next  broke  into  the  dweUing  house  of  a 
widow — the  daughter  of  an  ancient  Friend.     A  young 


62  DR.  JOHNSON, 


nobleman  had  been  murdered,  they  said,  and  hidden 
somewhere  thereabouts,  and  they  were  in  search  of  his 
body.  Finding  neither  young  nobleman  nor  body,  they 
broke  all  the  windows  and  threw  in  some  hundredweight 
of  stones  and  dirt.  Story  was  lodging  with  the  widow's 
brother.  The  terrified  Quakers  crouched  for  safety  under 
the  staircase,  and  there  the  two  men,  with  the  frightened 
woman  of  the  house  and  her  little  children,  stayed  while 
the  rioters  let  fly  their  volley  of  stones.  By  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  the  riot  was  over,  and  some  of  the  neigh- 
bours ventured  to  come  in.  From  them  Story  learned 
*  the  unreasonable  reason,'  as  he  calls  it,  of  the  mob's 
violence.  Some  of  the  Low  Party,  it  was  said,  when 
dining  at  a  tavern,  '  had  drunk  healths  and  confusions,' 
and  had  talked  of  burning  the  late  Queen's  picture  and 
Sacheverel's  also.  The  Quakers  at  the  last  election 
had  voted  for  the  Low  members,  and  in  revenge  the  mob 
had  wrecked  their  meeting-house  and  their  homes. 
Story  the  next  morning  went  to  see  the  ruins.  He  stood 
on  a  slight  rise  in  the  ground,  and  seeing  many  scholars 
present,  he  said  loud  enough  for  them  all  to  hear,  *  Can 
these  be  the  effects  of  religion  and  learning  ? '  Several  of 
them  had  shame  enough  left  to  hang  their  heads,  but 
none  answered. 

The  I  St  of  August  of  that  year  was  appointed  for  a 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  63 

thanksgiving  day  for  His  Majesty's  happy  accession.     In 
these  happier  times  for  more  than  three  long  months  of 
summer,  nothing  can  happen  at  Oxford  to  trouble  the 
calm  repose  of  the  Vice-Chancellor,  the  Proctors,  and  the 
Heads  of  Houses.     But  in  the  early  part  of  last  century 
the    undergraduates,   as    I    have    shown,   remained    at 
Oxford   in   large   numbers   during  the   Long  Vacation. 
Those  in  authority  dreaded  another  riot ;  dreaded,  no 
doubt,  still  more  the  angry  displeasure  of  the  Government. 
They  accordingly  published  regulations  for  the  observance 
of  the  day.     The  scholars  were  strictly  forbidden  to  draw 
a  mob  together  by  giving  drink.     Neither  were  they  to 
make  bonfires  in  the  street.      Each  College   and  Hall 
might  at  the  public  expense  of  the  society  make  a  bon- 
fire.    But  the  bonfires  were  to  be  lighted  immediately 
after  morning  service   at  St.  Mary's,  at  which  time,  it 
was  said,  the  University  bonfire  was  usually  made  before 
the  church  door.     A  bonfire  lighted  in  the  broad  light 
of  an  August  day  would  make  but  a  sorry  sight.     It  is 
not  impossible  that  there  was  some  touch  of  humour 
in   the   regulation.      Though   the   Vice-Chancellor  was 
accused  of  currying  favour  with  the  Government,  yet  the 
Heads  of  Houses,  as  a  body,  were  not  unwilling  to  cast 
ridicule   on   this    Hanoverian    thanksgiving.      The   day 
passed  off  quietly  enough.     Hearne  says  that  *  the  gene- 


64  DR.  JOHNSON. 


rality  of  people  turned  it  into  a  day  of  mourning.  The 
bells  only  jambled,  being  pulled  by  a  parcel  of  children 
and  silly  people  ;  but  there  was  not  so  much  as  one  good 
peal  rung  in  Oxford.' 

Meanwhile  a  regiment  had  been  quartered  in  the 
town,  to  overawe  gownsmen  and  townsmen  alike.  It  was 
at  this  time,  I  imagine,  that  Dr.  Trapp,  the  Fellow  of 
Wadham,  wrote  his  famous  epigram — 

Our  royal  master  saw,  with  heedful  eyes. 

The  wants  of  his  two  Universities  : 

Troops  he  to  Oxford  sent,  as  knowing  why 

That  learned  body  wanted  loyalty  : 

But  books  to  Cambridge  gave,  as  well  discerning, 

That  that  right  loyal  body  wanted  learning. 

Sir  William  Browne,  when  Johnson  had  repeated  these 
lines  to  him  with  an  air  of  triumph,  made,  if  we  may 
trust  Mdme.  Piozzi,  the  famous  epigram  in  answer  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment — 

The  King  to  Oxford  sent  his  troop  of  horse 
For  Tories  own  no  argument  but  force  ; 
With  equal  care  to  Cambridge  books  he  sent, 
For  Whigs  allow  no  force  but  argument. 

It  was  not,  however,  a  troop  of  horse,  but  a  regiment  of 
foot  soldiers  that  on  this  occasion  was  quartered  in 
Oxford.  The  peace  was  not  disturbed  till  October  30  in 
the  following  year  (17 16).     It  was  the  Prince  of  Wales's 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  65 

birthday,  but,  learned  though  the  University  was  in  dates 
generally,  of  that  one  date  it  was  in  profound  ignorance. 
No  less  ignorant  was  the  Mayor.  Not  a  bell  was  rung 
in  honour  of  the  day.  Major  d'Offrainville,  who  was  in 
command  of  the  regiment,  could  not  contain  his  indigna- 
tion. He  came  into  a  coffee-house  cursing  and  swearing, 
and  said  that  not  a  bell  had  stirred  that  morning.  A 
Bachelor  of  Arts  of  Brasenose  College,  who  happened  to 
be  present,  turned  to  his  companion  and  innocently  asked 
what  day  it  was.  'It  was  the  Prince's  birthday,'  the 
Major  answered,  'and  it  was  the  disaffection  of  the 
governors,  who  were  a  pack  of  villains,  which  occasioned 
the  bells  not  ringing.'  '  Why,'  asked  the  simple  Bachelor, 
'did  not  the  Merton  bells  ring?  No  one  could  think 
that  Merton,  the  stronghold  of  the  Constitution  Club,  was 
disaffected.'  'No,' said  the  Major;  'that  was  a  good, 
honest  college.'  He  went  on  swearing,  and  said  over  and 
over  again  that  he  would  send  soldiers  at  night  to  break 
the  windows  of  the  colleges.  This  however  the  Major 
afterwards  denied.  He  admitted  that  he  had  said  that  the 
colleges  deserved  to  have  their  windows  broken,  but  he 
had  never  said  that  he  would  send  soldiers  to  break  them. 
The  same  day  he  met  one  of  the  magistrates  of  the  town, 
and  told  him  that  the  townspeople  deserved  to  have  their 
windows  broken  also.     At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 


66  DR.  JOHNSON. 


when  it  must  have  been  growing  dark,^  the  Major  drew  up 
his  regiment  all  along  High  Street,  from  the  Conduit  that 
at  that  time  stood  before  Carfax  Church,  to  the  East 
Gate  by  Magdalen  College.  The  mob  cried  out  *  Down 
with  the  Roundheads.'  The  Major,  hearing  the  cry, 
turned  his  horse  about,  and  seeing  *  some  one  who  had 
on  the  habit  of  a  clergyman  told  him  he  was  the  rogue, 
and  that  if  he  could  get  at  him  he  would  break  his  head, 
or  any  disaffected  person's  head,  as  soon  as  he  would  a 
dog's,  or  words  to  that  effect'  (the  Major's  own  evidence). 
The  soldiers  discharged  their  three  rounds  in  honour  of 
the  day,  the  colours  were  lodged,  and  the  regiment  was 
dismissed.  The  ofhcers,  with  some  honest  gentlemen  of 
the  Constitution  Club,  went  to  the  Star  Inn  to  finish  up 
the  day  with  a  dinner.  A  bonfire  had  been  made  in  front 
of  the  inn,  by  the  Major's  orders.  After  dinner,  they  all 
went  out  into  the  street,  and  round  the  fire  drank  healths 
to  His  Majesty,  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Royal 
Family,  and  to  the  pious  memory  of  William  III. 

It  must  have  been  a  strange  sight  in  the  Corn-market 
— North  Street  as  it  was  then  called — that  November 
night.  The  blazing  bonfire,  with  the  soldiers  standing 
round  it  glass  in  hand,  drinking  their  loyal  toasts  ;  in  the 
background,  a  crowd  of  sullen  townsmen  and  gownsmen, 
'  October  30,  Old  Style,  is  the  same  as'November  li,  New  Style. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  67 


bent  on  mischief.  No  sooner  had  the  officers  gone  back 
into  their  inn  than  a  volley  of  stones  shattered  the 
windows.  The  soldiers  who  were  in  the  crowd  below, 
and  had  no  doubt  joined  in  the  loyal  and  pious  toasts,  at 
once  broke  the  windows  of  a  Jacobite  ironmonger  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street  The  inn  was  a  second  time 
attacked  by  the  mob,  and  the  soldiers  then  began  to 
break  the  windows  of  all  the  houses  that  were  not  illumi- 
nated. The  Major  went  down  into  the  street  and  ordered 
his  men  to  drive  away  all  the  Jacobites.  Mr.  Wilson,  a 
cutler,  prayed  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  stay,  for  he 
was  an  honest  man,  and  had  been  so  in  the  worst  of 
times,  whereupon  the  Major  made  him  drink  two  or  three 
glasses  to  His  Majesty's  health.  He  asked  the  culler  if 
there  were  many  such  men  as  he  in  the  town.  There 
were  a  few  of  them,  he  answered,  and  pointing  towards  a 
mercer,  he  said  '  that  is  a  man  that  suffered  much  in  the 
bad  times,'  and  then  towards  a  barber's  shop,  'that  is 
another.'  The  Vice- Chancellor,  attended  by  a  man 
bearing  a  lanthorn  and  candle,  came  up  to  help  to  keep 
the  peace.  But  the  soldiers  went  up  to  the  Vice-Chan- 
cellor  and  asked  him.  if  he  carried  any  fire-arms,  and 
continued  whooping  and  hallooing,  and  one  of  them 
struck  the  lanthorn  with  a  great  stick,  and  beat  out  the 
candle. 

F  2 


68  DR,  JOHNSON. 


The  account  that  the  soldiers  gave  differed  not  a 
little.  A  shot  had  been  fired  at  them  out  of  a  window 
of  St.  John's  College,  and  soon  after,  up  came  the  Vice- 
Chan  cellor  and  several  of  the  gownsmen.  The  soldiers 
asked  why  they  fired  at  them  thus  ;  whereupon  one  of 
them  answered,  *  we  can  fire  for  the  king  as  well  as  you.' 
In  another  part  of  the  town  the  mob  seized  one  of  the 
patrol,  who  thereupon  fired  his  piece  and  shot  the  Mayor's 
mace-bearer  through  the  hat.  One  man  swore  that  he 
had  heard  the  gentlemen  of  the  Constitution  Club  halloo- 
ing out  of  the  windows,  and  crying  out,  A  Marlborough, 
a  Marlborough,  while  those  in  the  street  cried  out, 
/     Ormond} 

During  the  debate  on  the  Mutiny  Bill  in  the  following 
spring,  a  peer  complained  of  the  conduct  of  the  soldiery 
at  Oxford  during  this  riot.  An  address  was  moved  to 
the  Crown  that  all  papers  relating  to  that  affair  should  be 
laid  before  the  House.  '  A  great  debate  ensued.'  The 
House  voted  by  65  to  33  that  the  Heads  of  the  Univer- 
sity and  the  Mayor  were  in  fault,  and  that  the  conduct  of 
the  Major  seemed  well  justified. 

More  than  thirty  years  later,  on  the  23rd  of  February, 

'  The  Duke  of  Ormond  had  been  Chancellor  of  the  University 
till  his  flight  from  the  country  the  year  before,  on  his  impeachment 
for  high  treason. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME.  69 


1747-48,  not  two  years  after  the  battle  of  CuUoden,  there 
was  another  Jacobite  riot  in  Oxford.  It  so  happened 
that  on  the  evening  of  that  day  one  of  the  Canons  of 
Windsor,  the  Rev.  R.  Blacow,  was  in  Winter's  Coffee 
House  in  Oxford.  He  was  told  that  there  were  in  the 
street  at  the  door  of  the  coffee-house  some  rioters 
shouting  K — g  J — s  for  ever,  Pr —  C — s  for  ever.  It 
is  amusing  that  the  loyal  Canon  cannot  bring  himself  to 
write  such  treasonable  names  in  full.  There  had  been 
that  day  an  entertainment  in  Balliol  College,  a  very  hot- 
bed of  Jacobites,  to  which  had  been  invited  among  other 
out-college  guests,  Mr.  Dawes,  Mr.  Whitmore,  and  Mr. 
Luxmoore.  No  doubt  many  a  toast  had  been  drunk  to 
the  king  over  the  water.  The  guests,  as  soon  as  they 
left  Balliol,  had  begun  their  treasonable  cries.  The  Canon 
hurried  into  the  street,  and  heard  the  rioters  as  they  went 
down  High  Street  not  only  bless  King  James  and  Prince 
Charles,  but  also  d — n  K — g  G — e.  He  boldly  laid 
hold  of  one  of  them,  but  his  comrades  desired  him  to  let 
him  go.  Some  of  them  even  pulled  off  their  clothes  and 
struck  the  Canon.  They  then  went  down  St.  Mary  Hall 
Lane,  waving  their  caps  and  shouting  the  most  treason- 
able expressions,  where  they  met  two  soldiers.  The 
gownsmen,  being  seven  or  eight  in  number,  demanded 
the   soldiers'  swords,  tore  the  coat  of  one  of  them  and 


70  DR.  yOHNSON. 


insisted  on  both  crying  King  James  for  ever.  The  Canon 
tried  to  take  refuge  in  Oriel  College,  for  the  rioters  had 
now  increased  to  forty  in  number.  Some  of  them  cried, 
D — n  K — g  G — e  and  all  his  assistants,  and  cursed  the 
Canon  in  particular.  Mr.  Dawes  laid  hold  of  him,  and 
then  stripping  to  fight,  cried  out,  '  I  am  a  man  who  dare 
say,  God  bless  K — g  James  *  the  Third,  and  I  tell  you 
my  name  is  Dawes  of  St.  Mary  Hall.  I  am  a  man  of  an 
independent  fortune,  and  therefore  afraid  of  no  man.' 
The  Proctor  came  up  at  that  moment  and  seized  Mr. 
Dawes,  who  even  when  in  the  Proctor's  hands  shouted, 
'  G — d  bless  my  dear  K — g  J — s.'  Mr.  Luxmoore 
made  his  escape,  though  the  Proctor  adjured  him  to  stop 
by  the  solemn  and  peremptory  command  of  Siste  per 
fidem? 

The  Canon  called  on  the  Vice-Chancellor  and  in- 
formed him  of  what  he  had  seen.  The  Vice-Chancellor 
said  that  he  was  sorry  for  what  had  happened,  but  that 
nothing  could  prevent  young  fellows  getting  in  liquor. 
He  would  severely  punish  them  however.  They  should 
be  delayed  a  year  in  taking  their  degree  and  they  should 

*  The  Canon  in  his  narrative,  sometimes  by  forgetfulness,  g^ves 
the  name  in  full. 

"^  Note  by  Canon  Blacow.  Expulsion  is  due  by  statute  for 
running  off  from  the  Proctor's  Siste  per  jidem. 


K 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME.  71 

have  an  imposition  of  English  to  be  translated  into 
Latin.  The  Canon  was  not  satisfied  with  this  and  re- 
quired the  Vice-Chancellor  as  a  magistrate  to  receive  his 
depositions.  The  Vice-Chancellor  refused.  '  In  conse- 
quence of  this/  says  the  Canon,  '  the  rioters  were  treated 
with  general  respect,  and  I  was,  as  generally,  hissed  and 
insulted.' 

Shortly  after  the  riot  the  Assizes  were  held,  and  the 
Canon  laid  an  account  of  what  had  happened  before  one 
of  the  judges.  The  judge  said  that  he  was  to  dine  that 
afternoon  with  the  Vice-Chancellor  and  he  would  talk 
the  matter  over  with  him.  The  same  evening  he  told 
the  Canon  that  he  had  desired  the  Vice-Chancellor  to 
take  the  depositions  and  have  the  rioters  brought  before 
the  Grand  Jury  at  once.  Nothing,  however,  was  done. 
News  of  the  riot  had,  however,  reached  the  Court  and 
messengers  were  sent  down  to  arrest  the  three  chief 
rioters.  They  were  brought  before  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench  on  May  6th  for  drinking  the  Pretender's  health  and 
other  disorders,  and  were  admitted  to  bail.  They  were 
tried  in  the  following  November.  Luxmoore,  after  an 
eight-hours'  trial,  was  acquitted.  Whitmore  and  Dawes 
were  found  guilty  and  were  sentenced  '  To  be  fined  five 
nobles  ^  each  ;  to  suffer  two  years'  imprisonment  in  the 

'  A  noble  is  equal  to  6s.  8d. 


72  DR.  JOHNSON. 


King's  Bench  Prison,  and  to  find  securities  for  their  good 
behaviour  for  seven  years,  themselves  bound  in  ;£'5oo 
each,  and  their  sureties  in  ;^  250  each  ;  and  to  walk  imme- 
diately round  Westminster  Hall  with  a  libel  affixed  to 
their  foreheads  denoting  their  crime  and  sentence,  and 
to  ask  pardon  of  the  several  courts.'  The  whole  sentence 
was  strictly  carried  out.  Steps  were  taken  to  put  the 
Vice-Chancellor  himself  on  his  trial  for  refusing  to  re- 
ceive the  depositions,  but  the  matter  was  allowed  to 
drop. 

It  was  only  a  year  before  this  that  the  University  had 
presented  a  loyal  address  to  the  King  on  the  suppression 
*of  the  most  wicked  rebellion  in  favour  of  a  popish 
pretender,'  and  had  expressed  a  modest  hope  that  *  the 
zealous  loyalty  of  the  clergy  of  the  Church  of  England, 
whose  education  in  part  was  our  care,  had  its  weight 
on  this  important  occasion.' 

The  year  after  the  riot  Dr.  King,  the  Principal  of  St. 
Mary  Hall,  '  the  idol  of  the  Jacobites,'  delivered  amidst 
the  greatest  applause  a  violent  Jacobite  speech  at  the 
opening  of  the  Radcliffe  Library.  This  speech  made  a 
great  stir  at  the  time,  and  even  twenty  years  later  John 
Wilkes,  in  a  letter  to  the  editor  of  the  '  Political  Register,' 
wrote,  '  Methinks,  Sir,  I  still  hear  the  seditious  shouts  of 
^plause  given  to  the  pestilent  harangues  of  the  late  Dr. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  73 

King  when  he  vilified  our  great  deliverer,  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  and  repeated  with  such  energy  the  treason- 
able redeaV  With  scarce  an  attempt  at  disguise  he  had, 
in  a  series  of  eloquent  sentences,  each  of  which  began 
with  Re£^eaff  prsLyed  for  the  return  of  the  Pretender.  The 
great  Hero  of  Culloden,  the  Darling  of  the  people,  as  he 
was  styled,  he  had,  indeed,  treated  with  the  greatest 
contempt. 

*  Learned  men,'  he  said,  *  we  may  acknowledge  to  be 
the  pride  of  their  age,  the  ornament  of  mankind,  and  the 
most  illustrious  heroes  of  the  world  ;  and  indeed,  always 
to  be  preferred  to  those  heroes,  foreign  ones  I  mean,  for 
our  own  as  is  becoming  I  always  except,  who  delight  in  the 
slaughter  of  mankind  and  the  destruction  of  cities,  and 
cruelly  contrive  the  ruin  of  those  they  govern  as  well  as 
of  others  ....  Shall  these  pretend  to  be  adored  by 
the  people  ?  These  expect  us  Oxonians  to  adore  them, 
who  are  inveterate  enemies  to  this  celebrated  University, 
whose  glory  they  envy,  and  to  letters  themselves  which 
they  do  not  understand  ? '  Dr.  King  was  thinking,  no 
doubt,  of  the  king  who  cared  nothing  for  '  Bainters  and 
Boets.'  *  He  who  was  the  first  author  of  moulding  an 
earthen  vessel  used  for  the  vilest  purposes,  or  of  weaving 
a  wicker  basket,  that  man  has  deserved  more  from  all 
nations  than  all  the  generals  (except  those  who  fought 


74  DR.  JOHNSON. 


for  their  country  like  ours,  whom  on  that  account  I 
distinguish) — I  say  than  all  the  generals,  emperors,  nay 
conquerors,  that  now  are  or  ever  have  been.' 

He  ends  by  praising  '  our  glorious  Vice-Chancellor, 
whom  they  had  accused '  only  last  year  at  Westminster. 
A  few  years  later  Dr.  King  made  another  great  speech  at 
Oxford,  at  which  Johnson  in  his  Master's  gown,  that  at 
his  first  coming  was  so  new  and  handsome,  clapped  his 
hands  till  they  were  sore. 

It  was  Dr.  King  who  with  his  own  hands  delivered  to 
Johnson  his  diploma  of  Master  of  Arts.  Johnson,  in  his 
letter  of  thanks  to  the  Vice-Chancellor,  wrote  :  '  Ingratus 
(mihi  videar)  nisi  comitatem  qua  vir  eximius  mihi  vestri 
testimonium  amoris  in  manus  tradidit,  agnoscam  et 
laudem.'  Dr.  King  has  left  it  on  record  that  Johnson 
was  one  of  the  three  ^  men  whom  he  had  known  in  his 
long  life,  '  who  spoke  English  with  that  elegance  and 
propriety,  that  if  all  they  said  had  been  immediately 
committed  to  writing,  any  judge  of  the  English  language 
would  have  pronounced  it  an  excellent  and  very  beauti- 
ful style.' 

'  The  other  two  were  Atterbury,  the  exiled  Bishop  of  Rochester, 
and  Dr.  Gower,  Provost  of  Worcester  College.  Lord  Chesterfield 
moreover  says  that  '  Lord  Bolingbroke's  most  familiar  conversa- 
tions, if  taken  down  in  writing,  would  bear  the  press  without  the 
least  correction  either  as  to  method  or  style.' 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  75 

Oxford  for  many  a  year  stood  as  steadily  by  every- 
thing that  was  old  as  it  had  stood  by  the  Jacobite's 
falling  cause.  The  age,  as  Johnson  said,  was  running 
mad  after  innovation.  There  was  little  fear  lest  Oxford 
should  run.  It  had  long  ceased  even  to  move.  Yet 
it  is  strange  that  it  was  in  Oxford  of  all  places  that 
the  great  Methodist  movement  began.  Scarcely  less 
strange  is  it  that  it  was  a  student  of  Oxford,  who  by  his 
*  Wealth  of  Nations '  wrought  a  far  greater  change  in  the 
world's  history  than  even  Methodism  with  its  host  of 
preachers. 

The  University,  as  1  have  shown,  did  little  as  a  body 
to  encourage  learning,  still  less  to  restrain  idleness.  The 
greater  part  of  the  Professors  had  for  many  years  given 
up  altogether  even  the  pretence  of  teaching.  They  had 
nothing  to  gain  by  teaching,  as  Adam  Smith  pointed  out, 
for  they  were  secure  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  fixed  stipend 
without  the  necessity  of  labour  or  the  apprehension  of 
control.  There  were,  indeed,  a  few  brilliant  exceptions. 
Lowth  by  his  lectures  on  the  Poetry  of  the  Hebrews, 
and  Blackstone  by  his  lectures  on  the  English  Constitution 
and  Laws,  did  something  to  redeem  the  University  from 
the  reproach  that  had  fallen  on  her.  I.owth  was  proud 
of  his  University,  and  when  Warburton  reproached  him 
with  his  education  there,  burst  out  into  eloquent  praise 


76  DR.  JOHNSON. 


of  his  Alma  Mater.  *  I  was  educated  in  the  University 
of  Oxford.  I  enjoyed  all  the  advantages,  both  public  and 
private,  which  that  famous  seat  of  learning  so  largely 
affords.  I  spent  many  years  in  that  illustrious  society, 
in  a  well-regulated  course  of  useful  discipline  and  studies, 
and  in  the  agreeable  and  improving  commerce  of  gentle- 
men and  of  scholars  \  in  a  society  where  emulation 
without  envy,  ambition  without  jealousy,  contention 
without  animosity,  incited  industry  and  awakened  genius ; 
where  a  liberal  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  a  genuine 
freedom  of  thought  was  raised,  encouraged,  and  pushed 
forward  by  example,  by  commendation,  and  by  authority.' 
Lowth  was  Professor  of  Poetry,  and  must  have  had 
not  a  little  of  the  poet's  fancy  himself  At  least  we  of 
the  present  age  are  bound  to  think  so,  who  hold  that  it 
is  a  law  of  nature  that  where  there  are  no  examinations, 
much  more  where  there  are  no  competitive  examinations, 
there  learning  cannot  flourish.  And  yet  Adam  Smith 
must  have  studied  hard  in  the  seven  years  he  spent  at 
Balliol,  for,  to  quote  Dugald  Stewart's  words,  *  How 
intimately  he  had  once  been  conversant  with  the  works 
of  the  Roman,  Greek,  French,  and  Italian  poets  appeared 
sufficiently  from  the  hold  which  they  kept  of  his  memory, 
after  all  the  different  occupations  and  enquiries  in  which 
his  maturer  faculties  had  been  employed.' 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S  TIME.  77 

Blackstone,  who  was  at  Pembroke  College  only  a  few 
years  after  Johnson  left,  '  prosecuted  his  studies/  his 
biographer  tells  us,  *with  unremitting  ardour,  and 
although  the  classics,  and  particularly  the  Greek  and 
Roman  poets,  were  his  favourites,  they  did  not  entirely 
engross  his  attention.  Logic,  mathematics,  and  the  other 
sciences  were  not  neglected.'  Wesley  too  studied  hard  ; 
and  when  he  was  Greek  lecturer  and  moderator  of  the 
classes  at  Lincoln  College,  presided  over  six  disputations 
in  a  week.  '  However  the  students  may  have  profited  by 
them,  they  were  of  singular  use  to  the  moderator.' 

Johnson,  in  one  of  his  *  Idlers,'  speaks  of  the  '  one 
very  powerful  incentive  to  learning '  to  be  found  at  either 
of  the  Universities — *  the  genius  of  the  place.  It  is  a 
sort  of  inspiring  deity,  which  every  youth  of  quick  sen- 
sibility and  ingenuous  disposition  creates  to  himself,  by 
reflecting  that  he  is  placed  under  those  venerable  walls 
where  a  Hooker  and  a  Hammond,  a  Bacon  and  a  Newton, 
once  pursued  the  same  course  of  science,  and  from 
whence  they  soared  to  the  most  elevated  heights  of 
literary  fame.'  He  extols,  *  the  conveniences  and  oppor- 
tunities for  study  which  still  subsist  in  them,  more  than 
in  any  other  place.'  Yet  his  utterance  is  uncertain. 
When  he  writes  that  '  the  number  of  learned  persons  in 
these  celebrated  seats  is  still  considerable,'  he  shows  that 


78  DR.  JOHNSON. 


he  looked  back  to  a  golden  age  of  learning  as  well  as  of 
loyalty. 

This  number  of  the  '  Idler '  was  written  but  five 
years  after  Gibbon  had  found  the  potations  of  the  Fellows 
of  his  College  so  dull  and  deep  and  seductive,  and  his 
tutors  and  the  Vice- Chancellor  so  forgetful  of  his  religious 
training.  Yet  Johnson  says,  '  English  Universities  render 
their  students  virtuous,  at  least  by  excluding  all  oppor- 
tunities of  vice  ;  and  by  teaching  them  the  principles 
of  the  Church  of  England,  confirm  them  in  those  of 
true  Christianity.' 

A  letter  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  entitled  *  Advice  to 
a  Young  Student,  by  a  Tutor,'  shows  that  not  all  tutors 
were  like  the  tutors  of  Magdalen.  This  letter  was  pub- 
lished in  1755,  but  it  had  been  written  thirty  years  earlier, 
shortly  before  Johnson  entered.  The  scheme  of  studies 
it  presents  is  not  therefore  merely  the  scheme  of  a  young 
man  with  his  Master's  gown  still  fresh,  whose  require- 
ments are  as  high  as  his  acquirements  are  small.  It  is 
the  scheme  drawn  up,  indeed,  by  a  tutor  in  his  youth, 
but  confirmed  by  the  experience  of  many  years. 
*  Studies,'  he  says,  '  should  be  of  three  kinds.  Philo- 
sophy, classical  learning,  and  divinity.  The  mornings 
and  evenings  are  to  be  set  apart  for  philosophy  ;  the 
afternoons  for  classics  ;  while  the  Sundays  and  Church 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  79 

holidays  are  to  be  given  to  divinity.'  He  arranges  a 
course  of  study  for  four  years,  and  divides  every  year 
into  periods  of  two  months.  He  takes  no  notice  of 
vacations,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course  that  the 
student  should  remain  at  Oxford  from  the  day  he  matri- 
culates till  the  day  he  takes  his  degree.  The  whole 
scheme  is  so  curious  that  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  copy  it, 
not  giving,  however,  the  list  of  the  books  on  divinity. 
Johnson  once  distinguished  between  the  learning  of  two 
different  men.  One  had  learning  enough  for  a  parson  ; 
the  other  had  learning  enough  not  to  disgrace  a  bishop. 
If  the  young  student  read  all  the  books  on  divinity  that 
his  tutor  enjoined,  he  would,  I  should  have  thought,  have 
had  learning  enough  not  to  disgrace  even  an  archbishop. 
The  following  is  the  scheme  of  his  studies  in  philosophy 
and  the  classics. 

BOOKS   TO  BE  READ. 

First  Year. 

Philosophical.  Classical. 

Jan.      1 
and     \  Wingate's  'Arithmetic'.    Terence. 
Feb.      J 

^l^dM  Euclid.        .        .        .j'XenophontisCyri 
April     J  i      Institutio:' 

'In'd     IwallisV  Logic'    .        . |  Ws  ' Epistles.' 
June      )  \  I'hasdrus'  '  Fables.' 


8o  DR,  JOHNSON. 


Philosophical.  Classical. 

July  \  C  Lucian's     *  Select     Dia- 

and  \  Euclid  .         .        .        .\      logues.' 

Aug-  ''  (  Theophrastus. 

and  \  Salmon's  *  Geography '  .  J  ^^ 

Oct.  J  s    ^  /      I  j^gp^g^ 

Nov.  ]  , 

and  \  Keil's  *  Trigonometria ' .  J  Dionysius'  *  Geography.' 

Dec.  i  i 


Second  Year. 

Jan.       [Harris'      'Astronomical]  Cambray     *On     Elo- 
and     \      Dialogues '  .         .         .\      quence.' 
^^^-      (  Keil's 'Astronomy'        . j  Vossius" Rhetoric' 

/  Locke's  *  Human  Under- 

March  I      standing'    . 
and     -;  j- 

April        Simpson's   '  Conic   Sec- 

V     tions'.        .        .        .j 


and     \  ,  .  V  TuUy's  '  Orations.' 


^^y  I  Milnes'  '  Sectiones   Co-  (  Isocrates. 

Tune  I      ^^^^ '  •        •        •        -^  Demosthenes. 

J^ly  1  x^  .„   ,  T        ^      .      ,       (  C^sar. 

and  Y  Ken's  '  Introduction'      .^  ^  „ 

Aug.  J  i  Sallust. 

^^i  1  Ch^y^^'s  '  Philosophical  i  Hesiod. 

Q^^  J      Principles ' .        .        .  |  Theocritus. 

No^  ]  Bartholin's  '  Physics '     .  j  Ovid's  *  Fasti.' 

Q^c.  J  Rohaulti's        „  I  Virgil's '  Eclogues.' 


Jan. 
and 
Feb. 


OXFORD  IN  yOHNSON'S   TIME.  8r 

Third  Year. 
Philosophical.  Classical. 

Burnet's  '  Theory' .         .    Homeri  *  Ilias.' 


^^^i^lwi,-.     >   <TK         '         (  Virgil's 'Georgics.' 

and  \  Whiston's  *  Theory         J  ,  ^     .  j  , 

April  )  1       "       *^neid.' 

^ay  1  Wells"  Chronology'      .)  o     i.     t 

and  r  -r.        . ,     ,  \  Sophocles. 

June  J  Bevendge's       „     .        .) 

Tyjy  j'  *  Ethices  Compendium.' 

and  \  Puffendorf  s     *  Law    of  i^  Horace. 

Aug.  (      Nature'      . 

^ept-  ]  Puffendorf      .        .        .,  ^     .   ., 

and  \  ^      .      ,  ,    r       T^  ,1-,    h  Euripides. 

Q^^  )  Grotms  '  de  Jure  Belli '    ' 

Nov. 

and 

Dec. 


Puffendorf 
Grotius  . 

.    Juvenal. 
.{  Persius. 

Fourth  Year. 

J^"-  1  Hutcheson's  ^Metaphy-)  _, 

and  ^        .     ,  ^  ^   \  Thucydides. 

Feb.  J      sics'   .        .        .        .) 

March  \ 

and  h  Newton's 'Optics'.        .  „ 

April  J 

May  \ 

and  [         „  „         .        .     Livy. 

June  ) 

July  \ 

and  \  Gregory's  *  Astronomy  ' .  „ 

Aug.  j 


82  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Philosophical.  Classical. 

Sept.     ] 

and     h  Gregory's  *  Astronomy ' .    Diogenes  Laertius. 
Oct.      J 

N°^-     1  f  Cicero's     '  Philosophical 

dTc'     I         "  "  -i      Works.' 

The  student  is  not  to  neglect  English  writers 
altogether.  He  is  recommended  '  to  read  the  best 
authors,  such  as  Temple,  Collier,  the  "  Spectator,"  and 
the  other  writings  of  Addison.' 

It  is  strange  that  no  book  of  Plato  or  Aristotle  is  to 
be  found  in  this  scheme.  They  are  to  be  read  in  his 
fifth  year,  after  he  has  taken  his  Bachelor's  degree. 
Among  the  authors  mentioned  is  Puffendorf.  That  he 
was  at  this  time  regularly  read  at  Oxford  is  shown  by  a 
passage  in  one  of  Richard  West's  letters  to  the  poet 
Gray.  *  Adieu  ! '  he  says,  '  I  am  going  to  my  tutor's 
lectures  on  one  Puffendorf,  a  very  jurisprudent  author 
as  you  shall  read  on  a  summer's  day.* 

West  does  not  rate  Oxford  learning  very  highly.  He 
had  lately  entered  Christ  Church.  'Consider  me,'  he 
writes,  'very  seriously  here  in  a  strange  country,  in- 
habited by  things  that  call  themselves  Doctors  and 
Masters  of  Arts  ;  a  country  flowing  with  syllogisms  and 
ale,  where  Horace  and  Virgil  are  equally  unknown.'  It 
was  in  the  year  1735  that  he  thus  wrote. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  83 

We  may  wonder  if  Mr.  Bateman  were  still  a  tutor 
there,  whom  five  years  before  Johnson  on  enquiry  found 
to  be  the  tutor  of  highest  reputation  in  all  the  University. 
It  was  his  lectures,  if  we  can  trust  the  story,  that  he  used 
to  get  second-hand  from  his  friend  Taylor  till  the  Christ 
Church  men  mocked  at  his  worn-out  shoes. 

That  young  men,  and  young  men  of  fashion,  could 
respect  learning  even  when  they  were  not  forced  to  pass 
examinations,  is  shown  by  an  anecdote  Horace  Walpole 
told  in  his  old  age.  He  was  at  Cambridge  with  Gray 
from  1735  to  1738.  He  attended  Wind  Professor 
Sanderson's  mathematical  lectures  till  the  Professor 
honestly  said  to  him,  *  Young  man,  it  would  be  cheating 
you  to  take  your  money;  for  you  never  can  learn  what  I  am 
trying  to  teach  you.'  *  I  was  exceedingly  mortified,'  said 
Walpole,  'and  cried;  for  being  a  Prime  Minister's  son, 
I  had  firmly  believed  all  the  flattery  with  which  I  had 
been  assured  that  my  parts  were  capable  of  anything.  I 
paid  a  private  instructor  for  a  year  ;  but  at  the  year's  end 
was  forced  to  own  Sanderson  had  been  in  the  right.' 

While  many  a  student  of  these  old  days  worked  with 
far  greater  benefit  to  himself  and  with  far  better  results 
than  if  he  had  been  teased  with  a  system  of  examinations, 
yet  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  average  of  work  done 
must  have  been  far  below  the  average  of  the  present  day. 


84  l^R-  JOHNSON. 


The  University,  as  I  have  shown,  exercised  no  control 
over  the  college,  and  the  degree  was  given  as  a  matter  of 
course  when  an  undergraduate  had  resided  his  sixteen 
terms.  Thirteen  weeks  residence  in  each  year  was  all 
that  was  insisted  on,  and  in  the  first  and  last  of  the  four 
years  even  this  short  period  might  be  cut  down. 

It  is  clear  that  at  the  time  when  the  six  Methodists 
were  expelled  the  examination  was  a  mere  farce.  Had 
there  been  any  real  examination  to  be  undergone  the 
danger  to  the  Church  would  have  been  averted,  for  men 
so  ignorant  could  never  have  taken  their  degree,  and 
so  could  never  have  been  ordained.  Mr.  Blatch,  the 
gentleman  of  fortune,  who  had  had  no  school  learning, 
was  allowed  to  stay  on,  because  he  had  no  intention  of 
taking  holy  orders  when  he  had  finished  his  University 
course.  That  he  would  take  his  degree  at  the  end  of 
his  four  years  there  seemed  to  be  no  manner  of  doubt. 

A  curious  book  entitled  '  The  Ancient  and  Present 
State  of  the  University  of  Oxford,'  by  Doctor  John 
Ayliffe,  Fellow  of  New  College,  published  in  the  year 
1723,  shows  what  was  required  by  the  statutes  for  each 
degree.  For  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  a  student 
had  first  diligently  to  attend  all  public  lectures.  How  he 
was  to  do  this  when  the  Professors  had  ceased  to  lecture, 
is  nowhere  stated.     He  had  besides  '  to   do  the  other 


I 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  85 

statutable  exercise,  such  as  Generals,  Juraments,  Answer- 
ing under  Bachelor,  &c.' 

Generals  are  disputations  on  three  logical  questions, 
from  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  till  three.  This  exercise 
could  not  be  performed  till  the  end  of  the  third  year  of 
residence.  After  the  student  had  performed  this  exercise 
he  was  created  General  or  Senior  Sophist.  When  a  scholar 
was  created  Senior  Sophist,  the  Master  of  the  Schools, 
ascending  the  rostrum,  made  a  short  speech  to  him  in 
praise  of  Aristotle's  Logic  and  exhorted  him  to  the  study 
of  good  letters,  and  thereupon  delivered  Aristotle's  Logic 
into  his  hands. 

In  each  of  the  remaining  terms  he  was  obliged  to 
dispute  once  at  least.  These  disputations  were  called 
Juraments,  '  from  the  oath  taken  at  the  time  of  pro- 
ceeding Bachelor  that  he  had  done  all  the  statutable 
exercise.' 

Besides  this  he  had  '  to  answer  twice  at  Lent  Deter- 
minations for  an  hour  and  a  half  under  Bachelor  .... 
the  respondent  sitting  opposite  to  the  opponent  under 
the  Bachelor's  pew.'  When  he  had  fulfilled  these  require- 
ments he  could  take  his  degree. 

For  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts  he  had  *  to  solemnly 
determine  in  Lent,  to  answer  at  Quodlibet  Disputations, 
to  dispute  in  Austins,  speak  two  Declamations,  and  read 


86  DR.  JOHNSON. 


six  solemn  Lectures.'  For  the  management  of  these 
Determinations  and  Disputations  certain  officers  called 
Collectors  were  appointed,  who  were  bound  '  as  soon  as 
admitted  to  their  office  to  go  to  their  respective  Halls  and 
Colleges  without  any  noise  or  disturbance ;  and  not  to 
entertain  any  persons  at  all  with  compotations.* 

The  Collectors  in  disposing  their  classes  with  a  view 
to  the  Disputations  were  bound  '  to  have  special  regard  to 
persons  of  more  eminent  condition  and  quality,  to  place 
them  so  as  they  might  have  the  opportunity  of  praying  a 
Gracious  Day.'  On  a  Gracious  Day  the  Disputations 
lasted  only  from  nine  till  eleven,  instead  of  from  one  till 
five. 

'  On  Ash  Wednesday,  according  to  an  ancient  laudable 
custom,  immediately  after  the  Latin  sermon  preached  to 
these  Determiners  there  is  a  bell  rings  out.'  The  Deans 
of  the  Colleges  with  their  Bachelors  thereupon  went  to 
*  the  Schools.'  Three  questions  in  Natural  Philosophy 
were  propounded  for  a  discussion  between  the  Dean  of 
each  College  and  each  of  his  Bachelors.  But  the 
Bachelor  apparently  was  allowed  to  answer  by  deputy,  for 
when  a  Syllogism  was  propounded  to  him  *  he  thereupon 
prayed  his  Aristotle  (for  so  is  the  senior  responding 
bachelor  called) '  to  answer  for  him.  These  Disputations 
lasted  from  one  o'clock  till  five,  '  when  the  first  Determiner 


I 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME,  87 

in  each  School  in  the  name  of  the  rest  surrounding,  on 
his  bended  knees  ought  to  return  thanks  to  the  Dean  and 
the  Aristotles  under  a  certain  form  of  words.' 

These  were  followed  by  Disputations  on  logical  ques- 
tions, which  the  Bachelors  were  obliged  to  defend  accord- 
ing to  their  great  master  Aristotle.  In  Rhetoric,  Politics, 
and  Moral  Philosophy  everyone  was  likewise  bound  to 
defend  Aristotle  and  the  whole  doctrine  of  the  Peripatetics, 
under  pain  that  his  answer  shall  not  be  taken  pro  formA^ 
and  that  he  shall  be  mulcted  five  shillings  toties  quoties. 

All  the  Bachelors  had  to  attend  service  at  St.  Mary's 
on  the  vigil  of  Palm  Sunday,  when  'after  the  end  of 
prayers  the  junior  Proctor  makes  a  speech,  rebuking  all 
errors  committed  in  point  of  learning  during  the  Lent, 
as  well  as  offences  against  good  manners,  especially 
tumults,  brawlings,  and  fightings  if  any  shall  have  hap- 
pened.' They  had  next  each  to  read  six  solemn  lectures 
in  public  without  borrowing  or  transcribing  from  authors, 
but  purely  of  their  own  composition,  and  each  of  these 
lectures  was  to  last  above  half  an  hour. 

They  had  moreover  to  go  'a  circuiting.'  Mr.  Erasmus 
Philipps  records  in  his  diary  :  '  April  4.  Went  a  circuit- 
ing with  Mr.  Collins  of  our  College.  This  is  an  exercise 
previous  to  a  Master's  Degree.'  A  man  was  said  to  go  a 
circuiting  when  clothed  in  his  proper  habit  and  following 


88  DR.  JOHNSON. 


his  Dean,  bareheaded,  with  the  bedels  (or  one  of  them 
at  least)  going  before  him  he  waited  upon  the  Vice- 
Chancellor  and  the  Proctors  to  supplicate  their  presence 
at  a  Congregation  the  next  day  that  he  might  be  presented 
for  his  degree.  It  was  required  that  the  Vice-Chancellor 
and  Proctors  should  be  waited  upon  on  the  same  day  and 
before  the  sun  set. 

They  had  lastly  to  dispute  on  three  questions  at  the 
next  Act  or  Commemoration  as  it  is  now  called.  Not 
every  Commemoration  was  in  those  days  a  Public  Com- 
memoration. 

'These  academical  jubilees,'  writes  CoUey  Cibber, 
*  have  usually  been  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of  congratula- 
tory compliment  to  the  accession  of  every  new  Prince  to 
the  throne.'  They  had  been  more  frequently  held,  how- 
ever, after  the  Restoration,  though,  owing  as  he  thinks  to 
the  dissensions  of  Whigs  and  Tories,  they  had  again 
become  uncommon. 

A  company  of  actors  often  went  down  to  Oxford  on 
such  occasions,  and  Dryden  wrote  several  of  his  pro- 
logues for  the  plays  that  were  then  performed.  The 
comedians  generally  acted  twice  a  day.  Once  quite  early 
in  the  morning  so  that  the  play  might  be  over  before  the 
hour  of  dinner,  and  once  in  the  afternoon  in  time  for  the 
scholars  to  get  back  to  their  colleges  before  the  great  bell 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  89 

of  Christ  Church  rang  at  nine  o'clock  for  the  gates  to  be 
shut.  The  actors  found  a  more  highly  cultivated  audience 
at  Oxford  than  at  London.  '  A  great  deal  of  that  false 
flashy  wit  and  forced  humour,  which  had  been  the  delight 
of  our  Metropolitan  multitude  was  only  rated  there  at  its 
bare  intrinsic  value.'  Shakespeare  and  Jonson  were  now 
reverenced  in  Oxford  as  Aristotle  once  had  been.  Addi- 
son alone  among  the  play-writers  of  the  day  was  allowed 
to  have  any  merit.  Thrice  was  *  Cato '  acted  during  the 
Commemoration  of  1 712,  and  each  time  before  a  crowded 
house. 

A  great  change  has,  indeed,  come  over  Oxford. 
Plays  are  no  longer  acted  during  the  great  summer  fes- 
tival. But  the  undergraduate  who  once  despised  the 
false,  flashy  wit  and  forced  humour  of  the  hired  actor,  has 
now  turned  buffoon  himself.  The  students  who  cannot 
for  one  short  hour  restrain  their  folly  while  strangers, 
men  of  worth  and  learning,  are  having  honour  done 
to  them  by  the  most  venerable  of  Universities,  would 
not  have  thronged  to  see  'Cato'  acted,  written 
though  it  was  by  one  of  the  most  illustrious  of  the 
sons  of  Oxford. 

The  Commemoration  of  old  was  not  altogether  free 
from  scurrility.  It  suffered  under  but  one  buffoon,  and 
that  a  licensed   buffoon.     'An   impudent   fellow,'   says 


90  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Ayliffe,  *  of  no  reputation  in  himself,  called  a  "  Terrae- 
Filius,"  was  allowed  to  sport  and  play  with  the  reputation 
of  others.  This  manner  of  sportive  wit,'  he  adds,  *  had 
its  first  original  at  the  time  of  the  Reformation,  when  the 
gross  absurdities  and  superstitions  of  the  Roman  Church 
were  to  be  exposed.'  It  was  no  small  gain,  however, 
that  the  Terrse-Filius,  whose  opponent  was  one  of  the 
pro-Proctors,  had  to  carry  on  the  disputation  in  Latin. 

In  the  year  1733  a  grand  public  Act  was  held.^ 
Hearne  commended  the  Vice-Chancellor  '  for  reviving 
our  Acts '  and  for  excluding  the  players.  But  the  old 
Jacobite  was  indignant  that  'one  Handel,  a  foreigner,' 
was  allowed  to  come  with  '  his  lousy  crew— a  great  num- 
ber of  foreign  fiddlers.'  Whether  Hearne  hated  them  as 
fiddlers  or  as  Germans  is  not  clear.  Perhaps  he  hated 
them  as  both.  More  than  one  account  is  preserved  of 
this  Commemoration. 

At  the  Act,  whether  it  was  public  or  was  private, 
those  who  took  the  higher  degrees,  whether  Masters  or 
Doctors — inceptors  as  they  were  called — had,  as  I  have 
said,  to  perform  their  final  exercises.  On  the  previous 
Saturday,  '  in  their  Act  habits,  the  bedels  going  before 
them,  they  went  into  all  the  schools,  and  by  a  bedel  of 
each  faculty  gave  an  invitation  in  Latin  to  the  several 
'  See  page  42. 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  91 


readers  to  be  present  at  the  performance  of  their  exer- 
cise. They  craved,  moreover,  a  benediction  of  their 
professors,  which  they  gave  accordingly.'  Perhaps  the 
benedictions  went  some  way  to  make  up  for  the  lectures 
which  the  professors  had  left  off  giving.  The  disputa- 
tions were  carried  on  in  the  schools  and  in  the  Shel- 
donian  Theatre  the  following  Monday.  On  that  day  the 
Vice-Chancellor,  accompanied  by  the  heads  of  houses, 
the  doctors  in  their  boots  and  robes,  and  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  University  properly  habited,  repaired  to  the 
theatre,  where  was  a  vast  concourse  of  nobility  and  other 
persons  of  distinction  of  both  sexes.  There  were  eighty- 
four  Masters  of  Arts  created.  There  were  besides  nine 
Inceptors  in  Theology,  six  in  Medicine,  two  in  Law, 
and  one  in  Philosophy.  These  had  each  to  discuss  three 
questions  against  an  opponent.  The  opponents  in 
divinity  were  mostly  the  heads  of  houses.  In  theology 
alone,  therefore,  on  that  Monday  afternoon  twenty-seven 
questions  had  to  be  discussed.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
in  this  faculty  the  disputation  lasted  from  one  o'clock  till 
between  six  and  seven.  In  the  other  faculties  it  was 
finished  by  five.  The  following  are  examples  of  the 
questions  : — 

*An  tota  Christiana   fides    contineatur  in  hac   sim- 
plici  propositione,  Jesum  esse  Messiam  ? ' 


92  DR.  JOHNSON. 


*An  purgatio  conveniat  in  secunda  variolarum  febre? ' 

'  An  ex  praesumptionibus  de  crimine  quis  sit  condem- 
nandus  ? ' 

*An  entium  spiritualium  proprietates  concipiantur 
analogice  ? ' 

The  eighty-four  inceptors  in  Arts  had  to  dispute  on 
three  philosophical  questions  ;  but,  happily  for  the 
audience,  one  of  these  inceptors  was  appointed  as 
respondent  for  all.  At  this  grand  Commemoration  of 
1733  the  Terrae-Filius,  though  he  appeared  in  his 
character,  was  not  allowed  to  open  his  mouth.  It  were 
greatly  to  be  wished  that  the  modern  Terrae-Filius,  with 
his  hundred  mouths,  could  be  silenced  whenever  it  was 
thought  that  buffoonery  would  be  out  of  place. 

It  is  worth  noticing,  as  a  proof  of  the  favour  shown 
to  rank,  that  of  the  thirty-five  students  who  took  part  in 
the  '  Philological  Exercises,'  eleven  were  sons  of  men  of 
title.  If  those  who  had  thus  the  honour  of  reciting  in 
public  were  fairly  chosen.  Savage  must  have  been 
singularly  unjust  when,  about  this  time,  he  wrote  his 
celebrated  line : 

Some  tenth  transmitter  of  a  foolish  face. 

A  great  crowd  of  country  people  had  come  to  see  this 
unusual  sight.    On  common  occasions  they  were  welcome 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  93 

enough,  but  this  year  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  the 
gownsmen  took  it  ill.  *  They  contrived,'  said  an  eye- 
witness, 'so  to  place  themselves,  that  as  soon  as  the 
"  Hem  !  "  was  given,  the  country  people  were  set  a-going 
in  such  a  manner,  that  they  trundled  one  another  into 
the  court  whilst  you  could  say  "  Bob  Fergeson." '  In 
what  age,  we  may  ask,  did  Jack  Robinson  begin  to 
flourish?  In  the  evening  the  Chevalier  Handel,  'as 
some  of  the  company  had  been  but  very  scramblingly 
entertained  at  the  disputations,  tried  how  a  little  fiddling 
would  sit  upon  them,'  and  gave  a  performance  of.  his 
'  Esther.' 

In  each  college  a  sumptuous  and  elegant  supper — 
called  the  Act  Supper — at  the  equal  expense  of  all  the 
inceptors,  was  given  for  the  entertainment  of  the 
Doctors. 

The  next  morning,  all  the  inceptors  being  waited 
upon  by  the  bedels,  met  at  St.  Mary's,  and  after  the 
Litany  was  over,  the  bedels  still  waiting  upon  them, 
humbly  and  reverently  presented  their  offerings  at  the 
altar. 

There  were  then  fresh  disputations  in  the  theatre. 
The  first  among  the  inceptor  Masters  had  a  book  given 
him  by  the  Senior  Proctor — the  Father  of  the  Comitia, 
as  he  was  styled ;  and  was  then  by  him  created  a  Master 


94  DR.  JOHNSON, 


by  a  kiss  and  by  putting  on  his  cap.  Next  the  Regius 
Professor  of  Divinity  addressed  the  inceptor  Doctors. 
*  When  he  came  to  that  part  which  related  to  their  boots, 
it  was  incumbent  upon  the  Proctors  to  see  that  he 
examined  whether  they  had  their  boots  on.  By  which  is 
intimated,  some  say,  that  they  should  be  always  ready  for 
the  discharge  of  every  part  of  their  duty ;  others  say  that 
the  superior  inceptors  were  allowed  to  wear  upon  this 
festivity  that  which  they  are  forbidden  by  statute  to  wear 
generally,  as  too  proud  a  fashion  for  the  University.' 
From  Ayliffe  we  learn  that  in  the  congregation  which 
was  held  immediately  after  the  Act,  '  at  the  supplication 
of  the  Doctors  and  Masters  newly  created,  they  are  wont 
to  dispense  with  the  wearing  of  boots  and  slop  shoes,  to 
which  the  Doctors  and  Masters  of  the  Act  are  obliged 
during  the  Comitia.'  When  the  Proctors  were  satisfied 
that  the  Regius  Professor  of  Divinity  had  properly  ex- 
amined whether  the  Doctors  had  their  boots  on,  and 
when  the  degrees  had  been  all  conferred,  Handel  gave  a 
performance  of  his  new  opera  'Athalia'  before  an 
audience  of  3,700  persons. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  Commemoration,  Father 
Courayer,  who  had  fled  from  France  about  seven  years 
before  on  account  of  a  book  he  had  written  in  defence  of 
the  English  ordination,  returned  thanks  in  his  robes  to 


OXFORD  IN  JOHNSON'S   TIME.  95 

the  University  for  the  honour  it  had  done  him  two  years 
before  in  presenting  him  with  his  degree. 

Such  was  the  Grand  PubHc  Act,  or  Commemoration, 
of  1733-  Johnson,  no  doubt,  had  witnessed  one  Act  if 
not  more,  and  had  seen  the  solemn  procession  of  Heads 
of  Houses  and  Doctors,  and  had  hstened  to  the  disputations 
of  the  inceptors  in  each  of  the  faculties.  No  Handel 
had  come  in  his  time,  however,  nor  had  one  come  would 
Johnson  have  cared  to  hear  him.  He  knew  no  difference 
between  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee. 

There  is  one  other  scene  at  which  it  is  likely  that 
Johnson  was  at  times  an  attentive  listener.  The  students 
in  those  days  were  privileged  to  attend  the  assize  courts, 
and  largely  availed  themselves  of  their  privilege.  Their 
conduct  there  was  anything  but  seemly. 

In  most  country  courts  in  those  days  there  was,  if  we 
may  trust  Lovell  Edgeworth,  not  a  little  noise  and  confu- 
sion. At  Oxford  the  din  and  interruption  were  beyond 
anything  he  had  ever  witnessed.  The  young  men  were 
not  in  the  least  solicitous  to  preserve  decorum,  and  the 
judges  were  unwilHng  to  be  severe  upon  the  students. 

Edgeworth  says  that  he  was  present  at  a  trial  for 
felony,  when  the  foreman  of  the  jury,  who  had  not  heard 
the  evidence  or  the  summing  up,  asked  him  what  verdict 
he  should  give.     The  young  student  at  once  stood  up  to 


96  DR.  JOHNSON, 


inform  the  Judge.  'Sit  down,  sir/  said  the  Judge. 
Edge  worth  begged  to  be  heard.  The  Judge  grew  angry, 
and  told  him  that  his  gown  should  not  protect  him. 
Edgeworth  persisted,  and  the  Judge  ordered  the  sheriff  to 
remove  hin*.  At  last  he  made  the  Judge  hear  him,  and 
*  at  once  received  an  apology  and  a  few  words  of  strong 
approbation.' 

I  have  done  my  best  to  bring  before  my  readers 
Oxford  as  it  was  when  the  rolls  of  Pembroke  College  first 
received  the  name  of  Samuel  Johnson.  I  have,  I  hope, 
thrown  some  light  also  on  the  University  as  it  was  in 
later  years,  when  the  scholar  who  had  been  driven  forth 
by  poverty  and  neglect  would  now  have  been  a  welcome 
and  an  honoured  guest  in  any  of  its  colleges.  It  is  but 
little  that  has  been  handed  down  to  us  of  the  incidents  of 
his  undergraduate  days,  and  to  that  little  I  have  not  been 
able  to  add  anything.  All  that  was  left  to  me  to  do  was 
to  give  a  picture  of  the  general  life  of  the  students  in  his 
time.  I  have  tried  to  show  what  were  the  habits,  the 
feelings,  and  the  tone  of  thought  which,  at  an  age  when 
the  character  is  most  strongly  affected  for  good  or  for 
evil,  were  brought  to  bear  on  this  poor  scholar,  the  story 
of  whose  life  is,  in  the  words  of  Lord  Macaulay,  '  likely 
to  be  read  as  long  as  the  English  exists  either  as  a  living 
or  a  dead  language.' 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.  97 


CHAPTER   II. 

LORD   MACAULAY   ON   JOHNSON.^ 

Johnson's  character  must  have  had  a  singular  interest  for 
Macaulay,  as  he  has  twice  described  it.  The  vigorous 
sketch  that  he  dashed  off  in  the  days  of  his  youth  for  the 
pages  of  the  *  Edinbuigh  Review '  is  doubtless  more 
widely  known  than  the  life  that  he  wrote  with  such 
exquisite  skill  when  he  was  now  in  the  fulness  of  his 
powers.  In  the  essay  we  seem  to  look  upon  the  picture 
of  a  Tory  painted  by  a  Whig.  In  the  life  we  have  the 
portrait  of  one  great  man  drawn  by  another  great  man. 
Even  here  there  are  great  blemishes  and  great  exaggera- 
tions. But,  taken  as  a  whole,  it  is  an  admirable  piece  of 
workmanship.  In  it  Macaulay  silently  retracts  not  a  few 
of  the  gross  statements  he  had  made  in  his  earlier  writing 
He  no  longer  holds  that  '  as  soon  as  Johnson  took  his 

'  In  writing  this  chapter  I  have  made  use  of  articles  contributed 
by  me  to  the  Times,  September  19,  1874,  and  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  February  17,  1875. 


98  DR,  JOHNSON. 


pen  in  his  hand  to  write  for  the  public  his  style  became 
systematically  vicious.'  He  no  longer  sneers  at  'his  con- 
stant practice  of  padding  out  a  sentence  with  useless 
epithets  till  it  became  as  stiff  as  the  bust  of  an  exquisite.' 
He  can  now  see  the  beauty  and  the  power  of  his  writings. 
He  thus  describes  his  *  Life  of  Savage.'  *  The  little  work, 
with  all  its  faults,  was  a  masterpiece.  No  finer  specimen 
of  literary  biography  existed  in  any  language  living  or 
dead  ;  and  a  discerning  critic  might  have  confidently  pre- 
dicted that  the  author  was  destined  to  be  the  founder  of 
a  new  school  of  English  eloquence.' 

It  is  a  pity  that  Macaulay  had  not  the  justice  more 
openly  to  own  his  error.  His  Essays  are  read  in 
every  quarter  of  the  world.  They  have  been  sold  by 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands,  and  wherever  they  are 
read  there  a  grievous  wrong  is  done  to  the  memory  of 
Johnson.  We  remember  how  the  old  man,  when  he  was 
ill,  begged  Miss  Burney  'to  stand  by  him  and  support 
him,  and  not  hear  him  abused  when  he  was  no  more  and 
could  not  defend  himself.' 

Few  people  have  memory  enough,  or  judgment 
enough  if  they  have  the  memory,  to  compare  different 
accounts  of  the  same  man.  However  inconsistent  the 
accounts  may  be,  they  accept  both  as  true,  and  remember 
in  each  that  only  which  best  fixes  itself  in  the  memory. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.  99 


It  may  seem  almost  a  hopeless  matter  to  struggle  against 
Macaulay's  powerful  mind  and  brilliant  style.  *  There  is 
no  appeal  against  character/  said  Lord  Chesterfield. 
Certainly  there  is  very  little  hope  of  appeal  against  any 
character  Macaulay  has  drawn.  Yet  the  misstatements  of 
which  he  is  guilty  are  so  gross  that,  if  truth  has  the  power 
that  is  commonly  assigned  to  her,  she  ought  to  prevail. 

It  is  doubly  important  now  and  then  to  examine  with 
great  minuteness  some  one  or  two  of  the  almost  countless 
likenesses  that  Macaulay  has  drawn.  There  is  no  man 
living  who  could  follow  him  in  all  the  width  of  his 
reading,  and  through  all  the  stores  of  learning  displayed 
by  his  powerful  and  ready  memory.  There  are  many  men 
who  can  rival  him,  and  even  go  beyond  him,  in  the  know- 
ledge of  some  among  the  books  and  men  and  periods 
that  he  has  described.  Such  men  can  test  the  accuracy  of 
his  workmanship  on  one  point,  and  can  thereby  infer  how 
far  he  is  to  be  trusted  in  cases  where  they  have  not  their 
own  previous  knowledge  by  which  to  judge,  but  only  his 
statements  on  which  to  rely.  I  have  in  more  than  one 
case  followed  in  his  steps  with  no  little  labour  and  care. 
The  result  has  been  that,  much  as  I  wonder  at  his  vast 
and  varied  gifts,  I  have,  like  many  others,  come  to  distrust 
the  truthfulness  of  the  characters  he  has  so  vigorously 
drawn.    The  first  thing  he  aimed  at  was  brilliancy,  and  to 

n  2 


IOC  DR.  JOHNSON. 


brilliancy  he  was  not  unwilling  to  make  some  sacrifice  of 
truth.  A  hasty  saying  which  was,  perhaps,  forgotten  by  the 
speaker  almost  as  soon  as  uttered ;  a  hasty  action,  which 
was  quickly  regretted  and  never  repeated,  are  turned  by  him 
into  the  habits  of  a  lifetime.  Gibbon  has  justly  censured 
the  historian  of  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Justinian,  by 
whom  '  the  partial  injustice  of  a  moment  is  dexterously 
applied  as  the  general  maxim  of  a  reign  of  thirty-two 
years.'  I  shall  have,  in  another  chapter,  to  show  in  the 
case  of  Boswell  how  open  Macaulay  is  to  the  same 
kind  of  censure.  I  shall  now  confine  myself  to  his 
treatment  of  Johnson.  I  should  weary  my  readers'  atten- 
tion if  I  were  to  point  out  all  the  errors  into  which  he  has 
fallen,  and  all  the  misstatements  which  he  has  made.  I 
shall  content  myself  with  examining  some — but  only  some 
— of  those  which  are  of  the  most  importance.  I  shall 
try,  moreover,  to  show  one  side  of  Johnson's  character, 
which,  neither  in  Macaulay  nor  in  any  other  of  his  bio- 
graphers, is  seen  with  any  fulness,  and  I  shall  end  by 
attempting  to  prove  that  Johnson  was  a  far  happier  man 
than  is  commonly  supposed. 

The  character  that  Macaulay  gives  of  Johnson  might 
have  been  founded  on  a  passage  in  one  of  Horace  Wal- 
pole's  letters,  just  as  the  character  he  gives  of  Boswell 
would  seem  to  have  been  founded  on  a  criticism  by  Gray. 


LORD  MACAU  LAY  ON  JOHNSON.         loi 

Walpole  writing  ^  of  '  Boswell's  most  absurd  enormous 
book,'  2  which  had  just  been  published,  says, '  The  more 
one  learns  of  Johnson,  the  more  preposterous  assem- 
blage he  appears  of  strong  sense,  of  the  lowest  bigotry 
and  prejudices,  of  pride,  brutality,  fretfulness,  and 
vanity.'  Macaulay  says,  'the  characteristic  peculiarity 
of  his  intellect  was  the  union  of  great  powers  with  low 
prejudices.'  In  writing  of  that  curious  though  quite 
intelligible  mixture  of  credulity  and  incredulity  which 
characterized  Johnson,  he  says,  'Johnson  was  in  the 
habit  of  sifting  with  extreme  severity  the  evidence  for  all 
stories  which  were  merely  odd.  But  when  they  were  not 
only  odd  but  miraculous,  his  severity  relaxed.  He  began 
to  be  credulous  precisely  at  the  point  where  the  most 
credulous  people  begin  to  be  sceptical.  .  .  .  He  once 
said,  half  jestingly  we  suppose,  that  for  six  months  he 
refused  to  credit  the  fact  of  the  earthquake  at  Lisbon, 
and  that  he  still  believed  the  extent  of  the  calamity  to  be 
greatly  exaggerated.  Yet  he  related  with  a  grave  face 
how  old  Mr.  Cave  of  St.  John's-gate  saw  a  ghost,  and 
how  this  ghost  was  something  of  a  shadowy  being.     He 

*  Letter  to  the  Hon.  H.  S.  Conway^  October  6,  1785.  I  am  not 
sure  if  this  letter  had  been  published  at  the  time  when  Macaulay 
wrote  his  review. 

2  you7-nal  of  the  Tour  to  the  Highlands  and  Islands  of  Scotland. 


I02  DR.  JOHNSON. 


went  himself  on  a  ghost-hunt  to  Cock-lane,  and  was 
angry  with  John  Wesley  for  not  following  up  another 
scent  of  the  same  kind  with  proper  spirit  and  perseve- 
rance.* 

Now,  before  I  consider  the  misrepresentations  con- 
tained in  the  last  two  paragraphs,  I  will  first  examine  into 
Johnson's  general  belief  in  apparitions.  Boswell,  in 
writing  about  the  appearance  of  departed  spirits,  states 
that  it  is  *  a  doctrine  which  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
Johnson  himself  ever  positively  held.'  Johnson  himself 
said,  in  speaking  of  apparitions,  *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.'  In 
another  passage  he  said,  in  considering  whether  there 
had  ever  been  an  instance  of  the  spirit  of  any  person 
appearing  after  death,  *  All  argument  is  against  it,  but  all 
belief  is  for  it.'  In  fact,  his  state  of  mind  was  not  an 
unnatural  one  for  a  man  who  had  a  firm  belief  in  another 
world.     If  we  have  any  existence  after  death,  it  is  surely 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         103 

only  negative  evidence  which  can  disprove  the  exis- 
tence of  apparitions.  If  we  still  exist  somewhere  after 
death,  there  is  no  i  priori  impossibility  of  our  existing  on 
the  earth.  Johnson,  indeed,  was  certainly  likely  to  have 
admitted  general  evidence  in  proof  of  the  appearance  of 
a  ghost  which  many  men  would  have  at  once  and  rightly 
rejected.  When,  however,  there  was  a  possibility  of  test- 
ing any  particular  piece  of  evidence,  he  would  have  been 
the  first  to  sift  it  with  the  utmost  severity.  This,  indeed, 
he  wanted  John  Wesley  to  do ;  and  he  was  angry  with 
him,  not  for  not  following  up  the  scent  with  proper 
spirit  and  perseverance,  as  Macaulay  says,  but  for  be- 
lieving in  a  ghost  story  without  proper  grounds.  It  is 
.necessary  to  quote  the  whole  passage  from  Boswell,  so 
that  my  readers  may  see  how  strangely  Macaulay  has 
perverted  it  : — *  Of  John  Wesley  he  said,  "  He  can  talk 
well  on  any  subject."  Boswell :  "  Pray,  sir,  what  has  he 
made  of  his  story  of  a  ghost?"  yoh?tson  :  **Why,  sir, 
he  believes  it,  but  not  on  sufficient  authority.  He  did 
not  take  time  enough  to  examine  the  girl.  It  was  at 
Newcastle  where  the  ghost  was  said  to  have  appeared  to 
a  young  woman  several  times,  mentioning  something 
about  the  right  to  an  old  house  ;  advising  application 
to  be  made  to  an  attorney,  which  was  done ;  and  at  the 
same  time  saying  the  attorney  would  do  nothing,  which 


I04  DR.  JOHNSON. 


proved  to  be  the  fact.  'This,'  says  John,  'is  a  proof 
that  a  ghost  knows  our  thoughts.'  Now  (laughing)  it  is 
not  necessary  to  know  our  thoughts  to  tell  that  an  attorney 
will  sometimes  do  nothing.  Charles  Wesley,  who  is  a 
more  stationary  man,  does  not  believe  the  story.  I  am 
sorry  that  John  did  not  take  more  pains  to  enquire  into 
the  evidence  for  it."  Miss  Seward  (with  an  incredulous 
smile)  :  "  What,  sir,  about  a  ghost ! "  Johnson  (with 
solemn  vehemence) :  "  Yes,  madam.  This  is  a  question 
which,  after  five  thousand  years,  is  yet  undecided ;  a 
question,  whether  in  theology  or  philosophy,  one  of  the 
most  important  that  can  come  before  the  human  under- 
standing." '  We  may,  indeed,  wonder  that  a  man  of  John- 
son's vigorous  intellect  should  have  refused  to  accept  the 
general  evidence  against  apparitions,  which  was  strong 
enough  even  in  his  day.  In  the  case  of  John  Wesley's 
ghost,  however,  he  was  anything  but  credulous.  In  fact, 
as  is  shown  by  another  passage,  it  was  Boswell,  and  not 
Johnson,  who  wanted  to  follow  up  the  scent.  Boswell 
says,  '  Mr.  Wesley  believed  it,  but  Johnson  did  not  give 
it  credit.  I  was,  however,  desirous  to  examine  the  ques- 
tion closely.' 

The  account  Macaulay  gives  of  the  ghost  that  Cave 
was  said  to  have  seen,  though  not  so  inaccurate,  is  still 
not  fair.     Boswell  writes  :  '  Talking  of  ghosts,  he  said  he 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         105 

knew  one  friend  who  was  an  honest  man  and  a  sen- 
sible man,  who  told  him  he  had  seen  a  ghost ;  old  Mr. 
Edward  Cave,  the  printer  at  St.  John's  Gate.  He  said 
Mr.  Cave  did  not  like  to  talk  of  it,  and  seemed  to  be  in 
great  horror  whenever  it  was  mentioned.  Boswell :  "  Pray 
Sir,  what  did  he  say  was  the  appearance  ? "  Johnson  : 
"  Why,  Sir,  something,  of  a  shadowy  being." '  Macaulay 
says,  '  he  related  with  a  grave  face  how  old  Mr.  Cave 
saw  a  ghost.'  Of  the  gravity  of  his  face  we  are  told 
nothing,  but  what  he  related  was  not  what  old  Mr.  Cave 
saw,  but  what  old  Mr.  Cave  said  he  saw.  Well  might 
Johnson  say,  *  Accustom  your  children  constantly  to  a 
strict  attention  to  truth,  even  in  the  most  minute  particu- 
lars ;  if  a  thing  happened  at  one  window,  and  they,  when 
relating  it,  say  that  it  happened  at  another,  do  not  let  it 
pass,  but  instantly  check  them ;  you  do  not  know  where 
deviation  from  truth  will  end.'  As  for  the  Cock-lane 
ghost,  Johnson  scarcely  deserves  more  reproach  than  did 
Faraday  when  he  took  the  trouble  to  expose  the  folly  of 
table-turning.  He  thought,  indeed,  that  it  was  possible 
for  a  ghost  to  appear  in  Cock-lane  as  anywhere  else, 
while  Faraday,  from  the  beginning,  saw  through  the 
modern  absurdity.  Johnson  examined  into  the  facts  of 
the  case  and  exposed  the  whole  imposture  in  an  account 
which  he  wrote  for  the  Gentkfnan's  Magazine.     Later  on, 


y 


io6  DR.  JOHNSON. 

*  he  expressed,'  writes  Boswell,  '  great  indignation  at  the 
imposture  of  the  Cock-lane  ghost,  and  related,  with 
much  satisfaction,  how  he  had  assisted  in  detecting  the 
cheat,  and  had  published  an  account  of  it  in  the  news- 
papers.' 

Scarcely  less  unfair  is  Macaulay  when  he  says  that 
Johnson  *  declares  himself  willing  to  believe  the  stories  of 
the  second  sight.'  Johnson  when  he  went  to  the  High- 
lands, resolved  to  examine  the  question  of  the  second 
sight.  *  Of  an  opinion,'  he  writes,  *  received  for  centuries 
by  a  whole  nation,  and  supposed  to  be  confirmed  through 
its  whole  descent  by  a  series  of  successive  facts,  it  is 
desirable  that  the  truth  should  be  established  or  the 
fallacy  detected.'  He  found  that  '  the  islanders  of  all 
degrees,  whether  of  rank  or  understanding,  universally 
admitted  it,  except  the  ministers.'  He  enquired  into  the 
question  as  far  as  he  was  able,  but  ends  by  saying,  *  I 
never  could  advance  my  curiosity  to  conviction ;  but 
came  away  at  last  only  willing  to  believe.'  Is  this  the 
habit  of  mind  of  a  man  who  '  begins  to  be  credulous  pre- 
cisely at  the  point  where  the  most  credulous  people 
begin  to  be  sceptical?'  A  superstitious  man  always 
believes  what  he  is  willing  to  believe,  and  advances  his 
curiosity  to  conviction  just  as  fast  as  his  wishes  lead  him. 
His  judgment  says  to  his  inclination,  '  I  believe.     Help 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         107 


thou  my  unbelief/  and  his  indination  at  once  renders  the 
required  aid.  Johnson  no  doubt  longed  to  find,  as  one 
who  knew  him  said,  *  some  positive  proof  of  communi- 
cation with  another  world.'  With  all  his  faith  in  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  he 
would  have  eagerly  welcomed  any  further  proof.  Had 
his  faith,  indeed,  been  as  free  from  all  doubts  as  that  of 
many  men,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have  so  fiercely 
resented  any  attempt,  however  slight,  to  question  the 
evidences  of  Christianity.  *  Every  man,'  he  once  said, 
*who  attacks  my  belief  diminishes  in  some  degree  my 
confidence  in  it,  and  therefore  makes  me  uneasy  ;  and  I 
am  angry  with  him  who  makes  me  uneasy.'  It  was  this 
strong  desire  to  add  one  more  prop  to  his  belief  that 
made  him  willing  to  believe  in  the  appearance  of  spirits 
and  second  sight.  But  as  I  have  said,  whenever  he  came 
in  each  case  to  look  into  the  evidence,  his  reason  was 
too  powerful  to  suffer  any  indulgence  to  be  shown  to  his 
desires. 

To  pass  to  another  of  his  '  low  prejudices.'  '  It  is 
remarkable,'  Macaulay  writes,  '  that  to  the  last  Johnson 
entertained  a  fixed  contempt  for  all  those  modes  of  life 
and  those  studies  which  tend  to  emancipate  the  mind 
from  the  prejudices  of  a  particular  age  or  a  particular 
nation.      Of   foreign   travel   and   of  history    he    spoke 


io8  DR.  JOHNSON. 


with  the  fierce  and  boisterous  contempt  of  ignorance. 
"  What  does  a  man  learn  by  travelling  ?  Is  Beauclerk 
the  better  for  travelling?  What  did  Lord  Charlemont 
learn  in  his  travels,  except  that  there  was  a  snake  in  one 
of  the  pyramids  of  Egypt?'"  Any  one  reading  this  pas- 
sage and  seeing  the  inverted  commas  would  at  once 
believe  that  he  was  reading  Johnson's  own  words.  He 
is  really  reading  but  an  abridgment  of  them,  and  an 
abridgment  in  which  the  sense  has  been  greatly  altered. 
I  must  again  give  his  words  as  reported  by  Boswell  : — 

*  "  Time  may  be  employed  to  more  advantage  from 
nineteen  to  twenty-four  almost  in  any  way  than  travel- 
ling. When  you  set  travelling  against  mere  negation, 
against  doing  nothing,  it  is  better  to  be  sure ;  but  how 
much  more  would  a  young  man  improve  were  he  to 
study  during  those  years  !  Indeed,  if  a  young  man  is 
wild,  and  must  run  after  bad  company,  it  is  better  this 
should  be  done  abroad,  as.  on  his  return,  he  can  break 
off  such  connections,  and  begin  at  home  a  new  man, 
with  a  character  to  form  and  acquaintance  to  make. 
How  little  does  travelling  supply  to  the  conversation  of 
any  man  who  has  travelled  1  how  little  to  Beauclerk  I " 

Boswell :  "  What  say  you  to  Lord (Charlemont)  ?  " 

Johnson  :  "I  never  but  once  heard  him  talk  of  what  he 
had  seen,  and  that  was  of  a  large  serpent  in  one  of  the 


LORD  MAC  AULA  Y  ON  JOHNSON.         109 

pyramids  of  Egypt."  Boswell :  "  Well,  I  happened  to 
hear  him  tell  the  same  thing,  which  made  me  mention 
him." '  Croker  adds  in  a  note,  *  His  lordship  was,  to  the 
last,  in  the  habit  of  telling  this  story  rather  too  often.' 

Johnson,  in  this  passage,  does  not  condemn  travelling 
in  general.  He  says,  and  most  men  would  agree  with  him, 
that  the  years  between  nineteen  and  twenty-four  should 
not  be  spent,  as  was  in  his  time  so  commonly  the  case, 
in  mere  travelling.  He  goes  on  to  say  that  good  talkers 
who  have  travelled  talk  little  the  better  because  they  have 
travelled.  But  it  is  not  needful  to  enlarge  on  the  way  in 
which  his  meaning  has  been  wrested.  It  is  open  to  every 
one  to  see.  So  far  from  having  a  fierce  and  boisterous 
contempt  of  travel,  Johnson  had  very  early  shown  a  great 
eagerness  for  it  and  this  eagerness  lasted  till  old  age. 
When  he  was  an  undergraduate  at  Pembroke  he  was,  as 
my  readers  will  remember,  overheard  saying  to  himself, 
'  Well,  I  have  a  mind  to  see  what  is  done  in  other  places 
of  learning.  I'll  go  and  visit  the  universities  abroad.  I'll 
go  to  France  and  Italy.  I'll  go  to  Padua.  And  I'll  mind 
my  business.  For  an  Athenian  blockhead  is  the  worst  of 
all  blockheads.'  It  was  not  till  he  was  an  old  man  that 
he  could  afford  to  gratify  this  eagerness. 

The  tour  to  the  Hebrides  was  a  greater  undertaking 
than  a  tour  to  Iceland  in  the  present  day,  and  he  was 


no  DR.  JOHNSON. 


sixty-four  when  he  set  out  on  it.  '  On  our  return  to 
Edinburgh,'  says  Boswell,  '  everybody  accosted  us  with 
some  studied  compliment/  while  Robertson  advanced 
to  Dr.  Johnson  repeating  a  line  of  Virgil.  '  I  am  really 
ashamed,'  said  Johnson,  '  of  the  congratulations  which 
we  receive.  We  are  addressed  as  if  we  had  made  a 
voyage  to  Nova  Zembla  and  suffered  five  persecutions  in 
Japan.'  In  his  sixty-eighth  year  he  was  eager  for  a  trip 
to  the  Baltic.  He  writes  :  '  Boswell  shrinks  from  the 
Baltic  expedition,  which,  I  think,  is  the  best  scheme  in  our 
power.  What  we  shall  substitute,  I  know  not.  He  wants 
to  see  Wales ;  but,  except  the  woods  of  Bachycraigh, 
what  is  there  in  Wales  that  can  fill  the  hunger  of  ignor- 
ance or  quench  the  thirst  of  curiosity  ? '  He  had  been 
the  year  before  full  of  eagerness  for  a  tour  to  Italy  with 
the  Thrales.  He  said,  '  Mr.  Thrale  is  to  go  by  my  ad- 
vice to  Mr.  Jackson  (the  all-knowing),  and  get  from  him 
a  plan  for  seeing  the  most  that  can  be  seen  in  the  time 
that  we  have  to  travel.  We  must,  to  be  sure,  see  Rome, 
Naples,  Florence,  and  Venice,  and  as  much  more  as  we 
can.  (Speaking  with  a  tone  of  animation.)'  The  tour 
was  put  off.  Boswell  goes  on  to  say  :  '  He  said,  "  I  am 
disappointed,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it  is  not  a  great  disappoint- 
ment." I  wondered  to  see  him  bear  with  a  philosophical 
calmness  what  would  have  made  most  people  peevish  and 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         in 

fretful.  I  perceived  that  he  had  so  warmly  cherished  the 
hope  of  enjoying  classical  scenes  that  he  could  not  easily 
part  with  the  scheme ;  for  he  said,  "  I  shall  probably  con- 
trive to  get  to  Italy  some  other  way."  '  Later  on,  in  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  he  says,  *  I  hope  you  have  no 
design  of  stealing  away  to  Italy  before  the  election  ;  nor 
of  leaving  me  behind  you ;  though  I  am  not  only  seventy, 
but  seventy-one.' 

On  another  occasion  Boswell  says  :  *  He  talked  with 
an  uncommon  animation  of  travelling  into  distant  coun- 
tries ;  that  the  mind  was  enlarged  by  it,  and  that  an 
acquisition  of  dignity  of  character  was  derived  from  it. 
He  expressed  a  particular  enthusiasm  with  respect  to 
visiting  the  wall  of  China.  I  catched  it  for  the  moment, 
and  said  I  really  believed  I  should  go  and  see  the  wall  of 
China  had  I  not  children,  of  whom  it  was  my  duty  to 
take  care.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  by  doing  so,  you  would  do 
what  would  be  of  importance  in  raising  your  children  to 
eminence.  There  would  be  a  lustre  reflected  upon  them 
from  your  spirit  and  curiosity.  They  would  be  at  all 
times  regarded  as  the  children  of  a  man  who  had  gone  to 
view  the  wall  of  China.     I  am  serious,  Sir."' 

Johnson's  manners,  if  we  are  to  trust  Macaulay, 
were  almost  savage.  '  His  active  benevolence,'  he  says, 
'  contrasted  with  the  constant  rudeness  and  the  occasional 


112  DR.  JOHNSON. 


ferocity  of  his  manners  in  society.  .  .  .  For  the  suffer- 
ing which  a  harsh  word  inflicts  upon  a  delicate  mind  he 
had  no  pity  ;  for  it  was  a  kind  of  suffering  which  he  could 
scarcely  conceive.'  Mr.  Carlyle,  in  a  few  pages,  has 
most  nobly  and  beautifully  vindicated  Johnson's  claim  to 
*a  merciful,  tenderly  affectionate  nature.'  It  is  rather, 
however,  with  the  greater  matters  that  he  has  dealt.  I 
shall  attempt  to  show  that  in  smaller  matters  also 
Macaulay  has  not  done  Johnson  justice. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  though  his  tenderness  of 
heart  was  always  great,  yet  his  manners  in  the  last 
twenty  years  of  his  life  were  not  a  little  softened. 
He  never  complained  of  the  world,  yet  for  many  a 
year  he  must  have  felt  that  his  labour  was  shamefully 
underpaid.  A  sense  of  injustice — the  sight,  ever  before 
the  eyes,  of  the  unworthy  idler  getting  filled  with  good 
things  while  the  worthy  labourer  is  sent  empty  away — does 
not  sweeten  the  temper  or  soften  the  manners.  Even  at 
this  time  of  his  life,  however,  he  was  far  from  deserving 
the  harsh  judgment  that  Macaulay  has  passed  on  him. 
But  when  his  modest  pension  had  put  an  end  to  that 
struggle  with  poverty  which,  without  a  moment's  breath- 
ing space,  he  had  carried  on  for  more  than  thirty  years  ; 
still  more,  when  the  Thrales  had  made  their  house  his 
home,  a  change  came  over  him.     As  he  himself  said, 


LORD  MAC  A  [/LAV  ON  JOHNSON.         113 

*  In  my  younger  days,  it  is  true,  I  was  much  inclined  to 
treat  mankind  with  asperity  and  contempt,  but  I  found  it 
answered  no  good  end.  I  thought  it  wiser  and  better  to 
take  the  world  as  it  goes.  Besides,  as  I  have  advanced 
in  life,  I  have  had  more  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  it. 
Mankind  have  treated  me  with  more  kindness,  and  of 
course  I  have  more  kindness  for  them.' 

Madame  Piozzi  herself,  on  whom  Macaulay  has 
largely  drawn,  says,  *  I  saw  Mr.  Johnson  in  none  but  a 
tranquil,  uniform  state,  passing  the  evening  of  his  life 
among  friends  who  loved,  honoured,  and  admired  him.' 
Her  words  must  not  be  pressed  too  closely,  for  beyond  a 
doubt  she  was  more  than  once  a  witness  of  violent  out- 
bursts of  temper.  Nevertheless,  her  testimony  is  clear. 
She  made  Johnson's  acquaintance  when  he  was  fifty-five 
years  old.  *  It  should  seem,'  writes  Macaulay,  *  that  a 
full  half  of  Johnson's  life,  during  about  sixteen  years,  was 
passed  under  the  roof  of  the  Thrales.'  The  tranquil, 
uniform  state  in  which  he  lived  for  so  many  years  con- 
trasts curiously  with  the  manners  that  were  *  almost  savage  ' 
and  the  constant  rudeness  which  are  laid  to  his  charge. 
When  he  was  rude,  even  when  he  was  violent,  there  was 
so  much  '  method  in  his  madness,'  such  wit,  such  humour, 
that  these  outbursts  of  passion  were  never  forgotten. 
Other  men  are  violent  and  silly ;  he  was  violent,  and 

I 


114  DR'  yOHNSON. 


kept  his  wits  more  than  ever  about  him.  The  wit  of  his 
rudeness  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  while  the  gentle- 
ness of  his  every-day  life  afforded  no  matter  for  talk,  and 
so  was  scarcely  known  beyond  his  friends. 

How  tranquil  he  coramonly  was,  at  all  events  in  his 
later  years,  there  is  other  evidence  besides  that  of 
Madame  Piozzi  to  show.  Boswell  says,  *  that  by  much 
the  greatest  part  of  his  time  he  was  civil,  obliging,  nay, 
polite  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  ;  so  much  so  that 
many  gentlemen  who  were  long  acquainted  with  him 
never  received  or  even  heard  a  strong  expression  from 
him.' 

This  is  confirmed  by  the  statement  of  Mr.  Barclay 
(Mr.  Thrale's  successor  in  the  brewery),  who  had  seen 
not  a  little  of  Johnson,  and  who  said  that  he  '  had  never 
observed  any  rudeness  or  violence  on  his  part.'  '  Few 
men,'  said  Miss  Reynolds,  who  had  known  Johnson  in 
the  days  of  his  greatest  poverty,  '  in  his  ordinary  disposi- 
tion or  common  frame  of  mind  could  be  more  inoffensive 
than  Dr.  Johnson.  .  .  .  Peace  and  goodwill  towards 
man  were  the  natural  emanations  of  his  heart' 

Miss  Burney  was  present  at  one  of  the  outbursts  of 
temper.  '  He  had,'  she  said,  *  been  long  provoked,  and 
justly  enough.'  Yet  '  he  did,  to  own  the  truth,  appear 
unreasonably  furious  and  grossly  severe.'    She  adds,  *  I 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON,         115 

never  saw  him  so  before,  and  I  heartily  hope  I  never 
shall  again.'  But  by  this  time  she  had  known  him  at 
least  five  years,  and  she  had  known  him  most  intimately 
for  no  less  than  three  years.  She  had  spent  a  great  deal 
of  time  with  him  at  Streatham.  Yet  this  was  the  first 
violent  outburst  that  she  has  recorded.  Towards  her  he 
was  all  gentleness  and  tenderness.  She  came  to  him, 
indeed,  ready  to  love  him  from  the  affection  her  father 
bore  him.  He  has  recorded  'the  politeness  and  urbanity' 
that  Johnson  showed  him  when  he  was  young  and  un- 
known— '  politeness  and  urbanity,'  he  says,  '  which  may 
be  opposed  to  some  of  the  stories  which  have  been 
lately  circulated  of  his  natural  rudeness  and  ferocity.' 
When  Dr.  Bumey's  daughters  first  met  Johnson,  and 
were  amazed  at  his  figure  and  his  habits,  they  asked  their 
father  why  he  had  not  prepared  them  '  for  such  uncouth, 
untoward  strangeness,  he  laughed  heartily,  and  said  he 
had  entirely  forgotten  that  the  same  impression  had  been 
at  first  made  upon  himself,  but  had  been  lost  even  on  the 
second  interview.' 

Miss  Bumey  is  never  tired  of  recording  his  kindness 
to  her.  He  once  met  her  at  dinner,  when  he  was  suffer- 
ing greatly.  He  was  little  apt  to  complain,  but  he  said 
more  than  once,  '  Ah  !  you  little  know  how  ill  I  am.' 
*  Yet  he  was,'  she  says,  *  excessively  kind  to  me  in  spite 

I  2 


1 6  DR,  JOHNSON. 


of  all  his  pain.*  In  her  diary  are  to  be  found  such  records 
as  the  following  :  'The  dear  Dr.  Johnson  was  more 
pleased,  more  kind,  and  more  delightful  than  ever.* 
^  He  was  charming  both  in  spirits  and  in  humour.  I 
really  think  he  grows  gayer  and  gayer  daily,  and  more 
ductile  and  pleasant'  'He  was,  if  possible,  more  instruc- 
tive, entertaining,  good-humoured,  and  exquisitely  fertile 
than  ever.'  Those  who  can  be  charged  with  either  con- 
stant rudeness  or  anything  like  savageness  of  manners 
are  rude  and  savage  above  all  to  the  weak.  But  Miss 
Burney  says,  '  He  was  always  indulgent  to  the  young, 
he  never  attacked  the  unassuming,  nor  meant  to  terrify 
the  diffident'  He  himself  said  that  he  looked  upon  him- 
self as  *  a  very  polite  man  ;'  and,  indeed,  to  anyone  who 
would  look  below  the  surface  he  had  '  the  noble  univer- 
sal politeness  of  a  man  that  knows  the  dignity  of  men 
and  feels  his  owil'*  But  his  politeness  was  seen  also  by 
those  who  in  such  matters  did  not  look  deep. 

Boswell,  in  recording  Johnson's  first  introduction  to 
Mrs.  Boswell,  writes,  *  as  no  man  could  be  more  polite 
when  he  chose  to  be  so,  his  address  to  her  was  most 
courteous  and  engaging.'  '  When  Dr.  Johnson/  says 
Madame  Piozzi,  '  had  a  mind  to  compliment  any  one,  he 
did  it  with  more  dignity  to  himself  and  better  effect  upon 
*  Mr.  Carlyle.     Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson. 


I 


LORD  MACAU  LAY  ON  JOHNSON,         117 

the  company  than  any  man.'  So  far  from  being  indiffer- 
ent to  poUteness,  he  had  a  great  regard  for  it.  *  He  did 
not  much  like  any  of  the  contrivances  by  which  ease  has 
been  lately  introduced  into  society  instead  of  cere- 
mony.' When  he  entered  a  room  and  '  everybody  rose 
to  do  him  honour,  he  returned  the  attention  with  the 
most  formal  courtesy.'  When  any  lady  visited  him  he 
would,  even  in  his  old  age,  whatever  was  the  state  of  the 
weather,  attend  her  down  a  very  long  entry  to  her  coach. 
The  character  Macaulay  gives  of  him  is  after  all  only  an 
expansion  and  an  exaggeration  of  a  comical  speech  by 
some  Irish  gentleman  whom  Miss  Burney  met.  'Dr. 
Johnson  is  not  much  of  a  fine  gentleman,  indeed  ;  but  a 
clever  fellow — a  deal  of  knowledge — got  a  deuced  good 
understanding.' 

Nothing  was  farther  from  the  truth  than  Macaulay's 
statement  that  'for  the  suffering  which  a  harsh  word 
inflicts  upon  a  deUcate  mind  he  had  no  pity  ;  for  it  was 
a  kind  of  suffering  which  he  could  scarcely  conceive.' 
He  himself  said  in  Miss  Burney's  presence  that  he  was 
always  sorry  when  he  made  bitter  speeches,  and  never 
did  it  but  when  he  was  insufferably  vexed.  Mr.  Murphy 
bears  witness  to  the  truthfulness  of  this  statement. 
'When  the  fray  was  over  he  generally  softened  into 
repentance,  and  by  conciliating  measures  took  care  that 


ii8  DR.  JOHNSON. 


no  animosity  should  be  left  rankling  in  the  breast  of  his 
antagonist.'  Of  this  defect  he  seems  to  have  been  con- 
scious. In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale  he  says,  *  Poor 
Baretti  !  do  not  quarrel  with  him  ;  to  neglect  him  a 
little  will  be  sufficient  He  means  only  to  be  frank  and 
manly  and  independent,  and  perhaps,  as  you  say,  a  little 
wise.  Forgive  him,  dearest  lady,  the  rather,  because  of 
his  misbehaviour  I  am  afraid  he  learned  part  from  me. 
I  hope  to  set  him  hereafter  a  better  example.' 

Miss  Burney  records  how  on  one  occasion,  *  when  he 
was  pursuing  an  antagonist  with  unabating  vigour  and 
dexterity,  recollecting  himself,  and  thinking,  as  he  owned 
afterwards,  that  the  dispute  grew  too  serious,  with  a  skill 
all  his  own,  he  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  turned  it  to 
burlesque.' 

One  evening  when  he  had  treated  Goldsmith  with 
rudeness  he  noticed  that  he  was  sitting  silently,  brooding 
over  his  reprimand.  *  He  said  aside  to  some  of  us — "  I'll 
make  Goldsmith  forgive  me,"  and  then  called  to  him  in 
a  loud  voice,  "  Dr.  Goldsmith,  something  passed  to-day 
where  you  and  I  dined  :  I  ask  your  pardon."  Goldsmith 
answered  placidly,  "  It  must  be  much  from  you.  Sir,  that 
I  take  ill." ' 

Even  more  strongly  did  he  show  his  sorrow  for  his 
rude  treatment  of  Dean  Bernard.     He  had  told  him  at 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         119 

a  dinner-table  that  in  his  character  there  was  great  room 
for  improvement.  He  soon  followed  the  ladies  into  the 
drawing  room,  leaving  the  dean  still  at  table.  *  Sitting 
down  by  the  lady  of  the  house,  he  said,  "  I  am  very  sorry 
for  having  spoken  so  rudely  to  the  dean  ....  and  I  am 
the  more  hurt  on  reflecting  with  what  mild  dignity  he 
received  it."  When  the  dean  came  up  into  the  drawing 
room.  Dr.  Johnson  immediately  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
made  him  sit  on  the  sofa  by  him,  and  with  such  a 
beseeching  look  for  pardon  and  with  such  fond  gestures 
. — literally  smoothing  down  his  arms  and  knees — tokens 
of  penitence  which  were  so  graciously  received  by  the 
dean  as  to  make  Dr.  Johnson  very  happy.' 

'  One  evening  in  the  drawing  room  at  Streatham,  a 
young  gentleman,'  says  Madame  Piozzi,  called  to  him  sud- 
denly, and  I  suppose  he  thought  disrespectfully,  in  these 
words  :  '  Mr.  Johnson,  would  you  advise  me  to  marry?  * 
*  I  would  advise  no  man  to  marry,  sir,  (returns  for  answer 
in  a  very  angry  tone  Dr.  Johnson),  who  is  not  likely  to 
propagate  understanding,'  and  so  left  the  room.  Our 
companion  looked  confounded,  and,  I  believe,  had  scarce 
recovered  the  consciousness  of  his  own  existence,  when 
Johnson  came  back,  and  drawing  his  chair  among  us, 
with  altered  looks  and  a  softened  voice,  joined  in  the 
general    chat,   insensibly  led   the  conversation   to    the 


I20  DR.  JOHNSON. 


subject  of  marriage,  where  he  laid  himself  out  in  a  dis- 
sertation so  useful,  so  elegant,  so  founded  on  the  true 
knowledge  of  human  life  ....  that  no  one  ever  recollected 
the  offence,  except  to  rejoice  in  its  consequences.' 

It  would  be  easy  to  bring  forward  other  instances  to 
prove  that  Johnson  could  both  conceive  the  suffering 
which  he  had  inflicted  by  a  harsh  word,  and  had  not  only 
pity  for  it,  but  was  ready  to  do  all  he  could  to  make 
amends.  Macaulay  in  one  passage  shows  how  little  he 
understood  the  real  tenderness  of  Johnson's  nature.  He 
is  talking  of  the  school  he  had  started  in  Staffordshire. 
*  His  appearance,'  he  writes,  '  was  so  strange,  and  his 
temper  so  violent,  that  his  school-room  must  have  re- 
sembled an  ogre's  den.'  Johnson  would,  no  doubt,  have 
often  been  irritable,  but  that  he  could  have  ever  been 
violent  to  the  boys  in  his  charge,  I  greatly  doubt.  He 
had  suffered  himself  under  a  master  who  was  what  he 
called  *  wrong-headedly  severe,'  and  though  his  discipline 
would  have  been  strict,  yet  he  would  never  have  been 
cruel  or  unjust. 

His  love  of  little  children  was,  as  Boswell  says,  great. 
He  used  to  show  it  'upon  all  occasions,  calling  them 
"pretty  dears,"  and  giving  them  sweetmeats.'  Madame 
Piozzi  says  that  'he  was  exceedingly  disposed  to  the 
general  indulgence  of  children,  and  was  even  scrupulously 


LORD  MAC  A  [/LAV  ON  JOHNSON.         121 

and  ceremoniously  attentive  not  to  offend  them  :  he  had 
strongly  persuaded  himself  of  the  difficulty  people 
always  find  to  erase  early  impressions,  either  of  kindness 
or  resentment,  and  said,  '  he  should  never  have  so  loved 
his  mother  when  a  man,  had  she  not  given  him  coffee 
she  could  ill  afford,  to  gratify  his  appetite  when  a  boy.' 
'  If  you  had  had  children,  sir,'  said  I,  '  would  you  have 
taught  them  anything?*  *I  hope,'  replied  he,  Hhat  I 
should  have  willingly  lived  on  bread  and  water  to  obtain 
instruction  for  them;  but  I  would  not  have  set  their 
future  friendship  to  hazard  for  the  sake  of  thrusting  into 
their  heads  knowledge  of  things  for  which  they  might 
not  perhaps  have  either  taste  or  necessity.  You  teach 
your  daughters  the  diameters  of  the  planets,  and  wonder 
when  you  have  done  that  they  do  not  delight  in  your 
company.'  Madame  Piozzi  further  says  that  *  the  re- 
membrance of  what  had  passed  in  his  own  childhood 
made  Mr.  Johnson  very  solicitous  to  preserve  the  felicity 
of  children  ;  and  when  he  had  persuaded  Dr.  Sumner  to 
remit  the  tasks  usually  given  to  fill  up  boys'  time  during 
the  holidays,  he  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and  told  me  that  he 
had  never  ceased  representing  to  all  the  eminent  school- 
masters in  England  the  absurd  tryanny  of  poisoning 
the  hour  of  permitted  pleasure  by  keeping  future  misery 
before  the  children's  eyes.' 


122  DR.  JOHNSON. 


On  one  occasion  hearing  that  Dr.  Bumey.  with  whom 
he  was  at  that  time  by  no  means  intimate,  was  going  to 
Winchester  to  place  his  youngest  son  in  the  college,  he 
at  once  '  offered  to  accompany  the  father  to  Winchester 
that  he  might  himself  present  the  son  to  the  head  master.' 
The  offer  was  gratefully  accepted.  His  tenderness  to 
poor  children  was  very  touchingly  shown.  *  As  he  re- 
turned to  his  lodging,  at  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  he  often  saw  poor  children  asleep  on  thresholds 
and  stalls,  and  he  used  to  put  pennies  into  their  hands  to 
buy  them  a  breakfast.'  This  he  did,  as  Mr.  Croker  has 
pointed  out,  *  at  a  time  when  he  himself  was  living  on 
pennies.'  Certainly  he  would  have  made  one  of  the 
strangest  ogres  that  children  have  ever  seen. 

*  Want  of  tenderness  Johnson  always  alleged  was  want 
of  parts,  and  was  no  less  a  proof  of  stupidity  than  depra- 
vity.' Benevolence,  any  amount  of  benevolence,  Macaulay 
would  have  allowed  him,  but  very  little  tenderness.  And 
yet  it  would  be  easy  to  multiply  the  instances  I  have 
already  adduced,  that  beneath  the  rough  outside  there 
was  a  heart  almost  tremulous  with  sensibility.  Of  his 
friend  Dr.  Bathurst  *  he  hardly  ever  spoke  without  tears 
in  his  life.'  Speaking  of  Dr.  Hodges,  who,  '  during  the 
whole  time  of  the  plague  continued  in  London,  adminis- 
tering medical  assistance,  he  used  to  relate  with   tears 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.      .    123 

in  his  eyes  how  he  was  suffered  to  die  for  debt  in  a  gaol.' 
One  day  a  lady  who  was  travelling  in  a  post-chaise  with 
him,  and  was  relating  to  him  some  story  of  sadness, 
'heard  him  heave  heavy  sighs  and  sobs,  and  turning 
round  she  saw  his  dear  face  bathed  in  tears.'  Once  with 
pretended  sharpness  he  reproved  Hannah  More  for 
reading  'Les  Pensees  de  Pascal'  *  I  was  beginning  to 
stand  upon  my  defence,  when  he  took  me  with  both 
hands,  and  with  a  tear  running  down  his  cheeks,  "  Child," 
said  he,  with  the  most  affecting  earnestness,  "  I  am 
heartily  glad  that  you  read  pious  books  by  whomsoever 
they  may  be  written." '  How  strikingly  was  his  consider- 
ation for  the  feelings  of  others  shown  when  he  always 
went  himself  to  buy  food  for  his  sick  cat,  and  would 
not  send  his  man-servant,  the  negro  Frank,  that  the 
man's  'delicacy  might  not  be  hurt  at  seeing  himself 
employed  for  the  convenience  of  a  quadruped.' 

Besides  this  tenderness  there  was  a  liveliness,  a  co- 
micality, we  might  even  say  a  joviality  in  Johnson's  charac- 
ter which  is  not  at  all  shown  in  the  pages  of  Macaulay, 
and  but  little  even  in  those  of  Boswell.  It  was  at  Streat* 
ham  that  this  side  of  his  character  was  most  shown,  and  of 
the  life  at  Streatham  Boswell  knew  very  little.  He  did  his 
best  to  get  an  account  of  it,  but  he  failed.  He  went 
down  to  Windsor  and  asked  Miss  Burney  for  her  help. 


124   .  DR.  JOHNSON. 

*  My  help  ? '  said  Miss  Burney. 

*  Yes,  Madam ;  you  must  give  me  some  of  your  choice 
little  notes  of  the  Doctor's  ;  we  have  seen  him  long 
enough  upon  stilts  ;  I  want  to  show  him  in  a  new  light. 
Grave  Sam,  and  great  Sam,  and  solemn  Sam,  and  learned 
Sam — all  these  he  has  appeared  over  and  over.  Now  I 
want  to  entwine  a  wreath  of  the  Graces  across  his  brow; 
I  want  to  show  him  as  gay  Sam,  agreeable  Sam,  pleasant 
Sam ;  so  you  must  help  me  with  some  of  his  beautiful 
billets  to  yourself.' 

It  was  a  pity  that  Miss  Burney  would  not  yield,  for 
the  notes  she  could  have  given  Boswell  would,  when 
worked  into  '  The  Life,'  have  thrown  a  great  light  on 
Johnson's  character.  The  scenes  that  she  describes  at 
Streatham  show  Johnson  in  his  happiest  mood.  The 
days,  indeed,  did  come  when  she  had  '  long  and  melan- 
choly discourses  with  him  about  our  dear  deceased  master 
whom,  indeed,  he  regrets  incessantly ; '  but  while  Thrale 
still  lived — Thrale  whose  face  for  fifteen  years  had  never 
been  turned  upon  him  but  with  respect  or  benignity — 
she  had  had  little  but  lively  scenes  and  lively  talk  to  record. 
Her  letters  and  her  diary  bear  her  out  to  the  full  when  she 
writes  that  '  Dr.  Johnson  has  more  fun  and  comical  humour 
and  love  of  nonsense  about  him  that  almost  anybody  I  ever 
saw.'     The  humour  of  '  EveUna '  had  tickled  him  greatly, 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         125 

and  he  played  upon  the  characters  in  a  most  amusing 
manner.  *  He  got  those  incomparable  Branghtons  quite 
by  heart,  and  recited  scene  after  scene  of  their  squabbles 
and  selfishness  and  forwardness,  till  he  quite  shook  his 
sides  with  laughter.  He  got  into  such  high  spirits  that 
he  set  about  personating  Mr.  Smith  himself.  We  all 
thought  we  must  have  died  no  other  death  than  that  of 
suifocation,  in  seeing  Dr.  Johnson  handing  about  any- 
thing he  could  catch  or  snatch  at,  and  making  smirking 
bows,  saying  he  was  all  for  the  ladies — everything  that 
was  agreeable  to  the  ladies,  &c.,  "  except,"  says  he,  "  going 
to  church  with  them ;  and  as  to  that,  though  marriage,  to 
be  sure,  is  all  in  all  to  the  ladies,  marriage  to  a  man — is 
the  devil."'  The  reader  who  does  not  know  him  in 
this  happy  state  must  first  read  *  Evelina,'  and  next  the 
first  two  volumes  of  Madame  d'Arblay's  'Diary.'  In 
reading  these  books  he  will  certainly  maintain  that 
Johnson  was  in  one  instance  wrong  when  he  asserted 
that  *  the  progress  which  the  understanding  makes  through 
a  book  has  more  pain  than  pleasure  in  it.' 

In  the  society  of  women  of  quick  understandings 
and  pleasant  manners  he  was  seen  in  his  liveliest 
moods  j  and  of  their  society  he  never  tired.  He  once 
went  to  a  party  at  Miss  Monckton's  house,  about  the 
time  when  Mrs.  Siddons  was  becoming  famous.     *  How 


¥ 


/ 


126  DR.  JOHNSON. 

these  people  talk  of  Mrs.  Siddons  ! '  said  the  Doctor. 
'  I  came  hither  in  full  expectation  of  hearing  no  name 
but  the  name  I  love  and  pant  to  hear, — when  from  one 
comer  to  another  they  are  talking  of  that  jade  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons ;  till  at  last  wearied  out  I  went  yonder  into  a  comer 
and  repeated  to  myself  Bumey  !  Burney  !  Bumey  ! 
Burney  ! '  '  Ay  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Metcalfe,  *  You  should  have 
carved  it  upon  the  trees.'  *  Sir,  had  there  been  any  trees, 
so  I  should,  but,  being  none,  I  was  content  to  carve  it 
upon  my  heart.' 

Hannah  More's  *  Memoirs '  tell  of  the  same  liveliness. 
One  evening  she  and  Johnson  had  '  a  violent  quarrel  till 
at  length  laughter  ran  so  high  on  all  sides  that  argument 
was  confounded  in  noise  ;  the  gallant  youth  at  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning  set  us  down  at  our  lodgings.'  Another 
time  she  writes,  '  I  have  got  the  headache  to-day,  by 
raking  out  so  late  with  that  gay  libertine  Johnson.' 
According  to  Madame  Piozzi,  Mr.  Murphy,  who  was  no 
bad  judge,  'always  said  Johnson  was  incomparable  at 
buffoonery  ;  and  I  verily  think  if  he  had  had  good  eyes, 
and  a  form  less  inflexible,  he  would  have  made  an 
admirable  mimic' 

Even  in  his  earlier  days  when  life  went  very  hard  with 
him,  there  was  the  same  liveliness  in  him,  though  it  was 
not  so  often  called  forth.    In  the  winter  of  1 749  he  formed 


LORD  MACAU  LAY  ON  JOHNSON.         127 

a  club  that  met  in  Ivy  Lane  every  Tuesday  evening. 
'  Thither  he  constantly  resorted,  and/  says  the  surly  '  un- 
clubable'  Hawkins,  who  was  one  of  the  members,  *he 
had  a  disposition  to  please  and  be  pleased.'  'In  the 
talent  of  humour,'  Hawkins  adds,  *  there  hardly  ever  was 
his  equal,  except  perhaps  among  the  old  comedians,  such 
as  Tarleton,  and  a  few  others  mentioned  by  Gibber.  By 
means  of  this  he  was  enabled  to  give  to  any  relation  that 
required  it  the  graces  and  aids  of  expression,  and  to  dis- 
criminate with  the  nicest  exactness  the  characters  of  those 
whom  it  concerned.'  He  drank  nothing  but  lemonade, 
but  '  in  a  short  time  after  assembling  he  was  transformed 
into  a  new  creature.' 

One  morning  at  Streatham  everyone  had  been  urging 
Miss  Burney  to  write  a  comedy.  'While  Mrs.  Thrale 
was  in  the  midst  of  her  flattering  persuasions  the  Doctor, 
see-sawing  in  his  chair,  began  laughing  to  himself  so 
heartily  as  to  almost  shake  his  seat  as  well  as  his  sides. 
We  stopped  our  confabulation,  in  which  he  had  ceased  to 
join,  hoping  he  would  reveal  the  subject  of  his  mirth  ; 
but  he  enjoyed  it  inwardly  without  heeding  our  curiosity 
— till  at  last  he  said  he  had  been  struck  with  a  notion 
that  Miss  Burney  would  begin  her  dramatic  career  by 
writing  a  piece  called  "  Streatham."  He  paused  and  laughed 
yet   more   cordially,  and  then   suddenly  commanded  a 


128  DR,  yOHNSON. 


pomposity  to  his  countenance  and  his  voice,  and  added 
— "Yes  !  Streatham,  a  Farce."'  It  is  pleasant  to  think 
that  had  the  farce  been  written,  the  old  man  now  in  his 
seventieth  year,  whose  life,  to  use  his  own  words,  had 
been  *  radically  wretched,'  would  nevertheless  have  most 
naturally  found  in  it  his  place  by  his  mirthfulness. 

To  Johnson's  powers  of  conversation  Macaulay  does 
full  justice.  He  quotes  the  observation  of  Mr.  Burke  that 
Johnson  appears  far  greater  in  Boswell's  books  than  in  his 
own.  Great  though  he  there  appears,  we  must  remember 
that  that  talk  of  his  which  has  been  handed  down  to  us 
is  the  merest  fragment  of  the  great  utterances  of  his  long 
life.  Of  the  seventy-five  years  that  Johnson  lived,  he  and 
Boswell  spent  not  above  two  years  and  a  quarter  in  the 
same  neighbourhood.  If  we  exclude  the  time  they  were 
together  in  the  tour  to  the  Hebrides,  which  does  not,  of 
course,  fall  within  the  '  Life,'  during  scarcely  two  years  in 
all  were  they  within  reach  of  each  other.  In  these  two 
years  there  were  very  many  days,  even  some  weeks,  in 
which  they  did  not  meet,  and  often  when  they  did  meet, 
Boswell  did  not  make  the  effort  to  record  what  was  said. 
Then,  too,  Johnson  was  in  his  fifty-fourth  year  when 
Boswell  first  met  him.  He  was  already,  at  that  time,  the 
most  powerful  talker,  if  not  that  the  world  has  ever  known 
— at  least  that  the  world  is  ever  likelv  to  know  of     It 


LORD  MAC  A  UL  AY  ON  JOHNSON.         129 

would  be  absurd,  of  course,  to  compare  Johnson's  genius 
with  Shakespeare's,  and  yet  he  talks  as  well  as  some  of 
the  best  of  Shakespeare's  characters.  He  wrote,  indeed, 
well ;  though  not  so  well  as  the  men  of  his  own  age 
thought.  Yet  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  better 
written  biography  than  the  'Life  of  Savage.'  His 
letters,  too,  are  written  with  simplicity  and  admirable 
force. 

It  is  not  in  his  writings,  however,  but  in  his  talk,  that 
Johnson  lives.  It  is  his  lost  talk  that  we  regret  more 
than  a  decade  of  Livy,  or  a  library  of  Cyclic  poets.  It  is 
sad  to  think  that  a  man  who  talked  so  much,  so  wisely, 
and  so  well,  should  have  been  ever  reproaching  himself 
with  his  indolence  and  his  waste  of  time.  Like  Socrates, 
he  taught  by  talking  ;  and  so  long  as  he  talked,  neither  in 
his  own  mind,  nor  in  his  listeners,  was  there  any  in- 
dolence. Doubtless  he  was  not  aware  of  all  the  influence 
he  had  on  the  men  of  his  own  time  by  his  conversation  ; 
far  less,  of  course,  could  he  have  looked  forward  to  the 
influence  he  should  have  on  men  as  yet  unborn.  He 
knew  that  Boswell  kept  notes  of  what  he  said,  and  meant 
to  write  his  life ;  but  he  did  not  know  how  fully  those 
notes  would  prove  to  have  been  kept,  and  how  admirably 
the  Life  was  to  be  written.  He  showed  on  one  occa- 
sion how  many  more  he  thought  he  should  reach  by  his 

K 


I30  DR,  JOHNSON, 


writings  than  by  his  talk,  when  he  likened  himself  to  a 
physician,  who,  after  he  had  practised  long  in  a  great  city, 
retires  to  a  small  town,  and  takes  less  practice.  *  Now, 
Sir,  the  good  I  can  do  by  my  conversation  bears  the  same 
proportion  to  the  good  I  can  do  by  my  writings  that  the 
practice  of  a  physician,  retired  to  a  town,  does  to  his 
practice  in  a  great  city.'  Had  he  known  how  vast  an 
audience  his  strong,  wholesome  conversation  was  to  reach, 
he  would  have  seen  that  if,  according  to  the  monkish 
saying,  toiling  is  praying,  so  in  some  cases  talking  is 
toiling. 

The  more  familiar  we  are  with  Boswell,  the  more  are 
we  convinced  that  Johnson  was  a  far  happier  man,  at  all 
events,  in  his  latter  days,  than  is  commonly  thought. 
Mr.  Forster  has  shown  in  his  '  Life  of  Goldsmith '  how 
strong  a  cast  is  given  by  Boswell  to  one  side  of 
Johnson's  character.  The  melancholy  that  undoubtedly 
existed  in  his  hero's  temperament  is  also,  we  have  little 
doubt,  brought  too  much  into  the  foreground  by  his 
biographer.  Boswell  himself,  at  times,  revelled  in  me- 
lancholy, and  was  as  proud  of  it  as  Dogberry  was  of  his 
losses.  Johnson  wrote  to  him  that  he  hoped  he  had  got 
rid  of  all  this  hypocrisy  of  misery.  But  it  was  not  so 
willingly  dropped.  Doubtless,  Boswell  often  had  his 
real  moments  of  misery.     A  man  who  shortens  his  lif« 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON,         131 

by  drinking,  as  Boswell  did,  has  at  times  something  worse 
than  the  hypocrisy  of  misery.  Then,  too,  we  form  our 
notions  of  Johnson's  unhappiness  from  the  sad  entries 
which  are  to  be  found  in  his  diaries.  He  hated  solitude; 
and  it  was,  we  should  remember,  in  the  hours  of  solitude 
that  these  entries  were  made.  Many  a  man,  who  enjoys 
a  fair  share  of  happiness,  would  often  say  with  Johnson, 
'When  I  survey  my  past  life,  I  discover  nothing  but 
a  barren  waste  of  time,  with  some  disorders  of  body 
and  disturbances  of  the  mind  very  near  to  madness.' 
Happily,  most  men  keep  such  thoughts  to  themselves. 
This  diary  was  never  intended  to  be  read  by  others ;  ^  and, 
perhaps,  we  should  form  a  juster  estimate  of  his  character 
had  the  whole  of  it,  and  not  merely  a  part,  perished  in 
the  flames  to  which  in  his  last  illness  he  committed  so 
many  of  his  papers.  'Whenever,'  he  says,  'any  fit  of 
anxiety  or  gloominess,  or  perversion  of  mind,  lays  hold 
upon  you,  make  it  a  rule  not  to  publish  it  by  complaints, 
but  exert  your  whole  care  to  hide  it ;  by  endeavouring  to 
hide  it,  you  will  drive  it  away.'  It  is  a  pity  that  his  own 
fits  of  gloominess  were  not  more  successfully  hidden. 

'  Johnson  recommended  me  to  keep  a  journal  of  my  life,  full 
and  unreserved.  ...  He  counselled  me  to  keep  it  private,  and 
said  I  might  surely  have  a  friend  who  would  burn  it  in  case  of  my 
death.— Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson  (July  14,  1763). 

K  2 


132  DR.  JOHNSON. 


The  unhappiness  of  his  home  life  is  commonly  ex- 
aggerated.^ Mrs.  Williams,  his  blind  companion,  though 
petulant,  yet,  as  Boswell  tells  us,  '  had  valuable  qualities, 
and  her  departure  left  a  blank  in  his  house.'  Levett 
was  no  less  missed, — that  'faithful  adherent  for  thirty 
years ; '  that  *  old  friend  who  lived  with  me  in  the 
house,  and  was  useful  and  companionable.'  When  they 
were  both  gone,  Johnson,  now  near  the  close  of  his  life, 
wrote : — *  I  have  now  no  middle  state  between  clamour 
and  silence,  between  general  conversation  and  self-tor- 
menting solitude.'  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  her  daughter,  and 
Miss  Carmichael,  who  certainly,  if  they  lessened  the 
silence,  did  not  increase  the  harmony  or  the  happiness  of 
the  household,  were  its  inmates  only  some  five  years  or 
so.  A  long  time  enough,  no  doubt;  but  happily  during 
their  residence  Johnson  mixed  very  much  in  general 
society. 

It  was  not  the  fear  of  death  alone  that  made  Johnson 
cling  so  fast  to  life.  He  loved  life  scarcely  less  strongly 
than  he  dreaded  death.  He  had  in  his  early  life  and  in 
his  later  manhood  struggles  enough  to  undergo  and 
miseries  enough  to  encounter.  By  the  death  of  his  wife 
he  had  felt  how,  to  quote  his  own  words,  '  the  continuity 
of  being  is  lacerated,  the  settled  course  of  sentiment  and 
^  See  page  i68. 


LORD  MACAULAY   ON  JOHNSON.  133 

action  is  stopped,  and  life  stands  suspended  and  motion- 
less, till  it  is  driven  by  external  causes  into  a  new  channel.' 
But  then,  as  Boswell  says,  *  it  pleased  God  to  grant  him 
almost  thirty  years  of  life  after  this  time ;  and  once,  when 
he  was  in  a  placid  frame  of  mind,  he  was  obliged  to  own 
to  me  that  he  had  enjoyed  happier  days,  and  had  had 
many  more  friends  since  that  gloomy  hour  than  before.' 

*  Grief  has  its  time,'  he  once  said. 

The  evening  when  Boswell  found  him  in  Mr.  Hector's 
house,  some  twenty  years  after  his  wife's  death,  'sitting 
placidly  at  tea  with  his  first  love,  Mrs.  Careless,'  he  said, 

*  If  I  had  married  her,  it  might  have  been  as  happy  for 
me.'  He  would  still  maintain  that  a  man  never  is  happy 
in  the  moment  that  is  present — '  never ' — and  this  excep- 
tion he  made  when  hard  pressed  on  the  subject — *but 
when  he  is  drunk.'  Even  in  a  rapidly  driven  post-chaise, 
than  which  life,  as  he  said,  has  not  many  better  things,  a 
man,  he  maintained,  is  not  happy,  for  'you  are  driving 
rapidly  from  something  or  to  something.' 

Doubtless  he  was  suffering  greatly  at  the  time  when 
Mr.  Thrale  found  him  giving  way  to  such  an  uncontrolled 
burst  of  despair  regarding  the  world  to  come  that  he  tried 
to  stop  his  mouth  by  placing  one  hand  before  it,  and  be- 
fore leaving  him  desired  Mrs.  Thrale  to  prevail  on  him  to 
quit  'his  close  habitation  in  the  court,'  and  come  with  them 


134  DR.  JOHNSON. 


to  Streatham.  And  yet  it  was  somewhere  about  this  time 
that  we  have  the  pleasant  scene  in  Neville's  Court,  Trinity 
College,  described  in  the  *  New  Monthly  Magazine.'  I 
hope  that  we  may  rely  on  the  truthfulness  of  the  narra- 
tive, for  the  sake  of  the  following  pleasant  anecdote  : — 
'  In  the  height  of  our  convivial  hilarity,  our  great  man  ex- 
claimed, "Come,  now,  I'll  give  you  a  test;,  now  I'll  try 
who  is  the  true  antiquary  among  you.  Has  any  one  of 
this  company  ever  met  with  the  '  History  of  Glorianus 
and  Gloriana  ? ' "  Farmer,  drawing  the  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth,  followed  by  a  cloud  of  smoke,  instantly  said,  "  I've 
got  the  book."  "  Gi'  me  your  hand,  gi'  me  your  hand," 
said  Johnson.  "You  are  the  man  after  my  own  heart." 
And  the  shaking  of  two  such  hands,  with  two  such  happy 
faces  attached  to  them,  could  hardly,  I  believe,  be  matched 
in  the  whole  annals  of  literature.* 

Johnson  knew  as  well  as  any  one  the  means  by  which 
to  keep  this  melancholy  at  a  distance.  He  did  not  make 
of  it  the  mystery  that  Boswell  did.  *  He  recommended,' 
though  he  did  not  always  practise,  '  constant  occupation 
of  mind,  a  great  deal  of  exercise,  and  moderation  in 
eating  and  drinking.  He  observed  that  labouring  men, 
who  work  hard  and  live  sparingly,  are  seldom  or  never 
troubled  with  low  spirits.'  Just  before  he  was  found  in 
that  melancholy  state  by  Thrale  he  had  not  stirred  out 


LORD  MACAULAY   ON  JOHNSON.         135 

of  his   room,  as  Mrs.  Thrale  writes,  *for  many  weeks 
together,  I  think  months/ 

Leigh  Hunt,  in  his  autobiography,  tells  us  that  he 
himself  had  suffered  much  m  the  same  way,  and  had  been 
cured  by  regular  and  steady  walking.  Johnson  lived 
nearly  twenty  years  after  the  day  when  he  first  met 
Thrale,  and  during  these  twenty  years  he  had  no  violent 
attack  of  hypochondria.  Boswell  when  he  first  went  to 
Streatham  and  found  that,  '  though  quite  at  home,  he  was 
yet  looked  up  to  with  an  awe  tempered  by  affection,  and 
seemed  to  be  equally  the  care  of  his  host  and  hostess, 
rejoiced  at  seeing  him  so  happy.' 

The  mere  exercise  of  the  remarkable  powers  of  mind 
that  he  possessed  must  have  been  to  him  a  source  of 
great  happiness.  He  had  the  pleasure  of  doing  a  thing 
well,  and  the  scarcely  smaller  pleasure  of  reflecting  thai 
he  had  done  a  thing  well.  Thirty  years  after  he  had 
brought  out  his  *  Dictionary '  he  could  say,  *  Yes,  sir,  I 
knew  very  well  what  I  was  undertaking,  and  very  well  how 
to  do  It;  and  I  have  done  it  very  well.'  It  could  not 
have  been  rarely,  too,  that  on  the  morrow  of  some  great 
talk,  Boswell  found  him  highly  satisfied  with  his  colloquial 
powers  the  evening  before.  *Well,  we  had  good  talk,' 
must  have  been  often  what  he  thought,  if  not  often  what 
he  said. 


136  DR.  JOHNSON. 

It  may  have  been  true  with  him,  as  he  said,  that 
*  the  whole  of  life  is  but  keeping  away  the  thought  of 
death  ; '  and  yet,  while  it  was  Burke  and  Goldsmith  and 
Garrick  and  Reynolds  who  helped  him  to  keep  the 
thpught  away,  life  may  have  been  pleasant  enough.  What 
a  happy  picture  does  Boswell  paint  of  the  dinner  at  his 
lodgings  in  Old  Bond  Street,  when  *  Garrick  played  round 
Johnson  with  a  fond  vivacity,  taking  hold  of  the  breasts 
of  his  coat,  and,  looking  up  in  his  face  with  a  lively 
archness,  complimented  him  on  the  good  health  which  he 
seemed  to  enjoy,  while  the  sage,  shaking  his  head,  beheld 
him  with  a  gentle  complacency.' 

If,  as  he  maintained,  '  a  tavern  chair  is  the  throne  of 
human  felicity,'  it  was  a  throne  on  which  he  was  ever 
sitting.  *I  can  scarcely  recollect,'  says  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Maxwell,  the  assistant  preacher  at  the  Temple,  '  that  he 
ever  refused  going  with  me  to  a  tavern,  and  he  often  went 
to  Ranelagh,  which  he  deemed  a  place  of  innocent 
recreation.  He  declaimed  all  the  morning,  then  went 
to  dinner  at  a  tavern,  where  he  commonly  stayed  late, 
and  then  drank  his  tea  at  some  friend's  house,  over  which 
he  loitered  a  great  while.'  *  He  often  used  to  quote,  with 
great  pathos,'  Dr.  Maxwell  goes  on  to  say,  'those  fine 
lines  of  Virgil : — 


LORD  MACAU  LAY  ON  JOHNSON.         137 

Optima  quasque  dies  miseris  mortalibus  aevi 
Prima  fugit,'  &c. 

Happily  there  was  for  Johnson,  as  we  have  shown, 
more  of  sentiment  than  of  reaHty  in  the  Hnes.  His  best 
days  were  to  come  last.  What  a  pleasant  picture  we 
have  of  him,  too,  as  he  drove  along  in  the  post-chaise  to 
Twickenham,  when  *he  was  in  such  good  spirits  that 
everything  seemed  to  please  him,  and,  as  Boswell  writes, 
shaking  his  head  and  stretching  himself  at  his  ease  in  the 
coach,  and,  smiling  with  much  complacency,  he  turned  to 
me  and  said,  "  I  look  upon  myself  as  a  good-humoured 
fellow."  When  he  was  merry  I  never  knew  a  man,'  says 
Boswell,  '  laugh  more  heartily.'  Who  does  not  remember 
Johnson  'shaking  his  sides  and  laughing'  when  Gold- 
smith was  talking  of  the  skill  of  the  writer  of  fables,  who 
had  made  the  little  fishes  talk  like  little  fishes?  'Johnson,' 
said  Garrick,  'gives  you  a  forcible  hug,  and  shakes 
laughter  out  of  you  whether  you  will  or  not.' 

What  a  scene  rises  up  before  us  when  Boswell  tells  us 
how,  on  coming  from  Scotland  and  driving  to  Thrale's 
house  in  the  Borough,  he  found  Johnson  and  Mrs.  Thrale 
at  breakfast.  '  In  a  moment  he  was  in  a  full  glow  of 
conversation,  and  I  felt  myself  elevated  as  if  brought  into 
another  state  of  being.    Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  looked  at  each 


138  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Other  while  he  talked,  and  our  looks  expressed  our  con- 
genial admiration  and  affection  for  him.  I  shall  ever 
recollect  this  scene  with  great  pleasure.'  But  there  is  an 
almost  endless  number  of  similar  pleasant  scenes  which 
rise  up  in  the  memory. 

Johnson,  moreover,  if  often  dissatisfied  with  himself, 
was  never  dissatisfied  with  the  world  or  the  age  in  which 
his  life  was  cast.  *  Sir,  I  have  never  complained  of  the 
world,  nor  do  I  think  that  I  have  reason  to  complain.  It 
is  rather  to  be  wondered  at  that  I  have  so  much.'  *  He 
was  never  querulous,  never  prone  to  inveigh  against  the 
present  times,  as  is  so  common  when  superficial  minds 
are  on  the  fret.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  willing  to  speak 
favourably  of  his  own  age,  and,  indeed,  maintained  its 
superiority  in  every  respect,  except  in  its  reverence  for 
government' 

If  he  was  not  always  happy,  he,  nevertheless,  steadily 
aimed  at  happiness.  'Life  admits  not  of  delays,'  he 
writes  to  Boswell ;  '  when  pleasure  can  be  iiad,  it  is  fit  to 
catch  it.  If  you  and  I  live  to  be  much  older,  we  shall 
take  great  delight  in  talking  over  the  Hebridean  journey.' 
In  recording,  too,  their  visit  to  the  silk  mill  at  Derby, 
Boswell  writes,  *I  had  learnt  from  Dr.  Johnson  during 
this  interview  not  to  think  with  a  dejected  indifference  of 
the  works  of  art  and  the  pleasures  of  life,  because  life  is 


LORD  MACAU  LAY  ON  JOHNSON.         139 

uncertain  and  short ;  but  to  consider  such  indifference  as 
a  failure  of  reason,  a  morbidness  of  mind  ;  for  happiness 
should  be  cultivated  as  much  as  we  can.' 

His  own  theoretical  or  hypothetical  mode  of  cultivating 
it,  he  once  set  forth  as  follows  ; — '  If  I  had  no  duties,  and 
no  reference  to  futurity,  I  would  spend  my  life  in  driving 
briskly  in  a  post-chaise  with  a  pretty  woman,  but  she 
should  be  one  that  could  understand  me  and  would 
add  something  to  the  conversation.'  In  his  eager  search 
after  all  kinds  of  knowledge  much  happiness  must  have 
lain.  'There  is  the  same  difference,'  he  would  say, 
'  between  the  learned  and  the  unlearned  as  between  the 
living  and  the  dead.' 

His  thirst  for  knowledge  was  not  quenched  by  old 
age.  Not  six  months  before  his  death  he  asked  Dr. 
Burney  to  teach  him  the  scales  of  music.  When  close 
upon  three-score  and  ten,  having  picked  up  in  the 
drawing-room  of  Mr.  Dilly's  house  in  the  Poultry  the 
account  of  the  late  Revolution  in  Sweden,  he,  not  only 
disregarding  the  company,  '  seemed  to  read  it  ravenously 
as  if  he  devoured  it,'  but  in  the  dining-room  'he  kept 
it  wrapt  up  in  the  table-cloth  in  his  lap  during  the  time 
of  dinner,  from  an  avidity  to  have  one  entertainment  in 
readiness  when  he  should  have  finished  another.' 

A   short    time   before   his  death,   when   most    men 


I40  DR.  JOHNSON. 


would  have  been  looking  forward  to  the  end  as  an 
escape  from  bodily  suffering,  he  writes  to  Boswell : — '  I 
hope  still  to  see  you  in  happier  times  to  talk  over  what 
we  have  often  talked,  and  perhaps  to  find  new  topics  of 
merriment  or  new  incitements  to  curiosity.'  '  Such,'  we 
read,  '  was  his  intellectual  ardour  even  at  this  time  that 
he  said  to  one  friend,  "  Sir,  I  look  upon  every  day  to  be 
lost  in  which  I  do  not  make  a  new  acquaintance."'  In 
June,  less  than  five  months  before  his  death,  he  was 
dining  at  General  Paoli's,  where  he  was  eating  so  heartily 
that,  Boswell  says,  '  I  was  afraid  he  might  be  hurt  by  it ; 
and  I  whispered  to  the  General  my  fear,  and  begged  he 
might  not  press  him.  "Alas  !  "  said  the  General,  "see 
how  very  ill  he  looks  ;  he  can  live  but  a  very  short  time. 
Would  you  refuse  any  slight  gratification  to  a  man  under 
sentence  of  death  ?  There  is  a  humane  custom  in  Italy  by 
which  persons  in  that  melancholy  situation  are  indulged 
with  having  whatever  they  like  best  to  eat  and  drink,  even 
with  expensive  delicacies."  '  Yet  only  a  few  days  later, 
receiving  from  Lord  Eliot  a  copy  of  a  rare  book  which 
he  happened  never  to  have  seen,  '  he  told  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  that  he  was  going  to  bed  when  it  came,  but  was 
so  much  pleased  with  it  that  he  sat  up  till  he  read  it 
through,  adding,  with  a  smile  (in  allusion  to  Lord 
Eliot's   having  recently   been    raised   to   the    peerage), 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         141 

"  I  did  not  think  a  young  lord  could  have  mentioned 
to  me  a  book  in  the  English  history  that  was  not  known 
to  me." ' 

A  little  earlier  than  this  he  had  recorded,  '  I  read  a 
book  in  the  '*  ^neid "  every  night ;  so  it  was  done  in 
twelve  nights,  and  I  had  great  delight  in  it.'  Harassed 
though  his  body  was  by  asthma  and  dropsy,  yet  such  was  its 
natural  vigour  that  less  than  a  month  before  his  death 
we  find  him  writing,  'I  came  in  the  common  vehicle 
easily  to  London  from  Oxford.' 

Even  when  his  body  was  at  its  worst,  his  mind,  at  all 
events,  never  knew  the    approach  of  age.     Mr.  Burke 
applied  to  him  the  words  of  Cicero  :  *  Intentum  enim 
animum  tanquam  arcum  habebat,  nee  languescens  suc- 
cumbebat  senectuti.'     He  was  attacked  one  night  with  , 
paralysis,  and  for  a  while  lost  the  power  of  speech.     In  ! 
describing  afterwards  how  the  paralytic  stroke  fell  upon\ 
him,  he  says,    'I  was   alarmed,   and  prayed   God  that,! 
however  he  might  afflict  my  body,  he  would  spare  my 
understanding.     This  prayer,  that  I  might  try  the  inte- 
grity of  my  faculties,  I  made  in  Latin  verse.     The  lines 
were  not  very  good,  but  I  knew  them  not  to  be  very  good. 
I  made  them  easily.'     That  very  evening  before  he  had 
retired  he  felt  himself,  he  writes,  'light  and  easy,  and  began 
to  plan  schemes  of  life.' 


142  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Just  one  year  before  his  death  he  was  establishing  a 
new  Club  in  Essex  Street,  Strand.  He  writes  to  ask  Sir 
Joshua  to  join,  and  says  'the  company  is  numerous, 
and,  as  you  will  see  by  the  list,  miscellaneous.  The 
terms  are  lax  and  the  expenses  light.  We  meet  thrice  a 
week,  and  he  who  misses  forfeits  two-pence.'  If  his 
house  in  Bolt  Court  was  lonely,  why  he  would  seek  for 
company  abroad.  He  would  never  allow  that  he  was 
old.  *  I  value  myself  upon  this — that  there  is  nothing  of 
the  old  man  in  my  conversation.'  *  Don't  let  us  dis- 
courage one  another,'  was  his  reply  to  his  college  friend 
Edwards,  when  on  meeting  Johnson  Edwards  said,  '  Ah, 
Sir,  we  are  old  men  now.' 

Later  on,  when  his  infirmities  forced  him  to  acknow- 
ledge that  old  age  had  come  upon  his  body,  he  said, 
'He  that  lives  must  grow  old,  and  he  that  would 
rather  grow  old  than  die  has  God  to  thank  for  the 
infirmities  of  age.'  Six  months  before  his  death,  as  we 
can  learn  from  Boswell,  he  had  dined  out  at  least  six 
times  in  nine  days,  besides  spending  one  evening  at 
the  Essex  Street  Club.  'Of  these  days  and  others,' 
writes  Boswell,  'on  which  I  saw  him,  I  have  no  me 
morials,  except  the  general  recollection  of  his  being  able 
and  animated  in  conversation,  and  appearing  to  relish 
society  as  much  as  the  youngest  man.' 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         143 

It  was  this  perfect  preservation  of  the  powers  of  his 
mind  that  rendered  death  so  terrible  to  him  to  the  last. 
*  I  struggle  hard  for  life,'  he  writes,  '  I  try  to  hold  up  my 
head  as  high  as  I  can ; '  and  again,  *  I  will  be  conquered; 
I  will  not  capitulate.'  Some  one  told  him  of  a  wonderful 
learned  pig,  and  when  '  a  person  who  was  present  pro- 
ceeded to  remark  that  great  torture  must  have  been  em- 
ployed ere  the  indocility  of  the  animal  could  have  been 
subdued,  "Certainly  "  (said the  Doctor),  "  but "  (turning  to 
me),  "  how  old  is  your  pig  ?  "  I  told  him  three  years  old. 
"  Then,"  said  he,  "  the  pig  has  no  cause  to  complain  ;  he 
would  have  been  killed  the  first  year  if  he  had  not  been  edu- 
cated, and  protracted  existence  is  a  good  recompense  for 
very  considerable  degrees  of  torture."  '  Who  can  forget 
the  stern  strength  of  mind  the  old  man  showed  in  the  last 
day  of  his  life  when,  thinking  that  the  surgeons,  out  of 
fear  of  giving  him  pain,  would  not  cut  deep  enough,  he 
called  for  a  case  of  lancets  and  operated  upon  himself  ? 
Nay  even,  *  soon  after  he  got  at  a  pair  of  scissors  that  lay 
in  a  drawer  by  him,  and  plunged  them  deep  into  the  calf 
of  each  leg.' 

The  longer  he  lived  the  more  attractive  did  the  world 
seem  to  him.  He  had  kept  his  friendship  in  constant 
repair,  to  quote  his  own  expressive  words.  The  retired 
and  uncourtly  scholar  whose  shoes  had  been  laughed  at 


144  I^R'  JOHNSON. 


by  the  Christ  Church  men,  who  had  come  to  London 
poor  and  unknown,  whose  surly  virtue  had  often  wanted 
a  friend  ;  who  *  in  the  gloom  of  solitude,'  had  thirty  years 
before  brought  out  his  great  work,  now  found  himself 
courted  by  the  great,  whose  rank,  if  only  joined  with 
decency  of  life,  he  had  always  so  deeply  respected.  The 
friends  of  his  daily  life  were  some  of  the  greatest  men 
that  England  could  then  boast  of;  who,  great  though 
they  were,  looked  upon  him  not  as  their  equal  but  as 
their  chief.  What  more  splendid  homage  was  ever  paid 
to  any  man  than  to  him,  to  whom  when  Burke  and 
Reynolds  and  Gibbon  and  Sheridan  wished  to  pre- 
sent a  petition,  they  only  ventured  to  send  it  in  the 
form  of  a  Round  Robin  ?  He  relished  fame,  and  he  was 
famous. 

'  He  called  to  us,'  as  Boswell  writes  in  describing  a 
Club  meeting  a  short  while  before  his  death, — *  he  called 
to  us  with  a  sudden  air  of  exultation  as  the  thought 
started  into  his  mind,  "  Oh !  gentlemen,  I  must  tell  you 
a  very  great  thing.  The  Empress  of  Russia  has  ordered 
the  '  Rambler '  to  be  translated  into  the  Russian  language  ; 
so  I  shall  be  read  on  the  banks  of  the  Wolga.  Horace 
boasts  that  his  fame  would  extend  as  far  as  the  banks  of 
the  Rhone ;  now  the  Wolga  is  farther  from  me  than  the 
Rhone  was  from   Horace."     Boswell:  "You  must  cer- 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  JOHNSON.         145 

tainly  be  pleased  with  this,  Sir."  Johnson :  "I  am 
pleased,  Sir,  to  be  sure.  A  man  is  pleased  to  find  he  has 
succeeded  in  that  which  he  has  endeavoured  to  do." ' 
London  life  had  lost  to  him  none  of  its  charms.  '  When  a 
man  is  tired  of  London,  he  is  tired  of  life ;  for  there  is 
in  London  all  that  life  can  afford.'  And  when  in  the 
last  autumn  that  he  was  ever  to  see,  he  had  gone  into  the 
country  in  the  hope  that  change  of  air  and  scene  might 
do  something  for  him,  worn  with  suffering  it  is  not  to  the 
rest  of  the  grave  or  to  some  better  world  that  he  looks 
forward.  *  The  town,'  he  writes,  *  is  my  element ;  there 
are  my  friends,  there  are  my  books,  to  which  I  have  not 
yet  bidden  farewell ;  and  there  are  my  amusements.'  He 
had,  too  often  in  his  long  life,  with  good  reason  to  own 
himself  'a  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief.' 
Yet  we  please  ourselves  with  the  strong  belief  that  he  who 
had  so  large  a  share  of  some  of  the  noblest  qualities 
with  which  man  is  endowed,  had  also  no  small  share 
of  that  happiness  which  here  on  earth  can  fall  to  the  lot 
of  man. 


146  DR.  JOHNSON. 


CHAPTER   HI. 


MR.    CARLYLE   ON   BOSWELL.' 


In  the  whole  of  literature  there  is  scarcely  a  stronger 
contrast  to  be  found  than  that  which  exists  between  the 
two  celebrated  reviews  of  Boswell's  *Life  of  Johnson.' 
Lord  Macaulay  was,  I  think,  carried  by  his  love  of 
paradox  and  his  hatred  of  Tories  as  far  wrong  in  one 
direction,  as  Mr.  Carlyle  by  his  love  of  hero-worship  and 
his  utter  indifference  both  to  Whigs  and  Tories  was 
carried  in  another  direction.  There  are  those  who  imagine 
that  between  two  opposite  characters  that  are  given  of 
the  same  man  a  kind  of  balance  can  be  struck,  which 
shall  not  be  far  removed  from  the  truth.  Character, 
however,  admits  of  such  infinite  variety  that  it  may  well 
happen  that  the  truth  lies  not  between  any  two  opposing 
views,  but  in  some  altogether  different  direction.  Though 
the  study  of  both  Boswell  and  Johnson  as   drawn   by 

'  Reprinted    (with    alterations)    from    the    Saturday    Review, 
November  28,   1874. 


i 


MR.  CARLYLE  ON  BOS  WELL.  147 

these  two  great  writers  is  very  interesting,  yet  I  doubt 
whether  in  their  pages  there  is  to  be  found,  even  by 
a  man  who  is  well  skilled  in  weighing  arguments  and 
balancing  opposing  statements,  an  accurate  estimate  of 
the  two  men. 

Macaulay   had  represented    Boswell    as   everything 
that  was  contemptible  and  mean.     It  was  no  hard  matter 
to  upset  this  outrageous  view;  and  Mr.  Carlyle  has  done 
it  most  thoroughly.     Even  he,  in  some  points,  has  not 
done  full  justice  to  Boswell's  character.     In  one  respect, 
however,  he  has  exaggerated  his  merits.     '  Loyalty,  dis- 
cipleship,'  he  writes,  '  all  that  was  ever  meant  by  Hero- 
worship,  lives  perennially  in  the  human  bosom,  and  waits, 
even  in  these  dead  days,  only  for  occasions  to  unfold  it, 
and  inspire  all  men  with  it,  and  again  make  the  world 
alive  !     James   Boswell  we  can  regard   as   a  practical 
witness,  or  real  martyr,  to  this  high,  everlasting  truth.' 
Now  the  more  hidden  the  hero  is,  the  less  recognised  by 
the  world,  the  greater  is  the  merit  of  the  disciple  who 
discovers  him  and  establishes  his  worship.     Mr.  Carlyle, 
I  hold,  exalts  Boswell's  merits  by  lowering  the  position 
which   Johnson   held   at   the   time  when   the   two   first 
became  acquainted.      'At   the  date,'  he   writes,    'when 
Johnson  was  a  poor,  rusty-coated  "  scholar,"  dwelling  in 
Temple  Lane,  and  indeed  throughout  their  whole  inter- 


148  DR.  JOHNSON. 


course  afterwards,  were  there  not  chancellors  and  prime 
ministers  enough  \  graceful  gentlemen,  the  glass  of 
fashion  ;  honour-giving  noblemen ;  dinner-giving  rich 
men  ;  renowned  fire-eaters,  swordsmen,  gownsmen  ; 
Quacks  and  Realities  of  all  hues — any  one  of  whom 
bulked  much  larger  in  the  world's  eye  than  Johnson 
ever  did  ? ' 

In  another  passage  he  says  :  '  His  mighty  "  constella- 
tion," or  sun,  round  whom  he,  as  satellite,  observantly 
gyrated,  was,  for  the  mass  of  men,  but  a  huge,  ill-snuffed 
tallow-light'  Again  he  writes  :  '  Nay,  it  does  not 
appear  that  vulgar  vanity  could  ever  have  been  much 
flattered  by  Boswell's  relation  to  Johnson.  Mr.  Croker 
says  Johnson  was,  to  the  last,  little  regarded  by  the  great 
world.'  Anyone  who  should  read  the  review  without 
knowing  the  Life  would  certainly  infer  that  Boswell  was 
the  first  to  discover  to  the  world  a  great  man  hidden 
away  in  obscurity  and  poverty.  Now  by  the  year  1763, 
when  the  disciple  first  met  his  master,  Johnson  was  at 
the  head  of  the  literary  world.  He  had  published 
*  Irene,'  '  London,'  the  '  Life  of  Savage,'  the  Diction- 
ary, the  'Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,'  the  'Rambler,' 
the  'Idler,'  and  'Rasselas.'  His  edition  of  Shakespeare 
he  had  been  engaged  on  for  some  years,  and  he  com- 
pleted   it  two  years  later,  before  Boswell's  return  from 


MR.  CARLYLE   ON  BOSWELL.  149 

the  Continent.  He  was  no  longer  the  poor,  rusty-coated 
scholar,  for  the  year  before  he  had  had  granted  to  him 
his  pension  of  ;£"3oo  a  year.^  It  was  granted,  it  will 
be  remembered,  in  the  most  honourable  way  possible, 
'  solely  as  the  reward  of  his  literary  merit,  without  any 
stipulation  whatever,  or  even  tacit  understanding  that 
he  should  write  for  the  Administration.'  Boswell's  own 
allowance  from  his  father  was  but  ^^240  a  year ;  so  that 
of  the  two  men,  Johnson,  in  the  early  part  of  their  ac- 
quaintance at  all  events,  had  the  larger  income.  We 
have  not  very  full  information  as  to  the  society  in  which 
Johnson  mixed,  and  the  regard  in  which  he  was  held 
before  the  time  when  Boswell  made  his  acquaintance. 
But  I  have  gathered  together  a  few  facts,  which  I  will 
briefly  lay  before  my  readers. 

When  Boswell  was  only  a  boy  of  twelve  years  old,  a 
gentleman  of  a  higher  lineage  and  an  older  family  than 
he  could  boast  of  had  come  up  to  London  to  worship  at 

'  How  large  a  sum  this  pension  must  have  been  in  his  eyes 
we  can  judge  from  a  passage  in  his  Life  of  Savage.  He  de- 
scribes how  Lord  Tyrconnel  received  the  poet  into  his  family, 
and  engaged  to  allow  him  a  pension  of  ;^200  a  year.  He  goes  on 
to  tell  how  Savage  became  at  once  all  the  rage.  *  His  presence  was 
sufficient  to  make  any  place  of  public  entertainment  popular,  and 
his  approbation  and  example  constituted  the  fashion.  So  powerful 
is  genius  when  it  is  invested  with  the  glitter  of  affluence.' 


ISO  DR.  JOHNSON, 


the  feet  of  the  author  of  the  '  Rambler.'  Bennet 
Langton,  the  son  of  the  Lincolnshire  squire  whose 
*  ancestor  signed  Magna  Charta  first,  as  Primate  of  all 
England/  had,  I  should  imagine,  to  use  Mr.  Carlyle's 
words,  '  been  nurtured  in  an  atmosphere  of  heraldry  ' 
scarcely  less  than  Boswell.  He  could  show  a  pedigree, 
engrossed  on  a  piece  of  parchment  about  ten  inches 
broad  and  from  twelve  to  fifteen  feet  long.  He  not 
only  visited  Johnson  in  London,  but  quite  early  in 
their  acquaintance  invited  him  down  to  his  father's 
Hall  in  Lincolnshire.  Through  him,  too,  Johnson  be- 
came acquainted  with  Topham  Beauclerk,  the  grandson 
of  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans.  With  these  two  young 
Oxonians  Johnson  was  living  on  terms  of  the  greatest 
intimacy  many  years  before  he  knew  Boswell. 

Writing  of  the  year  1752,  Boswell  says,  'The  circle 
of  his  friends  at  this  time  was  extensive  and  various,  far 
beyond  what  had  been  generally  imagined  ; '  while  Haw- 
kins, speaking  of  about  the  same  time,  says,  *  His 
acquaintance  was  sought  by  persons  of  the  first  eminence 
in  literature.'  Men  of  rank  were  reckoned  among  his 
friends,  as  the  Earl  of  Cork  and  Orrery  and  Lord  South- 
well. Bubb  Doddington,  afterward  Lord  Melcombe, 
wrote  to  him  to  say  that  '  if  Mr.  Johnson  was  inclined  to 
enlarge  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance,  he  should  be  glad 


MR.  CARLYLE  ON  BOSWELL.  151 

to  be  admitted  into  the  number  of  his  friends.'  So 
early  as  the  year  1748,  in  the  print  that  is  still  preserved 
of  the  company  which  that  summer  visited  Tunbridge 
Wells,  we  find  Johnson  and  his  wife  represented,  in 
company  with  Speaker  Onslow,  Mr.  Pitt  (Lord  Chatham), 
and  Mr.,  afterwards  Lord,  Lyttelton.  As  Mr.  Croker 
remarks,  'in  that  assemblage  neither  Johnson  nor  his 
wife  exhibit  an  appearance  of  inferiority  to  the  rest  of 
the  company.'  The  reference  to  the  figures,  by  the  way, 
in  the  facsimile  of  the  print  is  said  to  be  in  Richardson's 
own  writing.  How  comes  it  then  that  we  find  Dr.,  and 
not  Mr.,  Johnson  ?  Johnson  received  his  degree  from 
Dublin  in  1765,  and  Richardson  died  in  1761. 

It  was  in  the  year  1755  that  Lord  Chesterfield  by  his 
attempts  to  flatter  him  provoked  the  celebrated  letter. 
When  he  was  accused  of  having  treated  Johnson  with 
rudeness  by  keeping  him  waiting  in  his  ante-chamber,  he 
said  he  '■  would  have  turned  off  the  best  servant  he  ever 
had,  if  he  had  known  that  he  denied  him  to  a  man  who 
would  have  been  always  more  than  welcome.'  In  the 
same  year  Johnson  received  from  Oxford  the  honorary 
degree  of  Master  of  Arts,  while  the  Academy  at  Florence 
presented  him  with  a  copy  of  their  *  Vocabulario '  in 
return  for  a  copy  of  his  Dictionary  presented  to  it  by 
*  his  friend  the  Earl  of  Cork  and  Orrery,'  at  the  same 


152  DR.  JOHNSON. 


time  that  the  French  Academy  sent  him  their  '  Diction- 
naire.'  A  year  or  two  later  Smollett,  writing  on  his 
behalf  to  Wilkes,  describes  him  as  that  great  Cham  of 
literature.  When  his  pension  was  granted  Lord  Bute 
behaved  in  the  handsomest  manner.  In  the  same  year 
that  he  received  his  pension,  Boswell  says  that  in  a  trip 
which  he  took  with  Reynolds  to  Devonshire  '  he  was  enter- 
tained at  the  seats  of  several  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in 
the  West  of  England.'  At  Plymouth  'the  Commissioner 
of  the  Dockyard  paid  him  the  compliment  of  ordering  the 
yacht  to  convey  him  and  his  friend  to  Eddystone.*  At 
Exeter,  'that  very  eminent  divine,  the  Rev.  Zachariah 
Mudge,  Prebendary  of  Exeter,  preached  a  sermon  pur- 
posely that  Johnson  might  hear  him.'  Boswell,  when  he 
comes  to  the  time  of  his  own  introduction  to  his  hero,  says 
that '  Sir  David  Dalrymple,  now  one  of  the  Judges  of  Scot- 
land, by  the  title  of  Lord  Hailes,  had  contributed  much  to 
increase  my  high  opinion  of  Johnson,  on  account  of  his 
writings,  long  before  I  attained  to  a  personal  acquaintance 
with  him.'  Sir  David  writes  to  congratulate  Boswell  on 
making  Johnson's  acquaintance,  and  says,  *  I  envy  you  the 
free  and  undisguised  converse  with  such  a  man.'  He  goes 
on  to  say,  '  May  I  beg  you  to  present  my  best  respects  to 
him,  and  to  assure  him  of  the  veneration  which  I  enter- 
tain for  the  author  of  the  "Rambler"  and  of  "Rasselas"?' 


MR.  CARLYLE   ON  BO  SWELL.  153 

On  one  of  the  early  days  of  their  acquaintance, 
Boswell  'found  tall  Sir  Thomas  Robinson  (the  elder 
brother  of  the  first  Lord  Rokeby)  sitting  with  Johnson.' 
Boswell  another  day  told  Johnson  how  'Sir  James 
Macdonald,  who  united  the  highest  reputation  at  Eton 
and  Oxford  with  the  patriarchal  spirit  of  a  great  High- 
land chieftain,  had  said  that  he  had  never  seen  Johnson, 
but  he  had  a  great  respect  for  him,  though  at  the  same 
time  it  was  mixed  with  some  degree  of  terror.'  Mr. 
Dempster,  long  M.P.  for  Fife,  'was  so  much  struck,' 
Boswell  says,  writing  of  the  same  period,  *  even  with  the 
imperfect  account  I  gave  him  of  Dr.  Johnson's  conversa- 
tion, that  to  his  honour  be  it  recorded,  when  I  com- 
plained that  drinking  port  and  sitting  up  late  with  him 
affected  my  nerves  for  some  time  after,  he  said,  "  One 
had  better  be  palsied  at  eighteen  than  not  keep  company 
with  such  a  man."  ' 

It  was  in  the  same  year  that  the  Countess  de  Boufflers, 
one  of  the  leaders  of  French  society,  who  was  now 
on  a  round  of  visits  in  P^ngland,  breakfasting  with 
Walpole,  dining  with  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  supping  with 
Beauclerk,  paid  her  visit  to  Johnson  in  Inner  Temple 
Lane.  All  readers  of  Boswell  will  remember  how  John- 
son, a  moment  or  two  after  the  lady  had  left  his  rooms, 
eager  to  show  himself  a  man  of  gallantry,  hurried  down 


154  DR'  JOHNSON. 


the  staircase  in  violent  agitation,  and  in  the  strangest  of 
costumes,  seized  her  hand  and  conducted  her  to  her 
coach.  Some  years  before  this  Dr.  Maxwell,  the  assist- 
ant preacher  at  the  Temple,  had  described  the  levee  of 
morning  visitors  that  he  held.  '  He  seemed  to  me,'  he 
wrote,  '  to  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  public  oracle,  whom 
everybody  thought  they  had  a  right  to  visit  and  consult. 
Though  the  most  accessible  and  communicative  man 
alive,'  he  goes  on  to  add,  'yet  when  he  suspected  he 
was  invited  to  be  exhibited,  he  constantly  spurned  the 
invitation.' 

In  1764,  the  year  after  Boswell  first  met  Johnson,  the 
Club  was  founded.  'When  the  society  was  not  more 
than  fifteen  years  old,'  I  quote  from  Mr.  Forster's  *  Life 
of  Goldsmith,'  '  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph  wrote  to  Mr. 
William  Jones,  "  I  believe  Mr.  Fox  will  allow  me  to  say 
that  the  honour  of  being  elected  into  the  Turk's  Head 
Club  is  not  inferior  to  that  of  being  the  representative  of 
Westminster  or  Surrey.  The  electors  are  certainly  more 
disinterested ;  and  I  should  say  they  were  much  better 
judges  of  merit,  if  they  had  not  rejected  Lord  Camden 
and  chosen  me." '  The  Bishop  of  Chester  was  blackballed 
on  the  same  night  as  the  ex-Lord  Chancellor. 

In  1765,  Johnson  paid  a  visit  to  Cambridge.  Mr. 
Turner,  who  twenty  years  later  published  an  account  of 


MR.  CARLYLE   ON  BOSWELL.  155 

this  visit,  says  :  *  I  admire  his  prudence  and  good  sense  in 
not  appearing  that  day  (Sunday)  at  St.  Mary's,  to  be  the 
general  gaze  during  the  whole  service.  Such  an  appear- 
ance at  such  a  time  and  place  might  have  turned,  as  it 
were,  a  Christian  church  into  an  idol  temple.'  The 
writer,  after  saying  that  Johnson  '  seemed  studious  to 
preserve  a  strict  incognito,'  goes  on  to  add  :  '  Had  he 
visited  Cambridge  at  the  Commencement,  or  on  some 
public  occasion,  he  would  doubtless  have  met  with  the 
honours  due  to  the  bright  luminary  of  a  sister  University; 
and  yet  even  these  honours,  however  genuine  and  desir- 
able, the  modesty  of  conscious  excellence  seems  rather  to 
have  prompted  him  to  avoid.'  In  the  same  year  *  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  surprised  Johnson  with  a  spontaneous 
compliment  of  the  highest  academical  honours  by  creat- 
ing him  Doctor  of  Law.' 

In  1767,  by  which  year  Bos  well  had  still  seen  very 
little  of  Johnson,  occurred  the  interview  with  the  King  in 
the  library  at  the  Queen's  house.  '  His  Majesty  having 
been  informed  of  his  occasional  visits,  was  pleased  to 
signify  a  desire  that  he  should  be  told  when  Dr.  Johnson 
came  next  to  the  library.  Accordingly,  the  next  time 
that  Johnson  did  come,  as  soon  as  he  was  fairly  engaged 
with  a  book,  on  which,  while  he  sat  by  the  fire,  he  seemed 
quite  intent,  Mr.  Barnard  stole  round  to  the  apartment 


156  DR.  JOHNSON. 


where  the  King  was,  and,  in  obedience  to  his  Majesty's 
commands,  mentioned  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  then  in  the 
library.  His  Majesty  said  he  was  at  leisure,  and  would 
go  to  him.'  In  the  course  of  the  conversation  that  fol- 
lowed, the  King,  it  will  be  remembered,  asked  him  if  he 
was  then  writing  anything.  '  Johnson  said  he  thought  he 
had  already  done  his  part  as  a  writer.  "  I  should  have 
thought  so,  too  (said  the  King),  if  you  had  not  written  so 
well."  Johnson  observed  to  me  upon  this  (writes  Boswell) 
that  "No  man  could  have  paid  a  handsomer  compliment, 
and  it  was  fit  for  a  king  to  pay.     It  was  decisive." ' 

At  one  period  of  his  life,  and  probably  not  much  later 
than  the  time  when  Boswell  made  his  acquaintance, 
'  Johnson  was  a  good  deal  with  the  Earl  of  Shelburne.' 
Boswell  himself  does  not  seem  to  know  when  it  was  that 
the  intimacy  had  existed.  We  may  infer,  therefore,  that 
it  was  at  least  somewhat  early  in  the  friendship  of  John- 
son and  his  biographer,  if  not,  indeed,  before  the  friend- 
ship began. 

I  have  shown,  I  think,  that  at  the  time  when  Boswell 
became  intimate  with  Johnson  the  position  his  hero  held 
in  the  world  was  very  far  from  being  inconsiderable.  It 
would  not  be  difficult  to  go  on  and  upset  Mr.  Croker's 
statement,  which  Mr.  Carlyle  seems  to  adopt,  that  John- 
son was  to  the  last  little  regarded  by  the  great  world. 


MR.   CARLYLE  ON  BOSWELL.  157 

In  his  tour  to  the  Hebrides  he  was  welcomed  by  the 
great  people  wherever  there  were  great  people  to  wel- 
come him.     Setting  aside  the  Scotch  judges,  many  of 
whom  were  men  of  good  family  and  received  him  hospit- 
ably, and  the  Scottish  lairds,  whom  Mr.  Carlyle  describes 
as  the  hungriest  and  vainest  of  all  bipeds  yet  known,  but 
who  were  as  warm  in  their  welcome  as  the  judges,  he  was 
hospitably  received  by  the  Earl  of  Errol,  the  Duke  of 
Argyle,   the   Earl   of   Loudoun,   and   the   Countess   of 
Eglintoun.     'The  Earl  of  Errol  put  Dr.  Johnson  in  mind 
of  their  having  dined  together  in  London.'     At  Inverary 
'  the  Duke  placed  Dr.  Johnson  next  to  him  at  dinner. 
The  Duchess  was  very  attentive  to  him.     He  talked  a 
great   deal,  and   was   so   entertaining  that   Lady  Betty 
Hamilton,  after  dinner,  went  and  placed  her  chair  close 
to  his,  leaned  upon  the  back  of  it,  and  listened  eagerly. 
He   did  not   know   all   the  while   how  much    he  was 
honoured.'    When   the   Earl   of   Loudoun    heard    that 
Johnson  would  dine  with  him,  Boswell's  servant  reported 
that  'he  jumped  for  joy.'     'We  were  received  with   a 
most   pleasing  courtesy   by  his   Lordship,  and  by  the 
Countess  his  mother,  who  in  her  ninety-fifth  year  had  all 
her  faculties  quite  unimpaired. '    At  the  Countess  of  Eglin- 
toun's  '  in  the  course  of  our  conversation  it  came  out 
that  she  was  married  the  year  before  Dr.  Johnson  was 


158  DR.  JOHNSON. 


bom,  upon  which  she  graciously  said  to  him  that  she 
might  have  been  his  mother,  and  that  she  now  adopted 
him ;  and  when  we  were  going  away  she  embraced  him, 
saying,   "  My  dear  son,   farewell."  '     In   London  *  he 
associated,'  as  Boswell  tells  us,  *  with  persons  the  most 
widely  different  in  manners,  abilities,  rank,  and  accom- 
plishments.    He  was   at   once   the   companion   of   the 
brilliant   Colonel   Forrester  of  the   Guards,   who   wrote 
"  The  Polite  Philosopher,"  and  of  the  awkward  and  un- 
couth Robert  Levett ;  of  Lord  Thurlow  and  Mr.  Sastres, 
the  Italian  master ;   and  has  dined  one  day  with   the 
beautiful,  gay,  and  fascinating  Lady  Craven,  and  the  next 
with  good  Mrs.  Gardiner,  the  tallow-chandler  on  Snow 
Hill.'     Mr.  Fitzgerald,  in  his  edition  of  Boswell,  quoting 
from  Rogers's  '  Table  Talk,'   says  :    '  Mr.  Rogers    was 
told  by  Lady  Lucan   that  her  mother.  Lady  Spencer, 
used  to  say,  "  Now,  child,  we  have  nothing  to  do  to-night ; 
let  us  bring  home  Dr.  Johnson  to  dinner." '     Boswell 
says  that  *  at  the  house  of  Lord  and  Lady  Lucan  he 
often  enjoyed  all  that  an  elegant  house  and  the  best  com- 
pany can   contribute  to  form  happiness.'     But  Bennet 
Langton's  account  of  the  party  at  Mrs.  Vesey's,  where 
the  company,  in  which  there  were  two  duchesses,  half  a 
dozen  or  so  of  lords  and  ladies,  whom  he  names,  and 
'  others  of  note  both  for  their  station  and  understanding, 


MR.   CARLYLE  ON  BO  SWELL,  159 

began  to  collect  round  Johnson  till  they  became  not  less 
than  four,  if  not  five,  deep,'  is  in  itself  proof  enough  that 
Johnson  was  regarded  by  the  great. 

I  cannot  admit,  then,  the  claim  made  for  Boswell  that 
he,  and  he  alone,  last  century  was  a  real  martyr  to  the 
high,  everlasting  truth  that  hero-worship  lives  perennially 
in  the  human  bosom.  If  the  age  in  which  he  lived  was 
'  a  decrepit,  death-sick  era,  when  Cant  had  first  decisively 
opened  her  poison-breathing  lips  to  proclaim  that  God- 
worship  and  Mammon-worship  were  one  and  the  same, 
that  Life  was  a  Lie,'  &c.,  it  was  at  all  events  the  age 
of  Goldsmith,  Burke,  Reynolds,  and  the  gentle  Bennet 
Langton,  each  of  whom  rivalled  Boswell  in  the  high 
esteem  and  the  deep  affection  which  they  felt  for  Samuel 
Johnson. 


t6o  DR.  JOHNSON. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL. 


It  is  strange  how  a  man  of  Macaulay's  common  sense, 
wide  reading,  and  knowledge  of  the  world  could  have 
fallen  into  such  a  rhetorical  passion  with  Boswell.  It 
would  be  almost  as  reasonable  if  a  writer  were  to  set  about 
to  belabour  the  memory  of  Sir  Toby  Belch  as  a  man  who 
had  lost  all  self-respect. 

Boswell,  I  should  have  thought,  had  sufficiently 
guarded  himself  against  such  an  attack  by  the  story  he 
applies  to  himself  in  his  dedication  of  the  '  Life '  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds.  He  complains  that  he  had  been 
misunderstood  when,  in  his  '  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,'  in 
his  eagerness  to  display  the  fertility  and  readiness  of 
Johnson's  wit,  he  freely  showed  to  the  world  its  dexterity, 
even  when  he  himself  was  the  object  of  it. 

'  In  writing  this  chapter  I  have  made  some  use  of  articles  pub- 
lished in  the  Saturday  Review^  June  20,  1874,  and  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette^  October  13,  1875. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         i6i 

He,  goes  on  to  say,  *  It  is  related  of  the  great  Dr. 
Clarke  that,  when  in  one  of  his  leisure  hours,  he  was  un- 
bending himself  with  a  few  friends  in  the  most  playful  and 
frolicksome  manner,  he  observed  Beau  Nash  approaching ; 
upon  which  he  suddenly  stopped.  "  My  boys,"  said  he, 
"  let  us  be  grave  ;  here  comes  a  fool." '  It  is  well  for  the 
world  that  Boswell  had  none  of  that  second  sight  in  which 
he  was  very  willing  to  believe,  or  he  might  have  spoiled 
his  book  by  often  stopping  suddenly  in  his  narrative  with 
the  exclamation,  '  Let  me  be  grave  !  I  see  coming  from 
afar  an  Edinburgh  Reviewer.' 

His  faults — and  they  were  certainly  very  great — were 
not  such  as  to  raise  either  anger  or  contempt.  A  corre- 
spondent of  Malone's  described  him  well  when  he  said 
'  he  was  an  amiable,  warm-hearted  fellow,  and  there  was 
a  simplicity  in  him  very  engaging.'  Hume,  who  was  no 
bad  judge  of  a  man,  wrote  of  him  as  *  a  young  gentleman 
very  good  humoured,  very  agreeable,  and  very  mad.' 
Adam  Smith,  if  we  may  trust  Boswell,  had  told  him  when 
he  was  quite  a  young  man  that  he  was  *  happily  possessed 
of  a  facility  of  manners.'  Rousseau  recommended  him  to 
Pascal  Paoli,  and  Paoli,  after  he  had  had  him  as  his  guest, 
in  writing  to  him  told  him  he  should  be  desirous  to  keep 
up  a  correspondence  with  him.  Hannah  More  speaks  of 
him  as  '  a  very  agreeable,  good-natured  man.'    Cumber- 

M 


£62  DR.   JOHNSON. 


land  calls  him  'the  pleasant  tourist  to  Corsica.  ...  I 
loved  the  man,'  he  writes  ;  *he  had  great  convivial 
powers,  and  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  good  humour  in 
society.'  Miss  Bumey,  angry  though  she  was  with  him 
for  revealing  to  the  world  *  every  weakness  and  infirmity  of 
the  first  and  greatest  good  man  of  these  times,' and  resolved 
though  she  was  to  show  him  '  a  forbidding  reserve  and 
silence,'  yet  found  her  resolution  overcome.  *He  is  so 
open  and  forgiving  for  all  that  is  said  in  return,  that  he 
soon  forced  me  to  consider  him  in  a  less  serious  light,  .  .  . 
and  before  we  parted  we  became  good  friends.  There  is 
no  resisting  great  good  humour,  be  what  will  in  the  oppo- 
site scale.'  Beauclerk,  the  courtly  Topham  Beauclerk, 
who,  according  to  Macaulay,^  used  Boswell's  name  as  a 
proverbial  expression  for  a  bore,  was  nevertheless  very 
zealous  for  his  election  into  the  Club.  It  was  at  his  house 
that  Boswell's  friends  dined  on  the  day  of  the  election, 
and  went  off  in  a  body  to  vote  for  him,  leaving  him  *  in  a 
state  of  anxiety  which  even  the  charming  conversation  of 
Lady  Di  Beauclerk  could  not  entirely  dissipate.' 

Sir  Joshua  Re3niolds  was  the  last  man  to  have  been  a 
friend  to  the  vile  sycophant  whom  Macaulay  describes. 
Boswell,  in  dedicating  his  great  work  to  Reynolds,  boasts 

^  Macaulay,  no  doubt,  was  thinking  of  the  passage  in  a  letter 
firom  Beauclerk  to  the  Earl  of  Charlemont,  that  I  quote  on  page  311. 


i 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         163 

*  with  honest  pride '  that  between  the  two  there  had  been 
a  long  and  uninterrupted  friendship.  And  he  was  justified 
in  making  this  boast,  for  Reynolds  had  been  no  less  eager 
than  Johnson  for  his  election  into  the  Club.  It  was  to 
him,  no  doubt,  that  many  years  later  was  due  his  appoint- 
ment as  Secretary  for  Foreign  Correspondence  to  the 
Royal  Academy.  He  gave  him  during  his  lifetime  one  of 
the  portraits  that  he  had  painted  of  Johnson,  and  in  his 
will  he  left  him  ;£"2oo,  *  to  be  expended,  if  he  thought 
proper,  in  the  purchase  of  a  picture  at  the  sale  of  his 
paintings,  and  to  be  kept  for  his  sake.'  Dr.  Barnard, 
Bishop  of  Killaloe,  when  he  was  appointed  chaplain  to 
the  Royal  Academy,  writing  to  Reynolds,  said,  *  Tell  my 
brother  Boswell  that  I  expect  his  congratulations.' 

Dr.  Barnard  was  a  wit  who  could  hold  his  place  even 
when  in  company  with  Johnson  and  Burke.  He  would 
never  have  asked  for  the  congratulations  of  *  a  man  of  the 
meanest  and  feeblest  intellect.'  Was  Johnson  likely  to 
have  endured  a  man  of  the  meanest  and  feeblest  intellect 
for  twenty  minutes?  But  his  friendship  with  Boswell 
lasted  more  than  twenty  years.  'He  described  him,' 
writes  Macaulay,  'as  a  fellow  who  had  missed  his  only 
chance  of  immortality  by  not  having  been  alive  when  the 
"  Dunciad  "  was  written.'  *     But  are  all  Johnson's  hasty 

'   *  Johnson  repeated  to  us  in  his  forcible,  melodious  manner,  the 


i64  DR.  JOHNSON. 


utterances  to  be  taken  as  so  many  deliberate  judgments  ? 
Did  he  really  look  upon  Fielding  as  a  blockhead,  a  barren 
rascal ;  or  upon  Reynolds  as  a  man  too  far  gone  in  wine ; 
or  upon  Dean  Percy  as  a  man  who  had  done  with 
civility ;  or  upon  Beauclerk  as  a  man  who  was  very 
uncivil ;  or  upon  Garrick  as  a  fellow  who  exhibited 
himself  for  a  shilling — a  Punch  who  had  no  feelings? 
Did  he  really  think  that  Dean  Barnard  deserved  to  be 
openly  told  that  in  him  there  was  great  room  for  improve- 
ment j  or  that  Goldsmith  deserved  to  be  no  less  openly 
told  that  he  was  impertinent  ? 

In  his  *  Life  of  Savage '  he  has  himself  shown  how 
unreasonable  it  is  to  give  too  much  weight  to  such 
utterances  as  these.  *  A  little  knowledge  of  the  world, 
he  writes,  *  is  sufficient  to  discover  that  such  weakness  is 
very  common,  and  that  there  are  few  who  do  not  some- 
times, in  the  wantonness  of  thoughtful  mirth,  or  the  heat 
of  transient  resentment,  speak  of  their  friends  and  bene- 
factors with  levity  and  contempt.' 

If,  to  use  Boswell's  own  expression,  he  at  times  gored 

concluding  lines  of  the  Dunciad.  While  he  was  talking  loudly  in 
praise  of  those  lines,  one  of  the  company  ventured  to  say,  "Too 
fine  for  such  a  poem  :  a  poem  on  what?"  Johnson  (wdth  a  dis- 
dainful air)  :  "Why,  on  dunces.  It  was  worth  while  being  a  dunce 
then.  Ah,  Sir,  hadst  thou  lived  in  those  days  ! " ' — Boswell's 
Johnson^  October  i6,  1769. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         165 

him  and  tossed  him,  he  often  spoke  of  him  in  a  very 
different  way.  In  his  *  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands ' 
he  writes :  '  I  was  induced  to  undertake  the  journey  by 
finding  in  Mr.  Boswell  a  companion  whose  acuteness 
would  help  my  inquiry,  and  whose  gaiety  of  conversation 
and  civility  of  manners  are  sufficient  to  counteract  the 
inconveniencies  of  travel  in  countries  less  hospitable 
than  we  have  passed.'  In  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale, 
who,  as  he  must  have  known,  did  not  like  Boswell,  he 
speaks  of 'his  good  humour  and  perpetual  cheerfulness.' 
*  It  is  very  convenient  to  travel  with  him,  for  there  is 
no  house  where  he  is  not  received  with  kindness  and 
respect.'  Mrs.  Boswell  '  had  the  mien  and  manners  of  a 
gentlewoman.'  Yet  '  she  is  in  a  proper  degree  inferior  to 
her  husband ;  she  cannot  rival  him,  nor  can  he  ever  be 
ashamed  of  her.'  In  letters  written  in  later  years  he  tells 
how  Boswell  '  is  with  us  in  good  humour,  and  plays  his 
part  with  his  usual  vivacity.'  *  He  has  been  gay  and  good 
humoured  in  his  usual  way.' 

Johnson,  no  doubt,  was,  as  Madame  D'Arblay  says, 
'  really  touched  by  Boswell's  attachment.  It  was  indeed 
surprising,  and  even  touching,'  she  goes  on  to  say,  'to  re- 
mark the  pleasure  with  which  this  great  man  accepted 
personal  kindness  even  from  the  simplest  of  mankind, 
and  the  grave  formality  with  which  he  acknowledged  it 


i66  DR.   JOHNSON. 


even  to  the  meanest.  Possibly  it  was  what  he  most 
prized  because  what  he  could  least  command,  for  personal 
partiality  hangs  upon  lighter  and  slighter  qualities  than 
those  which  earn  solid  approbation.'  But  no  amount  of 
personal  attachment  from  such  a  man  as  Macaulay 
describes  could  have  won  Johnson's  friendship.  'On 
men  and  manners/  as  he  justly'  says,  'Johnson  had 
certainly  looked  with  a  most  observant  and  discriminating 
eye.  ...  It  is  clear,  from  the  remains  of  his  conversation, 
that  he  had  more  of  that  homely  wisdom  which  nothing 
but  experience  and  observation  can  give  than  any  writer 
since  the  time  of  Swift.' 

It  was  certainly  with  an  observant  and  a  discri- 
minating but  not  with  a  scornful  eye  that  Johnson  had 
looked  on  men  and  manners,  and  it  was  because  he  had 
so  looked  that  he  could  see  Boswell's  merits  and  enjoy 
Boswell's  society.  He  could  find  good  in  everything. 
His  mind  was  large  enough  to  be  tolerant  of  that  which 
was  immeasurably  beneath  him.  He  was  like  some  lofty 
and  wide-spreading  tree,  beneath  whose  branches  the 
grass  can  grow  which  the  thick  shrub  would  choke.  The 
range  of  his  knowledge  was  wide,  and  he  was  always 
eager  to  make  it  still  wider. 

No  less  wide  was  the  range  of  his  friendships,  and 
scarcely  less  eager  was  his  desire  to  extend  it.     'Let 


I 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOS  WELL.         167 

us  keep  our  friendships  in  repair,'  he  wrote  in  his  old  age. 
He  despised  no  one  who  knew  anything  that  he  himself 
did  not  know,  or  who  had  any  share  of  common  sense,  or 
ordinary  intelligence.  Swift  one  day  overheard  a  gentle- 
man regretting  that  he  should  have  chanced  to  come  to 
the  house  where  among  the  guests  was  so  great  a  scholar 
and  a  wit.     *  A  plain  country  squire,'  the  gentleman  said, 

*  will  have  but  a  bad  time  of  it  in  his  company,  and  I  don't 
like  to  be  laughed  at.'  Swift  stepped  up  to  him  and  said, 
'  Pray,  Sir,  do  you  know  how  to  say  yes  or  no  properly  ? ' 
*Yes,  I  think  I  have  understanding    enough  for  that.' 

*  Then  give  me  your  hand — depend  upon  it  you  and  I 
will  agree  very  well.' 

Johnson  and  the  plain  country  squire  would  have 
agreed  still  better.  *  It  was  never,'  as  Madame  Piozzi 
says,  *  against  people  of  coarse  life  that  his  contempt  was 
expressed;  while  poverty  of  sentiment  in  men  who  con- 
sidered themselves  to  be  company  for  the  parlour,  as  he 
called  it,  was  what  he  would  not  bear.'  It  might  have 
been  said  of  him  what  he  said  of  Burke :  *  Take  up 
whatever  topic  you  please,  he  is  ready  to  meet  you.'  One 
evening  when  he  had  been  with  Burke  and  had  had  by 
far  the  largest  share  in  the  talk,  Burke  in  his  modesty 
owned  that  it  was  enough  for  him  to  have  rung  the  bell 
to  him.     When  a  clergyman  complained  of  the  want  of 


1 68  DR.   JOHNSON, 

society  in  the  country  where  he  lived  and  said  *  They  talk 
of  runts  ^;'  a  lady,  who  was  by  and  who  knew  Johnson 
well,  said,  'Sir,  Mr.  Johnson  would  learn  to  talk  of 
runts/ 

With  all  his  prejudices  he  was,  so  far  as  men  are  con- 
cerned, one  of  the  most  unprejudiced  of  men.  He  had 
in  a  high  degree  the  power  of  finding  out  in  each  man 
his  better  part.  He  was  on  a  level  with  Burke  and 
Gibbon,  Reynolds  and  Garrick,  but  blind  Miss  Williams 
and  old  Mr.  Levett  were  not  beneath  him. 

Macaulay  sneers  at  the  inmates  of  his  house — *  this 
strange  menagerie,'  as  he  calls  them — *Miss  Williams 
whose  chief  recommendations  were  her  blindness  and  her 
poverty,'  '  the  old  quack  doctor  named  Levett,'  and  the 
others  who  '  continued  to  torment  him  and  to  live  upon 
him.'  But  in  both  of  them  he  found  in  no  small  degree  that 
eagerness  after  knowledge  which  he  himself  had  in  so  large 
a  degree.  '  My  house  has  lost,'  he  wrote  when  Levett  died, 
*a  man  who  took  interest  in  everything,  and  therefore  ready 
at  conversation.'  When  death  the  following  year  swept  off 
Miss  Williams,  he  wrote,  '  had  she  had  good  humour  and 
prompt  elocution,  her  universal  curiosity  and  comprehen- 
sive knowledge  would  have  made  her  the  delight  of  all 

'  '  Runt,  in  the  Teutonick  dialects,  signifies  a  bull  or  a  cow,  and 
is  used  in  contempt  by  us  for  small  cattle.' — ^Johnson's  Dictionary. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         169 

that  knew  her.'  Hannah  More  writing  of  Miss  WilHams 
whom  she  had  met  for  the  first  time,  said  :  '  She  is  engaging 
in  her  manners ;  her  conversation  Hvely  and  entertaining.' 

He  felt  their  loss  deeply.  *The  amusements  and 
consolations  of  languor  and  depression/  he  wrote  to 
Mrs.  Thrale,  'are  conferred  by  familiar  and  domestick 
companions  which  can  be  visited  or  called  at  will,  and 
can  occasionally  be  quitted  or  dismissed.  .  .  .  Such 
society  I  had  with  Levett  and  Williams  j  such  I  had 
where — I  am  never  likely  to  have  it  more.'  The  last 
passage  is  very  striking^  He  is  thinking  of  the  home  at 
Streatham  that  was  now  broken  up,  and  he  puts  it  and 
his  *  strange  menagerie '  on  a  level. 

Macaulay  was  not  able  to  understand  the  pleasure 
that  Johnson  found  in  such  companions  as  these.  Still 
less  was  he  able  to  understand  the  pleasure  that  he  found 
in  Boswell.  But  Macaulay  was  a  man  of  *  imperfect 
sympathies.'  He  was  not  a  humourist  himself  and  he  was 
quite  free  from  those  harmless  follies  which  are  so  com- 
monly joined  with  humour.  He  never,  we  may  be  sure, 
enjoyed  a  quiet  laugh  at  himself.  He  never  smiled  at 
his  own  inconsistencies.  Had  he  known  Goldsmith,  he 
would  have  scorned  him  almost  as  much  as  he  scorned 
Boswell.  He  could  never  have  burst  into  tears,  as  Burke 
did,  when  he  heard  of  Goldsmith's  death,  nor  laid  aside 


I70  DR.   JOHNSON. 


his  pen  for  the  day,  as  Reynolds  laid  aside  his  brush. 

,     He  could  never  have  liked  *  an  inspired  idiot.' 

In  some  lines  that  I  have  somewhere  read  the  beauty 

of  a  woman  is  described  as  so  great  that 

The  beggars  drew  into  shadow  as  she  passed 

And  covered  up  their  sores  with  deeper  sense  of  ill.^ 

The  clearness  of  Macaulay's  mind  was  so  great,  so  wide 
were  the  partitions  that  divided  his  wit  from  madness, 
that  a  man  whose  folly  and  whose  genius  were  hopelessly 
tangled  together  might  well  in  like  manner  have  covered 
himself  up,  if  he  had  known  how,  from  the  gaze  of  that 
keen  but  unsympathetic  eye.  To  like  a  man,  Macaulay 
had  first  to  respect  him.  Could  he  have  wandered  like 
Don  Quixote  through  the  world,  he  would  rather  have 
been  accompanied  by  a  consistent  Whig,  who  said 
nothing  because  he  had  nothing  to  say,  than  by  Sancho 
Panza  with  all  his  humour  and  his  folly.  He  could  never 
laugh  at  a  man  and  laugh  with  him  at  the  same  time.  So 
little,  indeed,  was  he  formed  for  understanding  a  man  of 
Boswell's  character,  that  when  we  examine  the  gross 
caricature  that  he  would  pass  off  as  his  portrait,  we  have, 
indeed,  a  feeling  of  pity — but  the  pity  is  for  Macaulay  not 
for  Boswell. 

^  I  quote  from  recollection,  and  likely  enough  my  quotation  is 
imperfect. 


LORD  MACAU  LAY  ON  BO  SWELL.         171 

*  Servile  and  impertinent,  shallow  and  pedantic,  a  bigot 
and  a  sot,  bloated  with  family  pride,  and  eternally 
blustering  about  the  dignity  of  a  born  gentleman,  yet 
Stooping  to  be  a  talebearer,  an  eavesdropper,  a  common 
butt  in  the  taverns  of  London  ;  so  curious  to  know  every- 
body who  was  talked  about,  that  Tory  and  High  Church- 
man as  he  was,  he  manoeuvred,  we  have  been  told,  for  an 
introduction  to  Tom  Paine  ;  so  vain  of  the  most  childish 
distinctions  that,  when  he  had  been  to  court,  he  drove  to 
the  office  where  his  book  was  printing  without  changing 
his  clothes,  and  summoned  all  the  printer's  devils  to 
admire  his  new  ruffles  and  sword ;  such  was  this  man  ; 
and  such  he  was  content  and  proud  to  be.' 

*  I  would  your  grace  would  take  me  with  you  ! '  we 
may  exclaim  as  Falstaff  did  when  he  heard  himself  de- 
scribed by  Prince  Hal,  '  Whom  means  your  grace  ?  '  And 
with  some  change  in  the  words,  we  may  go  on  to  say, 
'  No,  my  good  Lord,  banish  Whig,  banish  Tory,  banish 
Edinburgh  Reviewer,  but  for  Jemmy  Boswell  banish  not 
him  thy  reader's  company,  banish  not  him  thy  reader's 
friendship  \  banish  Jemmy  and  banish  all  the  world.'  For 
with  all  his  failings  and  with  all  his  faults,  despise  him  as 
much  as  we  please,  yet  we  cannot  help  liking  the  man 
and  almost  looking  upon  him  as  a  friend.  He  is  delight- 
ful because  he  is  Boswell,  and  to  abuse  him  for  being 


172  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Boswell  is  to  abuse  him  for  being  delightful.  He  was 
more  than  half  aware  of  his  own  weaknesses  and  absur- 
dities, and  a  fool  who  knows  his  own  folly  is  no  longer  a 
fool.  In  his  preface  to  his  book  on  Corsica  he  writes, 
*For  my  part  I  should  be  proud  to  be  known  as  an 
authour ;  and  I  have  an  ardent  ambition  for  literary  fame  ; 
for  of  all  possessions  I  should  imagine  literary  fame  to  be 
the  most  valuable.  A  man  who  has  been  able  to  furnish 
a  book  which  has  been  approved  by  the  world  has 
established  himself  as  a  respectable  character  in  distant 
society,  without  any  danger  of  having  that  character 
lessened  by  the  observation  of  his  weaknesses,  To  pre- 
serve an  uniform  dignity  among  those  who  see  us  every 
day  is  hardly  possible;  and  to  aim  at  it  must  put  us 
under  the  fetters  of  a  perpetual  restraint.  The  authour  of 
an  approved  book  may  allow  his  natural  disposition  an 
easy  play,  and  yet  indulge  the  pride  of  superiour  genius, 
when  he  considers  that  by  those  who  know  him  only  as  an 
authour  he  never  ceases  to  be  respected.  Such  an  authour 
when  in  his  hours  of  gloom  and  discontent  may  have  the 
consolation  to  think  that  his  writings  are  at  that  very  time 
giving  pleasure  to  numbers,  and  such  an  authour  may 
cherish  the  hope  of  being  remembered  after  death,  which 
has  been  a  great  object  to  the  noblest  minds  in  all  ages.' 
Boswell,  unfortunately  for  his  reputation,  had  by  no 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         173 

means  the  art  of  preserving  even  in  his  writings  'an 
uniform  dignity.'  This  Goldsmith  had,  though  perhaps 
among  those  who  saw  him  every  day  he,  more  even  than 
Boswell,  exposed  his  weaknesses.  As  Sir  Joshua  said  of 
him,  '  admirers  in  a  room  whom  his  entrance  had  struck 
with  awe,  might  be  seen  riding  out  upon  his  back.' 

Boswell  was  always  giving  the  world  something  to 
laugh  at,  but  it  was  a  good-natured  laugh  that  he  raised. 
When  he  was  barely  one  and  twenty  he  and  his  friend 
Erskine  published  a  series  of  letters  that  had  passed  be- 
tween them.  He  was  in  such  a  hurry  for  fame  that  he 
could  not  wait  till  he  had  written  a  book,  but  when  we 
read  the  letters  we  are  only  amused.  He  no  more 
excites  our  anger  than  did  Goldsmith  when  he  showed 
himself  off  in  his  bloom-coloured  coat.  He  is  in  these 
Letters,  as  Hume  says,  very  good  humoured,  very  agree- 
able and  very  mad. 

Erskine  laughs  at  him  j  he  ridicules  the  solemnity  of 
his  small  nose,  his  dark  face  which  beamed  a  black  ray 
upon  him,  the  rotundity  of  his  Bath  great-coat,  his  person 
little  and  squat,  the  pomatum  which  gives  his  hair  a 
gloss,  the  grandeur  of  his  pinchbeck  buckles.  He  had 
taken  him,  he  says,  sometimes  for  the  witches'  cauldron  in 
Macbeth  ;  sometimes  for  an  enormous  ink-bottle ;  some- 
times for  a  funeral  procession;   now   and   then   for  a 


174  DR.   JOHNSON. 


chimney  sweeper,  and  not  unfrequently  for  a  black- 
pudding.  He  knows,  he  tells  him,  his  aversion  at  being 
thought  a  genius  or  a  wit.  He  is  aware  he  hates  flattery, 
and  yet,  in  spite  of  his  teeth,  he  will  tell  him  that  he  is 
the  best  poet  and  the  most  humorous  letter-writer  he 
knows.  He  ridicules  his  wish  to  become  a  soldier,  and 
reminds  him  that  *  we  find  in  all  history-,  ancient  and 
modern,  lawyers  are  very  apt  to  run  away.' 

A  man  cannot,  indeed,  boast  much  of  his  dignity  who 
publishes  such  jests  on  himself.  But  he  shows  at  all 
events  his  good  humour.  He  is  wise  enough  to  stand 
a  laugh  against  himself.  He  had  had  the  impudence  to 
publish  an  Ode  to  Tragedy  written  by  a  gentleman  of 
Scotland  and  dedicated  to  James  Boswell,  Esq.  Erskine's 
curiosity  is  aroused,  and  he  eagerly  writes  for  information. 
'  I  must  now  ask  like  the  "Spectator,"  is  this  Ode-writing 
gentleman  of  Scotland  fat  or  lean,  tall  or  short,  does  he 
use  spectacles  ?  What  is  the  length  of  his  walking-stick  ? ' 

Boswell  with  some  humour  replies  :  *  The  author 
of  the  Ode  to  Tragedy  is  a  most  excellent  man  :  he 
is  of  an  ancient  family  in  the  west  of  Scotland,  upon 
which  he  values  himself  not  a  little.  At  his  nativity 
there  appeared  omens  of  his  future  greatness.  His 
parts  are  bright,  and  his  education  has  been  good. 
He  has  travelled  in  post-chaises  miles  without  number. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOS  WELL.         175 

He  is  fond  of  seeing  much  of  the  world.  He  eats  of 
every  good  dish,  especially  apple-pie.  He  drinks  old 
hock.  He  has  a  very  fine  temper.  He  is  somewhat  of 
an  humourist  and  a  little  tinctured  with  pride.  He  has 
a  good  manly  countenance,  and  he  owns  himself  to  be 
amorous.  He  has  infinite  vivacity,  yet  is  observed  at 
times  to  have  a  melancholy  cast.  He  is  rather  fat  than 
lean,  rather  short  than  tall,  rather  young  than  old.  His 
shoes  are  neatly  made,  and  he  never  wears  spectacles. 
The  length  of  his  walking-stick  is  not  as  yet  ascertained  ; 
but  we  hope  soon  to  favour  the  republic  of  letters  with  a 
solution  of  this  difficulty,  as  several  able  mathematicians 
are  employed  in  its  investigation,  and  for  that  purpose 
have  posted  themselves  at  different  given  points  in  the 
Canongate,  so  that  when  the  gentleman  saunters  down 
to  the  Abbey  of  Holyrood  House  in  order  to  think  on 
ancient  days,  on  King  James  the  Fifth,  and  on  Queen 
Mary,  they  may  compute  its  altitude  above  the  street 
according  to  the  rules  of  geometry.' 

In  the  account  he  gives  of  his  Tour  to  Corsica,  there 
is  the  same  display  of  vanity  as  harmless  as  it  is 
amusing.  To  his  great  satisfaction  it  was  generally 
believed  that  he  was  on  a  public  mission.  *  The  more  I 
disclaimed  any  such  thing,  the  more  they  persevered  in 
affirming  it ;  and  I  was  considered  as  a  very  close  young 


176  DR.   JOHNSON. 


man.  I  therefore  just  allowed  them  to  make  a  minister 
of  me,  till  time  should  undeceive  them.  .  .  .  The 
Ambasciadore  Inglese — the  English  ambassadour — as  the 
good  peasants  and  soldiers  used  to  call  me,  became  a 
great  favourite  among  them.  I  got  a  Corsican  dress 
made,  in  which  I  walked  about  with  an  air  of  true  satis- 
faction. .  .  ,  They  were  quite  free  and  easy  with 
me.  Numbers  of  them  used  to  come  and  see  me  of  a 
morning,  and  just  go  in  and  out  as  they  pleased.  I  did 
everything  in  my  power  to  make  them  fond  of  the 
British,  and  bid  them  hope  for  an  alliance  with  us.  They 
asked  me  a  thousand  questions  about  my  country,  all  of 
which  I  chearfully  answered  as  well  as  I  could.' 

In  another  passage  he  says,  *At  Bastelica,  where 
there  is  a  stately  spirited  race  of  people,  I  had  a  large 
company  to  attend  me  in  the  convent.  I  liked  to  see 
their  natural  frankness  and  ease  \  for  why  should  men  be 
afraid  of  their  own  species  ?  They  just  came  in  making 
an  easy  bow,  placed  themselves  round  the  room  where  I 
was  sitting,  rested  themselves  on  their  muskets,  and 
immediately  entered  into  conversation  with  me.'  We  are 
pleasantly  reminded  by  his  condescension  how  a  few 
years  later  on  he  said,  *  For  my  part  I  like  very  well  to 
hear  honest  Goldsmith  talk  away  carelessly.' 

Paoli  treated  him  with  great  ceremony,  and  whenever 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOS  WELL.         177 

he  chose  to  make  a  little  tour  he  was  attended  by  a  party 
of  guards.  '  One  day,'  he  writes,  '  when  I  rode  out  I  was 
mounted  on  Paoli's  own  horse,  with  rich  furniture  of 
crimson  velvet,  with  broad  gold  lace,  and  had  my  guards 
marching  along  with  me.  I  allowed  myself  to  indulge  a 
momentary  pride  in  this  parade,  as  I  was  curious  to  ex- 
perience what  could  really  be  the  pleasure  of  state  and 
distinction  with  which  mankind  are  so  strangely  intoxi- 
cated.' I  wonder,  by  the  way,  if  Boswell  ever  read  the 
Book  of  Esther  without  being  filled  with  envy  of  Mor- 
decai.  How  he  would  have  delighted  to  be  led  along 
the  street  in  royal  apparel,  with  the  Prime  Minister  or  the 
Lord  Chancellor  walking  by  his  side  and  proclaiming 
before  him,  '  Thus  shall  it  be  done  to  the  man  whom  the 
King  delighteth  to  honour.'  When  first  he  was  to  appear 
before  Paoli,  '  I  could  not  help  being,'  he  says,  *  under 
considerable  anxiety.  My  ideas  of  him  had  been  greatly 
heightened  by  the  conversations  I  had  held  with  all  sorts 
of  people  in  the  island,  they  having  represented  him  to 
me  as  something  above  humanity.'  But  a  few  pages 
later  on  he  writes :  '  My  time  passed  here  in  the  most 
agreeable  manner.  I  enjoyed  a  sort  of  luxury  of  noble 
sentiments.  Paoli  became  more  afiable  with  me.  I 
made  myself  known  to  him.' 

Wonderfully  amusing  is  the  account  he  gave  of  him- 


\7^  DR.   JOHNSON. 


self,  when  he  had  thus  made  himself  known.  *  This  kind  of 
conversation  led  me  to  tell  him  how  much  I  had  suffered 
from  anxious  speculations.  With  a  mind  naturally  in- 
clined to  melancholy,  and  a  keen  desire  of  inquiry,  I  had 
intensely  (Oh,  Bozzy  !  Bozzy !  you  bounced  there,  and 
you  know  you  did)  applied  myself  to  metaphysical  re- 
searches, and  reasoned  beyond  my  depth  on  such  sub- 
jects as  it  is  not  given  to  man  to  know.  I  told  him  I  had 
rendered  my  mind  a  camera  obscura — that  in  the  very 
heat  of  youth  I  felt  the  non  est  tafiti,  the  omnia  vanitas  of 
one  who  has  exhausted  all  the  sweets  of  his  being,  and 
is  weary  with  dull  repetition.  I  told  him  that  I  had 
almost  become  for  ever  incapable  of  taking  a  part  in 
active  life.' 

One  good,  at  all  events,  resulted  from  this  visit,  for 
he  says  :  '  From  having  known  intimately  so  exalted  a 
character  my  sentiments  of  human  nature  were  raised ; 
while,  by  a  sort  of  contagion,  I  felt  an  honest  ardour  to 
distinguish  myself  and  be  useful,  as  far  as  my  situation 
and  abilities  would  allow ;  and  I  was,  for  the  rest  of  my 
life,  set  free  from  a  slavish  timidity  in  the  presence  of 
great  men — for  where  shall  I  find  a  man  greater  than 
Paoli  ?  '  It  was,  no  doubt,  this  happy  freedom  from  slav- 
ish timidity  which  a  year  or  two  later  gave  him  courage 
to  write  to  the  great  Chatham,  and  ask,  'Could  your 


I 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         lyc) 

lordship  find  time  to  honour  me  now  and  then  with  a 
letter  ? ' 

As  he  had  delighted  in  the  experience  of  the  pleasure 
of  state  and  distinction,  so  another  day  he  made  trial  of 
Arcadian  simplicity.  On  almost  every  day  of  his  life  but 
this  he  was,  as  every  one  knows,  only  too  fond  of  good 
eating  and  the  bottle.  But  on  this  day,  in  describing  a 
trip  he  was  taking,  he  says,  '  When  we  grew  hungry  we 
threw  stones  among  the  thick  branches  of  the  chestnut 
trees  which  overshadowed  us,  and  in  that  manner  we 
brought  down  a  shower  of  chestnuts  with  which  we  filled 
our  pockets,  and  went  on  eating  them  with  great  relish  ; 
and  when  this  made  us  thirsty  we  lay  down  by  the  side 
of  the  first  brook,  put  our  mouths  to  the  stream,  and 
drank  sufficiently.  It  was  just  being  for  a  while  one  of 
the  prisca  gens  mortaitum,  the  primitive  race  of  men,  who 
ran  about  in  the  woods  eating  acorns  and  drinking 
water.' 

Macaulay  says  that  Boswell  *  has  reported  innumerable 
observations  made  by  himself  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion. Of  those  observations  we  do  not  remember  one 
which  is  above  the  intellectual  capacity  of  a  boy  of 
fifteen.'  Had  he  read  '  The  Tour  to  Corsica '  he  must 
have  allowed  that  in  the  following  conversation  Boswell 
showed  a  good  deal  of  wit. 

N  2 


[So  DR.   JOHNSON. 


*  While  I  stopped  to  refresh  my  mules  at  a  little  vil- 
lage, the  inhabitants  came  crowding  about  me  as  an 
ambassador  going  to  their  general.  When  they  were 
informed  of  my  countr}^,  a  strong  black  fellow  among 
them  said  :  "  English  !  They  are  barbarians  ;  they  don't 
believe  in  the  great  God."  I  told  him,  "  Excuse  me,  Sir. 
We  do  believe  in  God,  and  in  Jesus  Christ  too."  "And 
in  the  Pope?"  "No."  "And  why?"  This  was  a  puzzling 
question  in  these  circumstances ;  for  there  was  a  great 
audience  to  the  controversy.  I  thought  I  would  try  a 
method  of  my  own,  and  very  gravely  replied,  "  Because 
we  are  too  far  off."  A  very  new  argument  against  the 
universal  infallibility  of  the  Pope.  It  took,  however ; 
for  my  opponent  mused  awhile,  and  then  said,  "  Too  far 
off  ?  Why,  Sicily  is  as  far  off  as  England.  Yet  in  Sicily 
they  beUeve  in  the  Pope."  "  Oh  ! "  said  I,  "  we  are  ten 
times  farther  off  than  Sicily."  "  Aha  !  "  said  he ;  and 
seemed  quite  satisfied.' 

All  this  vanity  that  Boswell  thus  early  showed  would 
in  a  Malvolio,  or  a  Mr.  Collins  such  as  Miss  Austen  drew, 
be  intolerable ;  but  vanity  when  it  is  joined  with  good 
nature,  a  lively  temperament,  and  an  active  mind,  often 
amuses,  and  even  pleases  rather  than  offends. 

But  he  had  no  liveliness  of  temperament,  no  activity 
of  mind,  if  we  may  trust  Macaulay.     '  He  was,  if  we  are 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         i8i 

to  give  any  credit  to  his  own  account  or  to  the  united 
testimony  of  all  who  knew  him,  a  man  of  the  meanest 
and  feeblest  intellect'  Yet  this  'Tour  to  Corsica'  was 
not  the  act  of  an  intellect  that  was  either  mean  or  feeble. 
He  was,  he  says,  the  first  Briton  ^  who  had  had  the  curio- 
sity to  visit  Corsica,  and  a  trip  to  Corsica  in  those  days 
was  as  great  a  feat  as  a  trip  to  Mount  Ararat  in  these 
days.  '  Your  countrymen,'  said  Paoli,  *  will  be  curious  to 
see  you.  A  man  come  from  Corsica  will  be  like  a  man 
come  from  the  Antipodes.'  The  Mediterranean  still 
swarmed  with  Turkish  corsairs,  and  Corsica  itself 
swarmed  with  brigands.  '  Come  home,'  wrote  Johnson 
to  him,  'and  expect  such  welcome  as  is  due  to  him 
whom  a  wise  and  noble  curiosity  has  led  where  perhaps 
no  native  of  this  country  ever  was  before.'  The  enthu- 
siasm that  led  him  there  was,  perhaps,  wild  \  but  enthu- 
siasm is  not  the  failing  of  the  meanest  intellects.  Scarcely 
less  noble  was  the  enthusiasm  which  led  him,  a  young 

'  He  was  not,  indeed,  quite  the  first  Briton  to  go  to  Corsica. 
Curiously  enough,  he  found  in  a  town  occupied  by  the  French,  an 
Englishwoman  of  Penrith  in  Cumberland.  When  the  Highlanders 
marched  through  that  country  in  the  year  1 745,  she  had  married  a 
soldier  of  the  French  picquets  in  the  very  midst  of  all  the  confusion 
and  danger,  and  when  she  could  hardly  understand  one  word  he 
said.  What  a  strange  story  might  have  been  written  of  that 
woman's  adventures,  if  Boswell  had  had  the  powers  of  De  Foe,  and 
had  taken  the  trouble  to  learn  all  the  circumstances  of  her  life. 


[82  DR.   JOHNSON. 


man  of  two  and  twenty,  fond,  only  too  fond,  of  pleasures, 
and  freshly  arrived  in  London,  to  sit  up  four  nights  in 
one  week  recording  in  his  journal  all  that  he  could  re- 
member of  what  Johnson  had  said  to  him  in  the  day. 

But  he  had  more  than  enthusiasm  ;  he  had  sound 
literary  judgment.  When  he  came  to  write  his  book  on 
Corsica  he  showed  that  he  knew  very  well  the  right  way 
to  set  about  the  work  he  had  taken  in  hand.  He  says, 
'  From  my  first  setting  out  on  this  tour  I  wrote  down 
every  night  what  I  had  observed  during  the  day,  throw- 
ing together  a  great  deal,  that  I  might  afterwards  make  a 
selection  at  leisure.'  His  method  might  be  studied 
with  great  advantage  by  most  of  the  authors  of  voyages 
and  travels.  He  not  only  makes  it  quite  clear  what  it  is 
that  he  has  seen  himself  and  what  it  is  that  he  knows 
only  on  the  authority  of  others  ;  but  more  than  this,  he 
keeps  each  narrative  quite  apart  from  the  other.  He 
first  of  all  gives  a  history  of  Corsica  and  then  the  journal 
of  his  tour. 

The  criticism  which  Johnson  passed  on  the  different 
parts  of  the  book  is  thoroughly  sound.  '  Your  history,' 
he  writes,  *  is  like  other  histories  ;  but  your  journal  is  in 
a  very  high  degree  curious  and  delightful.  There  is 
between  the  history  and  the  journal  that  difference  which 
there  will  always  be  found  between  notions  borrowed 


1 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         183 

from  without  and  notions  generated  within.  Your 
history  was  copied  from  books  ;  your  journal  rose  cut 
of  your  own  experience  and  observation.  You  express 
images  which  operated  strongly  upon  yourself,  and  you 
have  impressed  them  with  great  force  upon  your  readers. 
I  know  not  whether  I  could  name  any  narrative  by 
which  curiosity  is  better  excited  or  better  gratified.' 

But  what  is  Johnson's  judgment  worth  in  the  case  of 
books? — for  according  to  Macaulay  'the  judgments 
which  he  passed  on  books  are  in  our  time  generally 
treated  with  indiscriminate  contempt' 

The  judgment  that  Macaulay  passed  on  the  '  Life  of 
Johnson,'  is  sure  to  be  treated  with  contempt  by  anyone 
who  gives  himself  the  trouble  to  think  how  rare  and  how 
great  are  the  powers  that  a  man  must  have  who  is  to 
write  a  book  that  will  live  for  all  time. 

A  sentence  in  one  of  Gray's  Letters,  which  contains 
one  of  the  earliest  criticisms  that  we  have  on  Boswell,  has 
in  brief  all  that  Macaulay  has  said  at  length.  In  writing 
to  Horace  Walpole  of  the  *  Tour  to  Corsica,'  which  had 
just  come  out.  Gray  says,  '  Mr.  Boswell's  book  I  was 
going  to  recommend  to  you  when  I  received  your 
letter  ;  it  has  pleased  and  moved  me  strangely — all  (I 
mean)  that  relates  to  Paoli.  He  is  a  man  born  two 
thousand  years  after  his   time  !     The  pamphlet   proves 


i84  DR.   JOHNSON, 


what  I  have  always  maintained,  that  any  fool  may  write 
a  most  valuable  book  by  chance,  if  he  will  only  tell  us 
what  he  heard  and  saw  with  veracity.  Of  Mr.  Boswell's 
truth  I  have  not  the  least  suspicion,  because  I  am  sure 
he  could  invent  nothing  of  this  kind.' 

Gray,  like  Macaulay,  does  not  remember  that  the 
merit  of  a  book  quite  as  much  depends  on  what  is  left 
out  as  on  what  is  put  in.  A  veracious  fool,  like  anyone 
else,  knows  and  sees  a  great  deal.  It  demands  sound 
taste  and  Hterary  skill  to  seize  and  retam  only  what 
is  interesting,  and  to  put  on  one  side  even  interesting 
matter,  if  it  would  interfere  with  the  general  plan  of  the 
work.  Gray  himself  showed  how  well  he  understood 
this  when  he  struck  out  from  his  Elegy  almost  the 
most  beautiful  stanza'  of  all,  merely  because  he  thought 
it  caused  too  long  a  break.  He  did  not,  indeed,  live  to 
see  the  '  Life  of  Johnson '  pubHshed.  If  he  had,  he 
would,  I  fear,  have  failed  to  discover  that  Boswell's  judg- 
ment on  this  point  was  not  much  inferior  to  his  own. 
And  yet,  perhaps,  he  would  have  found  scarcely  a 
passage   that   he  would  willingly  have  struck   out,    and 

'    There  scatter'd  oft,  the  earliest  of  the  year, 

By  hands  unseen  are  show'rs  of  violets  found  ; 
The  redbreast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         185 

scarcely  a  passage  that  does  not  bear  on  the*hero  of  the 
story. 

But  in  the  varied  society  he  kept  Boswell  must  have 
heard  many  a  good  thing  which  could  easily  enough 
have  been  worked  into  his  book,  though  it  would  not 
properly  have  belonged  to  it.  In  the  conception  he 
formed  of  the  task  that  lay  before  him,  and  in  the  self- 
restraint  with  which  he  acted  up  to  the  rule  he  had  laid 
down,  he  showed  remarkable  literary  taste  and  literary 
power.  And  yet  how  strangely  this  is  lost  sight  of,  is 
shown  not  only  by  Macaulay's  criticism,  but  also  by  the 
way  in  which  his  criticism  is  taken  as  just  and  sound  by 
men  of  real  ability. 

Some  few  years  ago  Mr.  George  Henry  Lewes  wrote 
a  preface  to  a  kind  of  abridgment  of  Boswell.  He 
admires  the  Life  so  much  that  he  says,  '  it  is  for  me  a 
sort  of  test-book ;  according  to  a  man's  judgment  of  it 
I  am  apt  to  form  my  judgment  of  him,  .  .  .  It  is  a 
work  which  has  delighted  generations,  and  will  continue 
to  delight  posterity.  .  .  .  Yet  even  the  staunchest  admirers 
of  Boswell's  Life  must  admit  that  it  is  three  times  as 
long  as  need  be.'  He  had  himself  entertained  the 
notion  of  're-writing  Boswell,'  intending  'to  preserve 
all  that  constitutes  the  essential  merits  of  his  work,  and 
merely  to  adapt  it  to  the  more  exigent  tastes  of  our  day.' 


i86  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Happily  for  Mr.  Lewes's  reputation,  *  scientific  pursuits 
absorbed,'  he  writes,  '  all  my  energy,  and  left  me  neither 
time  nor  strength  to  turn  to  literature.'  We  shall  next 
have  some  artist  proposing  to  repaint  Hogarth,  preserving 
of  course  all  that  constitutes  the  essential  merits  of  his 
pictures  ;  or  adapting  Gil  Bias  to  the  more  exigent  tastes 
of  the  day.  When  the  celebrated  Round  Robin  was 
laid  before  Dr.  Johnson,  in  which  he  was  asked  by  his 
friends  to  write  Goldsmith's  epitaph  in  English  and  not 
in  Latin,  we  are  told  that  '  upon  seeing  Dr.  Warton's 
name  to  the  suggestion,  he  observed  to  Sir  Joshua,  "  I 
wonder  that  Joe  Warton,  a  scholar  by  profession,  should 
be  such  a  fool."  He  said  too,  "  I  should  have  thought 
Mund  Burke  would  have  had  more  sense." '  Lord 
Macaulay  and  Mr.  Lewes  are  both  scholars  by  profession-^ 
yet  they  both  false  our  wonder. 

The  question,  after  all,  lies  in  a  nut-shell.  Is  this 
wonderful  biography  due,  and  due  alone,  as  Macaulay 
says,  to  the  fact  that  Boswell  had  not  only  a  quick 
observation  and  a  retentive  memory,  but  was  also  a 
dunce,  a  parasite,  and  a  coxcomb  ?  Is  it,  as  Mr.  Lewes 
says,  'nothing  more  than  the  thin  soup  of  Boswellian 
narrative  and  comment  in  which  the  soHd  meat  of 
Johnson  was  dished  up  ? '  Might  not  Boswell,  with  good 
reason,  have  made  the  same  proud  boast  as   Johnson 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         187 

made  when   speaking  of  the  greatest  of  all  his  works: 
'  Yes,  Sir,    I  knew  very  well  what  I   was   undertaking, 
and  very  well  how  to  do  it,  and  have  done  it  very  well '  ? 
I  have  spoken  of  Boswell's  admirable  literary  taste* 
But  he  shows  also  at  times  a  dramatic  power  of  which 
even  Goldsmith  need  not  have   been   ashamed.     How 
few  scenes  there  are  in  any  play  which,  even  when  acted 
before  us  on  the  stage  by  the  best  actors,  seem  half  so 
life-like  as  the  dinner  at  Messieurs  Dilly's  in  the  Poultry, 
where  Wilkes  and  Johnson  met.     Does  anyone  suppose 
that  the  wonderful  merits  of  that  scene  are  due  merely  to 
Boswell's  skill  in  reporting  conversations  ?     Could  Gold- 
smith himself,  if  he  had  lived  to  be  present  at  that  first 
of  all  dinners,  have  told  the  story  better,  even  with  the 
help  of  Boswell's  notes  ?     How  happy  is  Boswell  when 
he  writes  :  '  I  was  persuaded  that  if  I  had  come  upon 
him  with  a  direct  proposal,  "  Sir,  will  you  dine  in  com- 
pany with  Jack  Wilkes  ?  "  he  would  have  flown  into  a 
passion,  and  would  probably  have  answered,  "  Dine  with 
Jack  Wilkes,  Sir  !  I'd  as  soon  dine  with  Jack  Ketch  !  " ' 
How   humourous   is   the   touch  when   he  describes  his 
exultation  at  having   at   last   got   the  great    man    off : 
'  When  I  had  him  fairly  seated  in  a  hackney-coach  with 
me,  I  exulted  as  much  as  a  fortune-hunter  who  has  got 
an  heiress  into  a  post-chaise  with  him  to  set   out  for 


Ik 


1 88  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Gretna  Green.'  Does  he  not  show  almost  such  an  in- 
sight into  the  comic  side  of  human  nature  as  we  find  in 
Addison,  when  he  describes  the  way  in  which  Wilkes  by 
means  of  politeness  and  of  roast-veal  overcomes  the 
great  man's  surly  virtue?  The  dexterity  that  Boswell 
displayed  in  thus  bringing  these  two  men  together  surely 
shows  a  great  readiness  of  wit.  As  Burke  pleasantly 
said,  *  there  was  nothing  equal  to  it  in  the  whole  history 
of  the  corps  diplomatique.^ 

It  is  less  to  be  wondered  at  that  Boswell  could  give 
a  dramatic  turn  to  such  a  scene  as  this,  as  he  had  him- 
self great  powers  as  an  actor.  Hannah  More  was  once 
made  'umpire  in  a  trial  of  skill  between  Garrick  and 
Boswell,  who  could  most  nearly  imitate  Johnson's  manner. 
She  gave  it  for  Boswell  in  familiar  conversation,  and 
for  Garrick  in  reciting  poetry.'  The  man  who  could 
even  in  one  point  beat  Garrick  in  his  own  art  surely 
had  powers  which  Macaulay  should  not  have  failed  to 
discover  and  acknowledge. 

Miss  Burney  also  tells  us  that  his  imitations  of 
Johnson,  though  comic  to  excess,  yet  did  not  turn  John- 
son into  ridicule  by  caricature.  To  imitate  a  man  of 
strongly  marked  character,  and  yet  not  to  caricature  him, 
requires  not  only  keenness  of  observation  but  also  a 
certain  delicacy  of  mind. 


LORD  MAC  AULA  Y  ON  BO  SWELL.         189 

That  love,  I  might  almost  say  that  passion,  for  accu- 
racy, that  distinguished  Boswell  in  so  high  a  degree  does 
not  belong  to  a  mind  that  is  either  mean  or  feeble. 
Mean  minds  are  indifferent  to  truth,  and  feeble  minds  can 
see  no  importance  in  a  date.  He  had  been  urged  by  his 
friends  to  make  here  and  there  in  his  book  on  Cor- 
sica, '  a  change  in  Paoli's  remarkable  sayings.'  He  had 
steadily  refused,  for  *  I  know,'  he  writes,  *  with  how  much 
pleasure  we  read  what  is  perfectly  authentic' 

He  had  set  up  Johnson  as  his  idol.  The  Life  that 
he  was  on  the  point  of  bringing  out  he  everywhere  spoke 
of  as  the  magnum  opus.  But  he  had  not  the  weakness 
of  most  worshippers,  who  think  to  make  their  idol  greater 
by  carefully  hiding  its  faults.  Hannah  More  begged  him 
'  to  mitigate  some  of  Johnson's  asperities.  He  said 
roughly  he  would  not  cut  off  his  claws,  nor  make  a  tiger 
a  cat  to  please  anybody.'  Eager  though  he  was  for 
fame,  yet  he  would  not  bring  out  his  book  till  he  had 
made  it  as  perfect  as  he  could.  Hawkins,  Murphy,  and 
Madame  Piozzi  had  all  brought  out  their  books,  but 
Boswell  was  not  to  be  hurried.  Johnson  had  been  dead 
nearly  seven  years  before  the  Life  appeared.  Whoever 
has  read  the  book  as  a  student  reads  it,  knows  that  he 
had  a  right  to  boast  that  he  had  spared  no  pains  to 
ascertain  with  a  scrupulous  authenticity,  even  the  most 


19©  DR.   JOHNSON. 


minute  of  the  innumerable  detached  particulars  of  which 
it  consists.  Genius  has  been  defined,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  as  an  infinite  capacity  for  taking  trouble  in  small 
matters.  If  this  is  genius,  Boswell  certainly  had  his 
share  of  it. 

In  the  record  that  Boswell  gives  of  Johnson's  conver- 
sation, Macaulay  allows  him  no  other  merit  but  that  of  a 
retentive  memory.  But  more  than  once  in  reading  the 
Life,  the  question  has  forced  itself  upon  me,  How  much 
of  Johnson's  reported  conversation  is  his  own  and  how 
much  Boswell's?  Whenever  Boswell  pretends  to  give 
Johnson's  exact  words,  does  he,  even  though  he  omits  a 
great  deal,  show  in  what  he  gives  the  literal  accuracy  of  a 
shorthand  reporter  ?  Or,  on  the  other  hand,  while  the 
thoughts  are  altogether  Johnson's,  is  some  part  of  the 
language  in  which  they  are  expressed  Boswell's?  An 
answer  to  this  may  to  some  extent  be  found  in  a  passage 
of  the  Life  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  escaped  the 
notice  of  the  commentators.  Of  the  year  1780,  Boswell 
writes  : — 

'  Being  disappointed  in  my  hopes  of  meeting  Johnson, 
so  that  I  could  hear  none  of  his  admirable  sayings,  I 
shall  compensate  for  this  want  by  inserting  a  collection 
of  them,  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  my  worthy  friend 
Mr.  Langton.     Very  few  articles  of  this  collection  were 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         191 

committed  to  writing  by  himself,  he  not  having  that 
habit.  I  however  found,  in  conversation  with  him,  that 
a  good  store  of  Johnsoniana  was  treasured  in  his  mind. 
The  authenticity  of  every  article  is  unquestionable.  For 
the  expressions,  I,  who  wrote  them  down  in  his  presence, 
am  partly  answerable.' 

It  is  quite  clear  from  this  that  Boswell  had,  to  use 
his  own  word,  *  Johnsonised '  the  stories  with  which  Mr. 
Langton  supplied  him.  His  friend  gave  him  the  sub- 
stance of  what  Johnson  had  said,  and  Boswell  then  gave 
it  a  Johnsonian  turn.  So  Johnson  himself  in  his  early 
life  had  given  an  oratorical  turn  to  the  notes  of  the  Par- 
liamentary debates  that  had  been  taken  down  for  him  by 
Guthrie.  Johnson  no  doubt,  even  at  his  first  start,  made 
a  far  greater  change  than  ever  Boswell  did,  for  he  could 
have  supplied,  and  in  fact  generally  did  supply,  the 
greatest  speakers,  not  only  with  words,  but  also  with  facts 
and  arguments. 

Now  Boswell,  with  all  his  great  merits,  was  utterly 
incapable  of  imitating  Johnson  in  the  substance  of  what 
he  said.  Of  that  neither  he  was  capable,  nor  was 
Garrick,  nor  Goldsmith,  nor  Reynolds,  nor  Burke.  As 
Gerard  Hamilton  said  on  Johnson's  death,  '  He  has  made 
a  chasm,  which  not  only  nothing  can  fill  up,  but  which 
nothing  has  a  tendency  to  fill  up.    Johnson  is  dead.    Let 


192  DR.   JOHNSON. 


us  go  to  the  next  best.  There  is  nobody ;  no  man  can 
be  said  to  put  you  in  mind  of  Johnson.'  But  yet,  just  as 
Garrick,  with  his  little  body,  could  in  a  most  ludicrous 
way  take  off  Johnson's  huge  frame,  so  Boswell  had,  I 
have  little  doubt,  a  considerable  power  of  taking  off  his 
style.  He  did  not,  I  believe,  trust  solely  to  his  memory, 
tenacious  though  it  was,  when  he  was  reproducing  John- 
son's conversation.  If  his  memory  did  not  preserve  the 
exact  words,  he  would  draw  on  his  imagination  for  them. 

A  considerable  light  was  thrown  on  this  question  by 
the  publication  of  some  '  loose  quarto  sheets  in  Boswell's 
writings  inscribed  on  each  page  Boswelliana.'  In  these 
sheets  are  found  twenty-five  anecdotes  about  Johnson, 
at  least  twenty-one  of  which  are  given  also  in  the  Life. 
Fifteen  or  sixteen  of  these  twenty-one  must  have  been 
recorded  in  the  first  ten  weeks  of  the  acquaintance  of  the 
two  men.  During  this  time  Boswell  kept  his  journal 
with  the  greatest  diligence.  It  was  then  that  he  sat 
up,  working  at  it  four  nights  in  one  week. 

I  cannot  pretend  to  offer  any  thoroughly  satisfactory 
explanation  of  the  fact  that  Boswell  kept  double  records 
— if,  indeed,  he  did  keep  double  records — of  the  same 

'  Boswelliana.  The  Commonplace  Book  of  yames  Boswell.  Edited 
by  the  Rev.  Charles  Rogers,  LL.D.  London  :  Printed  for  the 
Grampian  Club.     1874. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         193 

story.  It  may  have  been  the  case  that  when  he  first  met 
Johnson,  while  he  was  bent  on  recording  his  conversa- 
tions, he  was  intending  at  the  same  time  to  form  a  gene- 
ral collection  of  good  sayings,  and  that  thus  he  entered 
certain  stories  in  both  collections.  It  may  also  be  the 
case — and  this  I  think  much  more  likely — that  the  loose 
sheets  on  which  *  Boswelliana'  are  recorded  were,  in  cer- 
tain cases,  the  only  notes,  or  at  all  events  the  first  notes, 
he  had  taken  of  Johnson's  sayings.  Be  the  explanation 
what  it  may,  the  curious  fact  remains,  that  though  the 
stories  in  both  collections  are  in  substance  the  same,  yet 
most  of  them  differ  more  or  less  verbally.  If  I  am  justi- 
fied in  assuming  that  the  stories  given  in  this  collection 
that  are  common  to  both  books  were  recorded  in  the 
*  Boswelliana '  at  the  time  they  were  heard,  then  we  have 
a  clear  proof  that  Boswell,  to  a  certain  extent,  changed 
the  sayings  of  Johnson  which  he  had  collected. 

It  may  be  objected  that  this  is  at  variance  with  the 
high  character  for  accuracy  which  he  claims  for  himself, 
and  which  is  so  generally  and  so  justly  allowed  him. 
And  there  would  be  certainly  some  force,  though  not 
much,  in  the  objection.  His  reports  of  Johnson's  talk 
must  of  necessity  have  often  been  very  imperfect. 
Complete  accuracy  was  therefore  impossible.  He 
aimed  at  giving  them  what  I  have  called  a  Johnsonian 

o 


194  DR.   JOHNSON. 


turn,  knowing  that  he  would  thereby  give  a  truer  pic- 
ture of  Johnson.  Whether  what  was  said  told  for  his 
hero  or  against  his  hero,  mattered  nothing  to  him.  He 
left  for  the  most  part  the  facts  as  he  found  them,  and 
made  only  changes  in  words.  And  yet  one  or  two  of 
the  changes  are  greater  than  we  should  have  expected, 
assuming,  that  is  to  say,  as  I  am  now  assuming,  that  in 
*  Boswelliana '  we  have  in  each  case  the  original  record. 

Perhaps  the  most  striking  instance  is  to  be  found  in  the 
two  following  stories  from  '  Boswelliana.'  *  Mr.  Sheridan, 
though  a  man  of  knowledge  and  parts,  was  a  little  fan- 
cifull  {sic)  in  his  projects  for  establishing  oratory  and 
altering  the  mode  of  British  education.  Mr.  Samuel 
Johnson  said,  "  Sherry,  cannot  abide  me,  for  I  allways  {sic) 
ask  him.  Pray,  Sir,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  (From 
Mr.  Johnson.)' 

The  second  anecdote  is  as  follows  :  '  Boswell  was 
talking  to  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson  of  Mr.  Sheridan's  enthu- 
siasm for  the  advancement  of  eloquence.  "  Sir,"  said  Mr. 
Johnson,  "it  won't  do.  He  cannot  carry  through  his 
scheme.  He  is  like  a  man  attempting  to  stride  the 
English  Channel.  Sir,  the  cause  bears  no  proportion  to 
the  effect.  It  is  setting  up  a  candle  at  Whitechapel  to 
give  light  at  Westminster." ' 

Now  there  is  good  internal  evidence  that  these  two 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         195 

anecdotes,  as  Avell  as  all  the  earlier  ones,  were  recorded 
at  the  time  they  were  heard.  For  in  every  one  of  them 
Boswell  calls  his  friend  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson,  and  not 
Dr.  Johnson  or  Johnson.  Boswell  was  abroad  from 
August  1763  to  February  1766.  In  his  absence  Johnson 
was  complimented  by  the  University  of  Dublin  with  the 
degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws,  and  Boswell,  in  the  Life, 
writes  :  '  I  returned  to  London  in  February,  and  found 
Dr.  Johnson  in  a  good  house  in  Johnson's  Court.'  In 
none  of  the  later  anecdotes  of  '  Boswelliana '  do  we  find 
*  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson.'  In  the  Life,  however,  these  two 
stories  about  Mr.  Sheridan  are  not  only  run  into  one,  but 
they  are  also  not  a  little  altered.  Boswell  writes  :  '  He 
now  added,  "  Sheridan  cannot  bear  me.  I  bring  his 
declamation  to  a  point.  I  ask  him  a  plain  question. 
What  do  you  mean  to  teach  ?  Besides,  Sir,  what  in- 
fluence can  Mr.  Sheridan  have  upon  the  language  of  this 
great  country  by  his  narrow  exertions  ?  Sir,  it  is  burning 
a  farthing  candle  at  Dover  to  show  light  at  Calais.'" 

While  the  first  of  the  stories  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  not  a  little  improved,  the  latter  has  suffered  to  a  far 
greater  extent.  Whitechapel  and  Westminster  not  only 
contrast  far  better  than  Dover  and  Calais,  but  they  are 
sufficiently  near  to  keep  the  absurdity  from  being  too  gross. 

In  the  '  Boswelliana '  we  have  the  following  anecdote  : 


196  DR.   JOHNSON. 


*  Boswell  asked  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson  what  was  best  to 
teach  a  gentleman's  children  first.  "Why,  Sir,"  said  he, 
"  there  is  no  matter  what  you  teach  them  first.  It  matters 
no  more  than  which  leg  you  put  first  into  your  bretches 
{sic).  Sir,  you  may  stand  disputing  which  you  shall  put 
in  first,  but  in  the  meantime  your  legs  are  bare.  No 
matter  which  you  put  in  first,  so  that  you  put  'em  both 
in,  and  then  you  have  your  bretches  on.  Sir,  while  you 
think  which  of  two  things  to  teach  a  child  first,  another 
boy  in  the  common  course  has  learnt  both."  (I  was 
present.)' 

This  is  thus  given  in  the  Life  in  a  much  more  pithy 
form  :  '  We  talked  of  the  education  of  children ;  and  I 
asked  him  what  he  thought  was  best  to  teach  them  first. 
yohnson  :  "  Sir,  it  is  no  matter  what  you  teach  them 
first,  any  more  than  what  leg  you  shall  put  into  your 
breeches  first.  Sir,  you  may  stand  disputing  which  is 
best  to  put  in  first,  but  in  the  meantime  your  breech  is 
bare.  Sir,  while  you  are  considering  which  of  two  things 
you  should  teach  your  child  first,  another  boy  has  learnt 
them  both."' 

If  in  *  Boswelliana '  we  have  a  report  in  the  rough  of 
what  Johnson  on  this  occasion  said,  Boswell  may  surely 
claim  some  small  degree  of  merit  for  the  more  pointed 
way  in  which  it  is  given  in  the  Life. 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         197 

In  reporting  one  of  the  numerous  attacks  which 
Johnson  made  on  Ossian,  Boswell  in  the  Life  consi- 
derably weakens  its  force.  He  says  that  '  Dr.  Blair  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  chil- 
dren." '  In  the  *  Boswelliana '  the  story  is  thus  told  : 
*  Doctor  Blair  asked  him  if  he  thought  any  man  could 
describe  these  barbarous  manners  so  well  if  he  had  not 
lived  at  the  time  and  seen  them.  "  Any  man,  Sir,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Johnson,  "  any  man,  woman,  or  child  might 
have  done  it." ' 

At  the  same  time  that  he  has  weakened  what  Johnson 
said  by  changing  *  any '  into  '  many,'  he  has  made  it  in 
another  way  a  greater  exaggeration  ;  for  Johnson  had  not 
said  (if  we  are  to  trust  to  the  authority  of  *  Boswelliana ') 
that  any  child  could  have  written  the  poems,  but  that 
any  child  could  have  described  the  barbarous  manners. 

Here  is  another  story  which  is  certainly  more  pointed 
as  given  in  the  Life  than  as  it  thus  stands  in  *  Boswelliana'  : 
'  Boswell  told  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson  that  a  gentleman 
of  their  acquaintance  maintained  in  public  company  that 
he  could  see  no  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice. 
"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "  does  he  intend  that  we  should 
believe  that  he  is  lying,  or  that  he  is  in  earnest  ?     If  we 


198  DR.   JOHNSON, 


think  him  a  liar,  that  is  not  honouring  him  very  much. 
But  if  we  think  him  in  earnest,  when  he  leaves  our  houses 
let  us  count  our  spoons."' 

How  much  better  is  this  told  in  the  Life  :  *  Why, 
Sir,  if  the  fellow  does  not  think  as  he  speaks,  he  is  lying  ; 
and  I  see  not  what  honour  he  can  propose  to  himself 
from  having  the  character  of  a  liar.  But  if  he  does  really 
think  that  there  is  no  distinction  between  virtue  and 
vice,  why,  Sir,  when  he  leaves  our  houses  let  us  count  our 
spoons.' 

Anyone  who  cares  to  study  Boswell  critically  would 
find  in  a  comparison  of  the  other  anecdotes  not  a  little 
to  interest  him.  But  I  will  not  run  the  risk  of  wearying 
my  readers  by  quoting  any  more.  I  have,  I  hope,  suffi- 
ciently shown  that  there  are  strong  grounds  for  thinking 
that  Boswell's  merits,  as  a  mere  reporter  of  Johnson's 
talk,  are  not  quite  what  they  were  thought  to  l:e. 

As  a  writer,  I  have  claimed  for  him,  against  the  autho- 
rity of  one  of  the  greatest  writers  of  our  age,  a  high  place 
indeed.  Macaulay,  indeed,  allows  that  '  his  writings  are 
likely  to  be  read  as  long  as  the  English  exists,  either  as 
a  living  or  as  a  dead  language.'  But  while  he  grants  him 
immortality,  he  refuses  him  greatness.  Nay,  even  he 
belabours  him  with  somewhat  the  same  kind  of  fury  as 
certain  savage  nations  belabour  their  gods,  who  are  at  the 


LORD  MACAULAY  ON  BOSWELL.         199 

same  time  the  object  of  their  adoration.  Johnson,  he  will 
allow,  was  both  a  great  and  a  good  man,  but  Boswell, 
who  has  made  known  to  us  and  to  all  time  both  the 
greatness  and  the  goodness  of  Johnson,  was  himself  most 
mean  and  vile.  And  yet  we  might  almost  fancy  the  two 
friends  as  they  wandered  through  the  Elysian  Fields,  and 
were  pleased  with  the  report  each  new  comer  brought  of 
the  fame  *  The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson  '  has  here  on  earth, 
saying  with  a  slight  change  in  the  words  of  the  poet : — 

And  it  seems  as  I  retrace  the  story  line  by  line, 
That  but  half  of  it  is  his,  and  one  half  of  it  is  mine. 

I  am  fully  aware  of  Boswell's  failings  and  weaknesses 
as  a  man ;  but  grievous  though  they  were,  they  do  not 
make  me  for  a  moment  forget  the  great  debt  under  which 
we  all  lie  to  the  author  of  the  immortal  Life.  It  is  not 
likely  that  I  should  forget.  He  has  carried  me  through 
many  an  hour  of  sickness  and  depression,  and  in  the 
days  of  my  health  and  strength  has  supplied  me  with 
an  occupation  in  which  I  have  found  an  interest  that 
never  fails. 


200  DR.   JOHNSON. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   MELANCHOLY   OF  JOHNSON   AND   COWPER.^ 

In  Cowper's  Letters  we  find  a  criticism  on  Johnson's 
diary  which,  though  of  no  great  interest  in  itself,  is  curious 
enough  when  we  consider  the  man  by  whom  it  was 
written.  He  had  not  seen  the  whole  of  the  diary,  but 
merely  some  extracts  from  it  in  one  of  the  newspapers. 
He  says  :  '  It  is  certain  that  the  publisher  of  it  is  neither 
much  a  friend  to  the  cause  of  religion  nor  to  the  author's 
memory ;  for  by  the  specimen  of  it  that  has  reached  us, 
it  seems  to  contain  only  such  stuff  as  has  a  direct  tendency 
to  expose  both  to  ridicule.  His  prayers  for  the  dead,  and 
his  minute  account  of  the  rigour  with  which  he  observed 
church  fasts,  whether  he  drank  tea  or  coffee,  whether  with 
sugar  or  without,  and  whether  one  or  two  dishes  of  either, 
are  the  most  important  items  to  be  found  in  this  childish 
register  of  the  great  Johnson,  supreme  dictator  in  the 

*  Reprinted  (with  alterations)  from  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  Sep- 
tember 4,  1875. 


JOHNSON  AND   COW  PER.  201 

chair  of  literature  and  almost  a  driveller  in  his  closet — a 
melancholy  witness  to  testify  how  much  of  the  wisdom  of 
this  world  may  consist  with  almost  infantine  ignorance  of 
the  affairs  of  a  better.'  He  goes  on  to  refer  to  the  diary 
of  the  Quaker  of  Huntingdon,  over  which  Johnson 
himself,  as  was  afterwards  known  from  Boswell,  had 
laughed  so  heartily ;  and  he  says  that  *  it  contained  much 
more  valuable  matter  than  the  poor  Doctor's  journal 
seems  to  do.'  To  another  correspondent  he  writes  : 
*  Poor  man !  one  would  think,  that  to  pray  for  his  dead 
wife,  and  to  pinch  himself  with  church  fasts,  had  been 
almost  the  whole  of  his  religion.  I  am  sorry  that  he,  who 
was  so  manly  an  advocate  for  the  cause  of  virtue  in  all 
other  places,  was  so  childishly  employed,  and  so  supersti-  ^ 
tiously  too,  in  his  closet.' 

It  is  clear,  I  may  notice  in  passing,  that  the  extracts 
that  Cowper  had  seen  were  not  a  fair  sample  of  the  whole 
diary.  They  had  been  selected,  no  doubt,  to  cast  ridicule 
on  Johnson's  character,  and  the  selection  was  only  too 
easy.  It  is  not  with  this  point,  however,  that  I  intend 
to  deal.  As  I  was  reading  these  letters — the  letters  of 
the  best  of  English  letter  writers,  if  we  may  accept 
Southey's  estimate— I  could  not  but  be  affected  with  the 
melancholy  state  to  which  superstition  had  helped  to 
reduce   so  fine  a  mind.     In   many  points   I  was   ever 


202  DR.   JOHNSON. 


finding  myself  reminded  of  Johnson  and  of  the  gloom 
which  so  often  hung  round  him,  when,  to  my  amazement, 
I  found  the  one  sufferer  thus  sitting  in  judgment  on  the 
other.  Utterly  unconscious  that  passages  in  his  own 
letters  would  affect  his  readers  in  much  the  same  way  as 
Johnson's  diary  had  affected  him,  Cowper  is  as  full  of 
pity  for  this  supreme  dictator  in  the  chair  of  literature 
as  we  are  for  the  poet.  An  extreme  High  Churchman, 
indeed,  may  see  nothing  pitiable  in  Johnson's  records, 
any  more  than  an  extreme  Low  Churchman  may  in 
Cowper's.  To  a  man  of  common  sense  there  is  but  little 
to  choose  between  them. 

Compared  with  Johnson's  entries  about  his  tea  and 
coffee,  with  sugar  or  without,  the  following  extract  from 
one  of  Cowper's  letters  does  not  strike  me  as  showing  a 
spark  more  of  real  sense  :  'At  present  I  am  tolerably 
free  from  it  (a  nervous  fever) — a  blessing  for  which  I 
beheve  myself  partly  indebted  to  the  use  of  James's 
powder  in  small  quantities,  and  partly  to  a  small  quantity 
of  laudanum  taken  every  night,  but  chiefly  to  a  manifesta- 
tion of  God's  presence  vouchsafed  to  me  a  few  days  since.' 
In  an  earlier  letter,  in  describing  how  Mrs.  Unwin  had 
narrowly  escaped  being  burned  to  death  when  saying  her 
prayers,  he  writes :  '  It  is  not  possible,  perhaps,  that  so 
tragical  a  death  should  overtake  a  person  actually  engaged 


JOHNSON  AND  COWPER.  203 

in  prayer.'  In  another  letter  he  tells  a  cock-and-bull 
story  of  an  apparition  that  Johnson  would  ha,ve  sifted 
with  his  usual  severity,  even  though  he  saw  no  impossi- 
bility in  a  ghost  story  being  true.  How  melancholy,  too, 
is  the  frame  of  mind  which  could  lead  one  so  gentle  thus 
to  write  such  a  verse  as  the  following  for  the  use  of 
children  : — 

Thanks  for  Thy  word,  and  for  Thy  day  ; 

And  grant  us,  we  implore, 
Never  to  waste,  in  sinful  play. 

The  holy  Sabbaths  more. 

We  may  well  compare  with  this  Johnson's  outburst  against 
a  friend  who  lamented  the  enormous  wickedness  of  the 
times,  because  some  birdcatchers  were  busy  on  Streatham 
Common  one  fine  Sunday  morning.  ^  Between  the  super- 
stition of  the  two  men  there  was  not,  indeed,  much  to 
choose.  Of  the  two,  however,  I  should  prefer  John- 
son's, for  on  the  whole  it  sat  on  him  more  easily.     He 

'  Mdme.  Piozzi  says  :  *  He  ridiculed  a  friend  who,  looking  out  on 
Streatham  Common  from  our  windows  one  day,  lamented  the 
enormous  wickedness  of  the  times,  because  some  birdcatchers  were 
busy  there  one  fine  Sunday  morning.  **  While  half  the  Christian 
world  is  permitted,"  said  he,  **  to  dance  and  sing,  and  celebrate 
Sunday  as  a  day  of  festivity,  how  comes  your  puritanical  spirit  so 
offended  with  frivolous  and  empty  deviations  from  exactness  ?  Who- 
ever loads  life  with  unnecessary  scruples,  Sir,"  continued  he,  **  pro- 
vokes the  attention  of  others  on  his  conduct,  and  incurs  the  censure 
of  singularity  without  reaping  the  reward  of  superior  virtue."  ' 


204  DR.   JOHNSON. 


could  find  plausible  excuses  for  shaking  off  at  times  some 
of  the  burdens  he  had  bound  on  his  own  shoulders.  He 
once  dined  twice  abroad  in  Passion  week,  as  Boswell  tells 
us,  and  thus  ingeniously  defended  himself :  '  Why,  Sir,  a 
bishop's  calling  company  together  in  this  week  is,  to  use 
the  vulgar  phrase,  not  the  thing.  But  you  must  consider, 
laxity  is  a  bad  thing ;  but  preciseness  is  also  a  bad  thing ; 
and  your  general  character  may  be  more  hurt  by  precise- 
ness than  by  dining  with  a  bishop  in  Passion  week. 
There  might  be  a  handle  for  reflection.  It  might  be  said, 
"  He  refuses  to  dine  with  a  bishop  in  Passion  week,  but 
was  three  Sundays  absent  from  Church." ' 

It  IS  an  interesting  question  how  far  the  gloom,  both 
of  Johnson  and  of  Cowper,  was  due  to  religious  belief,  and 
how  far  religious  belief  was  due  to  gloom.  If  the  dread 
of  a  future  state  had  not  constantly  hung  over  each  man, 
would  he  still  have  lived  so  much  in  a  state  of  morbid 
melancholy  ?  This  is  a  question  rather  for  the  physician 
to  decide  than  for  a  layman.  I  believe  that  under 
the  most  hopeful  and  encouraging  of  all  creeds  both  men 
would  at  times  have  been  distressed  with  melancholy, 
though  at  the  same  time  I  feel  sure  that  their  melan- 
choly was  greatly  increased  by  the  gloomy  views  they 
held.  It  is  plain  that  in  Cowper's  case  his  friend  Mr. 
Newton  did  him,  and  through  him  the  world,  as  grievous 


J 


yOHNSON  AND   COWPER.  205 

a  wrong  as  a  thoroughly  sincere  and  conscientious  man  of 
considerable  ability  often  has  a  chance  of  doing.  It  is 
true  that,  before  he  knew  Mr.  Newton,  Cowper  had  tried 
to  make  away  with  himself,  but  after  that  sad  time  he  had 
regained  his  tranquillity  and  cheerfulness  of  mind.  It  was 
owing  to  the  teaching  and  mismanagement  of  his  pastor 
that  this  most  loving  and  gentle  of  men  lived  year  after 
year  in  the  full  belief  that  God  had  utterly  rejected  him, 
and  that,  as  he  was  passing  away  from  the  world,  he  ex- 
claimed, *  I  feel  unutterable  despair.' 

Johnson,  indeed,  at  one  time  was  in  a  scarcely  less 
miserable  state.  In  the  early  days  of  his  acquaintance 
with  the  Thrales,  *  he  lamented  to  us,'  as  Madame  Piozzi 
tells  us, '  the  horrible  condition  of  his  mind,  which  he  said 
was  nearly  distracted ;  and  though  he  charged  us  to  make 
him  odd,  solemn  promises  of  secrecy  on  so  strange  a  sub- 
ject, yet  when  we  waited  on  him  one  morning,  and  heard 
him  in  the  most  pathetic  terms  beg  the  prayers  of  Dr.  Delap, 
who  had  left  him  as  we  came  in,  I  felt  excessively  affected 
with  grief,  and  well  remember  my  husband  involuntarily 
lifted  up  one  hand  to  shut  his  mouth,  from  provocation 
at  hearing  a  man  so  wildly  proclaim  what  he  could  at  last 
persuade  no  one  to  believe  \  and  what,  if  true,  would 
have  been  so  very  unfit  to  reveal.'  Some  years  later  he 
said   to   Boswell,  with   some   truth,   '  I  inherited  a  vile 


2o6  DR.   JOHNSON. 


melancholy  from  my  father,  which  has  made  me  mad  all 
my  life,  at  least  not  sober.' 

His  dread  of  a  future  state,  great  though  it  was, 
nevertheless  was  far  more  tempered  by  reason  thar 
Cowper's.  A  few  months  before  his  death,  in  a  gloomy 
conversation  in  which  he  joined  after  supper  in  Pembroke 
College,  in  answer  to  Boswell's  question,  *  May  not  a  man 
attain  to  such  a  degree  of  hope  as  not  to  be  uneasy  from 
the  fear  of  death  ? '  he  replied,  '  A  man  may  have  such  a 
degree  of  hope  as  to  keep  him  quiet  You  see  I  am  not 
quiet,  from  the  vehemence  with  which  I  talk ;  but  I  do 
not  despair.'  Cowper's  misery  led  him  to  write:  *  I  feel — 
I  will  not  tell  you  what — and  yet  I  must — a  wish  that  I 
had  never  been,  a  wonder  that  I  am,  and  an  ardent  but 
hopeless  desire  not  to  be.'  Into  such  a  wish  as  this 
Johnson  could  never  have  entered.  Much  as  he  dreaded 
the  next  world,  he  dreaded  annihilation  still  more.  *  Mere 
existence,'  he  said  on  one  occasion — and  he  expressed, 
we  have  no  doubt,  his  settled  belief — '  is  so  much  better 
than  nothing,  that  one  would  rather  exist  even  in  pain 
than  not  exist.'  He  went  on  to  say,  in  answer  to  an  ob- 
jection that  was  raised,  *The  lady  confounds  annihilation, 
which  is  nothing,  with  the  apprehension  of  it,  which  is 
dreadful.  It  is  in  the  apprehension  of  it  that  the  horror 
of  annihilation  consists.' 


JOHNSON  AND   COWPER.  207 

Both  men  were  quite  well  aware  that  their  melancholy 
could  be  to  no  small  extent  overcome  by  exercise,  occu- 
pation, and  attention  to  diet.      Johnson,  in  writing  to 
Boswell,  says,  'I  believe  it  is  best  to  throw  life  into  a 
method,  that  every  hour  may  bring  its  employment,  and 
every  employment  have  its  hour.  ...   I  have  not  prac- 
tised all  this  prudence  myself,  but  I  have  suffered  much 
from  want  of  it'     In  his  diary  he  records,  *  by  abstinence 
from  wine   and   suppers  I  obtained  great  and   sudden 
relief,  and  had  freedom  of  mind  restored  to  me.'    Cowper 
often  connects  his  mental  feelings  with  the  state  of  his 
digestion  ;  and  it  is  worth  while  noting  that  Swift,  whose 
case  in  many  points  resembles  theirs,  fills  his  letters  with 
the  doings  of  his  stomach,  and  the  meat  and  drink  that 
give  it  the  least  trouble.     While  Swift's  motto  was  Vtve 
la  bagatelle^  and  while  in  literary  trifling,  in  gardening,  and 
in  riding  he  sought  to  break  what  Johnson  calls  *  the  gloomy 
calm  of  idle  vacancy,'  and  while  Cowper  had  a  greater 
variety  of  occupation  both  for  in-doors  and  out-of-doors, 
Johnson  had  little  but  company  on  which  to  fall  back. 
He  did,  indeed,  now  and  then  trim  and  water  a  vine  that 
grew  up  his  house  in  Bolt  Court;  and  he  delighted  in 
chemical  experiments  till  Mr.  Thrale  put  an  end  to  them, 
at  Streatham  at  least,  'being  persuaded  that  Johnson's 
short  sight  would  have  occasioned  his  destruction  in  a 


2o8  DR.   JOHNSON. 


moment,  by  bringing  him  close  to  a  fierce  and  violent 
flame.'  He  regretted  that  he  had  not  learned  to  play  at 
cards,  and  he  once  made  the  attempt  to  learn  knotting. 
*  Next  to  mere  idleness,'  he  said,  *  I  think  knotting  is  to 
be  reckoned  in  the  scale  of  insignificance ;  though  I  once 
attempted  to  learn  knotting ;  Dempster's  sister  endea- 
voured to  teach  me  it,  but  I  made  no  progress.'  It  is 
strange  that  he  never  took  to  smoking.  *  I  cannot 
account,'  he  said,  in  speaking  of  it,  *  why  a  thing  which 
requires  so  little  exertion,  and  yet  preserves  the  mind 
from  total  vacuity,  should  have  gone  out.  Every  man 
has  something  by  which  he  calms  himself ;  beating  with 
his  feet  or  so.' 

There  was  the  following  difference  between  the  two 
men.  '  A  vacant  hour,'  wrote  Cowper,  '  is  my  abhorrence.' 
Accordingly  he  took  care  that  there  should  be  no  vacant 
hours.  Every  moment  of  his  time  was  filled  up,  and  to  his 
correspondents  he  often  complains  that  he  can  scarcely  find 
leisure  in  which  to  write  to  them.  Johnson,  who  suffered 
at  times  scarcely  less  than  Cowper  in  his  vacant  hours, 
had  not,  nevertheless,  resolution  enough  to  overcome  his 
natural  indolence.  *  He  always  felt,'  he  said, '  an  inclina- 
tion to  do  nothing.'  Cowper,  though  he  greatly  stood  in 
need  of  money  to  supply  his  very  modest  wants,  yet 
needed  not  the  inducement  of  money  to  set  him  writing. 


JOHNSON  AND  COWPER.  209 


In  fact  almost  all  his  original  poetry,  in  ignorance  of  its 
value,  he  made  a  present  of  to  his  publisher.  He  was 
paid,  no  doubt,  for  his  translation  of  Homer ;  but  he 
began  it  without  hope  of  reward,  and  he  would  have 
finished  it,  though  it  took  him  many  years,  even  had  he 
not  earned  a  penny  by  it.  He  had  strength  of  mind  to  use 
the  best  cure  he  could  find  for  his  melancholy,  and  verse- 
making  for  a  long  time  was  the  best.  Johnson,  on  the 
contrary,  maintained  that  no  one  but  a  fool  would  write 
unless  he  were  paid  for  it.  '  It  has  been  said  that  there 
is  pleasure  in  writing,  particularly  in  writing  verses.  I 
allow  you  may  have  pleasure  from  writing  after  it  is  over, 
if  you  have  written  well ;  but  you  don't  go  willingly  to  it 
again.  I  know,  when  I  have  been  writing  verses,  I  have 
run  my  finger  down  the  margin  to  see  how  many  I  had 
made,  and  how  few  I  had  to  make.'  Even  of  reading  he 
said :  '  The  progress  which  the  understanding  makes 
through  a  book  has  more  pain  than  pleasure  in  it.'  Yet 
he  was  one  of  the  most  rapid  of  readers  as  he  was  one  of 
the  most  rapid  of  writers. 

Both  men  at  one  time  undertook  literary  work  for 
which  they  were  very  ill  fitted,  and  which,  in  consequence, 
weighed  very  heavily  on  them.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
Cowper's  last  attack  of  insanity  was  greatly  brought  on 
by  the  engagement  into  which  he  had  entered  to  edit 


2IO  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Milton ;  while  Shakespeare  for  many  a  year  weighed  most 

heavily  on  Johnson.     A  man  of  his  strict  honesty  must 

have  suffered  greatly  from  the  thought  that  he  had  been 

paid  for  work  which  it  seemed  he  would  never  finish,  long 

before  Churchill  taunted  him  in  the  lines — 

He  for  subscribers  baits  his  hook, 

And  takes  your  cash ;  but  where's  the  book  ? 

There  is  one  point  of  resemblance  between  Cowper 
and  Johnson  which,  likely  enough,  took  its  rise  from  the 
same  cause.  Boswell,  in  his  *  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,' 
says  :  *  Having  taken  the  liberty,  this  evening,  to  remark 
to  Dr.  Johnson  that  he  very  often  sat  quite  silent  for  a 
long  time,  even  when  in  company  with  only  a  single 
friend,  which  I  myself  had  sometimes  sadly  experienced, 
he  smiled,  and  said,  "  It  is  true.  Sir.  Tom  Tyers  described 
me  the  best.  He  once  said  to  me,  *  Sir,  you  are  like  a 
ghost ;  you  never  speak  till  you  are  spoken  to.' "  '  This 
habit  of  his  was  often  remarked  on.  He  very  rarely,  in 
fact,  was  the  first  to  begin  a  conversation,  nor,  when  he 
began  to  speak,  was  it  on  a  subject  of  his  own  choosing. 
This  habit  of  talk  was  shown,  indeed,  the  first  evening  he 
spent  at  Oxford,  when  he  was  only  a  lad  of  nineteen. 
*  He  sat  silent  till,  upon  something  which  occurred  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  he  suddenly  struck  in  and  quoted 
Macrobius.' 


JOHNSON  AND   COW  PER 


Cowper,  in  writing  of  himself,  says  :  'The  effect  of 
such  continual  listening  to  the  language  of  a  heart  hope- 
less and  deserted  is,  that  I  can  never  give  much  more 
than  half  my  attention  to  what  is  started  by  others,  and 
very  rarely  start  anything  myself.  My  silence,  however, 
and  my  absence  of  mind  make  me  sometimes  as  enter- 
taining as  if  I  had  wit.' 

Johnson,  indeed,  could  give  all  his  attention  to  what 
was  started  by  others  if  it  once  roused  his  interest,  but  he, 
no  doubt,  too  often,  like  Cowper,  was  listening  to  the 
language  of  a  heart,  if  not  hopeless  and  deserted,  yet  in  a 
very  despondent  state.  His  absence  of  mind,  too,  was 
entertaining,  and  his  habit  of  talking  to  himself  occasioned 
some  merriment.  '  I  was  certain,'  writes  Boswell,  '  that 
he  was  frequently  uttering  pious  ejaculations,  for  frag- 
ments of  the  Lord's  Prayer  have  been  distinctly  over- 
heard. His  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Davies,  of  whom 
Churchill  says,  "That  Davies  hath  a  very  pretty  wife," 
when  Johnson  muttered  "  Lead  us  not  into  temptation," 
used  with  waggish  and  gallant  humour  to  whisper  Mrs. 
Davies,  "  You,  my  dear,  are  the  cause  of  this." ' 

The  society  of  lively  women  told  equally  well  on 
each.  What  Mrs.  Thrale  did  for  Johnson,  the  same, 
though  in  a  far  less  degree,  for  they  were  far  less  with 
him,  did  Lady  Austen  and  Lady  Hesketh  do  for  Cowper. 

P  2 


212  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Without  in  the :  least  forgetting  all  he  owed  to  Mrs. 
Unwin,  we  may  with  some  confidence  say  that,  had  he 
never  known  Mr.  Newton,  and  had  Lady  Hesketh  always 
lived  with  him,  he  might,  as  his  death  drew  near,  have 
owned  with  Johnson  that  he  had  enjoyed  far  more  real 
happiness  in  his  latter  than  in  his  earlier  years. 

For  many  years  these  two  men  lived  very  near  to  each 
other  without  ever  meeting.  Two  of  the  unhappiest  men 
in  London — for  so  at  about  one  and  the  same  time  they 
were — were  indeed  very  close  neighbours.  Johnson  was 
living  in  Inner  Temple  Lane  when  Dr.  Adams,  the  tutor 
of  his  old  college,  visited  him  and  found  him  *in  a 
deplorable  state,  sighing,  groaning,  talking  to  himself,  and 
restlessly  walking  from  room  to  room.  He  then  used 
this  emphatical  expression  of  the  misery  which  he  felt : 
"  I  would  consent  to  have  a  limb  amputated  to  recover 
my  spirits."  It  was  in  his  chambers  in  the  Inner  Tem- 
ple that  only  a  few  months  earlier  Cowper,  first  with 
laudanum  and  then  with  his  garter,  had  tried  to  end  his 
life,  which  had  become  too  miserable  for  him  any  longer 
to  bear.  It  was,  moreover,  at  the  same  period  of  life 
that  they  were  first  attacked  with  melancholy.  Cowper 
was  but  twenty  when  he  was,  as  he  says,  'struck  with 
such  a  dejection  of  spirits  as  none  but  those  who  have 
felt  the  same  can  have  the  least  conception  of.     Day  and 


JOHNSON  AND   COW  PER.  213 

night  I  was  upon  the  rack,  lying  down  in  horror  and 
rising  up  in  despair.'  At  the  very  same  age  Johnson 
*  felt  himself  overwhelmed  with  a  horrible  hypochondria, 
with  perpetual  irritation,  fretfulness,  and  impatience,  and 
with  a  dejection,  gloom,  and  despair  which  made  existence 
misery.' 

It  is  strange  that  of  these  two  melancholy  men  the 
one  should  have  written  one  of  the  most  diverting  of 
histories,  the  '  History  of  John  Gilpin,'  and  that  the  other 
should  have  lived  to  be  the  material  out  of  which  has 
been  formed  one  of  the  liveliest  of  books,  Boswell's  *  Life 
of  Samuel  Johnson.'  But  humour  and  melancholy  com- 
monly go  hand-in-hand,  and  men  who  have  done  most  to 
lighten  the  sadness  of  others,  too  often  themselves  have 
passed  through  life  '  as  'twere  with  a  defeated  joy.' 


214  DR.   JOHNSON. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

LORD   CHESTERFIELD   AND  JOHNSON. 

There  is  a  well-known  passage  in  one  of  *  Lord  Chester- 
field's Letters  to  his  Son,'  which  is  commonly  supposed  to 
have  been  aimed  at  Johnson.  Boswell  says  '  the  charac- 
ter of  a  respectable  Hottentot  in  "  Lord  Chesterfield's 
Letters  "  has  been  generally  understood  to  be  meant  for 
Johnson,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  was.'  Murphy 
does  not  even  raise  a  doubt  on  the  question,  neither  does 
Hawkins.  But  Johnson  himself  said  that  the  character 
was  not  meant  for  him,  but  for  George  Lord  Lyttelton ; 
and  Lord  Hailes,  according  to  Boswell,  '  maintained  with 
some  warmth  that  it  was  not  intended  as  a  portrait  of 
Johnson,  but  of  a  late  noble  lord  distinguished  for 
abstruse  science  (probably,  says  Mr.  Croker,  the  second 
Earl  of  Macclesfield).'  I  shall  be  able,  I  believe,  to 
prove  almost  beyond  a  doubt  that  Boswell,  Murphy,  and 
Hawkins  were  wrong.  Whoever  it  was  that  Lord  Chester- 
field meant,  it  certainly  was  not  Johnson.  To  establish 
my  position  I  must  quote  the  passage  at  length. 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD  AND  JOHNSON.     215 

'  There  is  a  man  whose  moral  character,  deep  learn- 
ing, and  superior  parts  I  acknowledge,  admire,  and  re- 
spect ;  but  whom  it  is  so  impossible  for  me  to  love,  that 
I  am  almost  in  a  fever  whenever  I  am  in  his  company. 
His  figure  (without  being  deformed)  seems  made  to  dis- 
grace or  ridicule  the  common  structure  of  the  human 
body.  His  legs  and  arms  are  never  in  the  position, 
which,  according  to  the  situation  of  his  body,  they  ought 
to  be  in  ;  but  constantly  employed  in  committing  acts  of 
hostility  upon  the  Graces.  He  throws  anywhere  but  down 
his  throat  whatever  he  means  to  drink  ;  and  only  mangles 
what  he  means  to  carve.  Inattentive  to  all  the  regards 
of  social  life,  he  mistimes  or  misplaces  everything.  He 
disputes  with  heat  and  indiscriminately,  mindless  of  the 
rank,  character,  and  situation  of  those  with  whom  he  dis- 
putes \  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  several  gradations  of 
familiarity  or  respect,  he  is  exactly  the  same  to  his 
superiors,  his  equals,  and  his  inferiors,  and  therefore  by  a 
necessary  consequence  absurd  to  two  of  the  three.  Is  it 
possible  to  love  such  a  man  ?  No.  The  utmost  I  can  do 
for  him  is  to  consider  him  as  a  respectable  Hottentot.' 

Now  in  this  passage  itself  there  is  good  evidence  to 
be  found  that  Chesterfield  was  thinking  of  anyone  rather 
than  Johnson.  As  Boswell  himself  said  to  Johnson, 
'  there  was  one  trait  which  unquestionably  did  not  belong 


2i6  DR.   JOHNSON. 


to  him — "  he  throws  his  meat  anywhere  but  down  his 
throat." '  He  certainly  was  not  the  man  to  scatter  his 
food.  '  When  at  table  he  was  totally  absorbed  in  the 
business  of  the  moment ;  his  looks  seemed  riveted  to  his 
plate.'  No  man,  moreover,  was  less  open  than  Johnson 
to  the  charge  of  being  *  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  several 
gradations  of  familiarity  or  respect.'  He  had,  as  every 
reader  of  Boswell  knows,  a  high  respect  for  rank.  'I 
have  great  merit,'  he  said,  '  in  being  zealous  for  subordi- 
nation and  the  honours  of  birth;  for  I  can  hardly  tell 
who  was  my  grandfather.'  His  respect  for  the  dignitaries 
of  the  Church  is  well  known,  and  his  bow  to  an  arch- 
bishop was  described  '  as  such  a  studied  elaboration  of 
homage,  such  an  extension  of  limb,  such  a  flexion  of 
body  as  have  seldom  or  ever  been  equalled.'  In  his 
interview  with  the  king  he  exactly  acted  up  to  one  of 
Lord  Chesterfield's  directions  to  his  son.  'Were  you,' 
he  writes  to  the  young  man,  '  to  converse  with  a  king 
you  ought  to  be  as  easy  and  unembarrassed  as  with  your 
own  valet  de  chambre ;  but  yet  every  look,  word,  and 
action  should  imply  the  utmost  respect.'  What  '  a  nice 
and  dignified  sense  of  true  politeness '  did  Johnson  show, 
as  Boswell  has  pointed  out,  when  on  some  one  asking 
him  whether  he  had  made  any  reply  to  a  high  compli- 
ment the  king  had  paid  him,  he  answered  :    '  No,  Sir. 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD  AND  JOHNSON.     217 

When  the  king  had  said  it,  it  was  to  be  so.  It  was  not 
for  me  to  bandy  civilities  with  my  sovereign.'  Nothing, 
moreover,  is  farther  from  the  truth  than  that  he  was  '  in- 
attentive to  all  the  regards  of  social  life.'  Even  Madame 
Piozzi,  who  was,  to  a  great  extent,  an  unfriendly  witness, 
says  that  *  no  one  was  so  attentive  not  to  offend  in  all 
such  sort  of  things  as  Dr.  Johnson;  nor  so  careful  to 
maintain  the  ceremonies  of  life.' 

Nevertheless  Chesterfield's  portrait,  though  a  gross 
caricature,  might  have  been  meant  for  Johnson.  To 
prove  that  it  was  not,  I  will  first  consider  the  circum- 
stances under  which  it  was  drawn.  The  letter  in  which 
it  is  given  opens  with  the  epigram  in  Martial — 

Non  amo  te,  Sabidi,  nee  possum  dicere  quare, 
Hoc  tantum  possum  dicere,  non  amo  te. 

Chesterfield  goes  on  to  show  '  how  it  is  possible  not  to 
love  anybody  and  yet  not  to  know  the  reason  why 
....  'How  often,'  he  says,  'have  I,  in  the  course  of 
my  life,  found  myself  in  this  situation  with  regard  to 
many  of  my  acquaintance  whom  I  have  honoured  and 
respected,  without  being  able  to  love.'  He  then  goes  on 
to  instance  the  case  of  the  man  whom  he  ends  by  describ- 
ing as  a  respectable  Hottentot.  It  is  clear  that  he  is 
writing  of  a  man  whom  he  knows  well  and  who  has  some 
claim   upon   his   affections.     Twice   he    says   that  it   is 


2i8  DR.  JOHNSON. 


impossible  to  love  him,  and  he  clearly  implies  thereby 
that  this  man  was  in  some  respect  or  other  on  such  a 
footing  with  him  as  to  render  it  likely  that  he  would  have 
loved  him. 

This  letter  was  written  in  February  1751.  On  what 
footing  did  Johnson  stand  with  Chesterfield  at  that  time  ? 
Four  years  earlier  Johnson,  at  the  suggestion  of  Dodsley 
the  bookseller,  had  dedicated  to  his  lordship  the  plan  of 
his  great  Dictionary.  Chesterfield  at  this  time  was  the 
head  of  the  world  of  fashion,  and  was  moreover  one  of 
the  two  Secretaries  of  State.  Johnson  had  for  years  felt, 
and  was  for  years  to  feel, '  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail.' 
Only  three  years  before  this  dedication  he  had  dined  be- 
hind the  screen  at  Cave's  house,  when  he  was  too  shabbily 
dressed  to  be  seen,  and  had  heard  his  '  Life  of  Savage ' 
praised  by  Mr.  Harte,  who,  two  years  afterwards,  was  ap- 
pointed tutor  to  Lord  Chesterfield's  son.  Nine  years  after 
the  dedication  he  was  under  arrest  for  five  pounds  eighteen 
shillings  and  was  only  freed  by  a  loan  from  Richardson. 
The  two  men — the  great  nobleman  and  the  poor  author — 
were  in  the  year  1747  wide  as  the  poles  asunder.  Johnson 
was  laying  the  foundation  of  his  fame,  but  he  was  not  yet 
famous.  He  had  written  the  '  Parliamentary  Debates,'  but 
they  were  not  known  to  be  his.  His  poem  of  '  London ' 
and  his  '  Life  of  Savage '  were  as  yet  the  books  on  which 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD  AND  JOHNSON.     219 

his  fame  mainly  rested.  The  work  that  he  was  now 
taking  in  hand  was,  to  quote  his  own  words,  generally 
considered  as  a  task  that  might  'be  successfully  per- 
formed without  any  higher  qualities  than  that  of  bearing 
burthens  with  dull  patience,  and  beating  the  track  of  the 
alphabet  with  sluggish  resolution.'  It  was  from  one  of 
his  poor  lodgings  '  in  the  courts  and  alleys  in  and  about 
the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street '  that  Johnson  went  to  pay 
his  respects  to  his  noble  patron  the  great  Minister  of 
State.  He  saw  but  Httle  of  him,  and  certainly  never 
enjoyed  his  hospitality,  for  Johnson  himself  has  stated 
that  Chesterfield  never  saw  him  eat  in  his  life.  He  re- 
ceived from  him  in  return  for  his  dedication  a  present  of 
ten  pounds.  He  soon  grew  weary  of  the  neglect  with 
which  he  was  constantly  received,  and  certainly  never 
visited  him  after  the  beginning  of  the  year  1748.  *  Seven 
years,  my  lord,'  he  wrote  on  February  7,  1755,  '  have  now 
past  since  I  waited  in  your  outward  rooms,  or  was  repulsed 
from  your  door.'  He  had  done  all  that  he  could.  The 
honour  that  he  had  paid  to  Chesterfield  was,  indeed,  a 
great  one,  when  he  addressed  to  him  that  fine  piece  of  writ- 
ing, in  which  he  sets  forth  the  plan  on  which  was  slowly 
to  be  built  up  one  of  the  noblest  monuments  in  our  lan- 
guage. He  had  done  all  that  he  could ;  '  and  no  man  is 
well  pleased  to  have  his  all  neglected,  be  it  ever  so  little.' 


220  DR.   JOHNSON. 


It  is  clear  then  that  Chesterfield  had  at  no  time  seen 
much  of  Johnson,  and  that  in  the  year  1 75 1,  when  he  wrote 
the  letter  to  his  son,  he  had  not  seen  him  for  three  years. 
Croker,  in  a  note  on  Johnson's  statement  that  Chesterfield 
never  saw  him  eat,  says  :  '  Nor  did  we — and  yet  we  know 
that  Chesterfield's  picture,  if  meant  for  Johnson,  was  not 
overcharged.'  We  know  of  Johnson's  mode  of  eating, 
but  how  should  Chesterfield  have  known?  how,  above 
all,  should  he  have  known  so  early  as  the  year  1751  ? 

Here  is  the  very  key  to  the  error  into  which  Boswell 
and  Hawkins  have  fallen.  Had  Chesterfield's  letter  been 
published  when  it  was  written,  no  one  in  all  likelihood 
would  have  so  much  as  dreamt  that  Johnson  was  aimed 
at.  But  it  did  not  come  before  the  world  till  twenty- 
three  years  later,  when  Johnson's  quarrel  with  Chesterfield 
was  known  to  everyone,  when  Johnson  himself  was  at  the 
very  head  of  the  literary  world,  and  when  his  peculiarities 
had  become  a  matter  of  general  interest.  His  famous 
letter  to  Chesterfield  had  been  seen  as  yet  by  very  few, 
but  that  he  had  written  a  letter  of  great  power  and  great 
severity  was  well  known.  Lord  Hardwicke  in  his  eager- 
ness to  read  it  had  used,  and  used  in  vain,  the  interven- 
tion of  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury.  Johnson  had  refused 
the  Bishop's  request,  saying  with  a  smile  :  *  No,  Sir,  I 
have  hurt  the  dog  too  much  already.' 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD  AND  JOHNSON.     221 

From  the  beginning  of  1748  to  the  end  of  1754 
Chesterfield  had  no  dealings  of  any  kind  with  Johnson. 
He  later  on  attempted  to  excuse  his  neglect  *  by  saying 
that  he  had  heard  he  had  changed  his  lodgings,  and  did 
not  know  where  he  lived.'  Johnson  certainly  changed 
his  lodgings  very  often.  In  the  first  eleven  years  of  his 
residence  in  London  he  had  at  least  eleven  different 
lodgings.  But  Chesterfield  could,  of  course,  at  any  time 
have  learnt  from  Dodsley  where  he  was  to  be  found.  By 
the  end  of  1754  the  Dictionary  was  almost  ready  for 
publication,  and  Chesterfield  no  doubt  had  heard  how 
admirably  Johnson  had  performed  his  task.  There  was 
not  a  man  in  the  kingdom,  he  must  have  felt,  but  would 
have  had  high  honour  done  to  him  by  having  his  name 
for  ever  associated  with  such  a  work.  He  had,  no 
doubt,  forgotten  all  about  Johnson  in  the  seven  long 
years,  during  which  he  had  been  tugging  at  the  oar. 
But  a  great  man's  smile  goes  a  long  way  ;  his  good  word 
goes  still  farther.  '  He  attempted  therefore,  in  a  courtly 
manner  to  soothe  and  insinuate  himself  with  the  sage 
....  and  further  attempted  to  conciliate  him  by  writing 
two  papers  in  "The  World"  in  recommendation  of  the 
work.' 

Boswell  thinks  that  some  of  the    'studied   compli- 
ments '  in  these  papers  are  '  so  finely  turned  that  if  there 


222  DR.  JOHNSON. 


had  been  no  previous  offence,  it  is  probable  that  John- 
son would  have  been  highly  delighted.'  We  very  much 
doubt,  however,  whether  Johnson,  pleased  though  he 
might  have  been  with  a  passage  here  and  there,  would  not 
have  been  offended,  and  most  justly  and  highly  offended, 
with  the  papers  as  a  whole.  He  would  have  felt  under 
small  obligations  when  the  anonymous  writer  hopes  his 
readers  will  not  suspect  him  '  of  being  a  hired  and 
interested  puff  of  this  work ;  I  most  solemnly  protest,' 
his  lordship  goes  on  to  say,  *  that  neither  Mr.  Johnson, 
nor  any  bookseller  or  booksellers  concerned  in  the  suc- 
cess of  it,  have  ever  offered  me  the  usual  compliment 
of  a  pair  of  gloves  or  a  bottle  of  wine.'  It  is,  no  doubt, 
a  pretty  piece  of  irony  for  a  wealthy  nobleman  solemnly 
to  protest  that  he  has  not  been  bribed  by  a  poor  alithor. 
But  we  cannot  but  think  of  Johnson's  stubborn  honesty, 
we  cannot  but  call  to  mind  how  years  later  on,  in  far 
happier  days,  he  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears  when  he 
read  his  own  noble  poem  in  which  he  so  touchingly 
described  the  poor  scholar's  hard  life.  We  do  not 
forget  that  this  poem  was  written  in  1749,  the  year  after 
he  had  for  the  last  time  waited  in  Lord  Chesterfield's 
outward  rooms,  or  been  repulsed  from  his  door.  The 
pert,  flippant  tone  in  which  the  second  of  the  two  papers 
is  written  would  have  pleased  him,  if  possible,  still  less. 


LORD  CHESTERFIELD  AND  JOHNSON.    iiz 


A  man  who  has  laboured  hard  till  the  eleventh  hour,  and 
has  borne  the  heat  and  burthen  of  the  day,  is  not  likely 
to  be  over-pleased  when  a  fine  fellow  in  a  laced  coat 
strolls  in  with  a  genteel  air,  and  begins  to  praise  his 
work,  and  in  gloved  hands  to  pat  him  on  the  back. 

But  Chesterfield  did  worse  than  this.  He  displeased 
Johnson  in  a  point  where  he  always  made  his  displea- 
sure be  most  heavily  felt.  In  the  last  year  of  his  life,  at 
a  time  of  great  weakness  and  depression,  the  old  man 
boasted  that  obscenity  had  always  been  repressed  in  his 
company.  Who  can  picture  then  the  indignation  that  he 
must  have  felt  at  the  support  that  Chesterfield  brought  to 
his  book  ?  This  great  patron  of  literature,  by  way  of  re- 
commending a  work  of  so  much  learning  and  so  much 
labour,  tells  a  foolish  story  of  an  assignation  that  had 
failed  '  between  a  fine  gentleman  and  a  fine  lady.'  The 
letter  that  had  passed  between  them  had  been  badly 
spelt  and  they  had  gone  to  difi'erent  houses.  *  Such 
examples,'  writes  his  lordship,  *  really  make  one  tremble  ; 
and  will,  I  am  convinced,  determine  my  fair  fellow- 
subjects  and  their  adherents  to  adopt  and  scrupulously 
conform  to  Mr.  Johnson's  rules  of  true  orthography.' 
*  What ! '  we  can  imagine  Johnson  exclaiming,  *  shall  the 
fellow  turn  me  into  a  guide  to  the  brothels  ? ' 

In  one  of  his  Letters  Chesterfield  has  happily  de- 


224  DR.  JOHNSON. 


scribed  his  own  conduct,  and  has  fully  justified  Johnson's 
indignation.  'The  insolent  civility,'  he  says,  'of  a  proud 
man  is,  if  possible,  more  shocking  than  his  rudeness  could 
be  ;  because  he  shows  you  by  his  manner  that  he  thinks 
it  mere  condescension  in  him  ;  and  that  his  goodness 
alone  bestows  upon  you  what  you  have  no  pretence  to 
claim.'  With  good  reason  did  Johnson  exclaim  when  he 
read  Chesterfield's  papers  in  '  The  World,'  '  I  have  sailed 
a  long  and  painful  voyage  round  the  world  of  the  English 
language,  and  does  he  now  send  out  two  cock-boats  to 
tow  me  into  harbour  ? ' 

Mr.  Croker  is  almost  lost  in  astonishment  at  *the 
magnanimity  ofgood  taste  and  conscious  rectitude'  which 
Lord  Chesterfield  displayed,  when  he  let  Johnson's  letter 
lie  open  on  his  table  for  anyone  to  read.  But  his  motives 
are  clear  enough  to  anyone  but  Mr.  Croker.  He  was  only 
acting  up  to  the  advice  which  he  had  himself  given  his 
son,  as  his  guide  in  a  like  case.  '  When  things  of  this 
kind  happen  to  be  said  of  you,'  he  wrote,  'the  most 
prudent  way  is  to  seem  not  to  suppose  that  they  are 
meant  at  you,  but  to  dissemble  and  conceal  whatever 
degree  of  anger  you  may  feel  inwardly  ;  and  should  they 
be  so  plain  that  you  cannot  be  supposed  ignorant  of  their 
meaning,  to  join  in  the  laugh  of  the  company  against 
yourself;  acknowledge  the  hit  to  be  a  fair  one,  and  the 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD  AND  JOHNSON.     225 

jest  a  good  one,  and  play  off  the  whole  thing  in  seeming 
good  humour  ;  but  by  no  means  reply  in  the  same  way  , 
which  only  shows  that  you  are  hurt,  and  publishes  the 
victory  which  you  might  have  concealed.' 

He  exactly  acted  up  to  this  when  he  read  Johnson's 
letter  to  Dodsley  and  'said,  "This  man  has  great 
powers,"  pointed  out  the  severest  passages,  and  observed 
how  well  they  were  expressed.'  He  must  have  felt  that 
he  was  overmatched,  and  that  the  wiser  course  for  him 
was  to  show  no  resentment. 

If  we  may  trust  Hawkins,  he  even  made  further  efforts 
to  conciliate  Johnson.  He  sent  to  him  Sir  Thomas  Ro- 
binson *  to  apologize  for  his  lordship's  treatment  of  him, 
and  to  make  him  tenders  of  his  future  friendship  and 
patronage.'  Robinson  declared  that  were  his  own  circum- 
stances other  than  they  were,  he  would  himself  settle  five 
hundred  pounds  a  year  on  him.  'And  who  are  you,' 
asked  Johnson,  *  that  talk  thus  liberally  ?'  '  I  am,'  said  he, 
'  Sir  Thomas  Robirson,  a  Yorkshire  baronet.'  *  Sir,'  replied 
Johnson,  '  if  the  first  peer  of  the  realm  were  to  make  me 
such  an  offer,  I  would  show  him  the  way  down  stairs.' 

It  is  not  unlikely  that  Chesterfield  really  made  this 
attempt.  He  knew  what  is  commonly  called  the  world 
well,  and  he  had  made  man,  as  he  often  boasted,  his 
chief  study.     He  had  told  his  son  that  '  people  in  high 

Q 


226  VR.   JOHNSON. 


life  are  hardened  to  the  wants  and  distresses  of  mankind 
as  surgeons  are  to  their  bodily  pains.'  He  had  assured 
him,  that  if  he  wanted  to  succeed  with  them,  he  must 
apply  to  '  other  sentiments  than  those  of  mere  justice  and 
humanity.  .  .  .  Their  love  of  ease  must  be  disturbed 
by  unwearied  importunity,  or  their  fears  wrought  upon  by 
a  decent  intimation  of  implacable,  cool  resentment.' 
Johnson,  he  might  have  said  to  himself,  had  waited  upon 
him  and  had  gained  nothing.  He  had  now  tried  what 
the  other  course  would  effect.  Implacable  and  cool 
though  his  resentment  threatened  to  be,  he  had  as  yet 
given  but  a  decent  intimation  of  it.  He  had  not  pub- 
lished his  letter  to  the  world. 

But  Johnson  was  not  to  be  won  over.  He  had  taken 
Chesterfield's  measure,  and  he  ever  afterwards  spoke  of  him 
in  terais  of  the  greatest  contempt.  '  This  man,'  said  he, 
*  I  thought  had  been  a  lord  among  wits  ;  but  I  find  he  is 
only  a  wit  among  lords.'  He  even  changed,  as  Boswell 
tells  us,  a  word  in  one  of  the  couplets  of  the  Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes.     It  had  run  : — 

Yet  think  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail, 
Toil,  envy,  want,  the  garret,  and  the  jail. 

Henceforth,  in  remembrance   of  what  he  had  endured 

from  Lord  Chesterfield,  the  line  ran  : — 

Toil,  envy,  want,  the  Patron,  and  the  jail. 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD  AND  JOHNSON,     227 

The  proofs  that  I  have  already  brought  forward  that 
Chesterfield  was  not  thinking  of  Johnson  when  he  drew 
the  character  of  a  respectable  Hottentot,  seem  to  me  con- 
clusive. But  further  evidence  is  to  be  found  in  the 
letters  themselves.  I  have  no  doubt  that  once  again  he 
described  the  same  person,  and  I  have  as  little  doubt, 
that  he  had  twice  described  him  before.  We  must 
remember  that  these  Letters  were  not  written  for  publi- 
cation, and  were  not  published  till  after  the  writer's  death. 
There  is  in  them  therefore  not  a  little  repetition,  as  might 
be  expected,  seeing  that  they  spread  over  a  space  of 
thirty  years.  The  first  of  these  passages  is  in  a  letter 
dated  September  22nd  O.  S.  1749  : — 

*  You  have  often  seen,  and  I  have  as  often  made 
you  observe,  L.'s  distinguished  inattention  and  awk- 
wardness. Wrapped  up,  like  a  Laputan,  in  intense 
thought,  and  possibly  sometimes  in  no  thought  at  all 
(which,  I  believe,  is  very  often  the  case  of  absent  people,) 
he  does  not  know  his  most  intimate  acquaintance  by 
sight,  or  answers  them  as  if  he  were  at  cross-purposes. 
He  leaves  his  hat  in  one  room,  his  sword  in  another,  and 
would  leave  his  shoes  in  a  third,  if  his  buckles,  though 
awry,  did  not  save  them  3  his  legs  and  arms,  by  his 
awkward  management  of  them,  seem  to  have  undergone 
the  question  extraordinaire  \  and  his  head  always  hanging 

Q2 


228  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Upon  one  or  other  of  his  shoulders,  seem  to  have  received 
the  first  stroke  upon  a  block.  I  sincerely  value  and 
esteem  him  for  his  parts,  learning,  and  virtue ;  but  for 
the  soul  of  me  I  cannot  love  him  in  company.' 

The  second  passage  is  in  a  letter  written  sometime  in 
November,  of  the  same  year  : — 

'  Should  you  be  awkward,  inattentive  and  distrait,  and 
happen  to  meet  Mr.  L.  at  my  table,  the  consequences 
of  that  meeting  must  be  fatal ;  you  would  run  your  heads 
against  each  other,  cut  each  other's  fingers  instead  of 
your  meat,  or  die  by  the  precipitate  infusion  of  scalding 
soup.' 

The  last  passage  is  in  a  letter  dated  May  27,  O.  S. 

1753  :— 

*  I  have  this  day  been  tired,  jaded,  nay  tormented, 
by  the  company  of  a  most  worthy,  sensible,  and  learned 
man,  a  near  relation  of  mine,  who  dined  and  passed  the 
evening  with  me.  This  seems  a  paradox,  but  is  a  plain 
truth ;  he  has  no  knowledge  of  the  world,  no  manners, 
no  address.  ...  It  would  be  endless  to  correct  his 
mistakes,  nor  would  he  take  it  kindly ;  for  he  has  consi- 
dered everything  deliberately,  and  is  very  sure  that  he  is 
in  the  right.  Impropriety  is  a  characteristic,  and  a  never 
failing  one,  of  these  people.  Regardless,  because  igno- 
rant, of  custom  and  manners,   they  violate  them  every 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD  AND   JOHNSON,     iic^ 

moment.  They  often  shock,  though  they  never  mean  to 
offend ;  never  attending  either  to  the  general  character, 
or  the  particular  distinguishing  circumstances  of  the 
people  to  whom,  or  before  whom  they  talk ;  whereas 
the  knowledge  of  the  world  teaches  one  that  the  very 
same  things  which  are  exceedingly  right  and  proper  in 
one  company,  time,  and  place,  are  exceedingly  absurd  in 
others.* 

We  have  in  all  these  passages  the  same  character 
throughout.  There  are  the  same  parts,  the  same  learning, 
the  same  virtue,  the  same  awkwardness,  the  same  absence 
of  mind,  the  same  indifference  to  the  rank,  character,  and 
situation  of  those  with  whom  he  disputes.  There  is  also 
the  same  claim  upon  Lord  Chesterfield's  affection,  and 
the  same  impossibility  of  bestowing  it.  It  is  clear,  I 
hold,  that  the  respectable  Hottentot  was  not  Samuel 
Johnson,  but  Mr.  L.,  Lord  Chesterfield's  relation. 


230  DR.   JOHNSON. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LORD   chesterfield's   LETTERS. 

Though  Johnson  had  spoken  with  the  utmost  scorn  of 
*  Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters  to  his  Son/  yet  he  once  ad- 
mitted that  '  they  might  be  made  a  very  pretty  book. 
Take  out  the  immorality  and  it  should  be  put  into  the 
hands  of  every  young  gentleman.' 

However  much  the  book  would  be  improved  as  a 
piece  of  morality,  its  chief  interest  as  a  work  of  art  and 
as  a  study  of  manners  would  be  gone.  In  it,  as  it  at 
present  stands,  we  have  set  forth  at  great  length  and  with 
great  minuteness  the  whole  art  of  living  as  practised  and 
taught  by  a  man  who  at  one  time  held  a  great  place  in 
England.  Horace  Walpole,  who  is  no  mean  authority  on 
such  a  point,  says  that  '  the  work  is  a  most  proper  book  of 
laws  for  the  generation  in  which  it  is  published,  and  has 
reduced  the  foily  and  worthlessness  of  the  age  to  a 
regular  system.'  He  sums  it  up  as  '  the  whole  duty  of 
man  adapted  to  the  meanest  capacities.'     But  the  more 


t 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.       231 

faithful  a  picture  the  book  gives  of  the  times  in  which  it 

was  written,  the  more  it  would  suffer  if  any  parts  of  it 

were  cut  out.     There  is  no  doubt  that  it  contains  a  great 

many  shrewd  remarks,  a  great  deal  of  lively  writing,  and 

not  a  few  wise  sayings.     But  the  real  interest  of  the  book 

is  lost  if  it  is  not  taken  as  a  whole.     Chesterfield  held 

that  '  the  trade  of  a  courtier  is  as  much  a  trade  as  that  of 

a  shoemaker.'     He  is  never  weary  of  repeating  this  truth 

in  one  form  or  other.     His  son  is  his  apprentice.     He, 

himself  is  a  master  who  knows  the  whole  craft.     He  has 

for  years  made  man  and  the  world  his  study.     His  day, 

indeed,  is  passing  by.     He  has  played  his  part,  and  on 

the  whole  has  played  it  very  well.     But  he  has  retired 

in   time,    uti  conviva    satur.     It   should   never  be  said 

of  him — 

Superfluous  lags  the  veteran  on  the  stage. 

But  he  can  make  a  still  better  player  of  his  son. 
He  himself  is  an  old  traveller,  well  acquainted  with 
all  the  by-ways  as  well  as  with  the  great  roads.  He 
cannot  misguide  from  ignorance.  His  only  remaining 
ambition  is  to  be  the  minister  of  his  son's  rising 
ambition.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  so  far 
as  he  knows  that  is  not  to  be  acquired  by  application 
and  care,  and  that  is  poetry.  But  everything  else  he 
can  have  if  he  will.     Every  one  must  do  something  that 


232  DR,  JOHNSON. 


deserves  to  be  written,  or  write  something  that  deserves 
to  be  read.  *  Can  there,'  he  asks  of  his  son  when  he  is 
a  schoolboy  of  fourteen,  *  Can  there  be  a  greater  pleasure 
than  to  be  universally  allowed  to  excel  those  of  one's 
own  age  and  manner  of  life  ? '  Earlier  still  does  he  try  to 
teach  him  the  lesson  of  ambition.  Where  would  he,  a 
boy  of  nine,  run  to  hide  himself  if  Master  Onslow,  a 
youth  of  the  same  age,  should  deservedly  obtain  a  place 
in  school  above  him?  Master  Onslow  apparently  did 
get  above  him,  for  the  father  later  on  writes  that  he  knows 
very  well  his  son  will  not  be  easy  till  he  has  got  above 
Master  Onslow.  He  must  do  everything  well,  however 
trifling  it  may  be.  If  he  plays  at  pitch  and  cricket,  let 
him  play  better  than  any  boy  in  Westminster.  When 
Chesterfield  is  appointed  Secretary  of  State,  he  writes  to 
tell  the  lad  that,  if  he  will  work,  he  may  very  possibly  be 
his  successor,  though  not  his  immediate  successor.  But 
everything  must  be  *  steadily  directed  to  this  end.  He, 
as  his  father,  had  done  and  was  doing  his  best.'  He  had 
not  spoilt  his  son  by  over-fondness  or  over- severity. 
Nineteen  fathers  in  twenty,  and  every  mother  who  had 
loved  him  as  well  as  he  did,  would  have  ruined  him. 
But  no  weaknesses  of  his  own  had  warped  his  education, 
no  parsimony  had  starved  it,  no  rigour  had  deformed  it 
Sound  and  extensive  learning  was  the  foundation  that  he 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.        233 

had  meant  to  lay,  and  he  had  laid  it.  He  had  given  him 
the  best  masters.  He  had  put  him  at  Westminster 
School,  and  before  the  boy  had  seen  his  fifteenth  birth- 
day he  had  sent  him  abroad  under  the  care  of  a  sound 
scholar  to  study  in  Lausanne,  Leipzig,  Berlin,  Turin, 
Rome,  and  Paris. 

He  used  from  the  very  first  to  write  to  the  lad  as  if  he 
were  almost  a  man.  He  was  right,  he  said,  in  seeing  the 
curiosities  in  the  several  places  he  visited.  But  he  was 
to  remember  that  seeing  is  the  least  material  object  of 
travelling  ;  hearing  and  knowing  are  the  essential  points. 
Not  once  in  the  course  of  his  letters  is  there  any  mention 
of  the  beauties  of  nature.  He  might  form  a  taste  if  he 
pleased  for  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  for  these 
were  liberal  arts,  and  a  real  taste  and  knowledge  of  them 
became  a  man  of  fashion  very  well.  But  the  steeples, 
the  market  places,  and  the  signs  he  must  leave  to  the 
laborious  researches  of  Dutch  and  German  travellers. 

George  Fox  himself  could  scarcely  have  spoken  with 
greater  contempt  of  the  steeple-house  than  did  Ches- 
terfield of  the  steeple.  His  son's  destination,  he  was  to 
remember,  was  the  great  and  busy  world ;  his  immediate 
object  was  the  affairs,  the  interests,  the  history,  the  con- 
stitutions, the  customs  and  the  manners  of  the  several 
parts  of  Europe.    In  whatever  country  he  might  be,  he  was 


234  DR.   JOHNSON. 


to  learn  all  he  could  about  its  strength,  its  revenue,  and 
its  commerce  ;  and  this  part  of  political  knowledge  could 
not  be  learnt  from  books,  but  could  only  be  had  by 
inquiiy  and  conversation.  He  was  never  to  waste  a 
single  moment.  He  was  not,  indeed,  to  pass  all  the  day 
in  studying,  but  he  was  to  be  always  doing  something. 
He  was  never  to  sit  idle  and  yawning.  Rather  let 
him  read  a  jest-book  than  do  that.  He  might  have  his 
share  in  pleasures.  He  might  go  to  public  spectacles, 
assemblies,  cheerful  suppers,  and  even  balls  ;  but  even 
these  require  attention,  or  the  time  is  lost.  He  must 
be  curious,  attentive,  inquisitive  as  to  everything. 

There  was  hardly  any  place  or  any  company  where 
knowledge  might  not  be  gained.  Almost  everybody 
knows  some  one  thing,  and  is  glad  to  talk  upon  that  one 
thing.  Seek  and  you  will  find,  in  this  world  as  well  as  in 
the  next. 

His  chief  study  was  to  be  the  world ;  that  country 
which  nobody  ever  knew  by  description,  which  is  utterly 
unknown  to  the  scholar,  though  he  talks  and  writes  of 
it  as  he  sits  in  the  dust  of  his  closet.  '  You  must  look  into 
people,'  he  writes  to  this  lad  of  fourteen,  '  as  well  as  at 
them.  Almost  all  people  are  born  with  all  the  passions 
to  a  certain  degree  ;  but  almost  every  man  has  a  pre- 
vailing one  to  which  the  others  are  subordinate.     Search 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS,        235 

every  one  for  that  ruling  passion;  pry  into  the  recesses 
of  his  heart,  and  observe  the  different  workings  of  the 
same  passion  in  different  people.  And,  when  you  have 
found  out  the  prevaihng  passion  of  any  man,  remember 
never  to  trust  him  where  that  passion  is  concerned. 
Work  upon  him  by  it  if  you  please,  but  be  upon  your 
guard  yourself  against  it,  whatever  professions  he  may 
make.' 

He  returns  to  this  again  and  again.  A  year  later  he 
bids  him  observe  the  Uttle  habits,  the  likings,  the  antipa- 
thies, and  the  tastes  of  those  whom  he  would  gain.  Let 
them,  if  they  sup  with  him,  find  their  favourite  dish,  and 
let  them  be  informed  that  it  has  been  provided  because  it 
was  their  favourite  dish.  Attention  to  trifles  flatters  self- 
love  much  more  than  attention  to  greater  things,  as  it 
makes  people  think  themselves  almost  the  only  objects 
of  one's  care  and  thoughts. 

Chesterfield    wished     that     he     had    known     these 

*  arcana '  so  necessary  for  initiation  in  the  great  society 
of  the  world  at  his  son's  age.  He  had  paid  the  price  of 
three  and  fifty  years  for  them  ;  but  this  price,  heavy 
though  it  was,  he  would  not  grudge  if  the  boy  reaped  the 
advantage.      He    returns    again    and    again     to    these 

*  arcana.'  When  he  was  at  court  he  was  to  speak  ad- 
vantageously of  the  people   highest  in  fashion  behind 


236  DR.   JOHNSON. 


their  backs,  in  companies  who,  he  had  reason  to  beheve, 
would  repeat  what  he  said.  At  Turin  let  him  express 
his  admiration  of  the  many  great  men  that  the  House  of 
Savoy  has  produced,  and  let  him  point  out  that  nature 
instead  of  being  exhausted  by  those  efforts  seems  to  have 
redoubled  them  in  the  persons  of  the  present  King  and 
the  Duke ;  let  him  wonder  at  this  rate  where  it  will  end. 
Let  him  stick  to  capitals,  where  the  best  company  is 
always  to  be  found.  He  had  himself  stuck  to  them  all 
his  lifetime. 

But  even  at  courts  not  a  moment  of  time  must  be 
wasted.  *  What  would  I  not  give,*  he  writes  to  his  son 
when  he  has  reached  the  age  of  seventeen,  '  to  have  you 
read  Demosthenes  critically  in  the  morning,  and  under- 
stand him  better  than  anybody ;  at  noon  behave  your- 
self better  than  any  person  at  court  :  and  in  the  evening 
trifle  more  agreeably  than  anybody  in  mixed  companies.' 
If  he  only  made  a  right  use  of  the  company  he  kept,  his 
very  pleasures  would  make  him  a  successful  negotiator, 
for  company  is  in  truth  a  constant  state  of  negotiation. 
By  the  same  means  that  a  man  makes  a  friend,  guards 
against  an  enemy,  or  gains  a  mistress,  he  will  make  an 
advantageous  treaty,  baffle  those  who  counteract  him, 
and  gain  the  court  to  which  he  is  sent. 

He  must  conform  to  the  world,  and  such  was  the 


LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.        237 

present  turn  of  the  world  that  some  valuable  qualities 
were  even  ridiculous  if  not  accompanied  by  the  genteeler 
accomplisliments.  Plainness,  simplicity  and  Quakerism 
either  in  dress  or  manners  would  by  no  means  do.  He 
must  frequent  those  good  houses  where  he  had  already  a 
footing,  and  wriggle  himself  somehow  or  other  into  every 
other.  He  must  flatter  humours,  he  must  study  the 
mollia  tempora  ;  he  must  acquire  confidence  by  seeming 
frankness  and  profit  of  it  by  silent  skill.  Above  all  he 
must  gain  and  engage  the  heart  to  betray  the  understand- 
ing.    Hce  tibi  erunt  aries. 

The  anger  that  Chesterfield  from  time  to  time  rouses 
in  the  hearts  of  his  readers  is  far  more  roused  by  this  vile 
use  of  Virgil's  noble  lines,  than  by  all  the  recommen- 
dations he  gives  his  son  to  improve  his  manners  at  the 
expense  of  his  morals  : — 

Tu  regere  imperio  populos,  Romane,  memento  ; 
Hae  tibi  erunt  artes ;  pacisque  imponere  morem, 
Parcere  subjectis,  et  debellare  superbos. 

This  young  man,  too,  was  to  aim  at  being  a  ruler. 
He  was  the  only  one,  his  father  said,  whose  education 
was  from  the  beginning  calculated  for  foreign  affairs. 
He  could,  if  he  pleased,  make  himself  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  the  Government.  He  would  first  receive  orders 
as  a  minister  abroad,  and  then  in  his  turn  send  orders  to 


238  DR.   JOHNSON. 


others  as  Secretary  of  State  at  home.     But  he  must  begin 
by  wriggling.     Hce  tibi  erunt  artes. 

Chesterfield  had  unhappily  forgotten  his  own  advice. 
The  lad  was  never  to  quote  Greek  or  Latin,  and  never  to 
bring  precedents  from  the  virtuous  Spartans,  the  polite 
Athenians,  and  the  brave  Romans.  His  father  had  him- 
self, he  owned,  fallen  into  this  folly.  At  the  time  that  he 
left  Cambridge,  when  he  talked  his  best  he  quoted 
Horace  ;  when  he  aimed  at  being  facetious  he  quoted 
Martial ;  and  when  he  had  a  mind  to  be  a  fine  gentleman 
he  quoted  Ovid.  Unhappily  in  his  riper  years  when  he 
aimed  at  being  base  he  quoted  Virgil. 

Yet  Chesterfield  had  no  suspicion  of  his  own  base- 
ness. He  aimed,  as  he  often  reminds  his  son,  at  nothing 
short  of  perfection  in  the  education  he  was  giving  him. 
He  longed  to  make  him  that  most  perfect  of  all  beings, 
a  man  of  parts  and  knowledge  who  has  acquired  the  easy 
and  noble  manners  of  a  court.  He  wished  him  to  grow 
up  a  virtuous  man,  a  man  who  acted  ,  wisely,  upon  solid 
principles,  and  from  true  motives,  though  he  must  keep 
his  motives  to  himself  and  never  talk  sententiously.  He 
warns  him  that  there  is  nothing  so  delicate  as  moral 
character,  and  nothing  which  it  is  so  much  his  interest  to 
preserve  pure. 

'For  God's  sake,'  he  writes,  *be  scrupulously  jealous 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.        239 


of  the  merit  of  your  moral  character  ;  keep  it  immaculate, 
unblemished,  unsullied.'  When  the  young  man  is  first 
going  into  the  great  world  he  warns  him  that  he  will  be 
tried  and  judged  there  not  as  a  boy,  but  as  a  man,  and 
he  bids  him  remember  that  from  that  moment  his  cha~ 
racter  is  fixed,  and  that  for  character  there  is  no  appeal. 

He  warns  him  again  and  again  that  if  he  has  not  the 
knowledge,  the  honour,  and  the  probity  which  he  expects 
of  him,  he  will  visit  him  with  his  severest  displeasure.  If 
once  they  quarrel,  let  him  not  count  upon  any  weakness 
in  his  nature  for  a  reconciliation.  He  has  no  such  weak- 
ness about  him.  He  will  never  forgive.  But  it  was,  he 
hoped,  impossible  that  they  should  quarrel,  for  the  lad 
was  no  stranger  to  the  principles  of  virtue,  and  whoever 
knows  virtue  must  love  it. 

In  all  this  there  is  not  the  slightest  insincerity  nor  the 
slightest  hypocrisy.  Horace  Walpole  admitted  that  to 
his  great  surprise  the  letters  seemed  really  written  from 
the  heart.  Chesterfield  after  all  was  only  adapting  to  his 
times  the  lessons  which  the  poet  Horace  had  taught,  and 
taught  with  applause,  ages  before. 

The  foundation  of  learning  had  been  laid,  but  as  the 
building  was  slowly  rising  Chesterfield  was  distressed  by 
one  dread.  Knowledge  and  virtue  were  all,  he  felt,  in 
vain,  unless  to  them  were  added  manners. 


240  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Take,  he  says,  one  man,  with  a  very  moderate  degree 
of  knowledge,  but  with  a  pleasing  figure  and  prepossessing 
address,  who  is  graceful  in  all  that  he  says  and  does,  who 
is  in  short  adorned  with  all  the  lesser  talents,  and  take 
another  man  with  sound  sense  and  profound  knowledge, 
but  without  these  advantages  ;  the  former  will  not  only 
get  the  better  of  the  latter  in  every  pursuit,  of  every  kind, 
but  in  truth  there  will  be  no  sort  of  competition. 

Marlborough's  success,  he  asserted,  was  chiefly  due  to 
his  admirable  manners.  To  the  Graces  quite  as  much  as 
to  Mars  he  owed  the  triumph  of  Blenheim.  See  what 
the  Duke  of  Richelieu  had  done,  and  to  what  a  station 
he  had  raised  himself.  He  had  not  the  parts  of  a  porter, 
but  he  had  a  graceful  figure,  polite  manners,  and  an  en- 
gaging address. 

The  lad  had  had,  he  feared,  but  a  bad  start,  for 
*  Westminster  School  was  undoubtedly  the  seat  of  illiberal 
manners,  and  brutal  behaviour.'^     Nor  was  Leipzig  the 

'  Cumberland,  the  dramatist,  who  was  at  Westminster  School 
about,  the  same  time  as  young  Stanhope,  gives  a  very  different 
account  of  the  school.  He  says,  '  Doctor  Nichols  (the  Head- 
master) had  the  art  of  making  his  scholars  gentlemen  ;  for  there 
was  a  court  of  honour  in  that  school,  to  whose  unwritten  laws  every 
member  of  our  community  was  amenable,  and  which  to  transgress  by 
any  act  of  meanness,  that  exposed  the  offender  to  public  contempt, 
was  a  degree  of  punishment,  compared  to  which  the  being  sentenced 
to  the  rod  would  have  been  considered  as  an  acquittal  or  reprieve. 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.        241 

seat  of  refined  and  elegant  manners.  But  eloquence  and 
manners,  that  is  to  say,  the  graces  of  speech  and  the 
graces  of  behaviour,  were  to  be  had.  They  were  as  much 
in  a  young  man's  power  as  powdering  his  hair. 

He  was  now  to  see  better  society.  He  was  to  visit 
Venice,  Rome,  and  Paris.  But  everything  must  depend 
on  himself.  The  Graces  never  came  till  after  they  had 
been  long  and  eagerly  wooed. 

The  young  man  was,  it  would  seem,  awkward  by 
nature.  Walpole  says  that  Chesterfield  *was  sensible 
what  a  cub  he  had  to  work  on,  and  whom  two  quartos 
of  licking  could  not  mould,  for  cub  he  remained  to  his 
death.'  Had  young  Stanhope  been  naturally  graceful,  I 
have  no  doubt  that  the  tone  of  the  Letters  would  have 
been  not  a  little  higher.  He  was  intelligent,  sensible, 
and  well  stocked  with  knowledge.  There  was  little  need 
therefore  for  the  father  in  his  later  letters  to  dwell  on 

While  I  am  making  this  remark,  an  instance  occurs  to  me  of  a 
certain  boy  from  the  fifth,  who  was  summoned  before  the  seniors 
in  the  seventh,  and  convicted  of  an  offence,  which  in  the  high 
spirit  of  that  school  argued  an  abasement  of  principle  and  honour. 
Dr.  Nichols  having  stated  the  case,  demanded  their  opinion 
of  the  crime,  and  what  degree  of  punishment  they  conceived 
it  to  deserve;  their  answer  was  unanimously — "The  severest 
that  could  be  inflicted."  «*I  can  inflict  none  more  severe  than 
you  have  given  him,"  said  the  master,  and  dismissed  him  without 
any  other  chastisement.'— i?f^OTt7?>j  of  Richard  Cumberland^  vol.  i. 
p.  71. 

R 


242  DR.   JOHNSON. 


these  points.  The  whole  strength  of  his  exhortations  he 
must  turn,  he  felt,  on  that  first  of  all  qualities  in  which 
his  son  was  so  wanting.  He  was  timid  and  diffident  of 
himself.  The  father  repeats  again  and  again  La  Bruyere's 
maxim,  Qu'on  ne  vaut  dans  ce  monde  que  ce  qu^on  veut 
valoir.  He  knew  that  in  this  faint-heartedness  there  was 
a  great  danger,  for  nothing  sinks  a  young  man  into  low 
company,  both  of  women  and  men,  so  surely  as  timidity 
and  diffidence  of  himself. 

He  had  himself  suffered  from  it  in  his  youth.  He  re- 
membered the  day  when  he  had  been  intrepid  enough  to 
go  up  to  a  fine  woman  and  tell  her  that  he  thought  it  was 
very  warm.  She  had  pitied  his  embarrassment,  and  had 
even  offered  to  take  him  in  hand  and  to  give  him  polish. 
She  had  called  up  three  or  four  people  to  her  and  had 
said,  'Savez-vous  que  j'ai  entrepris  ce  jeune  homme,  et 
qu'il  le  faut  rassurer.  ...  II  lui  faut  n^cessairement 
une  passion,  et  s'il  ne  m'en  juge  pas  digne,  nous  lui  en 
chercherons  quelque  autre.  Au  reste,  mon  Novice, 
n'allez  pas  vous  encanailler  avec  des  fiUes  d'Opera.  .  .  . 
si  vous  vous  encanaillez,  vous  etes  perdu.  Ces  malheu- 
reuses  ruineront  et  votre  fortune,  et  votre  sante,  corrom- 
pront  vos  moeurs,  et  vous  n'aurez  jamais  le  ton  de  la 
bonne  compagnie.' 

His  son  must  follow  his  course.     He  must  shun  bad 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.        243 

company  with  its  ill  examples,  and,  what  is  worse,  with 
its  infamous  exhortations  and  invitations.  He  must 
listen  to  the  advice  given  by  a  lady  at  Venice,  a  friend  of 
Chesterfield's,  who  had  at  his  request  drawn  his  picture 
in  a  letter  :  *  Un  arrangement  avec  quelque  femme  de 
condition  et  qui  a  du  monde,  est  pr^cisdment  ce  qu'il  lui 
faut.'  He  returns  shortly  to  the  same  subject,  and  tells 
him  that  '  the  gallantry  of  high  life,  though  not  strictly 
justifiable,  carries,  at  least,  no  external  marks  of  infamy 
about  it.  Neither  the  heart  nor  the  constitution  is  cor- 
rupted by  it  j  character  is  not  lost,  and  manners  are, 
possibly,  improved.' 

When  the  young  man  arrives  at  Paris  he  is  told  that 
pleasure  is  now  the  principal  remaining  part  of  his  educa- 
tion, for  pleasure  will  soften  and  polish  his  manners ;  it 
will  make  him  pursue  and  at  last  overtake  the  Graces. 
But  his  pleasures  must  be  the  pleasures  of  a  gentleman. 
He  must  no  longer  give  much  time  to  books,  for  living 
books  are  much  better  than  dead  ones.  He  must  study 
mankind  and  the  world.  lago  did  not  more  urge  Roderigo 
to  put  money  in  his  purse,  than  Chesterfield  urged  his  son 
to  cultivate  the  Graces.  'I  would  much  rather,'  he 
writes,  *that  you  were  passionately  in  love  with  some 
determined  coquette  of  condition,  who  would  lead  you  a 
dance,  fashion,  supple,  and  polish  you,  than  that  you 


244  DR.   JOHNSON. 


knew  all  Plato  and  Aristotle  by  heart.'  A  week  or  two 
later  he  writes  :  '  I  hope  you  frequent  La  Foire  St. 
Laurent.  You  will  improve  more  by  going  there  with 
your  mistress,  than  by  staying  at  home  and  reading 
Euclid  with  your  geometry  master.' 

There  was  nothing  immoral,  Chesterfield  would  have 
maintained,  in  all  this.  He  was  the  fondest  of  fathers, 
and  he  wished  to  make  his  son  not  only  a  good  man,  but 
a  perfect  man.  He  had  been  unwearying  in  the  efforts 
he  had  made  to  have  him  well  taught  and  well  brought- 
up.  He  had  laid,  to  use  his  own  metaphor,  a  foundation 
of  the  Tuscan  order,  the  strongest  and  most  solid  of  all 
orders.  On  it  must  now  rise  the  Doric,  the  Ionic,  and  the 
Corinthian  orders,  with  all  their  beauty,  proportions,  and 
ornaments.  This  beauty,  these  proportions  and  orna- 
ments, could  be  added  only  by  the  help  of  women,  and 
of  women  who  both  were  given  to  gallantry  and  lived  in 
the  best  society.  Without  a  fashionable  air,  address,  and 
manner,  a  man  might  be  esteemed  and  respected,  but  he 
could  never  please,  much  less  could  he  shine.  It  was  his 
duty  to  please,  it  was  his  duty  to  shine.  If  he  did  not, 
the  foresight,  the  anxious  care,  the  ardent  hopes,  the  toil 
of  many  years  would  have  been  thrown  away. 

A  young  man  was  sure,  he  said,  to  lead  a  life  of 
pleasures ;  and  it  was  right  he  should,  for  pleasures  are  as 


LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.        245 

necessary  as  they  are  useful.  They  fashion  and  form  a 
man  for  the  world.  They  teach  him  character,  and  show 
him  the  human  heart  in  its  unguarded  minutes.  He  had 
no  regret  for  the  time  that  he  had  passed  in  pleasures. 
They  were  seasonable,  and  he  had  enjoyed  them  while 
young.  If  he  had  not,  he  would  probably  have  over- 
valued them  in  his  old  age,  as  men  are  apt  to  overvalue 
what  they  do  not  know.  But  his  son's  pleasures  must  be 
the  pleasures  of  a  man  of  fashion,  and  not  the  vices  of  a 
scoundrel.  The  pleasures  he  ought  to  pursue  would  give 
him  that  experience  and  that  polish  which,  added  to  his 
good  qualities  and  his  learning,  would  make  him  both 
respectable  et  aimable^  the  perfection  of  a  human  character. 
If  he  once  reached  that  perfection,  nothing  should  be 
wanting  on  his  father's  part.  The  son  should  solidly 
experience  all  the  extent  and  tenderness  of  his  affection  \ 
but  if  he  fell  far  short,  let  him  dread  the  reverse. 

Does  his  son  ask  for  a  man  after  whom  he  can  fashion 
himself  ?  Let  him  try  to  be  a  second  Lord  Bolingbroke, 
the  'all-accomplished  St.  John';  not  as  he  was  in  his 
stormy  youth,  when  unbounded  ambitions  and  impetuous 
faults  led  him  astray,  but  as  he  is  now.  Let  him  strive  to 
join,  as  this  great  man  joins,  to  the  deepest  erudition, 
the  most  elegant  politeness  and  good  breeding  that  ever 
adorned  a  courtier  and  man  of  the  world.     But  let  him 


246  DR.   JOHNSON. 


take  warning  by  his  faults  and  by  his  failures.  In  the  tumult 
and  storm  of  pleasures  which  distinguished  his  youth  he 
had  disdained  all  decorum,  and,  as  a  necessary  con- 
sequence, both  his  constitution  and  his  character  had 
suffered.  His  ambition  had  been  under  no  guidance, 
and  so  had  destroyed  both  his  fortune  and  his  reputation. 

But  what  limits  were  set  to  the  young  man's  ambition 
if  he  would  but  take  the  trouble  to  perfect  his  manners  ? 
He  might  in  time  rise  to  the  highest  rank.  But  he 
must  make  a  beginning.  The  Duke  of  Newcastle 
loves  to  have  a  favourite,  and  to  open  himself  to  that 
favourite.  He  has  now  no  such  person  with  him  :  the 
place  is  vacant,  and  if  he  had  dexterity  he  might  fill 
it.  But  in  one  thing  he  must  not  humour  him.  He 
had  never  been  drunk  in  his  life,  and  if  he  tried  to 
humour  his  Grace  by  drinking,  he  might  say  or  do  a  little 
too  much,  and  so  kick  down  all  that  he  had  done  before. 

Chesterfield  in  some  ways  showed  great  political  fore- 
sight. He  foretold  the  French  Revolution  nearly  forty 
years  before  it  took  place.  He  foresaw  the  growth  of  the 
House  of  Savoy,  and  the  overthrow  of  the  Papacy.  But 
could  he  have  been  gifted  with  the  prophet's  vision,  he 
would  have  seen  in  this  our  time  a  man  run  that  course 
for  which  he  had  in  vain  so  carefully  trained  his  son,  and 
gain  that  prize  which  he  looked  upon  as  the  highest  of 


LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS.        247 

all  rewards.  His  disappointment  in  his  own  failure 
would  have  been,  we  may  well  believe,  greatly  lessened 
could  he  have  foreseen  the  triumph  of  his  system  in  the 
career  of  the  Earl  of  Beaconsfield. 

In  the  last  chapter  I  attempted  to  prove  that  Lord 
Chesterfield  and  Johnson  never  were  on  terms  of  intimacy. 
Did  the  arguments  that  I  have  brought  forward  need 
strengthening,  such  strength  would  surely  be  given  by  the 
general  tone  of  these  Letters.  Whoever  carefully  con- 
siders the  character  that  Chesterfield  here  draws  of  himself, 
must  feel  that  there  was  nothing  in  common  between  the 
two  men.  Chesterfield  was,  no  doubt,  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  could,  if  he  thought  it  worth  the  while,  adapt 
himself  to  his  company.  Johnson  also  had  seen  so  much 
of  mankind  that  he  felt  at  ease  with  men  of  almost  every 
variety  of  character.  But  Chesterfield,  when  he  had  once 
learnt  Johnson's  power,  and  had  once  recognised  the 
perfect  simplicity  of  his  nature,  could  never  have  felt  at 
ease  in  his  company  j  while  Johnson,  when  he  had  seen 
through  the  hoUowness  of  his  patron's  character,  would 
not  have  cared  long  to  hide  the  contempt  which  he  felt. 
There  could  never  have  been  any  intimacy,  still  less  could 
there  have  been  any  affection  between  the  author  of  the 
^Vanity  of  Human  Wishes'  and  the  writer  of  these 
*  Letters  to  a  Son.' 


248  DR.  JOHNSON. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BENNET      LANGTON.^ 

It  is  not  the  portrait  of  Johnson  only  that  Boswell  has 
drawn  for  us.  To  most  men  Garrick  and  Burke,  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  and  even  Goldsmith,  are  known  only 
so  far  as  they  appear  in  the  pages  of  the  Life.  Great 
though  these  men  were,  no  one  of  them  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  find  an  artist  so  skilled  in  painting  him  that  his 
likeness,  though  made  the  very  centre  of  the  picture, 
stands  out  to  us  half  so  clear  as  it  shows  when  given  in 
the  very  background  of  Boswell's  wide  canvas.  By  the 
side  of  their  great  figures  are  sketched  in,  with  no 
weaker  hand,  a  host  of  lesser  men.  Had  he  not  written, 
their  very  names  would  long'  ago  have  passed  away,  but 
now  the  men  themselves  live  for  us.  The  thought  arises, 
not  what  they,  but  what  we  should  have  lost  if  they  had 
missed  their  vates  sacer.  It  is  the  living,  not  the  dead 
who  are  to  be  pitied,  when  the  good  of  a  bygone  age 

'  Reprinted  (with  additions)  from  the  Cornhill  Magazine. 


BENNET  LANGTON.  249 

are  left  overwhelmed  and  unknown  in  the  long  night  of 
which  the  Latin  poet  sings.  What  reader  of  Boswell 
does  not  almost  feel  that  he  would  have  had  one  friend 
less  in  the  world  had  he  never  had  his  delightful  pages  to 
teach  him  the  worth  of  the  gentle  Bennet  Langton  ? 
Dear  to  us  as  are  so  many  of  the  men  who  loved  Johnson 
and  whom  Johnson  loved,  dear  to  us  as  is  Goldsmith, 
dear  to  us  as  is  the  '  dear  Knight  of  Plympton  ^  himself, 
certainly  not  less  dear  is  the  tall  Lincolnshire  squire  who, 
as  a  mere  lad,  came  to  London  chiefly  in  the  hope  of 
getting  introduced  to  the  author  of  the  '  Rambler,'  and 
who,  more  than  thirty  years  later,  came  up  once  more 
to  tend  his  friend  when  the  grand  old  man  knew  at 
last  that  that  death  which  he  had  so  long  dreaded  from 
afar  was  now  close  upon  him  and  must  be  faced.  Their 
long  friendship  had  been  but  once  broken.  Happily, 
ten  years  or  so  before  it  was  broken  for  ever  it  had 
been  made  whole  again. 

Boswell  himself  does  not  describe  Bennet  Langton's 
person,  nor  could  he  well  have  done  so,  as  Langton  was 
living  when  the  Life  was  published.  Miss  Hawkins, 
however,  in  her  'Memoirs'  has  happily  suppHed  the 
deficiency.  She  says,  '  Oh  !  that  we  could  sketch  him 
with  his  mild  countenance,  his  elegant  features,  and  his 
sweet  smile,  sitting  with  one  leg  twisted  round  the  other, 


250  DR,  JOHNSON. 


as  if  fearing  to  occupy  more  space  than  was  equitable ; 
his  person  incHning  forward,  as  if  wanting  strength  to 
support  his  height,  and  his  arms  crossed  over  his  bosom^ 
or  his  hands  locked  together  on  his  knee  ;  his  oblong 
gold-mounted  snuff-box,  taken  from  the  waistcoat  pocket 
opposite  his  hand,  and  either  remaining  between  his 
fingers  or  set  by  him  on  the  table,  but  which  was  never 
used  but  when  his  mind  was  occupied  in  conversation ; 
so  soon  as  conversation  began  the  box  was  produced.' 

We  find  another  description  of  him  given  by  Mr. 
Best,  in  his  '  Personal  and  Literary  Memorials.'  *  He 
was  a  very  tall,  meagre,  long-visaged  man,  much  resem- 
bling a  stork  standing  on  one  leg  near  the  shore,  in 
Raphael's  cartoon  of  the  Miraculous  Draught  of  Fishes. 
His  manners  were,  in  the  highest  degree,  polished ; 
his  conversation  mild,  equable,  and  always  pleasing.' 
Johnsbn,  in  a  letter  to  Langton's  tutor  at  Trinity  College, 
Oxford,  thus  pleasantly  alludes  to  his  great  height :  *  I 
see  your  pupil  sometimes  j  his  mind  is  as  exalted  as  his 
stature.  I  am  half  afraid  of  him ;  but  he  is  no  less 
amiable  than  formidable.'  The  nickname  of  Lanky  that 
he  gave  him  was,  no  doubt,  not  merely,  like  Sherry  or 
Goldy,  an  abbreviation  of  a  name ;  it  was  also  a  hit  at 
his  friend's  person.  Topham  Beauclerk's  wife  also  had 
her  fling  at  his  height. 


BENNET  LANGTON.  251 

In  *  Boswelliana '  we  read,  '  Lady  Di  Beauclerk  told 
me  that  Langton  had  never  been  to  see  her  since  she 
came  to  Richmond,  his  head  was  so  full  of  the  militia 
and  Greek.  "  Why,"  said  I,  *'  madam,  he  is  of  such  a 
length;  he  is  awkward,  and  not  easily  moved."  "But," 
said  she,  "  if  he  had  laid  himself  at  his  length,  his  feet 
had  been  in  London  and  his  head  might  have  been  here 
eodem  die." '  His  sons  were  not  unworthy  of  their  father, 
and  '  used,'  as  we  read  in  Miss  Hawkins'  *  Memoirs,'  '  to 
amuse  the  good  people  of  Paris  by  raising  their  arms  to 
let  them  pass.* 

*  Johnson,'  as  Boswell  tells  us,  '  was  not  the  less  ready 
to  love  Mr.  Langton  for  his  being  of  a  very  ancient 
family;  for  I  have  heard  him  say  with  pleasure,  "  I^ang- 
ton,  Sir,  has  a  grant  of  free-warren  from  Henry  II.,  and 
Cardinal  Stephen  Langton  in  King  John's  reign  was  of 
this  family." '  His  grandfather  had  known  Lord  Chief 
Justice  Hale,  and  had  kept  a  note  of  a  conversation  in 
which  '  that  great  man  told  him  that  for  two  years  after 
he  came  to  the  Inn  of  Court  he  studied  sixteen  hours  a 
day;  however,  by  this  intense  application  he  almost 
brought  himself  to  his  grave,  though  he  were  of  a  very 
strong  constitution,  and  after  reduced  himself  to  eight 
hours.'  His  father,  *  old  Mr.  Langton,  was  a  high  and 
steady  Tory,  yet  attached  to  the  present  Royal  family. 


252  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Johnson  said  of  him,  Sir,  you  will  seldom  see  such  a 
gentleman,  such  are  his  stores  of  literature,  such  his 
knowledge  in  divinity,  and  such  his  exemplary  life ;  and, 
Sir,  he  has  no  grimace,  no  gesticulation,  no  bursts  of 
admiration  on  trivial  occasions  ;  he  never  embraces  you 
with  an  overacted  cordiality.'  Yet  at  another  time  he 
said  of  him,  *  He  never  clarified  his  notions  by  filtrating 
them  through  other  minds.  He  had  a  canal  upon  his 
estate,  where  at  one  place  the  bank  was  too  low.  "  I 
dug  the  canal  deeper,"  said  he.'  The  word  canal,  in 
Johnson's  time,  I  may  remark,  was  generally  applied  to 
an  ornamental  sheet  of  water. 

Miss  Hawkins  in  her  *  Memoirs '  gives  a  rather  fuller 
account  than  Boswell  of  this  curious  piece  of  engineering. 
She,  like  him,  had  the  anecdote  from  Johnson.  '■  Mr. 
Langton  had  bestowed  considerable  pains  on  enlarging  a 
piece  of  water  on  his  estate  and  was  showing  to  some 
friends  what  he  had  achieved,  when  it  was  remarked  to 
him,  that  the  bank  which  confined  the  water  was  in  one 
place  so  low  as  not  to  be  a  security  against  its  overflow- 
ing. He  admitted  that  to  the  eye  it  might  appear  danger- 
ous ;  but  he  said  he  had  provided  against  such  an  acci- 
dent by  having  had  the  ground  in  that  spot  dug  deeper 
to  allow  for  it.'  She  had  also  from  Johnson  another 
amusing  anecdote  about  the  same  worthy  old  gentleman. 


BENNET  LANGTON.  253 

*  A  legacy  of  ;^i,ooo  had  been  equally  divided  between 
himself  and  a  person  to  whom  he  was  indebted  ;^ioo. 
He  consented  that  this  debt  should  be  deducted  from  his 
moiety  ;  but  when  the  deduction  was  made,  and  he  saw 
the  person  to  whom  he  was  indebted  with  ;£"2oo  more 
than  he  had,  he  could  not  admit  it  just,  that  when  the 
other  legatee  was  to  have  only  ;^ioo  from  him  he  should 
yet  be  ^^200  the  richer.  And  when  an  attempt  was 
made  to  demonstrate  it  by  figures,  he  could  acquiesce  no 
further  than  to  say  it  might  be  true  on  paper^  but  it  could 
not  be  so  in  practice.* 

Old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Langton  had  both  opposed  sitting 
for  their  pictures.  When  Johnson,  who  thought  it  right 
that  each  generation  of  a  family  should  have  its  portraits 
taken,  heard  of  this,  he  exclaimed,  *Sir,  among  the 
anfractuosities  of  the  human  mind,  I  know  not  if  it  may 
not  be  one,  that  there  is  a  superstitious  reluctance  to  sit 
for  a  picture.'  The  old  gentleman,  though  later  on  he 
suspected  that  Johnson  was  at  heart  a  Papist,  had  offered 
him  a  living  of  considerable  value  in  Lincolnshire  if  he 
were  inclined  to  take  orders.  Happily  for  the  world, 
perhaps  not  unhappily  for  the  parish,  Johnson  declined. 
Of  Peregrine  Langton,  Bennet's  uncle,  who  Johnson  says 
'  was  one  of  those  whom  I  loved  at  once  by  instinct  and 
by  reason,'  and  of  his  admirable  economy,  we  have  an 


254  DR.   JOHNSON. 


interesting  account  from  the  pen  of  the  nephew  himselt. 
^  He  had  an  annuity  for  life  6f  ;£^2oo  per  annum.  His 
family  consisted  of  a  sister,  who  paid  him  £^\%  annually 
for  her  board,  and  a  niece.  The  servants  were  two 
maids,  and  two  men  in  livery.  His  common  way  of 
living  at  his  table  was  three  or  four  dishes  ;  the  appur- 
tenances to  his  table  were  neat  and  handsome ;  he  fre- 
quently entertained  company  at  dinner,  and  then  his 
table  was  well  served  with  as  many  dishes  as  were  usual 
at  the  tables  of  the  other  gentlemen  in  the  neighbour  • 
hood.  His  own  appearance  as  to  clothes  was  genteelly 
neat  and  plain.  He  had  always  a  post-chaise,  and  kept 
three  horses.  Some  money  he  put  into  the  stocks  ;  at 
his  death  the  sum  he  had  there  amounted  to  ;£^i5o.' 
*His  art  of  life  certainly  deserves  to  be  known  and 
studied '  as  much  now  as  when  Johnson  wrote. 

Such  was  the  family  of  the  tall  Lincolnshire  lad  who, 
at  the  age  of  seventeen  or  thereabouts,  full  of  admiration 
for  the  *  Rambler,'  which  had  just  been  brought  to  an 
end,  eagerly  sought  an  introduction  to  its  author.  He 
by  good  luck  made  the  acquaintance  of  Robert  Levett, 
*  the  practiser  in  physic,'  the  man  '  obscurely  wise  and 
coarsely  kind,'  who  introduced  him  to  Johnson.  *  Mr. 
Langton  was  exceedingly  surprised  when  the  sage  first 
appeared.     He  had  not  received  the  smallest  intimation 


BENNET  LANGTON.  255 

of  his  figure,  dress,  or  manner.  From  perusing  his  writ- 
ings, he  fancied  he  should  see  a  decent,  well-dressed,  in 
short,  a  remarkably  decorous  philosopher.  Instead  of 
which,  down  from  his  bed-chamber  about  noon,  came,  as 
newly  risen,  a  huge  uncouth  figure,  with  a  little  dark  wig 
which  scarcely  covered  his  head,  and  his  clothes  hanging 
loose  about  him.  But  his  conversation  was  so  rich,  so 
animated,  and  so  forcible,  and  his  religious  and  political 
notions  so  congenial  with  those  in  which  Mr.  Langton 
had  been  educated,  that  he  conceived  for  him  that  venera- 
tion and  attachment  which  he  ever  preserved.'  Johnson 
took  no  less  pleasure  in  Langton's  company.  He  de- 
scribed him  as  one  of  those  men  *  to  whom  Nature  does 
not  spread  her  volumes  or  utter  her  voices  in  vain,'  *  as 
a  friend  at  once  cheerful  and  serious,'  while  rising  yet 
higher,  *  with  a  warm  vehemence  of  affectionate  regard, 
he  exclaimed,  "  The  earth  does  not  bear  a  worthier  man 
than  Bennet  Langton." '  On  another  occasion  he  said, 
*  I  know  not  who  will  go  to  Heaven  if  Langton  does  not. 
Sir,  I  could  almost  say.  Sit  anima  mea  cum  LangtonoJ 

Miss  Reynolds,  in  her  *  Anecdotes,'  tells  us,  *  I  shall 
never  forget  the  exalted  character  he  drew  of  his  friend 
Mr.  Langton,  nor  with  what  energy,  what  fond  delight, 
he  expatiated  in  his  praise,  giving  him  every  excellence 
that   nature   could   bestow,   and    every  perfection   that 


256  DR.   JOHNSON, 


humanity  could  acquire/  Bos  well,  too,  describes  'our 
worthy  friend ' — for  that  is  Langton's  Homeric  epithet  in 
the  modern  Odyssey — as  '  a  gentleman  eminent  not  only 
for  worth  and  learning,  but  for  an  inexhaustible  fund  of 
entertaining  conversation.' 

In  a  note  to  the  Life  he  quotes  one  of  his  stories. 
'  An  honest  carpenter,'  we  read,  '  after  giving  some  anec- 
dote in  Langton's  presence  of  the  ill-treatment  which  he 
had  received  from  a  clergyman's  wife,  who  was  a  noted 
termagant,  and  whom  he  accused  of  unjust  dealing  in 
some  transaction  with  him,  added,  "  I  took  care  to  let  her 
know  what  I  thought  of  her ; "  and  being  asked,  "  What 
did  you  say  ?  "  answered,  '*  I  told  her  she  was  a  scoun- 
drel." '  In  '  Boswelliana '  I  find  recorded  two  or  three 
anecdotes  that  Langton  told  of  Johnson  that  Boswell  has 
not,  I  believe,  worked  up  into  the  Life.  *A  certain 
young  clergyman,'  we  read,  'used  to  come  about  Dr. 
Johnson.  The  Doctor  said  it  vexed  him  to  be  in  his 
company — his  ignorance  was  so  hopeless.  "Sir,"  said 
Mr.  Langton,  "  his  coming  about  you  shows  he  wishes 
to  help  his  ignorance."  "Sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  "his 
ignorance  is  so  great  I  am  afraid  to  show  him  the  bottom 
of  it." '  Langton  also  told  Boswell  how  '  Mr.  Johnson 
used  to  laugh  at  a  passage  in  "  Carte's  Life  of  the  Duke 
of  Ormond,'"  where  he  gravely  observes,  'that  he  was 


BENNET  LANGTON.  2S7 

always  in  full  dress  when  he  went  to  court ;  too  many 
being  in  the  practice  of  going  thither  with  double  lapells.' 
Johnson,  when  insisting  one  day  *  that  the  value  of  every 
story  depends  on  its  being  true,'  said,  '  Langton  used  to 
think  a  story  a  story,  till  I  showed  him  that  truth  was 
essential  to  it' 

He  was  endeared  to  Johnson  by  his  Greek  scarcely 
less  than  by  his  ancient  lineage,  his  piety,  his  entertaining 
conversation,  and  his  worth.  He  was  the  man  who  had 
read  Clenardus's  '  Greek  Grammar.'  *  Why,  Sir,'  said 
Johnson,  '  who  is  there  in  this  town  who  knows  anything 
of  Clenardus  but  you  and  I  ? '  He  had  learnt  by  heart 
the  Epistle  of  St.  Basil.  '  Sir,'  said  Johnson,  *  I  never 
made  such  an  effort  to  attain  Greek.'  It  was  at  his  house 
that  Johnson  spent  an  evening  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Parr, 
when  '  he  was  much  pleased  with  the  conversation  of  that 
learned  gentleman.'  '  He  has  invited,'  so  Johnson  writes 
to  Boswell,  '  Nicolaida,  the  learned  Greek,  to  visit  him  at 
his  house  in  Lincolnshire.'  When  he  gets  somewhat  em- 
barrassed in  his  circumstances,  Johnson,  though  close  on 
the  end  of  his  life,  and  nigh  worn  out  with  illness,  writes 
to  him,  'I  am  a  little  angry  at  you  for  not  keeping 
minutes  of  your  own  accepium  et  expensum^  and  think  a 
little  time  might  be  spared  from  Aristophanes  for  the  res 
famiiiares'     To  him  Johnson,   now  on  his   death-bed, 

s 


258  DR.   JOHNSON. 


gave  the  translations  into  Latin  verse  that  he  had  made 
of  Greek  epigrams  during  the  sleepless  nights  of  his  last 
illness.  His  name  is  not  to  be  found  to  the  celebrated 
Round  Robin  which  Burke  drew  up,  and  that  the  company 
gathered  round  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  table  signed.  *  Joe 
Warton,  a  scholar  by  profession,  might  be  such  a  fool '  as 
to  put  his  hand  to  a  petition  that  Goldsmith's  epitaph 
should  be  not  in  Latin,  but  in  English ;  but  '  Mr.  Lang- 
ton,  like  a  sturdy  scholar,  refused  to  sign  it.' 

In  Miss  Hawkins'  '  Memoirs '  we  read  how  '  he  would 
get  into  the  most  fluent  recitation  of  half  a  page  of  Greek, 
breaking  off  for  fear  of  wearying,  by  saying,  as  I  well 
remember  was  his  phrase,  "and  so  it  goes  on  ; "  accom- 
panying his  words  with  a  gentle  wave  of  his  hand,  indi- 
cating that  you  might  better  suppose  the  rest  than  bear 
his  proceeding.'  He  could  nevertheless  enjoy  a  liberty 
taken  with  his  beloved  Greek,  and  one  evening  as  Bos- 
well  writes,  'made  us  laugh  heartily  at  some  lines  by 
Joshua  Barnes  in  which  are  to  be  found  such  comical 
Anglo-Hellenisms  as  KXvpjjoiaLy  eflayxQ^^)  they  were 
banged  with  clubs.' 

Mr.  Best  has  given  an  account  of  an  evening  that  he 
once  spent  in  his  company.  *  In  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion he  took  out  a  small  pocket-album,  containing  l>on- 
mots^  or  heads  and  notices  of  bon-motSy  which  he  filled 


I 


BENNET  LANGTON.  259 

out  and  commented  upon  in  a  most  amusing  manner. 
Among  other  witticisms  was  a  short  copy  of  macaronic 
Greek  verses,  of  which  I  remember  "  five-poundon  elen- 
deto,  ah !  mala  simplos.'"  He  was  no  unfit  successor  to 
his  great  friend  in  the  Professorship  of  Ancient  Literature 
in  the  Royal  Academy. 

Johnson  had  taken  him  in  the  early  days  of  their 
friendship  to  see  Richardson,  who  had  little  conversation 
except  about  his  own  works.  ^  Johnson,'  says  Langton, 
'  professed  that  he  could  bring  him  out  into  conversation, 
and  used  this  allusive  expression,  "  Sir,  I  can  make  him 
rear.^^  But  he  failed ;  for  in  that  interview  Richardson 
said  little  else  than  that  there  lay  in  the  room  a  translation 
of  his  "  Clarissa  "  into  German.'  Langton  had  also  visited 
Young,  who  told  him  when  they  were  walking  iu  the 
garden,  *  Here  I  had  put  a  handsome  sun-dial,  with  this 
inscription,  Eheu  fugaces !  which  (speaking  with  a  smile) 
was  sadly  verified,  for  by  the  next  morning  my  dial  had 
been  carried  off.'  *  Young,'  he  remarked,  '  showed  a  degree 
of  eager  curiosity  concerning  the  common  occurrences 
that  were  then  passing,  which  appeared  somewhat  re- 
markable in  a  man  of  such  intellectual  stores,  of  such  an 
advanced  age,  and  who  had  retired  from  life  with  declared 
disappointment  in  his  expectations.'  He  was  intimate 
indeed  with  most  of  the  men  of  letters  of  his  time,  but  it 

s  2 


26o  DR,   JOHNSON. 


was  in  Johnson's  house  *  at  his  levee  of  morning  visitors 
when  he  was  declaiming  over  his  tea,  which  he  drank 
very  plentifully,'  that  he  was  mostly  to  be  found.  Lang- 
ton,  early  in  their  acquaintance,  had  invited  Johnson  to 
visit  his  father's  house  at  Spilsby,  but  he  wrote  in  reply 
that  much  as  he  would  have  liked  to  have  gone,  never 
theless  he  must  forbear  the  pleasure.  *  I  will  give  the 
true  reason,'  he  writes,  *  which  I  know  you  will  approve  : 
— I  have  a  mother  more  than  eighty  years  old,  who  has 
counted  the  days  to  the  publication  of  my  book  (his 
Dictionary)  in  hopes  of  seeing  me ;  and  to  her,  if  I  can 
disengage  myself  here,  I  resolve  to  go.' 

A  year  or  two  later  on  he  again  writes  to  him,  '  I  go 
on,  as  I  formerly  did,  designing  to  be  some  time  or  other 
both  rich  and  wise  ;  and  yet  cultivate  neither  mind  nor 
fortune.  Do  you  take  notice  of  my  example,  and  learn 
the  danger  of  delay.  When  I  was  as  you  are  now, 
towering  in  confidence  of  twenty-one,  little  did  I  suspect 
that  I  should  be  at  forty-nine  what  I  now  am.  But  you 
do  not  seem  to  need  my  admonition.  You  are  busy  in 
acquiring  and  in  communicating  knowledge,  and  while 
you  are  studying,  enjoy  the  end  of  study,  by  making 
others  wiser  and  happier.  I  was  much  pleased  with  the 
tale  that  you  told  me  of  being  tutor  to  your  sisters.  I, 
who  have  no  sisters  nor  brothers,  look  with  some  degree 


I 


BENNET  LANGTON.  261 

of  innocent  envy  on  those  who  may  be  said  to  be  born 
friends,  and  cannot  see,  without  wonder,  how  rarely  that 
native  union  is  afterwards  regarded.'  He  goes  on  to  say, 
*  we  tell  the  ladies  that  good  wives  make  good  husbands ; 
I  believe  it  is  a  more  certain  position  that  good  brothers 
make  good  sisters.'  He  acknowledges  in  the  same  letter 
a  present  of  game  from  Langton.  He  had  left  off  house- 
keeping— his  wife  was  by  this  time  dead — and  therefore 
gave  the  birds  away.  '  The  pheasant  I  gave  to  Mr. 
Richardson '  (the  author  of  *  Clarissa '). 

He  writes  to  him  when  he  is  at  Trinity  College, 
Oxford,  and  says,  *  You  who  are  very  capable  of  anti- 
cipating futurity  and  raising  phantoms  before  your  own 
eyes,  must  often  have  imagined  to  yourself  an  academical 
life,  and  have  conceived  what  would  be  the  manners, 
the  views,  and  the  conversation  of  men  devoted  to 
letters  3  how  they  would  choose  their  companions ;  how 
they  would  direct  their  studies,  and  how  they  would 
regulate  their  lives.  Let  me  know  what  you  expected 
and  what  you  have  found.'  He  thus  ends  his  letter 
to  the  young  student,  '  I  love,  dear  Sir,  to  think  on  you, 
and  therefore  should  willingly  write  more  to  you  but  that 
the  post,'  &c.  Two  years  later  in  again  writing  to  him 
he  says,  *  While  you  have  been  riding  and  running,  and 
seeing  the  tombs  of  the  learned,  and  the  camps  of  the 


262  DR.  JOHNSON. 


valiant,  I  have  only  staid  at  home  and  intended  to  do 
great  things,  which  I  have  not  done  ; '  and  he  goes  on  to 
say,  *  Let  me  hear  from  you  again  wherever  you  are,  or 
whatever  you  are  doing  ;  whether  you  wander  or  sit  still, 
plant  trees  or  make  Rusticks,  play  with  your  sisters,  or 
muse  alone.'  The  Rusticks,  Boswell  tells  us,  were  some 
essays,  with  that  title,  written  about  this  time  by  Mr. 
Langton,  but  not  published.  We  should  be  curious  to 
know  whether  they  are  still  preserved  in  the  family  house 
yf  at  Langton. 

He  wrote  pleasantly  enough,  as  we  can  see  from  the 
paper  that  he  contributed  to  'The  Idler'  (No.  67).  He 
describes  *a  man  of  vast  designs  and  of  vast  performances, 
though  he  sometimes  designed  one  thing  and  performed 
another.'  He  ends  by  enforcing  a  position  which  he  had 
no  doubt  often  heard  Johnson  maintain — for  it  was  a 
familiar  one  with  him — that  *he  who  finds  himself 
strongly  attracted  to  any  particular  study,  though  it  may 
happen  to  be  out  of  his  proposed  scheme,  if  it  is  not 
trifling  or  vicious,  had  better  continue  his  application  to 
it,  since  it  is  likely  that  he  will,  with  much  more  ease  and 
expedition,  attain  that  which  a  warm  inclination  stimu- 
lates him  to  pui-sue,  than  that  at  which  a  prescribed  law 
compels  him  to  toil.' 

He  was  an  admirable  reader  aloud,  but  though  his 


BENNET  LANGTON,  263 

readings  surpassed,  as  was  thought,  the  actor's  recitations, 
yet  he  did  not  overcome  Johnson's  '  extreme  impatience 
to  be  read  to.'  Boswell  tells  us  how,  *  when  a  very  young 
man,  he  read  to  him  Dodsley's  "  Cleone,  a  tragedy."  As 
it  went  on  Johnson  turned  his  face  to  the  back  of  his 
chair,  and  put  himself  into  various  attitudes,  which 
marked  his  uneasiness.  At  the  end  of  an  act,  however, 
he  said,  "  Come,  let's  have  some  more,  let's  go  into  the 
slaughter-house  again,  Lanky.  But  I  am  afraid  there  is 
more  blood  than  brains."' 

If  we  may  trust  Miss  Bumey,  however  well  Langton 
may  have  read,  he  had  but  little  of  the  actor's  power.  In 
her  Diary,  after  giving  an  account  of  Boswell's  imitation 
of  Johnson's  manner,  she  says,  *  Mr.  Langton  told  some 
stories  himself  in  imitation  of  Johnson  ;  but  they  became 
him  less  than  Mr.  Boswell,  and  only  reminded  me  of 
what  Dr.  Johnson  himself  once  said  to  me :  "  Every  man 
has,  some  time  in  his  life,  an  ambition  to  be  a  wag."  If 
Mr.  Langton  had  repeated  everything  from  his  truly 
great  friend  quietly,  it  would  far  better  have  accorded 
with  his  own  serious  and  respectable  character.' 

*If  I  were  called  on,'  writes  Miss  Hawkins,  *to  name 
the  person  with  whom  Johnson  might  have  been  seen  to 
the  fairest  advantage,  I  should  certainly  name  Mr. 
Langton.     His  good  breeding  and  the  pleasing  tone  of 


264         '  DR.   JOHNSON. 


his  voice  would  have  given  the  pitch  to  Johnson's  repUes ; 
his  classic  acquirements  would  have  brought  out  those  of 
the  other  speaker;  while  the  thorough  respect  Johnson 
entertained  for  him  would  have  prevented  that  harshness 
which  sometimes  alarmed  a  third  person.'  He  had,  how- 
ever, one  failing — a  failing  that  leaned  to  virtue's  side. 
*  I  mentioned,'  says  Boswell,  *  a  worthy  friend  of  ours  ' 
(no  doubt  Langton)  'whom  we  valued  much,  but  observed 
that  he  was  too  ready  to  introduce  religious  discourse 
upon  all  occasions.  yohnson\  "Why  yes,  Sir,  he  will 
introduce  religious  discourse  without  seeing  whether  it 
will  end  in  instruction  and  improvement,  or  produce 
some  profane  jest.  He  would  introduce  it  in  the  company 
of  Wilkes  and  twenty  more  such." ' 

It  was  to  what  Johnson  considered  an  indiscretion  of 
this  sort  that  the  breach  in  their  friendship  was  due.  hx 
a  dinner  at  the  Messieurs  Dilly's,  the  booksellers  in  the 
Poultry,  there  had  been  a  hot  discussion  on  toleration. 
Johnson  had  just  quarrelled  with  Goldsmith,  when  a 
gentleman  present  (who,  there  is  little  doubt,  was  Lang- 
ton)  *  ventured  to  ask  him  if  there  was  not  a  material 
difference  as  to  toleration  of  opinions  which  lead  to 
action,  and  opinions  merely  speculative;  for  instance, 
would  it  be  wrong  in  the  magistrate  to  tolerate  those  who 
preach  against  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  ?   Johnson  was 


BENNET  LANGTON.  265 

highly  offended,  and  said,  "  I  wonder,  Sir,  how  a  gentle- 
man of  your  piety  can  introduce  this  subject  in  a  mixed 
■company." ' 

In  spite  of  this  sharp  rebuke,  on  leaving  the  house 
Langton  went  with  Johnson  and  Boswell  to  the  club,  and 
the  following  day  Johnson,  in  fulfilment  no  doubt  of  an 
old  engagement,  dined  at  his  house.  At  the  club  that 
evening  occurred  that  fine  scene  when  Johnson  begged 
Goldsmith's  pardon  for  what  had  passed  at  dinner,  and 
Goldsmith  answered  placidly,  *It  must  be  much  from 
you,  Sir,  that  I  take  ill.'  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
Langton's  resentment  was  increased  by  the  contrast. 
Both  had  been  harshly  treated,  but  it  was  only  Goldsmith 
to  whom  amends  were  made.  On  the  following  day 
Langton  made  his  will,  *  devising  his  estate  to  his  three 
sisters  in  preference  to  a  remote  heir  male.  Johnson 
called  them  (Langton,  of  course,  was  not  present)  three 
dowdies^  and  said,  with  as  high  a  spirit  as  the  boldest 
baron  in  the  most  perfect  days  of  the  feudal  system,  "  an 
ancient  estate  should  always  go  to  males." '  Boswell 
goes  on  to  add,  *  He  now  laughed  immoderately,  without 
any  reason  that  we  could  perceive,  at  our  friend's  making 
his  will,  called  him  the  testator^  and  added,  "  I  dare  say 
he  thinks  he  has  done  a  mighty  thing.  He  won't  stay  till 
he  gets  home  to  his  seat  in  the  country  to  produce  this 


266  DR.   JOHNSON. 


wonderful  deed — he'll  call  up  the  landlord  of  the  first  inn 
on  the  road  ;  and  after  a  suitable  preface  upon  mortality 
and  the  uncertainty  of  life,  will  tell  him  that  he  should 
not  delay  in  making  his  will ;  and  here,  Sir,  will  he  say,  is 
my  will,  which  I  have  just  made,  with  the  assistance  of 
one  of  the  ablest  lawyers  in  the  kingdom ;  and  he  will 
read  it  to  him  (laughing  all  the  time).  He  believes  he 
has  made  this  will ;  but  he  did  not  make  it.  You, 
Chambers,  made  it  for  him.  I  trust  you  have  had  more 
conscience  than  to  make  him  say  *  being  of  sound 
understanding ; '  ha,  ha,  ha !  I  hope  he  has  left  me  a 
legacy.  I'd  have  his  will  turned  into  verse  like  a  ballad." 
It  was  in  continuation  of  this  merry  strain  that  Johnson 
"  burst  into  such  a  fit  of  laughter  that  he  appeared  to  be 
almost  in  a  convulsion ;  and,  in  order  to  support  himself, 
laid  hold  of  one  of  the  posts  at  the  side  of  the  foot-pave- 
ment, and  sent  forth  peals  so  loud  that  in  the  silence  of 
the  night  his  voice  seemed  to  resound  from  Temple  Bar 
to  Fleet  Ditch."    Johnson  writes  to  Boswell  two  months 

later,  " "  (no  doubt  Langton)  "left  the  town  without 

taking  leave  of  me,  and  is  gone  in  deep  dudgeon  to . 

Is  not  this  ver}^  childish  ?    Where  is  now  my  legacy  ?  "  * 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  this  year  that  Johnson  went 
to  Scotland,  but  neither  in  going  nor  returning  did  he  stop 
at  Langton.     In  his  journal  of  the  tour  Boswell  says,  'we 


BENNET  LANGTON.  267 


talked  of  one  of  our  friends  taking  ill  for  a  length  of  time 
a  hasty  expression  of  Dr.  Johnson's  to  him,'  on  his  in- 
troducing, in  a  mixed  company,  a  religious  subject  so 
unseasonably  as  to  provoke  a  rebuke.  ^Johnson  :  "  What 
is  to  become  of  society,  if  a  friendship  of  twenty  years  is 
to  be  broken  off  for  such  a  cause?     As  Bacon  says — 

'  Who  then  to  frail  mortality  shall  trust 
But  limns  the  water,  or  but  writes  in  dust.' " ' 

By  the  following  summer  much  had  been  done  to 
bind  up  the  friendship  again,  and  Johnson  writes  to 
Langton,  telling  him  of  poor  Goldsmith's  death.  He 
ends  his  letter  by  saying,  *  Do  not  be  sullen  now,  but  let 
me  find  a  letter  when  I  come  back.'  And  in  the  next 
winter,  writing  to  Boswell,  he  says,  *  Langton  is  here  !  we 
are  all  that  ever  we  were.  He  is  a  worthy  fellow,  without 
malice,  though  not  without  resentment.' 

Langton  had  married,  two  or  three  years  earlier  than 
the  date  of  this  quarrel,  ^one  of  those  three  Countess 
Dowagers  of  Rothes,  who  had  all  of  them  the  fortune  to 
get  second  husbands  at  about  the  same  time.'  He  had 
invited  Goldsmith  and  Reynolds,  together  with  Johnson 
as  it  would  seem,  to  visit  him  at  his  seat  in  Lincolnshire. 
Goldsmith  in  a  pleasant  letter,  that  Mr.  Forster  gives  in 
full,  declines.     He  was  so  much  employed  '  in  the  coun- 


268  DR.   JOHNSON. 


try,  at  a  farmer's  house,  quite  alone,  trying  to  write  a 
comedy '  ('  She  Stoops  to  Conquer '),  that  he  has  to  put 
off  his  intended  visit  to  Lincolnshire  for  this  season,  and, 
as  it  proved,  alas  !  for  all  seasons.    '  Everybody,'  says  he, 

*  is  a  visiting  about  and  merry  but  myself.  And  that  is 
hard,  too,  as  I  have  been  trying  these  three  months  to  do 
something  to  make  people  laugh.'     He  goes  on  to  say, 

*  I  have  published,  or  Davies  has  published  for  me,  an 
"  Abridgment  of  the  History  of  England,"  for  which  I 
have  been  a  good  deal  abused  in  the  newspapers  for 
betraying  the  liberties  of  the  people.  God  knows  I  had 
no  thought  for  or  against  liberty  in  my  head ;  my  whole 
aim  being  to  make  up  a  book  of  a  decent  size  that,  as 
'Squire  Richard  says,  would  do  no  harm  to  nobody. 
However,  they  set  me  down  as  an  arrant  Tory,  and  con- 
sequently an  honest  man.  When  you  come  to  look  at 
any  part  of  it,  you'll  say  that  I  am  a  sour  Whig.' 

Johnson  did  make  a  visit  to  Lincolnshire,  the  remem- 
brance of  which  was  long  preserved.  For  when,  many 
many  years  later,  Mr.  Best  visited  Langton,  *  after  break- 
fast,' he  writes,  '  we  walked  to  the  top  of  a  very  steep  hill 
behind  the  house.  When  we  arrived  at  the  summit,  Mr. 
Langton  said,  '  Poor,  dear  Dr.  Johnson,  when  he  came  to 
this  spot,  turned  back  to  look  down  the  hill,  and  said  he 
was  determined  "  to  take  a  roll  down."    When  we  under- 


BENNET  LANGTON.  269 

stood  what  he  meant  to  do,  we  endeavoured  to  dissuade 
him  ;  but  he  was  resolute,  saying,  "he  had  not  had  a  roll 
for  a  long  time  j "  and  taking  out  of  his  lesser  pockets 
whatever  might  be  in  them — keys,  pencil,  purse,  or  pen- 
knife— and  la}dng  himself  parallel  with  the  edge  of  the 
hill,  he  actually  descended,  turning  himself  over  and  over 
till  he  came  to  the  bottom."'  Mr.  Best  goes  on  to  say  : 
'  The  story  was  told  with  such  gravity,  and  with  an  air  of 
such  affectionate  remembrance  of  a  departed  friend,  that 
it  was  impossible  to  suppose  this  extraordinary  freak  of 
the  great  lexicographer  to  have  been  a  fiction  or  invention 
of  Mr.  Langton.' 

It  was  on  this  visit  that  Johnson  '  was  so  socially  ac- 
commodating that,  once  when  Mr.  Langton  and  he  were 
driving  together  in  a  coach,  and  Mr.  Langton  complained 
of  being  sick,  he  insisted  that  they  should  go  and  sit  on 
the  back  of  it  in  the  open  air,  which  they  did;  and 
being  sensible  how  strange  the  appearance  m^ust  be, 
observed,  that  a  countryman  whom  they  saw  in  a  field 
would  probably  be  thinking,  "If  those  two  madmen 
should  come  down,  what  would  become  of  me  ?  " ' 

Langton,  for  some  years  of  his  married  life,  lived  at 
an  expense  almost  beyond  his  means.  He  could  not,  I 
suppose,  spare  time  from  his  Aristophanes  for  his  minutes 
of  acceptum  et  expcnsiun.     Johnson,  in  a  letter  to  Boswell, 


270  DR.   JOHNSON. 


says,  '  I  do  not  like  his  scheme  of  life,  but  as  I  am  not 
permitted  to  understand  it,  I  cannot  set  anything  right 
that  is  wrong. ' 

When  Mrs.  Thrale,  in  Miss  Burney^s  hearing,  '  asked 
Johnson  whether  Mr.  Langton  took  any  better  care  of  his 
affairs  than  formerly,  "  No,  Madam,"  cried  the  Doctor  ; 
"and  never  will.  He  complains  of  the  ill  effects  of 
habit,  and  rests  contentedly  upon  a  confessed  indolence. 
He  told  his  father  himself  that  he  had  "no  turn  to 
economy,"  but  a  thief  might  as  well  plead  that  he  had 
*'  no  turn  to  honesty." ' 

When  Boswell  was  next  up  in  London,  'we  talked,' 
says  he,  '  of  a  gentleman '  (Langton  we  may  feel  almost 
sure)  *  who  was  running  out  his  fortune  in  London ;  and  I 
said,  "  We  must  get  him  out  of  it.  All  his  friends  must 
quarrel  with  him,  and  that  will  soon  drive  him  away." 
Johnson  :  "  Nay,  sir,  we'll  send  you  to  him.  If  your  com- 
pany does  not  drive  a  man  out  of  his  house,  nothing 
will." '  A  few  days  later  on  they  were  again  talking  of  *  a 
gentleman  who,  we  apprehended,  was  gradually  involving 
his  circumstances  by  bad  management.'  Langton  again, 
no  doubt,  is  meant.  Johnson  said,  'Wasting  a  fortune  is 
evaporation  by  a  thousand  imperceptible  means.  If  it 
were  a  stream,  they'd  stop  it.  You  must  speak  to  him. 
It  is  really  miserable.     Were  he  a  gamester,  it  could  be 


BENJSlET  LANGTON.  271 

said  he  had  hopes  of  winning.  Were  he  a  bankrupt  in 
trade,  he  might  have  grown  rich ;  but  he  has  neither 
spirit  to  spend  nor  resolution  to  spare.  He  does  not 
spend  fast  enough  to  have  pleasure  from  it.  He  has  the 
crime  of  prodigality  and  the  wretchedness  of  parsimony.' 
Another  time  he  said,  '  He  is  ruining  himself  without 
pleasure.  A  man  who  loses  at  play,  or  who  runs  out  his 
fortune  at  court,  makes  his  estate  less,  in  hopes  of 
making  it  bigger ;  but  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  pass  through  the 
quagmire  of  parsimony  to  the  gulf  of  ruin.  To  pass  over 
the  flowery  path  of  extravagance  is  very  well.'     Later  on 

he  writes  to  Boswell,  that  ' has  laid  down  his  coach, 

and  talks  of  making  more  contractions  of  his  expense  : 
how  he  will  succeed,  I  know  not.  It  is  difficult  to  reform 
a  household  gradually ;  it  may  be  better  done  by  a 
system  totally  new.'  He  goes  on  to  add  :  *  What  I  told 
him  of  the  increasing  expense  of  a  growing  family  seems 
to  have  struck  him.  He  certainly  had  gone  on  with  very 
confused  views,  and  we  have,  I  think,  shown  him  that  he 
is  wrong ;  though,  with  the  common  deficience  of  advisers, 
we  have  not  shown  him  how  to  do  right' 

Though  Langton  showed  indolence  in  money  matters, 
yet  Johnson  praised  him  for  his  vigour  as  a  captain  of 
militia.  '  Langton,'  he  writes,  *  has  been  encamped  with 
his  company  of  militia  on  Warley  Common;  I  spent  five 


272  DR.   JOHNSON. 


days  amongst  them ;  he  signalized  himself  as  a  diligent 
officer,  and  has  very  high  respect  in  the  regiment.  He 
presided  when  I  was  there  at  a  court-martial.'  Boswell 
also  pats  him  on  the  back,  and  writes  to  express  to  John- 
son the  pleasure  with  which  he  had  found  'that  our 
worthy  friend  Langton  was  highly  esteemed  in  his  own 
county  town.' 

If  Langton  was  a  tender  brother,  he  was  no  less  tender 
a  father.  Johnson  indeed  at  one  time  complained  in 
writing  about  the  table  he  kept,  that  *  he  has  his  children 
too  much  about  him.'  In  one  of  his  letters,  however, 
he  seems  to  hint  that  Boswell  might,  with  advantage,  see 
a  little  more  of  his.  '  Langton  has  been  down  with  the 
miHtia,'  he  says,  *  and  is  again  quiet  at  home,  talking  to 
his  little  people,  as,  I  suppose,  you  do  sometimes.'  In 
writing  to  Langton,  he  begs  him  to  keep  him  *  in  the 
memory  of  all  the  little  dear  family,  particularly  pretty 
Mrs.  Jane '  (his  god-child);  and  in  another  letter  he  says, 
after  describing  his  own  mournful  state,  '  You,  dear  Sir, 
have,  I  hope,  a  more  cheerful  scene;  you  see  George 
fond  of  his  book,  and  the  pretty  misses  airy  and  lively, 
with  my  own  httle  Jenny  equal  to  the  best;  and  in  what- 
ever can  contribute  to  your  quiet  or  pleasure,  you  have 
Lady  Rothes  ready  to  concur.'  In  the  last  year  of  his 
life  he  writes,  *  How  does  my  own  Jenny?  I  think  I  owe 


BENNET  LANGTON.  273 

Jenny  a  letter,  which  I  will  take  care  to  pay.  In  the 
meantime  tell  her  that  I  acknowledge  the  debt.'  A 
month  later  he  pays  the  debt.  -  '  He  took  the  trouble  to 
write  the  letter  in  a  large,  round  hand,  nearly  resembling 
printed  characters,  that  she  might  have  the  satisfaction 
of  reading  it  herself  '  The  original,'  says  Boswell,  *  now 
lies  before  me,  but  shall  be  faithfully  restored  to  her ;  and 
I  dare  say  will  be  preserved  by  her  as  a  jewel  as  long  as 
she  lives.'  She  did  preserve  it,  and  nearly  sixty  years 
later  showed  it  to  Mr.  Croker.  The  letter  begins,  '  My 
dearest  Miss  Jenny,'  and  ends,  *  I  am,  my  dear,  your  most 
humble  servant,  Sam.  Johnson.' 

*  Of  the  children  of  the  family,'  says  Miss  Hawkins, 
'  Dr.  Johnson  was  very  fond.  They  were,  in  their  full 
number,  ten,  with  not  a  plain  face  nor  a  faulty  person. 
They  were  taught  to  behave  to  Johnson  as  they  would 
have  done  to  a  grandfather,  and  he  felt  it.'  In  a  letter 
to  Mrs.  Thrale  he  says  *  You  find,  now  you  have  seen  the 
progenies  Langtoniana  that  I  did  not  praise  them  without 
reason.     Yet  the  second  girl  is  my  favourite.' 

'It  was  Langton's  intention,'  Miss  Hawkins  states, 
*  to  educate  his  children  at  home,  and  under  only  parental 
tutelage.  He  therefore  settled  in  Westminster,  determined 
to  live  very  quietly,  and  devote  himself  to  this  grand 
duty,  in  which  the  children  of  both  sexes  were  to  be 

T 


274  DR.  JOHNSON. 


equally  considered.  He  told  my  father  he  should  not 
only  give  his  sons  but  his  daughters  a  knowledge  of  the 
learned  languages,  and  that  he  meant  to  familiarise  the 
latter  to  the  Greek  language  to  such  perfection,  that  while 
five  of  his  girls  employed  themselves  in  feminine  works, 
the  sixth  should  read  a  Greek  author  for  the  general 
amusement.' 

Miss  Bumey  records  how  Dr.  Johnson  gave  a  very 
droll  account  of  the  children  of  Mr.  Langton,  *who,'  he 
said,  *  might  be  very  good  children  if  they  were  let  alone; 
but  the  father  is  never  easy  when  he  is  not  making  them 
do  something  which  they  caimot  do;  they  must  repeat  a 
fable,  or  a  speech,  or  the  Hebrew  alphabet;  and  they 
might  as  well  count  twenty  for  what  they  know  of  the 
matter;  however,  the  father  says  half,  for  he  prompts 
every  other  word.  But  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  man 
who  would  have  been  less  entertained  by  such  means.' 

In  one  of  Johnson's  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale  a  passage 
occurs  which  there  is  little  doubt  refers  to  Langton  and 
his  eldest  boy,  though  the  names  are  suppressed.     'I 

dined,'  he  writes,  *  yesterday  with .    His  children  are 

very  lovely.  .  .  .  He  begins  to  reproach  himself  with  neg- 
lect of 's  education,  and  censures  that  idleness  or 

that  deviation,  by  the  indulgence  of  which  he  has  left 
uncultivated  such  a  fertile  mind.     I  advised  him  to  let 


I 


BENNET  LANGTON,  275 

the  child  alone ;  and  told  him  that  the  matter  was  not 
great  whether  he  could  read  at  the  end  of  four  years, 
or  of  five,  and  that  I  thought  it  not  proper  to  harass  a 
tender  mind  with  the  violence  of  painful  attention. 
I  may  perhaps  procure  both  father  and  son  a  year 
of  quiet;   and  surely  I   may   rate   myself  among  their 

benefactors/ 

The  home  education  would  not  seem  to  have  suc- 
ceeded. *  Mr.  Langton  knew  not  how  much  the  possession 
of  extensive  learning  sometimes  overshoots  the  power  of 
communicating  first  elements ;  he  was  bewildered  in  his 
own  labyrinth  of  ideas,  and,  I  believe,  was  a  little  sickened 
of  his  plan  by  the  late  King's  frequently  repeated  inquiry, 
"  How  does  education  go  on  ?  " '  George  Langton,  the 
eldest  son,  at  all  events,  had,  as  Mr.  Best  tells  us, 
'  profited  by  the  conversation  and  instruction  of  his  father, 
so  as  to  become  a  man  of  almost  universal,  though 
perhaps  superficial,  literary  knowledge.'  A  tutor,  named 
Lusignan,  had  been  engaged  to  teach  him  modem  Greek, 
of  whom  he  used  to  tell  the  following  anecdote :  *  It  had 
been  imposed  on  him  by  his  director  as  a  penance  to 
recite  a  certain  number  of  times,  before  breakfast,  the 
words  Kvpte  iXeeltTov.  He  paced  his  chamber  impatiently, 
repeating  with  what  seemed  practised  rapidity  the  words 
prescribed,  ever  and  anon,  however,  opening  his  door, 

T  2 


276  DR.   JOHNSON, 


and  calling  downstairs  to  the  maid,  "  Is  my  breakfast 
ready?"' 

On  one  occasion,  when  Johnson  was  at  Langton's 
house,  '  before  dinner,'  says  Boswell,  *  he  said  nothing  but 
"  Pretty  baby  !  "  to  one  of  the  children,  Langton  said  very 
well  to  me  afterwards,  that  he  could  repeat  Johnson's 
conversation  before  dinner,  as  Johnson  had  said  that  he 
could  repeat  a  complete  chapter  of  the  "  Natural  History 
of  Iceland,"  from  the  Danish  of  Horrebow,  the  whole  of 
which  was  exactly  thus: — 

' "  CHAP.  LXXII.— Concerning  Snakes.— There  are 
no  snakes  to  be  met  with  throughout  the  whole  island." ' 

When,  on  Beauclerk's  death,  Langton  received  by  his 
will  Reynolds'  portrait  of  Johnson,  with  the  inscription 
on  the  frame — 

Ingenium  ingens 
Inculto  latet  hoc  sub  corpore, 

he  had  the  lines  effaced.  Johnson  said,  complacently, 
*  It  was  kind  in  you  to  take  it  off; '  and  then,  after  a  short 
pause,  added,  '  and  not  unkind  in  him  to  put  it  on.'  We 
must  not  forget  that  the  great  painter  and  the  great  lexico- 
grapher, as  men  then  delighted  to  call  him,  had  thought 
so  highly  of  the  two  friends,  that  when  they  were  still 
quite  young  men,  they  had  invited  them,  with  Goldsmith 
and  Burke,  to  join  theih  in  founding  The  Club. 


BENNET  LANGTON.  277 

Nothing  is  more  pleasant  in  Langton's  life  than  that 
scene  for  a  comedy,  as  Sir  Joshua  described  it,  when  the 
penitent  got  into  a  panic  and  belaboured  his  confessor. 
*  When  I  was  ill/  said  Johnson,  ^  I  desired  Langton  would 
tell  me  sincerely  in  what  he  thought  my  life  was  faulty. 
Sir,  he  brought  me  a  sheet  of  paper,  on  which  he  had 
written  down  several  texts  of  Scripture,  recommending 
Christian  charity.  And  when  I  questioned  him  what 
occasion  I  had  given  for  such  animadversion,  all  that  he 
could  say  amounted  to  this — that  I  sometimes  contra- 
dicted people  in  conversation.  Now  what  harm  does  it 
do  to  any  man  to  be  contradicted?'  Boswell,  in  de- 
scribing the  scene,  says  that  *  Johnson,  at  the  time  when 
the  paper  was  presented  to  him,  though  at  first  pleased 
with  the  attention  of  his  friend,  whom  he  thanked  in  an 
earnest  manner,  soon  exclaimed,  in  a  loud  and  angry 
tone,  "  What  is  your  drift.  Sir  ?  " '  What  an  admirable 
subject  for  Hogarth,  if  he  had  lived  to  paint  it! 

When  Johnson's  last  illness  was  upon  him,  Langton, 
as  we  have  said,  came  up  from  Lincolnshire  to  be  with 
his  dying  friend.  He  took  lodgings  in  Fleet  Street,  so 
that  he  might  be  near  at  hand.  '  Nobody,'  says  Boswell, 
*was  more  attentive  to  him  than  Mr.  Langton,  to 
whom  he  tenderly  said,  "  Te  feneam  moriens  defidente 
manu." '  • 


278  DR.   JOHNSON. 


His  failing  hand  did  not,  indeed,  at  the  very  moment 
of  death  hold  his  friend's.  Stupor  had  set  in,  and  even 
the  gentle  Bennet  Langton,  the  friend  of  thirty  years  ^ 
would  have  been  as  a  stranger  to  him.  A  letter  has  been 
preserved,  in  Langton's  handwriting,  a  letter  which  was 
never  finished  and  never  sent,  but  was  meant  likely  enough 
for  Bos  well,  in  which  we  read,  '  I  am  now  writing  in  the 
room  where  his  venerable  remains  exhibit  a  spectacle, 
the  interesting  solemnity  of  which,  difficult  as  it  would 
be  in  any  sort  to  find  terms  to  express,  so  to  you,  my 
dear  Sir,  whose  own  sensations  will  paint  it  so  strongly, 
it  would  be  of  all  men  the  most  superfluous  to  attempt 

to .'     Here  grief,   it  would  seem,  got  the  better  of 

the  writer,  and  the  letter  was  left,  with  all  the  eloquence 
of  a  broken  utterance. 

Langton  survived  Johnson  many  years.  Mrs.  Piozzi, 
in  a  passage  which  shows  all  the  spite  of  a  small  mind, 
writes,  *The  Dean  of  Winchester's  account  of  Bennet 
Langton  coming  to  town  some  few  years  after  the  death 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  and  finding  no  house  where  he  was  even 
asked  to  dinner,  was  exceedingly  comical.  Mr.  Wilber- 
force  dismissed  him  with  a  cold  "  Adieu,  dear  Sir ;  I 
hope  we  shall  meet  in  heaven."  How  capricious  is  the 
public  taste!  I  remember  when  to  have  Langton  at  a 
man's  house  stamped  him  at  once  a  literary  character.* 


BENNET  LANGTON,  279 

Public  taste  is  capricious,  but  yet  as  long  as  Boswell's 
*  Life  of  Johnson  '  is  read,  so  long  will  there  be  men  to 
love  the  memory  of  the  gentle  Bennet  Langton,  the 
worthy  friend  who  was  serious  and  yet  cheerful,  who  did 
not  keep  his  minutes  of  acceptum  et  expensum^  but  had 
read  Clenardus. 


28o  .      DR.  JOHNSON. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TOPHAM    BEAUCLERK.^ 

*  Goldsmith,'  says  Lord  Macaulay,  *  lived  in  what  was 
intellectually  far  the  best  society  of  the  kingdom,  in  a 
society  in  which  no  talent  or  accomplishment  was  wanting, 
and  in  which  the  art  of  conversation  was  cultivated  with 
splendid  success.  There  probably  were  never  four  talkers 
more  admirable  in  four  different  ways  than  Johnson, 
Burke,  Beauclerk,^  and  Garrick ;  and  Goldsmith  was 
on  terms  of  intimacy  with  all  the  four.'  Many  a 
reader,  as  he  has  come  upon  this  passage,  must  have 
paused  to  reflect  who  this  Beauclerk  was,  who  is  thus 
matched  with  Johnson,  Burke,  and  Garrick,  and  whose 
society  was  an  honour  to  Goldsmith.  He  may  at  length 
have  called  to  mind  the  lively,  the  learned,  the  witty,  the 

^  Reprinted  (with  additions)  from  the  Cornhill  Magazine. 

2  *  There  is  a  poignancy  without  effort  in  all  that  he  (Talleyrand) 
says,  which  reminds  me  a  little  of  the  character  which  the  wits  of 
Johnson's  circlegive  of  Beauclerk.' — Life  of  Macaulay  yhyTiQVQiydXif 
vol.  i.  p.  231. 


t 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK,  281 

fashionable  Topham  Beauclerk,  as  he  is  shown  to  us  in 
the  pages  of  Boswell.  In  the  last  chapter  I  have  given  a 
sketch  of  Bennet  Langton.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  present 
a  companion  portrait  of  the  friend  of  his  college  days  and 
of  his  mature  life — Topham  Beauclerk. 

I  have,  I  feel,  a  far  harder  task  before  me,  for  Lang- 
ton's  life  lay  in  a  much  narrower  circle.  The  books  that 
tell  of  Johnson  tell  also  of  him,  but  Beauclerk  knew  a 
world  that  was  known  to  neither  Langton  nor  Johnson. 
He  was  a  man  of  fashion,  as  well  as  an  accomplished 
scholar  and  an  eager  student,  and  had  mixed  with  men 
whom  neither  Johnson  nor  Langton  would  have  cared  to 
have  known.  Though  I  have  not  failed  in  diligence  in 
consulting  the  memoirs  of  last  century,  yet  I  have  not  suc- 
ceeded so  well  as  I  had  hoped  in  gathering  information 
about  many  periods  of  his  life.  Especially  had  I  wished  to 
illustrate  his  marvellous  conversational  powers,  to  which 
so  many  of  his  contemporaries  bear  witness,  but  the  good 
sayings  of  his  that  I  have  come  upon  are  but  few  indeed. 

Topham  Beauclerk's  wildness  and  wit  may  well  have 
come  from  one  and  the  same  source,  for  he  was  the 
great-grandson  of  Charles  II.  and  Nell  Gwyn.  Boswell 
says  that  *  Mr.  Beauclerk's  being  of  the  St.  Albans' 
family,  and  having,  in  some  particulars,  a  resemblance  to 
Charles  II.,  contributed,   in   Johnson's   imagination,  to 


282  DR.   JOHNSON. 


throw  a  lustre  upon  his  other  qualities.'  In  another 
passage  we  learn  that  Johnson  had  an  extraordinary 
partiality  for  that  prince,  and  took  fire  at  any  attack  upon 
him.  Beauclerk's  father,  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk,  the  third 
son  of  the  first  Duke  of  St.  Albans,  was  not  unworthy 
of  his  illustrious  grandparents.  '  Sir  C.  H.  Williams  calls 
him  "  Worthless  Sidney."  He  was  notorious  for  hunting 
after  the  fortunes  of  the  old  and  childless.  Being  very 
handsome,  he  had  almost  persuaded  Lady  Betty  Germaine 
(Swift's  correspondent)  in  her  old  age  to  marry  him.  He 
failed  also  in  obtaining  the  fortune  of  Sir  Thomas  Reeve, 
Chief  Justice  of  the  Common  Pleas,  whom  he  used  to 
attend  on  the  circuit  with  a  view  of  ingratiating  himself 
with  him.  At  length  he  induced  Mr.  Topham,  of  Windsor, 
to  leave  his  estate  to  him.' 

If  Mr.  Topham  together  with  his  fortune  left  him  also 
his  famous  collection  of  pictures  and  drawings,*  it  is 
likely  enough  that  from  them  his  godson  derived  much 
of  his  accurate  taste  and  judgment  in  painting  and  sculp- 
ture. It  was  certamly  not  to  his  mother  that  Beauclerk 
owed  the  powers  of  his  mind.  In  the  course  of  his  tour 
to  the  Hebrides,  Johnson  one  day  told  Boswell  the 
following  anecdote  of  this  lady :  '  Beauclerk  and  I,  and 

^  *  He  buys  for  Topham,  drawings  and  designs.' — Pope's  Moral 
Essays^  Epistle  iv. 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  283 

Langton,  and  Lady  Sidney  Beauclerk,  mother  to  our 
friend,  were  one  day  driving  in  a  coach  by  Cuper's 
Gardens  (an  inferior  place  of  popular  amusement),  which 
were  then  unoccupied.  I,  in  sport,  proposed  that  Beau- 
clerk  and  Langton  and  myself  should  take  them ;  and 
we  amused  ourselves  with  scheming  how  we  should  all  do 
our  parts.  Lady  Sidney  grew  angry,  and  said,  "  An  old 
man  should  not  put  such  things  in  young  people's  heads." 
She  had  no  notion  of  a  joke.  Sir ;  had  come  late  into  life, 
and  had  a  mighty  unpliable  understanding.' 

It  was  at  Trinity  College,  Oxford,  that  Beauclerk  formed 
an  acquaintance  with  his  fellow-collegian  Bennet  Langton.- 
Boswell  says  that  *  though  their  opinions  and  modes  of 
life  were  so  different,  that  it  seemed  utterly  improbable 
that  they  should  at  all  agree,  yet  Mr.  Beauclerk  had  so 
ardent  a  love  of  literature,  so  acute  an  understanding, 
such  elegance  of  manners,  and  so  well  discerned  the  ex- 
cellent qualities  of  Mr.  Langton,  that  they  became  inti- 
mate friends.'  They  entered  college  within  a  few  months 
of  each  other  in  1757,  when  Beauclerk  was  eighteen  years 
old.  'Johnson,  soon  after  this  acquaintance  began, 
passed  a  considerable  time  at  Oxford.  He  at  first 
thought  it  strange  that  Langton  should  associate  so  much 
with  one  who  had  the  character  of  being  loose,  both  in 
his  principles  and  practice ;  but  by  degrees  he  himself 


284  DR.  JOHNSON. 


was  fascinated.'  The  resemblance  to  Charles  II.  was  too 
much  for  him.  *  And  in  a  short  time  the  moral,  pious 
Johnson  and  the  gay,  dissipated  Beauclerk  were  com- 
panions. "  What  a  coalition  ! "  (said  Garrick,  when  he 
heard  of  this) ;  "  I  shall  have  my  old  friend  to  bail  out  of 
the  round-house." ' 

Boswell  goes  on  to  say  that  '  it  was  a  very  agreeable 
association.  Beauclerk  was  too  polite,  and  valued  learn- 
ing and  wit  too  much,  to  offend  Johnson  by  sallies  of 
infidelity  or  licentiousness ;  and  Johnson  delighted  in 
the  good  qualities  of  Beauclerk,  and  hoped  to  correct  the 
evil.  Innumerable  were  the  scenes  in  which  Johnson 
was  amused  by  these  young  men.  Beauclerk  could  take 
more  liberty  with  him  than  anybody  with  whom  I  ever 
saw  him;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  Beauclerk  was  not 
spared  by  his  respectable  companion  when  reproof  was 
proper.  Beauclerk  had  such  a  propensity  to  satire,  that 
at  one  time  Johnson  said  to  him,  "  You  never  open  your 
mouth  but  with  intention  to  give  pain ;  and  you  have 
often  given  me  pain,  not  from  the  power  of  what  you 
said,  but  from  seeing  your  intention."  At  another  time, 
applying  to  him,  with  a  slight  alteration,  a  line  of  Pope, 
he  said,  "  Thy  love  of  folly  and  thy  scorn  of  fools — every- 
thing thou  dost  shows  the  one,  and  everything  thou  say'st 
the  other."     At  another  time  he  said  to  him,  "  Thy  body 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK.  285 


is  all  vice,  and  thy  mind  all  virtue."  Beauclerk  not 
seeming  to  relish  the  compliment,  Johnson  said,  "Nay, 
Sir,  Alexander  the  Great,  marching  in  triumph  into  Baby- 
lon, could  not  have  desired  to  have  had  more  said  to 
him." ' 

The  pious  Johnson  at  times  so  far  forgot  to  correct 
the  evil  that  he  saw  in  his  friend,  that  he  even  allowed 
himself  to  be  led  astray.  When  he  was  staying  at  Beau- 
clerk's  house  at  Windsor,  *  one  Sunday  when  the  weather 
was  very  fine,  Beauclerk  enticed  him  insensibly  to  saunter 
about  all  the  morning.  They  went  into  a  churchyard,  in 
the  time  of  Divine  service,  and  Johnson  laid  himself 
down  at  his  ease  upon  one  of  the  tomb- stones.  "  Now, 
Sir"  (said  Beauclerk),  "you  are  like  Hogarth's  idle  appren- 
tice." '  On  another  occasion,  as  Boswell  tells  us,  '  when 
Beauclerk  and  Langton  had  supped  at  a  tavern  in 
London,  and  sat  till  about  three  in  the  morning,  it  came 
into  their  heads  to  go  and  knock  up  Johnson,  and  see  if 
they  could  prevail  on  him  to  join  them  in  a  ramble. 
They  rapped  violently  at  the  door  of  his  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  till  at  last  he  appeared  in  his  shirt,  with  his  little 
black  wig  on  the  top  of  his  head,  instead  of  a  night-cap, 
and  a  poker  in  his  hand,  imagining,  probably,  that  some 
ruffians  were  coming  to  attack  him.  When  he  discovered 
who  they  were,  and  was  told  their  errand,  he  smiled,  and 


286  DR.   JOHNSON. 


with  great  good  humour  agreed  to  their  proposal :  "What, 
is  it  you,  you  dogs  !  I'll  have  a  frisk  with  you."  He 
was  soon  dressed,  and  they  sallied  forth  together  into 
Covent  Garden,  where  the  greengrocers  and  fruiterers 
were  beginning  to  arrange  their  hampers,  just  come  in 
from  the  country.  Johnson  made  some  attempts  to  help 
them,  but  the  honest  gardeners  stared  so  at  his  figure  and 
manner,  and  odd  interference,  that  he  soon  saw  his 
services  were  not  relished.  They  then  repaired  to  one  of 
the  neighbouring  taverns,  and  made  a  bowl  of  that  liquor 
called  Bishop,  which  Johnson  had  always  liked,  while  in 
joyous  contempt  of  sleep,  from  which  he  had  been  roused, 
he  repeated  the  festive  lines — 

Short,  O  short  then  be  thy  reign 
And  give  us  to  the  world  again  ! 

They  did  not  stay  long,  but  walked  down  to  the  Thames, 
took  a  boat,  and  rowed  to  Billingsgate.  Beauclerk  and 
Johnson  were  so  well  pleased  with  their  amusement  that 
they  resolved  to  persevere  in  dissipation  for  the  rest  of 
the  day ;  but  Langton  deserted  them,  being  engaged  to 
breakfast  with  some  young  ladies.  Johnson  scolded  him 
for  "  leaving  his  social  friends  to  go  and  sit  with  a  set  of 
wretched  un-zdea'd  ^r\^."' 

Shortly  after  Beauclerk  must  have  left   college,  we 


I 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  287 

learn  by  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Montague's  that  this  lively  young 
gentleman  came  within  a  very  Httle  of  being  married. 
'  Mr.  Beauclerk,'  she  writes,  *  was  to  have  been  married 
to  Miss  Draycott,  but  by  a  certain  coldness  in  his  manner 
she  fancied  her  lead  mines  were  rather  the  objects  of  his 
love  than  herself,  and  so  after  the  licence  was  taken  out 
she  gave  him  his  conge.  Rosamond's  pond  was  never 
thought  of  by  the  forsaken  swain.  His  prudent  parents 
thought  of  the  transmutation  of  metals,  and  to  how  much 
gold  the  lead  might  have  been  changed,  and  rather  regret 
the  loss.' 

A  few  months  later  in  the  same  year  Beauclerk,  let  us 
hope  to  drive  away  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  bride,  went 
the  grand  tour.  Langton  accompanied  him,  at  all  events 
part  of  the  way.  Johnson  wrote  to  Mr.  Baretti  at  Milan, 
'  I  beg  that  you  will  show  Mr.  Beauclerk  all  the  civilities 
which  you  have  in  your  power,  for  he  has  always  been 
kind  to  me.'  Five  months  later  he  writes  to  the  same 
gentleman,  *  I  gave  a  letter  to  Mr.  Beauclerk,  who,  in  my 
opinion,  and  in  his  own,  was  hastening  to  Naples  for  the 
recovery  of  his  health;  but  he  has  stopped  at  Paris,  and 
I  know  not  when  he  will  proceed.'  In  George  Selwyn's 
Letters  we  read,  '  Topham  Beauclerk  is  arrived.  I  hear 
he  lost  ;^i 0,000  to  a  thief  at  Venice,  which  thief,  in  the 
course  of  the  year,  will  be   at  Cashiobury.'     Johnson, 


288  DR.   JOHNSON, 


wath  Beauclerk's  example  before  him,  had  certainly  some 
reason  for  saying  that  *  Time  may  be  employed  to  more 
advantage  from  nineteen  to  twenty-four  almost  in  any 
way  than  in  travelling/  ^ 

Beauclerk,  a  few  years  after  his  return,  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  repaying  the  civilities  he  had  received  from  Mr. 
Baretti.  That  gentleman  was  put  on  his  trial  for  murder. 
He  had  been  assailed  in  the  grossest  manner  possible  by 
a  woman  of  the  town,  and,  driving  her  ofif  with  a  blow, 
was  set  upon  by  three  bullies.  He  thereupon  ran  away 
in  great  fear,  for  he  was  a  timid  man,  and  being  pursued 
had  stabbed  two  of  the  men  with  a  small  knife  he  carried 
in  his  pocket.  One  of  them  died  within  a  few  hours  of 
the  wound.  In  his  defence  he  had  said,  '  I  hope  it  will 
be  seen  that  my  knife  was  neither  a  weapon  of  offence  nor 
defence.  I  wear  it  to  carve  fruit  and  sweetmeats,  and 
not  to  kill  my  fellow-creatures.'  It  was  important  to 
prove  that  abroad  everyone  carried  a  knife  as  a  matter  of 
course,  not  for  offensive  or  defensive  purposes,  but  simply 
for  convenience  in  eating.  The  Hon.  T.  Beauclerk  gave 
evidence  as  follows  : — 

'  In  France  they  never  lay  anything  upon  the  table 
but  a  fork,  not  only  in  the  inn?,  but  in  public-houses.  It 
is  usual  for  gentlemen  and  ladies  to  carry  knives  with 
^  See  page  io8. 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  289 

them  without  silver  blades.  I  have  seen  those  kind  of 
knives  in  toy-shops.'  (Baretti's  knife  had  a  *  silver  case 
over  the  blade,  and  was  kept  in  a  green  shagreen  case.') 
Garrick  testified  to  the  same  custom.  He  was  asked, 
^  When  you  travel  abroad  do  you  carry  such  knives  as 
this  ? '  He  answered,  '  Yes,  or  we  should  have  no  vic- 
tuals.' Had  Johnson  by  this  time  been  to  the  Hebrides, 
his  evidence  also  might  have  helped  to  confirm  the 
statement  of  his  friends.  In  a  letter  he  wrote  from  Skye 
to  Mrs.  Thrale  he  states,  '  Table-knives  are  not  of  long 
subsistence  in  the  Highlands ;  every  man,  while  arms 
were  a  regular  part  of  dress,  had  his  knife  and  fork 
appendant  to  his  dirk.' 

Beauclerk  also  bore  evidence  to  the  position  Baretti 
held  in  his  own  country.  He  was  asked,  *  How  long 
have  you  known  Mr.  Baretti  ? '  He  answered,  *  I  have 
known  him  ten  years.  I  was  acquainted  with  him  before 
I  went  abroad.  Some  time  after  that  I  went  to  Italy, 
and  he  gave  me  letters  of  recommendation  to  some  of 
the  first  people  there,  and  to  men  of  learning.  I  went  to 
Italy  the  time  the  Duke  of  York  did.  Unless  Mr.  Baretti 
had  been  a  man  of  consequence  he  could  never  have 
recommended  me  to  such  people  as  he  did.  He  is  a 
gentleman   of  letters,  and   a  studious   man.' 

In  1768  Beauclerk  married  the  eldest  daughter  of  the 
U 


290  DR,   JOHNSON. 

second  Duke  of  Marlborough,  two  days  after  her  divorce 
from  her  first  husband,  Frederick  Viscount  Bolingbroke, 
the  nephew  and  heir  of  the  great  Lord  Bolingbroke. 

Boswell  reports  a  conversation  with  Johnson,  which 
sets  forth  the  history  of  this  unhappy  affair.  '  While  we 
were  alone,'  he  writes,  '  I  endeavoured  as  well  as  I  could 
to  apologise  for  a  lady  who  had  been  divorced  from  her 
husband  by  Act  of  Parliament.  I  said  that  he  had  used 
her  very  ill,  had  behaved  brutally  to  her,  and  that  she 
could  not  continue  to  live  with  him  without  having  her 
delicacy  contaminated;  that  all  affection  for  him  was 
thus  destroyed ;  that  the  essence  of  conjugal  union  being 
gone,  there  remained  only  a  cold  form,  a  mere  civil  obli- 
gation ;  that  she  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  qualities 
to  produce  happiness  \  that  these  ought  not  to  be  lost  ; 
and  that  the  gentleman  on  whose  account  she  was 
divorced  had  gained  her  heart  while  thus  unhappily 
situated.  Seduced,  perhaps,  by  the  charms  of  the  lady 
in  question,  I  thus  attempted  to  palliate  what  I  was  sen- 
sible could  not  be  justified;  for  when  I  had  finished  my 
harangue,  my  venerable  friend  gave  me  a  proper  check. 
"  My  dear  Sir,  never  accustom  your  mind  to  mingle 

virtue  and  vice.     The  woman's  a ,  and  there's  an 

end  on't." '  As  Lady  Diana  Beauclerk  did  not  die  till  the 
year  1808,  she  lived  to  see  this  story,  so  slightly  veiled 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  291 

as  it  was  by  the  omission  of  names,  submitted  to  the 
world.  A  short  time  before  the  divorce  Horace  Walpole 
writes  :  '  Lady  Bohngbroke  has  declared  she  will  come 
into  waiting  on  Sunday  se'nnight ;  but  as  the  Queen  is 
likely  to  be  brought  to  bed  before  that  time,  this  may  be 
only  a  bravado.'  It  may  be  interesting  to  mention,  with 
a  view  to  help  us  towards  forming  a  kind  of  link  with  the 
past,  that  the  child  that  was  soon  after  born  to  the  Queen 
was  the  Duke  of  Kent,  the  father  of  Queen  Victoria. 

In  a  letter  written  to  Selwyn  by  Gilly  Williams  we 
read,  *  Lady  D.  Spencer  was  married  at  St.  George's  on 
Saturday  morning.  They  are  in  town  at  Topham's 
house,  and  give  dinners.  Lord  Ancram  dined  there 
yesterday,  and  called  her  nothing  but  Lady  Bolingbroke 
the  whole  time.'  In  another  letter  he  says,  'Topham 
goes  on  with  his  dinners.  Report  says  neither  of  them 
will  live  a  twelvemonth,  and  if  it  is  so,  their  life  ought  to 
be  a  merry  one.' 

Johnson  on  one  occasion  gave,  as  regards  this  mar- 
riage, an  instance  of  that  real  delicacy  of  mind  that 
beneath  all  his  outside  roughness  belonged  to  him  in  so 
high  a  degree.  He  was  talking  of  Blenheim,  and  said 
*he  should  be  very  glad  to  see  it,  if  properly  invited, 
which  in  all  probability  would  never  be  the  case,  as  it 
was  not  worth  his  while  to  seek  for  it.     I  observed '  (says 

U2 


29^  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Boswell)  *  that  he  might  be  easily  introduced  there  by  a 
common  friend  of  ours,  nearly  related  to  the  Duke.  He 
answered,  with  an  uncommon  attention  to  delicacy  of 
feeling,  "  I  doubt  whether  our  friend  be  on  such  a  footing 
with  the  Duke  as  to  carry  anybody  there ;  and  I  would 
not  give  him  the  uneasiness  of  seeing  that  I  knew  he  was 
not,  or  even  of  being  himself  reminded  of  it." ' 

Lady  Di  Beauclerk  in  her  second  marriage  seems  to 
have  been  a  faithful  and  devoted  wife,  though  her  faith- 
fulness and  her  devotion  met  with  but  a  poor  return. 
Miss  Bumey  in  the  following  passage  in  her  Diary 
gives  a  sad  account  of  her  married  life. 

*  From  the  window  of  the  dining-parlour.  Sir  Joshua 
directed  us  to  look  at  a  pretty  white  house  which 
belonged  to  Lady  Di  Beauclerk. 

* "  I  am  extremely  glad,"  said  Mr.  Burke,  "  to  see  her 
at  last  so  well  housed ;  poor  woman  !  the  bowl  has  long 
rolled  in  misery;  I  rejoice  that  it  has  now  found  its 
balance.  I  never,  myself,  so  much  enjoyed  the  sight  of 
happiness  in  another,  as  in  that  woman,  when  I  first  saw 
her  after  the  death  of  her  husband.  It  was  really  enliven- 
ing to  behold  her  placed  in  that  sweet  house,  released 
from  all  her  cares,  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  at  her  dis- 
posal, and — her  husband  was  dead  !  Oh,  it  was  pleasant, 
it  was  delightful  to  see  her  enjoyment  of  her  situation  ! " 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK.  293 

'  "  But,  without  considering  tiie  circumstances,"  said 
Mr.  Gibbon,  "  this  may  appear  very  strange,  though, 
when  they  are  fairly  stated,  it  is  perfectly  rational  and 
unavoidable." 

'  *'  Very  true,"  said  Mr.  Burke,  "  if  the  circumstances 
are  not  considered,  Lady  Di  may  seem  highly  reprehen- 
sible." 

'  He  then,  addressing  himself  particularly  to  me,  as 
the  person  least  likely  to  be  acquainted  with  the  character 
of  Mr.  Beauclerk,  drew  it  himself  in  strong  and  marked 
expressions,  describing  the  misery  he  gave  his  wife,  his 
singular  illtreatment  of  her,  and  the  necessary  relief  the 
death  of  such  a  man  must  give.' 

I  cannot  but  hope  that  there  may  have  been  some 
exaggeration  either  in  Burke's  statements  or  in  Miss 
Burney's  record  of  what  he  said.  If,  however.  Lady  Di 
Beauclerk  suffered  such  unkindness  from  her  husband, 
she  showed  no  resentment.  She  tended  him  to  the  last 
with  the  utmost  faithfulness  and  affection. 

Johnson  writes  to  Boswell  some  years  after  the  mar- 
riage, *  Poor  Beauclerk  is  so  ill  that  his  life  is  thought  to 
be  in  danger.  Lady  Di  nurses  him  with  very  great  as- 
siduity.' When  he  died  he  left  his  children  to  her  care  \ 
and,  if  she  died,  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Langton.  David 
Hume  describes  her  as  being  '  handsome,  agreeable,  and 


294  DR.   JOHNSON. 


ingenious  beyond  the  ordinary  rate/  Horace  Walpole 
often  speaks  in  very  high  terms  of  her  powers  as  an  artist. 

In  writing  of  a  portrait  she  had  drawn  of  the  Duchess 
of  Devonshire  he  says,  '  The  Hkeness  is  perfectly  pre- 
served, except  that  the  paintress  has  lent  her  own  expres- 
sion to  the  Duchess,  which  you  will  allow  is  very  agree- 
able flattery.  What  should  I  go  to  the  Royal  Academy 
for  ?  I  shall  see  no  such  chefs-cPceuvre  there.'  In  writing 
of  another  of  her  pictures  he  says,  *  Miss  Pope,  the 
actress,  dined  here  yesterday,  and  literally  shed  tears, 
though  she  did  not  know  the  story.  I  think  this  is  more 
to  Lady  Di's  credit  than  a  tom-tit  pecking  at  painted 
fruit.'  Mr.  Hardy,  in  his  '  Life  of  the  Earl  of  Charle- 
mont,'  says,  *  Lord  Charlemont  has  often  mentioned  to 
me  that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  frequently  declared  to  him 
that  many  of  her  ladyship's  drawings  might  be  studied  as 
models.' 

A  lively  letter  of  hers  to  George  Selwyn  is  given  in 
his  '■  Memoirs.'  She  is  staying  in  Bath  and  she  writes : 
*  The  fog  has  been  choking  me  all  the  morning,  and  now 
the  sun  is  blinding  me.  A  thousand  children  are  running 
by  the  windows.  I  should  like  to  whip  them  for  not 
being  mine.'  Boswell  bears  witness  to  her  pleasant 
conversations.*  It  was  from  her  he  won  a  small  bett 
*  See  page  162. 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK.  295 

{sic)  by  asking  Johnson  as  to  one  of  his  peculiarities, 
*  which  her  Ladyship  laid  I  durst  not  do.'  Both  Beau- 
clerk  and  Garrick  had  wondered  at  his  pocketing  at  the 
club  the  Seville  oranges  after  he  had  squeezed  out  the 
juice,  and  *  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  a  strange  unwil- 
lingness to  be  discovered.'  Boswell,  though  he  won  his 
*bett,'  did  not  succeed  in  learning  what  he  did  "^ith 
them. 

To  Beauclerk's  great  natural  powers,  and  to  his  fine 
scholarly  mind,  testimony  is  borne,  as  I  have  already 
said,  by  many  competent  witnesses.  Boswell,  in  describ- 
ing a  dinner  at  his  house,  says  :  *  Mr.  Beauclerk  was 
very  entertaining  this  day,  and  told  us  a  number  of  short 
stories  in  a  lively,  elegant  manner,  and  with  that  air  of 
the  world  which  has  I  know  not  what  impressive  effect, 
as  if  there  were  something  more  than  is  expressed,  or 
than  perhaps  we  could  perfectly  understand.  As  Johnson 
and  I  accompanied  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  in  his  coach, 
Johnson  said  :  "  There  is  in  Beauclerk  a  predominance 
over  his  company  that  one  does  not  like.  But  he  is  a 
man  who  has  lived  so  much  in  the  world  that  he  has  a 
short  story  on  every  occasion ;  he  is  always  ready  to  talk, 
and  is  never  exhausted.'"  Langton,  in  a  letter  to  Bos- 
well, gives  further  proof  of  the  way  in  which  his  extra- 
ordinary powers  were  regarded  by  Johnson : — 


296  DR.   JOHNSON. 


'  The  melancholy  information  you  have  received  con- 
cerning Mr.  Beauclerk's  death  is  true.  Had  his  talents 
been  directed  in  any  sufficient  degree,  as  they  ought,  1 
have  always  been  strongly  of  opinion  that  they  were  cal 
culated  to  make  an  illustrious  figure;  and  that  opinion, 
as  it  had  been  in  part  formed  upon  Dr.  Johnson's  judg- 
ment, receives  more  and  more  confirmation  by  hearing 
what,  since  his  death.  Dr.  Johnson  has  said  concerning 
them.  A  few  evenings  ago  he  was  at  Mr.  Vesey's,  where 
Lord  Althorpe,  who  was  one  of  a  numerous  company 
there,  addressed  Dr.  Johnson  on  the  subject  of  Mr. 
Beauclerk's  death,  saying,  "Our  club  has  had  a  great  loss 
since  we  met  last."  He  replied,  "  A  loss  that  perhaps 
the  whole  nation  could  not  repair."  The  Doctor  then 
went  on  to  speak  of  his  endowments,  and  particularly 
extolled  the  wonderful  ease  with  which  he  uttered  what 
was  highly  excellent.  He  said  that  no  man  ever  was  so 
free  when  he  was  going  to  say  a  good  thing  from  a  look 
that  expressed  that  it  was  coming ;  or,  when  he  had  said 
it,  from  a  look  that  expressed  that  it  had  come.  At  Mr. 
Thrale's,  some  days  before,  when  we  were  talking  on  the 
same  subject,  he  said,  referring  to  the  same  idea  of  his 
wonderful  facility,  "that  Beauclerk's  talents  were  those 
which  he  had  felt  himself  more  disposed  to  envy  than 
those  of  any  whom  he  had  known."  '     And  yet  what 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  297 

great  men  he  had  known  !  On  an  earlier  occasion, 
when  Boswell  had  remarked  to  Johnson  that  '  Beauclerk 
has  a  keenness  of  mind  which  is  very  uncommon ; '  John- 
son repHed,  '  Yes,  Sir !  and  everything  comes  from  him 
so  easily.  It  appears  to  me  that  I  labour  when  I  say  a 
good  thing.'  Boswell  replied,  '  You  are  loud,  Sir  ;  but  it 
is  not  an  effort  of  mind.'  Dean  Barnard,  in  those  admir- 
able verses  with  which  he  so  wittily  rebuked  Johnson's 
rudeness,  shows  the  opinion  held  by  no  mean  judge  of 
conversation  of  Beauclerk's  powers  : 

If  I  have  thoughts  and  can't  express  'em, 
Gibbon  shall  teach  me  how  to  dress  'em 

In  terms  select  and  terse  ; 
Jones  teach  me  modesty  and  Greek  ; 
Smith,  how  to  think  ;  Burke,  how  to  speak  ; 

And  Beauclerk  to  converse. 

Hawkins  writes,  *His  conversation  was  of  the  most 
excellent  kind ;  learned,  witty,  polite,  ^nd  where  the  sub- 
ject required  it  serious;  and  over  all  his  behaviour  there 
beamed  such  a  sunshine  of  cheerfulness  and  good 
humour  as  communicated  itself  to  all  around  him.' 
Lord  Charlemont,  who  was  a  member  of  the  Literary 
Club  and  knew  him  well,  said  that  '  he  possessed  an 
exquisite  taste,  various  accomplishments,  and  the  most  per- 
fect good  breeding.     He  was  eccentric,  often  querulous. 


298  DR.   JOHNSON. 


entertaining  a  contempt  for  the  generality  of  the  world, 
which  the  politeness  of  his  manners  could  not  always 
conceal;  but  to  those  whom  he  liked,  most  generous  and 
friendly.  Devoted  at  one  time  to  pleasure,  at  another 
to  literature,  sometimes  absorbed  in  play,  sometimes  in 
books,  he  was  altogether  one  of  the  most  accomplished 
and,  when  in  good  humour  and  surrounded  by  those  who 
suited  his  fancy,  one  of  the  most  agreeable  men  that 
could  possibly  exist/  Wilkes,  in  a  marginal  note  in  his 
copy  of  Boswell's  'Johnson,'  describes  Beauclerk  as  being 
*  shy,  sly,  and  dry.' 

Miss  Burney  speaks  of  him  as  *  that  celebrated  wit 
and  libertine/  It  is  a  pity  that  so  admirable  a  talker 
had  not  his  Boswell,  though,  perhaps,  much  of  what  he 
said  depended  to  a  very  great  extent  on  the  manner  in 
which  he  said  it.  Lord  Pembroke  said,  with  perhaps 
more  wit  than  truth,  that  *  Dr.  Johnson's  sayings  would 
not  appear  so  extraordinary  were  it  not  for  his  bow-wow 
way^  There  are,  however,  very  few  talkers  whose  con- 
versation if  written  down  would  still  strike  us  with  won- 
der. I  have  gathered  together  the  few  good  sayings  of 
Beauclerk  that  I  have  been  able  to  find.  When  John- 
son got  his  pension,  Beauclerk  said  to  him  in  the 
humourous  phrase  of  Falstaff,  '  I  hope  you'll  now  purge 
and  live  cleanly  like  a  gentleman.'     Boswell  gives  the 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK.  299 

following  account  which  he  received  from  Beauclerk  of  a 
curious  affair  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Hervey. 
'  Tom  Hervey  had  a  great  liking  for  Johnson,  and  in  his 
will  had  left  him  a  legacy  of  fifty  pounds.  One  day  he 
said  to  me,  "  Johnson  may  want  this  money  now  more 
than  afterwards.  I  have  a  mind  to  give  it  him  directly. 
Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  carry  a  fifty-pound  note  from 
me  to  him  ? "  This  I  positively  refused  to  do,  as  he 
might,  perhaps,  have  knocked  me  down  for  insulting  him, 
and  have  afterwards  put  the  note  in  his  pocket.'  Boswell 
repeated  this  story,  with  certain  other  circumstances  into 
which  it  is  not  necessary  to  enter  here,  to  Johnson. 
Afterwards  he  wrote  to  tell  Johnson  that  he  had  become 
very  uneasy  lest  his  having  done  so  *  might  be  interpreted 
as  a  breach  of  confidence,  and  offend  one  whose  society 

he  valued.'    Johnson  wrote  back,  '  I  have  seen  Mr. , 

and  as  to  him,  have  set  all  right  without  any  incon- 
venience, as  far  as  I  know,  to  you.  Mrs.  Thrale  had 
forgot  the  story.     You  may  now  be  at  ease.' 

Mr.  Croker  says  that  there  is  reason  to  fear  that  this 
mention  of  Beauclerk's  name  by  Boswell  impaired  the 
cordiality  between  Beauclerk  and  Johnson. 

It  was  Beauclerk  who,  when  he  heard  that  Tom 
Davies  clapped  Moody  the  player  on  his  back,  when  in 
an  argument  that  was  going  on  '  he  once  tried  to  say 


300  DR.   JOHNSON. 


something  upon  our  side/ exclaimed  'he  could  not  conceive 
a  more  humiliating  situation  than  to  be  clapped  on  the 
back  by  Tom  Davies.'  A  few  days  after  this,  a  discus- 
sion was  going  on  as  to  the  belief  in  immortahty. 
Boswell  writes  :  '  I  said  it  appeared  to  me  that  some 
people  had  not  the  least  notion  of  immortality,  and  I 
mentioned  a  distinguished  gentleman  of  our  acquaintance. 
yohnson :  "  Sir,  if  it  were  not  for  the  notion  of  immor- 
tality, he  would  cut  a  throat  to  fill  his  pockets."  When  I 
quoted  this  to  Beauclerk,'  Boswell  goes  on  to  add,  '  who 
knew  much  more  of  the  gentleman  than  we  did,  he  said, 
in  his  acid  manner,  "  He  would  cut  a  throat  to  fill  his 
pockets,  if  it  were  not  for  fear  of  being  hanged." '  John- 
son, as  we  read  on  another  occasion,  *  thought  Mr. 
Beauclerk  made  a  shrewd  and  judicious  remark  to  Mr. 
Langton,  who  after  having  been  for  the  first  time  in  com- 
pany with  a  well-known  wit  about  town,  was  warmly  ad- 
miring and  praising  him, — "  See  him  again,"  said  Beau- 
clerk.'  '  In  the  only  instance  remembered  of  Goldsmith's 
practice  as  a  physician,'  as  we  read  in  Mr.  Forster's 
interesting  Life,  *  it  one  day  happened  that,  his  opinion 
differing  somewhat  from  the  apothecary's  in  attendance, 
the  lady  thought  her  apothecary  the  safer  counsellor,  and 
Goldsmith  quitted  the  house  in  high  indignation.  He 
would  leave  off  prescribing  for  his  friends,  he  said.    "Do 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  301 

so,  my  dear  Doctor,"  observed  Beauclerk.     "  Whenever 
you  undertake  to  kill,  let  it  only  be  your  enemies." ' 

A  hot  discussion,  not  the  only  one  of  its  kind,  one 
day  arose  between  Beauclerk  and  Johnson,  which  Beau- 
clerk  closed  by  an  admirable  saying.  '  It  was  mentioned 
that  Dr.  Dodd  had  once  wished  to  be  a  member  of  the 
Literary  Club. 

*  yohnson :  "  I  should  be  sorry  if  any  of  our  club 
were  hanged.   I  will  not  say  but  some  of  them  deserve  it." 

*  Beauclerk  (supposing  this  to  be  aimed  at  persons 
for  whom  he  had  at  that  time  a  wonderful  fancy,  which, 
however,  did  not  last  long)  was  irritated,  and  eagerly 
said,  "You,  Sir,  have  a  friend  (naming  him)  who  deserves 
to  be  hanged,  for  he  speaks  behind  their  backs  against 
those  with  whom  he  lives  on  the  best  terms,  and  attacks 
them  in  the  newspapers.  He  certainly  ought  to  be 
kicked:' 

'  yohnson :  "  Sir,  we  all  do  this  in  some  degree, 
veniam  petimus  damusque  victssim.  To  be  sure  it  may  be 
done  so  much  that  a  man  may  deserve  to  be  kicked." 

*  Beauclerk  :  "  He  is  very  malignant." 

'  yohnson  :  "  No,  Sir,  he  is  not  malignant.  He  is 
mischievous,  if  you  will.  He  would  do  no  man  an  essen- 
tial injury ;  he  may,  indeed,  love  to  make  sport  of  people 
by  vexing  their  vanity.     I,  however,  once  knew  an  old 


302  DR.   JOHNSON. 


gentleman  who  was  absolutely  malignant.  He  really 
wished  evil  to  others,  and  rejoiced  at  it." 

^ Boswell  \  "The  gentleman,  Mr.  Beauclerk,  against 
whom  you  are  so  violent,  is,  I  know,  a  man  of  good 
principles." 

*  Beauclerk :  "  Then  he  does  not  wear  them  out  in 
practice." ' 

Boswell  in  one  instance  tries  to  give  his  readers  a 
conception  of  Beauclerk's  manner  of  telling  a  story.  He 
writes  :  *  Here  let  me  not  forget  a  curious  anecdote,  as 
related  to  me  by  Mr.  Beauclerk,  which  I  shall  endeavour 
to  exhibit  as  well  as  I  can  in  that  gentleman's  lively 
manner ;  and  in  justice  to  him  it  is  proper  to  add  that 
Dr.  Johnson  told  me  that  I  might  rely  both  on  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  memory  and  the  fidelity  of  his  narrative. 
"  When  Madame  de  Boufflers  was  first  in  England  (said 
Beauclerk)  she  was  desirous  to  see  Johnson.  I  accord- 
ingly went  with  her  to  his  chambers  in  the  Temple, 
where  she  was  entertained  with  his  conversation  for  some 
time.  When  our  visit  was  over,  she  and  I  left  him  and 
were  got  into  Inner  Temple  Lane,  when  all  at  once  I 
heard  a  voice  like  thunder.  This  was  occasioned  by 
Johnson,  who,  it  seems,  upon  a  little  reflection,  had 
taken  it  into  his  head  that  he  ought  to  have  done  the 
honours  of  his  literary  residence   to  a  foreign  lady  of 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK.  303 

quality,  and  eager  to  show  himself  a  man  of  gallantry,  was 
hurrying  down  the  staircase  in  violent  agitation.  He  over- 
took us  before  we  reached  the  Temple  Gate,  and  brushing 
in  between  me  and  Madame  de  Boufflers,  seized  her  hand 
and  conducted  her  to  her  coach.  His  dress  was  a  rusty- 
brown  morning  suit,  a  pair  of  old  shoes  by  way  of  slippers, 
a  little  shrivelled  wig  sticking  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and 
the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  and  the  knees  of  his  breeches  hang- 
ing loose.  A  considerable  crowd  of  people  gathered  round, 
and  were  not  a  little  struck  by  this  singular  appearance." ' 
Boswell  records  'a  violent  altercation  that  arose 
between  Johnson  and  Beauclerk,  which,'  he  writes,  *  hav- 
ing 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  Hack  man  (the  Rev. 
Mr.  Hackman,  who  in  a  fit  of  frantic  jealous  love  had 
shot  Miss  Ray),  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.  Beau- 
clerk  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 's  cook  shot  himself  ^vith 

one  pistol,  and  lived  ten  days  in  great  agony.     Mr. , 

who  loved  buttered  muffins,  but  durst  not  eat  them  be- 
cause they  disagreed  with  his  stomach,  resolved  to  shoot 


304  DR.   JOHNSON. 


himself ;  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  ;  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  /  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,  two 
men  of  the  world  with  whom  he  had  never  dined  before. 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  305 

he  was  apprehensive  that  they  might  think  they  had  a 
right  to  take  such  Hberties  with  him  as  Beauclerk  did, 
and  therefore  resolved  he  would  not  let  it  pass  j  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  ofyo?^,  Sir." 

'  jfohnson  :  "  Sir,  you  have  given  me  opportunities 
enough  of  learning,  when  I  have  been  in  yoicr  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  neces- 
sary." 

*  Thus  it  ended ;  and  Beauclerk's  coach  not  having 
come  for  him  till  very  late,  Dr.  Johnson  and  another 
gentleman  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^nnight  following.' 

Johnson  on  another  occasion  showed  a  certain  irrita- 
bility towards  Beauclerk.     Boswell,   in  speaking  of  the 


3o6  DR.   JOHNSON. 


projected  journey  to  Italy  with  the  Thrales,  writes:  'I 
mentioned  that  Mr  Beauclerk  had  said  that  Baretti, 
whom  they  were  to  carry  with  them,  would  keep  them  so 
long  in  the  little  towns  of  his  own  district,  that  they 
would  not  have  time  to  see  Rome.  I  mentioned  this  to 
put  them  on  their  guard,  yohnson  :  "  Sir,  we  do  not 
thank  Mr.  Beauclerk  for  supposing  that  we  are  to  be 
directed  by  Mr.  Baretti." ' 

In  the  chapter  on  '  Bennet  Langton '  I  have  quoted 
the  happily  chosen  quotation  that  Beauclerk  had  put  on 
Johnson's  portrait.  No  less  happy  was  he  in  the  inscrip- 
tion from  Lovers  Lab oitr^s  Lost,  which  he  placed  under  the 
portrait  of  Garrick.  '  Mr.  Beauclerk,'  as  Boswell  writes, 
*  with  happy  propriety,  inscribed  under  that  fine  portrait 
of  him,  which  by  Lady  Diana's  kindness  is  now  the  pro- 
perty 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,  &c.' 

In  the  Life  of  Lord  Charlemont  are  given  a  few 
letters  by  Beauclerk  written  in  a  very  lively  manner. 
Langton,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  said  that  if  his 
friend's  talents  had  been  directed  as  they  ought,  they 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK.  307 

were  calculated  to  make  an  illustrious  figure.  Beauclerk 
in  these  letters  shows  that  he  himself  is  fully  aware  of  his 
own  indolence.  He  apologises  for  his  neglect  in  '  keeping 
up  an  intercourse  with  one  for  whom  I  shall  always 
retain  the  greatest  and  tenderest  regard,'  and  lays  the 
blame  on  *  that  insuperable  idleness,  which  accompanies 
me  through  life,  which  not  only  prevents  me  from  doing 
what  I  ought,  but  likewise  from  enjoying  my  greatest 
pleasure,  where  anything  is  to  be  done.'  Later  on  he 
writes,  saying  he  has  been  very  ill,  but  he  goes  on  to  add, 
'  in  spite  of  my  doctor,  or  nature  itself,  I  will  very  soon 
pay  you  a  visit.  Business,  it  is  true,  I  have  none  to  keep 
me  here;  but  you  forget  that  1  have  business  in  Lan- 
cashire, and  that  I  must  go  there  when  I  come  to  you.' 
(Lord  Charlemont  was  in  Ireland.)  '  Now,  you  will 
please  to  recollect  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  I  so 
entirely  hate  as  business  of  any  kind,  and  that  I  pay  you 
the  greatest  compliment  I  can  do  when  I  risque  the 
meeting  with  my  own  confounded  affairs  in  order  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you ;  but  this  I  am  resolved 
to  do.' 

He  owns  his  detestation  of  politics  and  politicians. 
He  writes,  in  a  letter  dated  Muswell  Hill,  Summer  Quar- 
ters, July  18,  1774:  'Why  should  you  be  vexed  to  find 
that  mankind  are  fools  and  knaves  ?     I  have  known  it  so 


3o8  DR.   JOHNSON. 


long  that  every  fresh  instance  of  it  amuses  me,  provided 
it  does  not  immediately  affect  my  friends  or  myself. 
Politicians  do  not  seem  to  me  to  be  much  greater  rogues 
than  other  people  j  and  as  their  actions  affect  in  general 
private  persons  less  than  other  kinds  of  villainy  do,  I 
cannot  find  that  I  am  so  angry  with  them.  It  is  true 
that  the  leading  men  in  both  countries  at  present  are,  I 
believe,  the  most  corrupt,  abandoned  people  in  the 
nation;  but,  now  that  I  am  upon  this  worthy  subject  of 
human  nature,  I  will  inform  you  of  a  few  particulars 
relating  to  the  discovery  of  Otaheite,  which  Dr.  Hawkes- 
worth  said  placed  the  King  above  all  the  conquerors  in 
the  world ;  and  if  the  glory  is  to  be  estimated  by  the 
mischief,  I  do  not  know  whether  he  is  not  right.  When 
Wallis  first  anchored  off  the  island,  two  natives  came 
alongside  of  the  ship,  without  fear  or  distrust,  to  barter 
their  goods  with  our  people.  A  man,  called  the  boat- 
keeper,  who  was  in  a  boat  that  was  tied  to  the  ship, 
attempted  to  get  the  things  from  them  without  payment. 
The  savages  resisted,  and  he  struck  one  of  them  with  the 
boat-hook,  upon  which  they  immediately  paddled  away. 
In  the  morning  great  numbers  came  in  canoes  of  all  sizes 
about  the  ship.  They  behaved,  however,  in  the  most 
peaceable  manner,  still  offering  to  exchange  their  com- 
modities for  anything  that  they  could   obtain  from  us. 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK,  309 

The  same  trick  was  played  by  attempting  to  take  away 
their  things  by  force.  This  enraged  them,  and  they  had 
come  prepared  to  defend  themselves  with  such  weapons 
as  they  had;  they  immediately  began  to  fling  stones,  one 
of  which  went  into  the  cabin  window.  Wallis  on  this 
ordered  that  the  guns,  loaded  with  grape-shot,  should  be 
fired.  This,  you  may  imagine,  immediately  dispersed 
them.  Some  were  drowned,  many  killed,  and  some  few 
got  on  shore,  where  numbers  of  the  natives  were  assem- 
bled. Wallis  then  ordered  the  great  guns  to  be  played, 
according  to  his  phrase,  upon  them.  This  drove  them 
off",  when  he  still  ordered  the  same  pastime  to  be  con- 
tinued in  order  to  convince  them,  as  he  says,  that  our 
arms  could  reach  them  at  such  a  distance.  If  you  add 
to  this  that  the  inhabitants  of  all  these  islands  are  eat  up 
with  vile  disorders,  you  will  find  that  men  may  be  much 
worse  employed  than  by  doing  the  dirtiest  job  that  ever 
was  undertaken  by  the  lowest  of  our  clerk-ministers.' 

Beauclerk  might  write  that  'every  year,  every  hour, 
adds  to  my  misanthropy,  and  I  have  had  a  pretty  consi- 
derable share  of  it  for  some  years  past ; '  but  the  generous 
indignation  that  blazes  forth  in  this  letter  of  his  belongs 
to  any  one  rather  than  a  misanthrope.  It  was  in  such 
feelings  as  these^  as  well  as  in  their  literary  pursuits,  that 
he  and  Johnson  had  so  much  in  common.     My  readers 


/ 


310  DR.   JOHNSON. 


will  remember  Johnson's  hatred  of  every  kind  of  oppres- 
sion of  the  less  civilized  races,  and  how,  'upon  one 
occasion,  when  in  company  with  some  very  grave  men  at 
Oxford,  his  toast  was,  "  Here's  to  the  next  insurrection  of 
the  negroes  in  the  West  Indies." '  Another  time  he  said, 
with  'great  emotion  and  with  generous  warmth,  "  I  love 
the  University  of  Salamanca ;  for  when  the  Spaniards 
were  in  doubt  as  to  the  lawfulness  of  their  conquering 
America,  the  University  of  Salamanca  gave  it  as  their 
opinion  that  it  was  not  lawful." '  In  a  letter  written  a 
year  earlier  than  Beauclerk's,  he  says,  "  I  do  not  much 
wish  well  to  discoveries,  for  I  am  always  afraid  they  will 
end  in  conquest  and  robbery.' 

Beauclerk's  letters  are  very  interesting  from  the  fre- 
quent mention  made  in  them  of  the  other  members  of 
the  club.  He  writes  :  '  Why  should  fortune  have  placed 
our  paltry  concerns  in  two  different  islands?  If  we 
could  keep  them,  they  are  not  worth  one  hour's  conver- 
sation at  Elmsly's  (the  bookseller).  If  life  is  good  for 
anything,  it  is  only  made  so  by  the  society  of  those  whom 
we  love.  At  all  events  I  will  try  to  come  to  Ireland,  and 
shall  take  no  excuse  from  you  for  not  coming  early  in  the 
winter  to  London.  The  club  exists  but  by  your  pre- 
sence; the  flourishing  of  learned  men  is  the  glory  of  the 
State.     Mr.  Vesey  will  tell  you  that  our  club  consists  of 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK,  311 

the  greatest  men  in  the  world,  consequently  you  see  there 
is  a  good  and  patriotic  reason  for  you  to  return  to  England 
in  the  winter.  Pray  make  my  best  respects  to  Lady 
Charlemont  and  Miss  Hickman,  and  tell  them  I  wish 
they  were  at  this  moment  sitting  at  the  door  of  our  ale- 
house in  Gerrard  Street.'  (The  Turk's  Head  Tavern, 
where  the  Literary  Club  met,  was  in  that  street.)  Later 
on  he  writes  :  *  Our  poor  club  is  in  a  miserable  decay; 
unless  you  come  and  relieve  it,  it  will  certainly  expire. 
Would  you  imagine  that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  is  extremely 
anxious  to  be  a  member  of  Almack's?  You  see  what 
noble  ambition  will  make  a  man  attempt.  That  den  is 
not  yet  opened,  consequently  I  have  not  been  there ; 
so,  for  the  present,  I  am  clear  upon  that  score.'  He  ends 
his  letter  by  saying,  '  We  cannot  do  without  you.  If  you 
do  not  come  here,  I  will  bring  all  the  club  over  to  Ireland 
to  live  with  you,  and  that  will  drive  you  here  in  your  own 
defence.  Johnson  shall  spoil  your  books.  Goldsmith  pull 
your  flowers,  and  Boswell  talk  to  you  :  stay  then  if  you 
can.' 

At  a  later  date  he  writes :  *  Our  club  has  dwindled  away 
to  nothing.  Nobody  attends  but  Mr.  Chambers,  and  he 
is  going  to  the  East  Indies.  Sir  Joshua  and  Goldsmith 
have  got  into  such  a  round  of  pleasures  that  they  have 
no  time.'     Poor  Goldsmith's  round  ended  in  less  than 


312  DR.   JOHNSON. 


two  months  after  this  letter  was  written.  In  an  eariier 
letter  we  read,  *  I  have  been  but  once  at  the  club  since 
you  left  England;  we  were  entertained  as  usual  by  Dr. 
Goldsmith's  absurdity.'  *  Goldsmith,'  he  writes  in  another 
letter,  ^  the  other  day  put  a  paragraph  into  the  newspapers 
in  praise  of  Lord  Mayor  Townshend.  The  same  night  we 
happened  to  sit  next  to  Lord  Shelbume  at  Drury  Lane ; 
I  mentioned  the  circumstance  of  the  paragraph  to  him ; 
he  said  to  Goldsmith  that  he  hoped  that  he  had  men- 
tioned nothing  about  Malagrida  in  it.  "  Do  you  know," 
answered  Goldsmith,  "  that  I  never  could  conceive  the 
reason  why  they  call  you  Malagrida,  for  Malagrida  was  a 
very  good  sort  of  man."  You  see  plainly  what  he  meant 
to  say,  but  that  happy  turn  of  expression  is  peculiar  to 
himself.  Mr.  Walpole  says,  that  this  story  is  a  picture  of 
Goldsmith's  whole  life.  Johnson  has  been  confined  for 
some  weeks  in  the  Isle  of  Sky ;  we  hear  that  he  was 
obliged  to  swim  over  to  the  mainland  taking  hold  of  a 
cow's  tail.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Lady  Di  has  promised  to 
make  a  drawing  of  it.'  A  few  weeks  later  he  writes  :  *  I 
hope  your  Parliament  has  finished  all  its  absurdities,  and 
that  you  will  be  at  leisure  to  come  over  here  to  attend 
your  club,  where  you  will  do  much  more  good  than  all 
the  patriots  in  the  world  ever  did  to  anybody,  viz.,  you 
will  make  very  many  of  your  friends  extremely  happy, 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK.  313 

and  you  know  Goldsmith  ^  has  informed  us  that  no  form 
of  government  ever  contributed  either  to  the  happiness 
or  misery  of  anyone.  I  saw  a  letter  from  Foote,  with  an 
account  of  an  Irish  tragedy;  the  subject  is  Manlius,  and 
the  last  speech  which  he  makes,  when  he  is  pushed  off  from 
the  Tarpeian  Rock,  is  "Sweet  Jesus,  where  am  I  going?  " 
Pray  send  me  word  if  this  is  true.  We  have  a  new 
comedy  here'  ('  The  School  for  Wives '),  'which  is  good  for 
nothing ;  bad  as  it  is,  however,  it  succeeds  very  well,  and 
has  almost  killed  Goldsmith  with  envy.  I  have  no  news 
either  literary  or  political,  to  send  you.  Everybody, 
except  myself,  and  about  a  million  of  vulgars,  are  in  the 
country.'  He  gives  an  amusing  account  of  a  naval 
review.  *  I  have  been  at  the  review  at  Portsmouth.  If 
you  had  seen  it  you  would  have  owned  that  it  is  a  very 

pleasant  thing  to  be  a  king.     It  is  true, made  a  job 

of  the  claret  to ,  who  furnished  the  first  tables  with 

vinegar  under  that  denomination.  Charles  Fox  said,  that 
Lord  S — wich  should  have  been  impeached ;  what  an 
abominable  world  do  we  live  in,  that  there  should  not  be 
above  half-a-dozen  honest  men  in  the  world,  and  that 

^  How  small  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure 

That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure. 

The  Traveller. 

These  lines  were  really  written  by  Johnson,  not  by  Goldsmith. 


314  DR.   JOHNSON. 


one  of  those  should  Hve  in  Ireland.  You  will,  perhaps, 
be  shocked  at  the  small  portion  of  honesty  that  I  allot  to 
your  country ;  but  a  sixth  part  is  as  much  as  comes  to 
its  share  ;  and,  for  anything  I  know  to  the  contrary,  the 
other  five  may  be  in  Ireland  too,  for  I  am  sure  I  do  not 
know  where  else  to  find  them.' 

I  will  give  but  one  more  extract  from  these  inter- 
esting letters.  He  writes,  '  I  can  now  give  you  a  better 
reason  for  not  writing  sooner  to  you  than  for  any  other 
thing  that  I  ever  did  in  my  life.  When  Sir  Charles 
Bingham  came  from  Ireland,  I,  as  you  may  easily  ima- 
gine, immediately  enquired  after  you  ;  he  told  me  that 
you  were  very  well,  but  in  great  affliction,  having  just 
lost  your  child.  You  cannot  conceive  how  I  was  shocked 
with  this  news ;  not  only  by  considering  what  you 
suffered  on  this  occasion,  but  I  recollected  that  a  foolish 
letter  of  mine,  laughing  at  your  Irish  politics,  would 
arrive  just  at  that  point  of  time.  A  bad  joke  at  any 
time  is  a  bad  thing;  but  when  any  attempt  at  pleasantry 
happens  at  a  moment  that  a  person  is  in  great  affliction, 
it  certainly  is  the  most  odious  thing  in  the  world.  I 
could  not  write  to  you  to  comfort  you ;  you  will  not 
wonder,  therefore,  that  I  did  not  write  at  all.' 

The  great  width  of  Beauclerk's  reading  is  shown  by 
the  size  and  variety  of  his  library,  which  was  sold  after 


TOP  HAM  BEAUCLERK,  315 

his  death.  A  copy  of  the  catalogue  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
British  Museum.  The  title-page  is  as  follows  :  '  Biblio- 
theca  selectissima  et  elegantissima  Pemobilis  Angli,  T. 
Beauclerk,  S.R.S.  Price  three  shillings.  Comprehending 
an  excellent  choice  of  Books,  to  the  number  of  upwards 
of  thirty  thousand  volumes,  in  most  languages,  and  upon 
almost  every  branch  of  science  and  polite  literature, 
which  will  be  sold  on  Monday  April  9,  1781,  and  the 
forty-nine  following  days  (Good  Friday  excepted).'  Two 
days'  sale  were  given  to  the  works  on  divinity,  including 
'  Heterodoxi  et  Increduli.  Angl.  Freethinkers  and  their 
opponents  \ '  six  days  to  '  Itineraria.  Angl.  Voyages  and 
Travels ; '  and  twelve  days  to  historical  works. 

Boswell  records  that  '  Mr.  Wilkes  said  he  wondered 
to  find  in  Mr.  Beauclerk's  library  such  a  numerous 
collection  of  sermons,  seeming  to  think  it  strange  that  a 
gentleman  of  Mr.  Beauclerk's  character  in  the  gay  world 
should  have  chosen  to  have  many  compositions  of  that 
kind.  Johnson  :  "  Why,  Sir,  you  are  to  consider  that 
sermons  make  a  considerable  branch  of  English  literature, 
so  that  a  library  must  be  very  imperfect  if  it  has  not  a 
numerous  collection  of  sermons  ;  and  in  all  collections, 
Sir,  the  desire  of  augmenting  them  grows  stronger  in 
proportion  to  the  advance  in  acquisition,  as  motion  is 
accelerated  by  the  continuance  of  the  impetus.     Besides^ 


3i6    •  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Sir  (looking  at  Mr.  Wilkes  with  a  placid  but  significant 
smile),  a  man  may  collect  sermons  with  intention  of  making 
himself  better  by  them.  I  hope  Mr.  Beauclerk  intended 
that  some  time  or  other  that  should  be  the  case  with  him.'" ' 

Beauclerk  was  especially  eager  in  scientific  researches. 
In  the  University  which  Johnson  and  Boswell  amused 
themselves  with  founding  in  the  air,  Beauclerk  was  to 
have  the  Chair  of  Natural  Philosophy.  Goldsmith  writes, 
^  I  see  Mr.  Beauclerk  very  often  both  in  town  and  country. 
He  is  now  going  directly  forward  to  become  a  second 
Boyle  :  deep  in  chymistry  and  physics.'  Boswell,  in  a 
letter  to  his  fi^iend  Temple,  says,  '  He  has  one  of  the  most 
numerous  and  splendid  private  libraries  that  I  ever  saw ; 
greenhouses,  hothouses,  observatory,  laboratory  for  chy- 
mical  experiments,  in  short,  everything  princely.' 

To  all  this  eagerness  after  knowledge,  and  this 
delight  in  one  of  the  most  uncourtly  of  men,  Beauclerk 
*added  the  character  of  a  man  of  fashion,  of  which  his 
dress  and  equipage  showed  him  to  be  emulous.  In  the 
early  period  of  his  life  he  was  the  exemplar  of  all  who 
wished,  without  incurring  the  censure  of  foppery,  to 
become  conspicuous  in  the  gay  world.'  In  'Selwyn's 
Letters,'  we  read  that  '  Madame  Pitt  (sister  to  Lord 
Chatham)  met  with  an  accident  (a  sprained  leg)  leaning 
on  Topham  as  she  was  stepping  out  of  her  chaise,  and 


TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK.  317 

swears  she  will  trust  to  the  shoulders  of  no  Macaroni  for 
the  future.'  Johnson's  name  for  him  of  Beau  fitted  him 
very  well. 

Beauclerk's  health  seems  never  to  have  been  vigorous, 
and  he  suffered  a  great  deal  at  times.  His  temperament, 
however,  was  a  very  happy  one.  Johnson  one  day 
talking  of  melancholy  said,  '  Some  men,  and  very  think- 
ing men  too,  have  not  those  vexing  thoughts.  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  is  the  same  all  the  year  round. 
Beauclerk,  except  when  ill  and  in  pain,  is  the  same.' 
In  spite  of  occasional  altercations  the  affection  between 
the  men  was  very  strong.  '  As  Beauclerk  and  I  walked 
up  Johnson's  Court,'  writes  Boswell,  *  I  said,  "I  have 
a  veneration  for  this  court  j  "  and  was  glad  to  find  that 
Beauclerk  had  the  same  reverential  enthusiasm.'  John- 
son in  his  turn  often  showed  his  high  regard  for 
Beauclerk.  '  One  evening,'  says  Boswell,  *  when  we  were 
in  the  street  together,  and  I  told  him  I  was  going  to 
sup  at  Mr.  Beauclerk's,  he  said,  "  I'll  go  with  you." 
After  having  walked  part  of  the  way,  seeming  to  recollect 
something,  he  suddenly  stopped  and  said,  "  I  cannot  go, 
but  I  do  not  love  Beauclerk  the  less."  ' 

'Johnson's  affection  for  Topham  Beauclerk,'  Boswell 
says  in  another  passage,  *  was  so  great,  that  when  Beau- 
clerk was  labouring  under  that  severe  illness  which  at 


3i8  DR.  JOHNSON. 


last  occasioned  his  death,  Johnson  said  (with  a  voice 
faultering  with  emotion),  "Sir,  I  would  walk  to  the  extent 
of  the  diameter  of  the  earth  to  save  Beauclerk." '  We 
are  reminded  how,  when  he  heard  that  Mr.  Thrale  had 
lost  his  only  son,  he  said,  *  I  would  have  gone  to  the 
extremity  of  the  earth  to  have  preserved  this  boy.'  On 
Beauclerk's  death  he  wrote  to  Boswell,  'Poor,  dear, 
Beauclerk — nee,  ut  soles,  dabis  joca.  His  wit  and  his 
folly,  his  acuteness  and  maliciousness,  his  merriment  and 
his  reasoning  are  now  over.  Such  another  will  not  often 
be  found  among  mankind.  He  directed  himself  to  be 
buried  by  the  side  of  his  mother,  an  instance  of  tender- 
ness which  I  hardly  expected.'  When  a  year  later 
Boswell  was  walking  home  with  Johnson  from  the  first 
party  that  Mrs.  Garrick  had  given  after  her  husband's 
death,  '  We  stopped,'  he  says,  *  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."  ' 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  319 


CHAPTER  X. 

OLIVER     GOLDSMITH.^ 

*  One  day/  writes  the  younger  Colman,  '  I  met  the  poet 
Harding  at  Oxford — a  half-crazy  creature,  as  poets  gene- 
rally are,  with  a  huge  broken  brick  and  some  bits  of 
thatch  upon  the  crown  of  his  hat.  On  my  asking  him 
for  a  solution  of  this  prosopopoeia,  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  to- 
day is  the  anniversary  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Goldsmith's 
death,  and  I  am  now  in  the  character  of  his  *■  Deserted 
Village.' " '  When  anyone  sets  about  celebrating  the  anni- 
versary of  a  great  writer's  death,  even  if  he  does  not 
go  to  the  lengths  of  poor  Harding,  he  is  hkely  enough  to 
make  himself  foolish.  He  is  weighed  down  with  the 
feeling  that  to  celebrate  it  properly,  he  must  celebrate  it 
in  character  ;  and  yet  he  is  by  no  means  certain  what  is 
the  character  that  he  should  assume.  It  is  the  anniver- 
sary of  a  death,  and  so  a  certain  degree  of  gloom  would 
not  be  unsuitable  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  the 
^  Reprinted  from  the  Times ^  April  4,  1874. 


320  DR.   JOHNSON. 


anniversary  of  the  death  of  a  humourist,  and  so  a  certain 
degree  of  mirth  would  be  most  becoming.  Like  Hamlet's 
uncle,  he  is 

With  an  auspicious  and  a  dropping  eye, 
In  equal  scale,  weighing  delight  and  dole. 

And  like  Hamlet's  uncle,  as  the  play  goes  on,  he  does  not 
feel  altogether  at  his  ease  in  his  part.  The  difficulties, 
then,  of  keeping  anniversaries  are  so  great  that  no  sen- 
sible person  troubles  himself  to  keep  them  at  all. 

There  are,  however,  those  who  think  that  just  as  the 
aloe  makes  an  effort  once  every  hundred  years  to  put  out 
flowers,  so,  though  we  are  more  than  justified  in  dis- 
regarding anniversaries,  we  ought  nevertheless  to  make 
an  effort  to  celebrate  centenaries.  Such  people  as  these, 
then,  would  have  felt  a  kindly  sympathy  with  poor  poet 
Harding  if  it  had  been  the  centenary,  and  not  the  anniver- 
sary, of  Goldsmith's  death.  They  would  not,  perhaps,  have 
shown  their  enthusiasm  by  carrying  about  a  huge  broken 
brick  and  some  bits  of  thatch ;  but  likely  enough  they 
would  have  held  a  kind  of  jubilee  at  the  Crystal  Palace. 

While,  however,  we  do  not  love  the  ostentatious  cele- 
bration of  anniversaries  and  centenaries,  yet  it  is  by  no 
means  unbecoming  when  some  day  memorable  in  a  great 
man's  life  comes  round  to  have  his  name  freshly  remem- 


OLIVER   GOLDSMITH.  321 

bered  among  us.  Thus,  it  is  natural  enough  on  this  4th 
of  April  to  dwell  on  the  memory  of  that  writer  whose 
death  just  one  hundred  years  ago  to-day  made  sharers  in 
one  common  and  almost  overwhelming  grief  Johnson^ 
Burke,  and  Reynolds,  and  many  an  outcast  of  this  great 
city.  It  may  be  well  to  reflect  on  all  that  we,  too,  even 
in  these  days  when  each  season  counts  its  new  books  by 
thousands,  have  lost  by  the  death  of  an  author  who,  when 
he  had  written  in  the  last  thirteen  years  of  his  life  *  The 
Citizen  of  the  World,'  'The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  'The 
Traveller/  *The  Good  Natured  Man,'  'The  Deserted 
Village,'  'She  Stoops  to  Conquer,'  and  'Retaliation/ 
'  yielding  to  the  united  pressure  of  labour,  penury,  and 
sorrow,'  sank  into  his  grave  when  he  was  but  forty-five 
years  old. 

'  He  died  of  a  fever,'  wrote  Johnson,  '  made,  I  am 
afraid,  more  violent  by  uneasiness  of  mind.  His  debts 
began  to  be  heavy,  and  all  his  resources  were  exhausted. 
Sir  Joshua  is  of  opinion  that  he  owed  not  less  than  two 
thousand  pounds.  Was  ever  poet  so  trusted  before?' 
One,  certainly,  of  his  resources  had  not  been  exhausted. 
His  last  illness  attacked  him  as  he  was  painting  Reynolds 
with  his  pen  no  less  gracefully  than  Reynolds  had  painted 
him  with  his  pencil. 

Two  thousand  pounds  was  a  heavy  debt  for  a  writer  to 

Y 


322  DR.  JOHNSON. 


owe.  Yet  if  an  author  who  so  largely  increased  '  the  public 
stock  of  harmless  pleasure '  could  have  '  reached  a  hand 
through  time  to  catch  the  far-off  interest '  that  was  due  to 
him,  and  that  would  have  been  so  cheerfully  paid,  how 
trifling  would  the  debt  have  appeared  !  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  if  Goldsmith  had  been  rewarded  by  the 
Crown,  like  Johnson,  we  might  now  have  another  *  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,'  another  'Traveller,'  another  *  Good  Ma- 
tured Man.'  He  was  improvident,  no  doubt,  and  the 
little  that  he  did  receive  he  did  not  manage  wisely.  Like 
the  Man  in  Black,  he  was  *  perfectly  instructed  in  the 
art  of  giving  away  thousands  before  he  was  taught  the 
more  necessary  qualifications  of  getting  a  farthing.'  But 
his  improvidence,  doubtless,  was  due  not  only  to  the 
training  of  his  childhood  and  to  his  own  natural  tempera- 
ment, but  also  to  the  uncertainty  with  which,  when  he 
had  once  learnt  how  to  earn  money,  money  came  in. 
Had  he  had  either  the  fixed  income  of  a  pension  on 
which  to  count,  or,  far  better,  the  certainty  of  fair  pay 
which  attends  a  man  of  any  literary  powers  at  the 
present  day,  his  mind  would  not  have  lost  its  balance 
every  time  he  had  ten  guineas  in  his  pocket.  Had 
there  only  been  some  Thrale  to  have  taken  him,  as 
the  great  brewer  took  Johnson  when  in  his  state  of  utter 
despondency,  some  one  who  would  have  provided  for 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  323 

him  prudence,  as  the  Thrales  provided  cheerfulness  for 
Johnson,  how  lengthened  might  have  been  his  life,  how 
different  its  decline  and  end  !  '  Is  your  mind  at  ease  ? ' 
asked  his  physician  a  day  or  two  before  his  death.  *  No, 
it  is  not,'  was  Goldsmith's  answer.  He  never  spoke  again. 
What  a  different  end  in  this  chamber  in  Brick  Court  from 
that  to  which  he  had  four  or  five  years  earlier  looked 
forward  in  his  '  Sweet  Auburn  ' ! 

And  as  a  hare  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew, 
I  stiU  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return — and  die  at  home  at  last. 

Sad  though  was  Goldsmith's  end,  sad,  too,  many  a 
scene  in  his  life,  yet  we  must  not  forget  the  light  that 
such  a  mind  as  his,  while  the  world  is  still  young  and 
hopes  still  fresh  and  high,  ever  casts  before  itself.  In 
a  letter  which  Mr.  Forster  quotes  in  his  *  Life  of  Gold- 
smith,' we  read,  *  His  debts  rendered  him,  at  times,  so 
very  melancholy  and  dejected  that  I  am  sure  he  felt 
hiaiself,  at  least  the  last  years  of  his  life,  a  very  unhappy 
man.' 

We  doubt,  however,  if  till  his  health  began  to  fail  he 
had  not,  we  cannot  say  his  fair  share  of  happiness — for 
who  could  venture  to  fix  the  share  which  the  author  of 
'The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  '  might  have  fairly  claimed.'* — 

Y  2 


324  DR.   JOHNSON. 


but,  at  all  events,  such  a  share  as  would  make  life  desir- 
able enough.  No  unhappy  man  could  have  written  the 
books  that  Goldsmith  wrote.  Is  he  a  philosopher  and 
enlarging  with  all  seriousness  on  the  vanity  and  misery 
of  this  world?  then,  as  Johnson's  old  college  friend 
complained,  *  cheerfulness  is  always  breaking  in  on  his 
philosophy.'  Have  'eight  years  of  disappointment,  and 
anguish,  and  study  worn  him  down  ?  '  he  is  still  ready  to 
enjoy  *  a  Shoemaker's  Holiday '  with  any  one ;  still 
ready,  when  no  fool  is  near,  to  cry  out  to  his  friends, 
*  Come,  now,  let  us  play  the  fool  a  Httle.'  Children 
delighted  in  him,  and  children  do  not  delight  in  an 
unhappy  man. 

Walter  Scott  in  writing  of  him  says,  *  We  bless  the 
memory  of  an  author  who  contrives  so  well  to  reconcile 
us  to  human  nature.'  Can  it  be  the  case  that  an  author 
can  reconcile  his  readers  to  human  nature  who  has  not 
first  reconciled  himself  to  it  ?  Goldsmith  was  of  all  men 
the  most  artless.  He  could  no  more  hide  his  failings 
than  his  merits,  his  sorrows  than  his  joys.  In  every 
book  he  is  the  hero  of  his  own  story,  and  his  heroes  are 
far  from  being  unhappy  men.  He  suffers,  indeed,  from 
what  he  calls  '  an  exquisite  sensibility  of  contempt ; '  but 
his  sufferings  are  more  than  balanced  by  many  an  exqui- 
site sensibility  besides.    He  had  an  exquisite  sensibility 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  325 

of  admiration,  of  friendship,  of  kindliness,  of  love,  of  the 
beauties  of  nature  and  the  beauties  of  great  writers,  of 
all  simple  and  harmless  pleasures. 

In  his  own  innocent  vanity,  which  others  mocked  at, 
and  through  which  he  was  often  so  grievously  wounded, 
he  had  no  small  pleasure  too.  Was  he  slighted  by  the 
world?  He  was  a  far  better  judge  than  the  world  of 
greatness,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  great  They  are 
very  ignorant  of  human  nature  who,  while  they  delight  in 
Goldsmith's  writings,  yet  regret  that  he  was  so  vain  ! 
If  Goldsmith  had  been  stripped  of  his  vanity  he  might 
have  been  a  great  writer,  but  he  would  not  have  been 
Goldsmith.  Both  he  and  Swift  delight  in  painting  the 
weaknesses  of  the  heart,  but  while  one  paints  with  all  the 
savageness  of  a  man  who  is  caricaturing  his  bitter  enemy, 
the  other  paints  with  all  the  tenderness  that  would  be 
found  in  an  artist  who,  sitting  before  a  mirror,  is  amusing 
himself  by  drawing  his  own  likeness.  We  cannot  doubt 
that  Goldsmith  knew  all  his  own  weaknesses  much  better 
than  did  Johnson,  Garrick,  or  Boswell,  and  that  when 
alone  he  had  many  a  smile  over  that  queer  fellow, 
himself.  It  was  from  this  exact  knowledge  of  his  own 
mind  that  he  derived  that  exquisite  sensibility  of  con- 
tempt from  which  he  suffered.  He  knew  only  too  well 
that  he  had  a  hundred  weaknesses  which  exposed  him  to 


326  DR.   JOHNSON. 


the  contempt  of  those  who  can  fathom  only  the  shallows 
of  the  human  mind,  and  not  the  depths  which  lie  so 
close  alongside  them.  He  could  laugh  at  his  own  weak- 
nesses, for  his  weaknesses  he  knew  were,  like  Samson's 
locks,  closely  connected  with  his  strength.  Deprived  of 
them,  where  would  he  have  made  that  study  of  the 
human  heart  in  which  his  knowledge,  so  far  as  it  went 
was  so  exact  ?  The  greater  passions  may  be  studied  in 
others,  but  the  little  failings  which  form  so  large  a  part  of 
our  everyday  life  are  best  studied  in  ourselves. 

Goldsmith,  then,  to  a  mind  that  was  gifted  with  a 
wonderful  power  of  analysing  character  united  a  heart 
that  in  a  no  less  wonderful  degree  was  worthy  of  analysis. 
There  have  been,  no  doubt,  equally  clever  artists  and 
equally  good  subjects.  Scarcely  ever  have  so  clever  an 
artist  and  so  good  a  subject  been  joined  in  one.  In  a 
literary  point  of  view  we  might  apply  to  him  his  own  line, 
and  say  of  him,  as  he  said  of  the  parish  priest  in  his 
*•  Deserted  Village' — 

*  Even  his  failings  lean'd  to  Virtue's  side/ 

Though  the  names  of  the  great  wTiters  of  '  that  past 
Georgian  day '  are  still  familiar  in  our  mouths  as  house- 
hold words,  it  is  a  pity  that  their  works  are  not  familiar  in 
our  hands  as  household  things.  '  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield* 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  327 

is  read  by  every  one,  of  course,  or,  at  least,  like  a  muni- 
cipal address  to  the  Queen,  must  be  taken  as  read.  We 
should  be  curious  to  know,  however,  how  many  editions 
of  '  The  Citizen  of  the  World '  have  been  called  for  in 
the  last  thirty  years.  Out  of  every  hundred  people  who 
can  quote  Mr.  Pickwick,  could  we  count  on  finding  one 
who  could  quote  the  Man  in  Black?  Nay,  to  go  further, 
and  to  take,  not  Charles  Dickens,  but  the  second,  or 
third,  or  tenth-rate  authors  of  the  present  day,  has  '  The 
Citizen  of  the  World '  a  twentieth  of  the  readers  that 
some  among  the  popular  novelists  can  boast  of? 

The  literature  of  last  century  is  divided  from  us  as  if 
by  a  great  gulf,  and  though  on  the  other  side  of  the  gulf 
there  is  a  perfect  paradise  of  intellectual  delight,  yet  few 
care  to  face  the  trouble  of  crossing  over.  With  the  great 
stir  in  men's  minds  that  set  in  on  the  Continent  with  the 
French  Revolution,  and  in  England  with  its  fullest  force 
on  the  close  of  the  French  war,  began  a  literature  which, 
even  if  it  excites  every  man's  interest,  yet,  to  use  Mr. 
Disraeli's  expression,  *  harasses '  every  man's  mind.  The 
age  of  optimism  had  passed  away  with  the  meeting  of  the 
States  General — not  for  ever,  but  certainly  for  a  long 
time.  'Whatever  is,  is  not  best,'  was  the  text  on 
which  all  preachers  began  to  hold  forth.  The  parish 
priest  in  whom  Fielding  and  Goldsmith  delighted,  who 


328  DR,   JOHNSON, 


was  a  Christian,  and  not  a  theologian,  and  who  neither 
harassed  himself  nor  yet  his  people,  had  passed  away. 

Yet  there  are  persons  who,  weary  of  endless  talk  on 
reforms  and  improvements,  like  at  times  to  drop  out  of 
the  stream  of  this  uneasy  age  to  seek  for  quiet  thought 
among  men  who  never  so  much  as  heard  that  there  was  a 
social  science.  A  time,  indeed,  comes  to  many  a  reader 
when,  in  the  literature  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the 
mind  finds  its  best  repose.  And  among  the  great 
writers  of  that  great  age  of  writing  not  the  least  dear,  as 
not  the  least  resting,  must  be  held  that  '  child  of  the 
public,'  to  use  his  own  words,  Oliver  Goldsmith.  If  any 
of  our  readers  desire  to  keep  fittingly  the  centenary  of 
Oliver  Goldsmith,  let  them  take  down  from  the  book- 
shelf the  old  copy  of  the  '  Deserted  Village '  or  the  *  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,'  and  in  the  noble  characters  they  find  in 
those  charming  pages  will  be  seen  what  manner  of  man 
he  was  whose  death  made  Reynolds  lay  aside  his  brush 
and  Burke  seek  relief  in  tears. 


APPENDIX. 


THE  DURATION  OF  JOHNSON'S  RESIDENCE 
AT  OXFORD.^ 

Mr.  Fitzgerald  in  his  edition  of  Boswell's  'Johnson'  has 
reopened  a  question  which,  though  perhaps  of  no  very  great 
importance  in  itself,  is  yet  not  without  its  interest.  Johnson, 
as  I  have  already  shown,  was  forced,  through  want  of  means, 
to  leave  the  University  before  he  had  completed  his  residence 
and  taken  his  degree.  Boswell  had  stated  that  Johnson  had 
been  a  member  of  Pembroke  College  for  little  more  than 
three  years.  No  doubt  was  thrown,  so  far  as  I  know,  on 
this  statement,  till  Mr.  Croker,  after  an  inspection  of  the 
College  books  with  the  help  of  Dr.  Hall,  the  Master  of  Pem- 
broke, maintained  that  Boswell  was  altogether  wrong,  as 
Johnson  had  only  been  an  actual  member  fourteen  months. 
But  neither  Mr.  Croker  nor  Mr.  Fitzgerald  has  brought 
together  all  the  facts  that  bear  on  this  question,  though 
each,  without  first  carefully  summing  up  the  case,  has  ven- 
tured to  speak  with  all  the  authority  of  a  judge  from  whose 
decision  there  was  no  appeal.  I  have  little  confidence  in 
my  own  power  of  arriving  at  a  decision  one  way  or  the 

^  Reprinted    (with    alterations)    from    the    Saturday    Review^ 
September  12,   1874. 


330  DR.   JOHNSON. 


other,  and  I  shall  content  myself  with  putting  before  my 
readers  the  statements  made  on  each  side,  the  difficulties 
which  have  to  be  overcome,  and  the  facts  which  I  have 
myself  at  some  labour  gathered  together.  Like  Mr.  Fitz- 
gerald, I  must  express  my  obligations  to  Professor  Chandler 
of  Pembroke  College,  for  the  assistance  he  has  so  kindly 
rendered  me  by  his  searches  into  the  musty  old  battel 
books. 

Bos  well's  statement  as  to  Johnson's  residence  is  precise, 
and  Boswell,  as  I  need  scarcely  say,  when  he  speaks  of  any 
matter  positively,  is  very  rarely  proved  to  be  wrong.  He 
says, '  The  res  angusta  dofni  prevented  him  from  having  the 
advantage  of  a  complete  academical  education.  The  friend 
to  whom  he  had  trusted  for  support  had  deceived  him.  His 
debts  in  College,  though  not  great  were  increasing,  and  his 
scanty  remittances  from  Lichfield,  which  had  all  along  been 
made  with  great  difficulty,  could  be  supplied  no  longer,  his 
father  having  fallen  into  a  state  of  insolvency.  Compelled, 
therefore,  by  irresistible  necessity,  he  left  the  College  in 
autumn  1731,  without  a  degree,  having  been  a  member  of 
it  little  more  than  three  years.' 

Hawkins's  statement,  in  his  'Life  of  Johnson,'  agrees 
with  Boswell's.  He  says  :  *  The  time  of  his  continuance  at 
Oxford  is  divisible  into  two  periods,  the  former  whereof  com- 
menced on  the  31st  day  of  October,  1728,  and  determined 
in  December  1729,  when,  as  appears  by  a  note  in  his  diary 
in  these  words — "1729,  Dec,  S.  J.  Oxonio  rediit" — he  left 
that  place,  the  reason  whereof  was  a  failure  of  pecuniary 
supplies  from  his  father;  but  meeting  with  another  source, 
the  bounty,  as  it  is  supposed,  of  one  or  more  of  the  members 
of  the  Cathedral,  he  returned,  and  made  up  the  whole  of 
his  residence— about  three  years.'    These  two  statements. 


APPENDIX,  331 


though  they  differ  in  some  points,  are  almost  at  one  as  to 
the  time  of  Johnson's  residence. 

It  might  be  objected  that  after  all  we  have  the  evidence 
only  of  one  writer,  and  not  of  two,  as  Boswell,  whose  work 
was  the  later  of  the  two,  might  have  merely  followed  Haw- 
kins. But  Boswell  not  only  took  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
to  test  the  accuracy  of  all  the  statements  he  made  on  the 
authority  of  others,  but  in  this  case  also  he  had  independent 
authority  of  his  own.  He  had  lived  in  the  house  of  Dr. 
Adams,  the  Master  of  Pembroke,  who  had  been  a  Fellow 
when  Johnson  entered,  and  who  was  able,  therefore,  to 
speak  with  exact  knowledge  in  '  that  authentic  information 
which  he  obligingly  gave '  Boswell.  Nevertheless,  as  I 
shall  presently  consider,  it  is  not  impossible  that  Boswell 
may  have  been  influenced  by  Hawkins's  statement.  Ac- 
cording, then,  both  to  Hawkins  and  Boswell,  Johnson  entered 
Pembroke  in  October  1728,  and  left  it  in  the  autumn  of  173 1. 
When,  however.  Dr.  Hall  consulted  the  College  books,  he 
found  that  they  were  very  far  from  agreeing  with  this  state- 
ment. On  the  information  he  furnished,  Mr.  Croker  main- 
tained that  Boswell  was  altogether  wrong  both  in  his 
statement  as  to  residence  and  in  one  or  two  anecdotes 
which  depend  on  the  duration  of  his  residence.  Dr.  Hall 
says  :  'He  was  not  quite  three  years  a  member  of  the 
College,  having  been  entered  October  31,  1728,  and  his 
name  having  been  finally  removed  October  8,  1731.  It 
would  appear  by  the  temporary  suspension  of  his  name, 
and  replacements  of  it,  as  if  he  had  contemplated  an  earlier 
departure  from  College,  and  had  been  induced  to  continue 
on  with  the  hope  of  returning  ;  this,  however,  he  never  did 
after  his  absence  December  1729,  having  kept  a  continuous 
residence  of  sixty  weeks.' 


332  DR.   JOHNSON. 


Mr.  Croker  remarks  on  this  :  *  It  will  be  observed  that 
Mr.  Bos  well  slurs  over  the  years  1729,  '30,  and  '31,  under 
the  general  inference  that  they  were  all  spent  at  Oxford,  but 
Dr.  Hall's  accurate  statement  of  dates  from  the  College 
books  proves  that  Johnson  personally  left  College  on  the 
1 2th  of  December,  1729,  though  his  name  remained  on  the 
books  till  October  8,  1 73 1.'  He  goes  on  to  add:  *That 
these  two  years  were  not  pleasantly  or  profitably  spent  may 
be  inferred  from  the  silence  of  Johnson  and  all  his  friends 
about  them.  It  is  due  to  Pembroke  to  note  particularly  this 
absence,  because  that  institution  possesses  two  scholarships, 
to  one  of  which  Johnson  would  have  been  eligible,  and 
probably  (considering  his  claims)  elected  in  1730,  had  he 
been  a  candidate.'  I  may  say,  in  passing,  that  these  scholar- 
ships a  few  years  ago  were  worth  only  ;^  10  each,  and  that 
there  is  no  likelihood  that  they  were  ever  of  greater  value. 

Hereupon  Mr.  Fitzgerald  comes  on  the  scene.  He,  too, 
has  had  the  College  books  investigated,  and  *with  the  as- 
sistance of  the  Rev.  Whitwell  Elwin  has  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  Mr.  Croker  was  wrong,  and  that  Boswell,  as 
indeed  he  always  is  in  points  of  importance,  is  right.  I 
found,'  says  Mr.  Fitzgerald,  '  to  my  surprise,  that  "  the 
authority  of  the  College  books,"  which  sounds  impressively 
enough,  resolved  itself  into  no  more  than  certain  entries  for 
commons,  or  "  batdes,"  in  the  buttery  books  ;  while  on  the 
absence  of  "  charges "  against  Johnson's  name  during  par- 
ticular years  the  whole  argument  is  founded.'  Mr.  Fitzgerald 
is,  I  notice,  a  Master  of  Arts.  If  he  belongs  to  either  Oxford 
or  Cambridge  he  ought  surely  to  know  that  in  all  cases  the 
proof  of  residence  is  established  by  these  entries  in  the 
buttery  books.  The  authority  of  the  College  books  not  only 
sounds  impressively,  but  is  impressive — impressive,  that  is 


APPENDIX.  333 


to  say,  on  any  mind  that  is  capable  of  understanding  a  fact, 
and  receiving  from  it  an  impression.  From  December  12, 
1729,  till  October  i,  1731,  the  charges  against  Johnson 
amount  to  only  a  few  shillings  in  all.  It  is  certainly  worth 
noticing  that  these  charges  are  somewhat  scattered,  and  that 
his  name  disappears  from  the  College  books  more  than  once, 
to  reappear  a  few  weeks  further  on. 

Mr.  Whitwell  Elwin,  whose  authority  on  a  matter  con- 
nected with  the  early  part  of  last  century  is  deserving  of 
respect,  thus  attempts  to  get  over  the  difficulty.  He  agrees 
with  Hawkins  in  his  statement  that  in  December  1729 
Johnson  would  have  had  to  leave  College  had  he  not  ob- 
tained assistance  from  outside  his  family.  He  does  not 
agree  with  him  as  to  the  source  whence  that  assistance 
came.  '■  It  must,  I  think,  have  been  the  gift  of  the  College,* 
he  says.  '  or  it  would  have  been  charged  to  Johnson,  what- 
ever might  have  been  the  quarter  from  which  he  derived  the 
money  to  pay  the  bill.  If  we  may  guess  the  course  of  events 
from  the  materials  we  possess,  I  should  say  that  Johnson, 
just  before  the  Christmas  vacation,  informed  the  tutor  of 
his  inability  to  remain  at  College ;  that  it  was  then  settled 
that  he  should  return  home  and  consult  with  his  father ;  and 
that  in  the  two  or  three  weeks  which  elapsed  before  he  set 
out,  his  ordinary  "  battles  "  were  supplied  gratis.  The  result, 
we  may  presume,  of  his  Lichfield  visit  was  an  announcement 
to  the  tutor  that  he  could  not  raise  funds  to  complete  his 
residence,  and  the  result  of  the  announcement  that  the 
College,  in  consideration  of  his  great  learning  and  abilities, 
resolved  that  he  should  have  his  "  battles  "  free.' 

I  have  now  put  before  my  readers  the  original  statement 
of  Boswell  and  Hawkins,  the  facts  brought  forward  by  Mr. 
Croker  to  upset  it,  and  the  assumptions  made  by  Mr.  Elwin 


334  DR.   JOHNSON. 


to  support  it.  Boswell  and  Hawkins  are  very  positive  ;  but 
no  less  positive  with  their  silent  record  are  the  old  College 
books.  Had  there  been  no  other  facts  to  go  by,  I  should 
have  been  inclined  to  assume  that  Boswell  had  learnt  from 
Dr.  Adams  that  Johnson  had  had  his  name  three  years  on 
the  books,  and  perhaps,  not  aware  how  often  it  has  happened 
that  residence  has  ceased  long  before  a  name  is  removed, 
having  Hawkins's  statement  moreover  to  follow,  had  jumped 
at  the  not  unnatural  conclusion  that  he  had  resided  as  long 
as  he  was  a  member  of  the  College. 

But  there  are  other  facts  which  I  will  set  forth  as  briefly 
as  I  can.  Boswell  states,  '  I  have  from  the  information  of 
Dr.  Taylor  a  very  strong  instance  of  that  rigid  honesty 
which  he  (Johnson)  ever  inflexibly  preserved.  Taylor  had 
obtained  his  father's  consent  to  be  entered  of  Pembroke, 
that  he  might  be  with  his  schoolfellow  Johnson,  with  whom 
he  was  very  intimate.  This  would  have  been  a  great  comfort 
to  Johnson.  But  he  fairly  told  Taylor  that  he  could  not  in 
conscience  suffer  him  to  enter  where  he  knew  he  could  not 
have  an  able  tutor.'  Taylor  went  to  Christ  Church,  and,  as 
Boswell  goes  on  to  say,  it  was  in  going  to  get  his  friend's 
notes  at  second-hand  that  Johnson  saw  that  his  poverty  was 
noticed  by  the  Christ  Church  men.  It  is  not  quite  clear 
from  Boswell  whether  this  latter  part  of  the  story  rests  on 
the  authority  of  Taylor.  If  it  does,  then  the  question  is 
decided,  for  on  Taylor's  evidence  we  may  rely,  and  Taylor 
did  not  enter  Christ  Church  till  June  27,  1730.  If  Johnson 
then  was  in  residence  at  the  same  time  with  him,  he  clearly 
did  not  leave  in  1729.  This  seems  indeed,  at  first  sight,  to 
follow  from  that  part  of  the  story  which,  as  we  are  expressly 
told,  rests  on  the  information  of  Dr.  Taylor.  But  we  must 
remember  that  Taylor  might  have  had  his  name  entered 


APPENDIX.  335 


some  months  before  he  came  into  residence,  and  that  after 
his  name  was  entered  Johnson  might  have  left.  Neverthe- 
less the  whole  story  is  very  strong  evidence  that  Johnson 
was  in  residence  in  the  latter  half  of  the  year  1730.  Mr. 
Croker  remarks  on  it,  '  Circumstantially  as  this  story  is 
told,  there  is  good  reason  for  disbelieving  it.  Taylor  was 
admitted  Commoner  of  Christ  Church,  June  27,  1730  :  but 
it  will  be  seen  that  Johnson  left  Oxford  six  months 
before.' 

There  is  still  stronger  evidence  to  be  found  that  Johnson 
and  Taylor  were  fellow  students  at  Oxford,  which  had 
apparently  escaped  Mr.  Croker's  notice.  Mrs.  Piozzi,  in 
her  anecdotes  records  that  once  when  Johnson  was  con- 
sidering who  was  likely  to  be  his  future  biographer,  he  said, 
*  the  history  of  my  Oxford  exploits  lies  all  between  Taylor 
and  Adams. ' 

Next  to  Dr.  Taylor's  evidence  comes  that  which  Dr. 
Adams  can  be  made  to  furnish.  He,  as  Boswell  says, '  has 
generally  had  the  reputation  of  being  Johnson's  tutor.  The 
fact  however  is,  that  in  1731,  Mr.  Jorden  quitted  the  College, 
and  his  pupils  were  transferred  to  Dr.  Adams  ;  so  that,  had 
Johnson  returned,  Dr.  Adams  would  have  been  his  tutor. 
Boswell  goes  on  to  say,  '  Dr.  Adams  paid  Johnson  this  high 
compliment.  He  said  to  me  at  Oxford  in  1776,  "  I  was  his 
nominal  tutor,  but  he  was  above  my  mark."  When  I  re- 
peated it  to  Johnson,  his  eyes  flashed  with  grateful  satisfac- 
tion, and  he  exclaimed,  "  That  was  liberal  and  noble." ' 

Mr.  Croker  has  the  following  note  on  this  passage  :  *  If 
Adams  called  himself  his  nominal  tutor  only  because  the 
pupil  was  above  his  mark,  the  expression  would  be  liberal 
and  noble  ;  but  if  he  was  his  nominal  tutor,  only  because  he 
would  have  been  his  tutor  if  Johnson  had  returned,  the  case 


336  DR.   JOHNSON. 


is  different,  and  Boswell  is,  either  way,  guilty  of  an  inac- 
curacy.' 

Mr.  Fitzgerald  pays  no  attention  to  Mr.  Croker,  but 
broadly  says,  in  speaking  of  Hawkins's  statement  about 
Johnson's  three  years'  residence,  '  Nothing  can  be  more 
explicit,  or  more  consistent  with  Boswell's  narrative,  and 
with  the  statement  that  Dr.  Adams  was  his  "nominal" 
tutor  in  1731.' 

I  cannot  admit,  however,  with  Mr.  Croker  that  Boswell 
is,  either  way,  guilty  of  an  inaccuracy.  Suppose  a  brief 
pause  between  the  two  parts  of  Dr.  Adams's  statement,  and 
all  is  explained.  *  I  was  his  nominal  tutor ;  that  is  to  say, 
his  name  was  on  my  lecture  lists  ;  but  even  if  he  had  at- 
tended I  should  still  have  been  his  nominal  tutor,  his  tutor 
only  in  name,  for  he  was  above  my  mark.'  Both  Mr.  Croker 
and  Mr.  Fitzgerald  should  have  tried  to  find  out  when  it 
was  that  Adams  took  Jorden's  place.  Jorden's  fellowship 
was  filled  up,  as  I  have  ascertained,  on  December  23,  1730. 
His  name  appears  for  the  last  time  on  the  list  of  Fellows  in 
the  College  books  on  December  4,  1730.  He  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  in  residence  during  any  part  of  the 
last  term  of  1730.  It  is  very  improbable  that  he  continued 
to  be  tutor  after  he  had  vacated  his  fellowship,  and  I  may 
fairly  assume  that  his  pupils  were  transferred  to  Adams  in 
the  beginning  of  1731,  if  not,  indeed,  at  the  beginning  of 
Michaelmas  term,  1730.  If  so,  what  becomes  of  the  state- 
ment that  Johnson  was  resident  till  the  October  of  1731  .?i 

I  will  next  consider  the  evidence  to  be  derived  from  the 
case  of  Mr.  Edwards,  Johnson's  fellow-collegian.     Johnson, 

1  I  have  lately  ascertained  that  Jorden  was  elected  to  a  living 
by  the  University  on  March  16,  1729.  This  renders  it  likely  that 
his  tutorship  came  o  an  end  even  earlier  than  his  fellowship. 


APPENDIX.  337 

in  his  diary  for  1778,  says,  *  In  my  return  from  church  I  was 
accosted  by  Edwards,  an  old  fellow-collegian,  who  had  not 
seen  me  since  1729.'  Mr.  Croker,  first  noting  that  Edwards 
entered  Pembroke  in  June  1729,  says,  'This  deliberate  asser- 
tion of  Johnson,  that  he  had  not  seen  Edwards  since  1729, 
is  a  confirmation  of  the  opinion  derived  by  Dr.  Hall  from 
the  dates  in  the  College  books,  that  Johnson  did  not  return 
to  Pembroke  after  Christmas  1729 — an  important  fact  in  his 
early  history.'  Mr.  Fitzgerald  finding,  I  suppose,  no  means 
of  meeting  Mr.  Croker's  argument,  passes  it  over  in  silence. 
It  did  not  occur  to  Mr.  Croker  that  it  might  have  been 
Edwards,  and  not  Johnson,  who  left  Pembroke  early.  I 
have  ascertained  that  Edwards's  name  occurs  for  the  last 
time  on  April  24,  1730,  but,  to  judge  from  the  amount  of  his 
battels,  it  would  seem  likely  that  he  did  not  reside  after 
April  10.  To  a  man  used  to  Old  Style,  as  Johnson  was, 
April  10,  1730,  is  so  near  to  1729  that  at  the  distance  of 
nearly  fifty  years  Johnson  may  easily  have  been  wrong  by  a 
week  or  two.  Edwards's  case,  therefore,  seems  to  me  to 
prove  nothing. 

Boswell,  in  giving  an  account  of  Johnson's  health,  say§ 
that  '  while  he  was  at  Lichfield  in  the  College  vacation  of 
1729,  he  felt  himself  overwhelmed  with  a  terrible  hypo- 
chondria.' Now  the  College  books  show — if  battels  can  be 
trusted — that  Johnson  was  absent  only  one  week  in  the  Long 
vacation  of  1729.  Boswell  may  have  meant  the  Christmas 
vacation,  which,  according  to  the  old  Style,  would  have  all 
fallen  in  1729.  It  was  in  a  vacation,  however,  that  Johnson 
had  this  long  illness,  and  he  enjoyed,  as  it  seemed,  no  vaca- 
tion (except  one  of  a  week's  duration)  till  the  end  of  1729 
and  the  beginning  of  1730  (N.S.).  If  Boswell  then  is  cor- 
rect in  his  statement  that  it  was  in  a  vacation  that  he  was 


338  DR,  JOHNSON. 

attacked,  it  would  follow  that  Johnson  returned  to  College 
in  1730. 

As  an  argument  on  the  other  side  we  may  set  the  state- 
ment, which  Boswell  mentions  merely  to  refute,  that  John- 
son had  been  '  assistant  to  the  famous  Anthony  Blackwall.' 
Boswell  says  this  cannot  have  been  the  case,  ^  for  Mr.  Black- 
wall  died  on  the  8th  of  April  1730,  more  than  a  year  before 
Johnson  left  the  University.'  The  statement,  however,  may 
be  taken  in  evidence  for  what  it  is  worth,  that  Johnson  did 
leave  at  the  end  of  1729.  The  entry,  too,  in  Johnson's 
diary  *  1729,  Dec.  S.  J.  Oxonio  rediit,'  is  of  no  small  weight 
He  may  simply  have  recorded  his  return  home  for  the 
Christmas  vacation.  But  it  is  certainly  an  important  fact 
that  the  entry  is  made  in  the  very  month  in  which  the 
College  books  seem  to  show  that  his  residence  came  to 
an  end. 

In  the  Caution  Book  of  Pembroke  College  occur  the 
two  following  entries,  which  I  am,  I  believe,  the  first 'to 
publish  : — 

'■  Oct.  31,  1728. 
*  Reed,  then  of  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson  Comr  :  of  Pem  :  Coll : 
ye  sum  of  seven  Pounds  for  his  Caution,  which  is  to  Remain 
in  ye  Hands  of  ye  Bursars  till  ye  said  Mr.  Johnson  shall 
depart  ye  said  College  leaving  ye  same  fully  discharg'd. 
*  Reed,  by  me 

*JOHN  Ratcliff,  Bursar. 
'  March  26,  1740. — At  a  convention  of  the  Master  and 
Fellows  to  settle  the  account  of  the  Caution  it  Appear'd  that 
the  Persons  Accounts  underwritten  stood  thus  at  their  leaving 
the  College. 

'  Caution  not  Repayd.       |  '  Battells  not  Discharg'd. 
*  Mr.  Johnson.     7     o    o     I  'Mr.  Johnson.     700' 


APPENDIX.  339 


It  scarcely  seems  probable  that  the  College  authorities,  if 
they  resolved,  as  Mr.  Ehvin  guesses,  to  give  Johnson  his 
battels  free,  should  have  retained  till  the  year  1 740  his  cau- 
tion money  in  their  hands.  If  they  were  generous  enough 
to  support  him  without  payment,  they  would,  I  should  think, 
have  been  generous  enough  to  return  him  the  money  which 
they  had  received  from  him  as  security.  For  why  should 
security  for  payment  be  required  from  those  who  are  free 
from  the  payment  itself? 

I  will  now,  as  briefly  as  I  can,  enter  upon  one  head  of 
evidence  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  not  been  touched  on. 
Johnson,  Mr.  Fitzgerald  and  Mr.  Elwin  say,  was  at  Pem- 
broke in  1730.  Can  they  show  that  among  his  fellow- 
collegians  there  were  any  who  entered  so  late  as  that  year  ? 
I  have  somewhat  carefully  gathered  together  the  names  of 
all  his  fellow-collegians  whom  he  mentions,  and,  with  one 
remarkable  exception,  I  have  ascertained  that  all  of  them 
entered  before  1730.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  some 
name  has  escaped  my  notice.  Adams,  as  I  have  shown, 
was  already  a  Fellow  when  Johnson  entered.  Meeke,  whose 
superiority  he  could  not  bear,  and  from  whom,  to  quote  his 
own  words,  '  I  tried  to  sit  as  far  as  I  could,  that  I  might  not 
hear  him  construe,'  matriculated  in  1725  ;  Edwards,  as  I 
have  shown,  in  1729.  Phil.  Jones  and  Fludyer,  with  whom 
he  used  to  play  at  draughts — the  one  of  whom  loved  beer 
and  did  not  get  very  forward  in  the  Church,  while  the  other 
turned  out  a  scoundrel  and  a  Whig—were  about  of  John- 
son's standing.     Jones,  indeed,  must  have  been  his  senior. 

To  this  fact,  for  such  I  believe  it  to  be,  that  Johnson 
mentions  no  Pembroke  man  who  entered  after  1729,  there 
is  the  one  exception  of  the  celebrated  preacher  George 
Whitfield.     He  is  twice  mentioned   in  Bosvvell   as   having 


349  DR.   JOHNSON. 


"been  Johnson's  fellow-collegian.  In  Boswell's  account  of 
October  12,  1779,  on  the  passage  beginning  *0f  his  fellow- 
collegian  the  celebrated  Mr.  George  Whitfield/  &c.,  Mr. 
Croker  quotes  this  note  of  Dr.  Hall's  :  '  George  Whitfield 
did  not  enter  at  Pembroke  College  before  November  1732, 
more  than  twelve  months  after  Johnson's  name  was  off  the 
books ;  so  that,  strictly  speaking,  they  were  not  fellow- 
collegians,  though  they  were  both  of  the  same  College.'  But 
in  Bosvvell's  'Journal  of  a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides'  we  find  the 
following  passage,  under  the  date  of  August  15  :  *  We  talked 
of  Whitfield.  He  said  he  was  at  the  same  College  with  him; 
and  knew  him  before  he  began  to  be  better  than  other  people 
(smiling).' 

Now  Johnson  read  this  journal  in  manuscript,  and,  as 
Boswell  on  one  occasion  tells  us,  corrected  any  mistakes 
he  had  made.  Yet  it  is  quite  certain  that  Johnson,  even 
if  he  was  at  College  in  1731,  most  certainly  was  not  there 
in  1732.  Not  only  have  we  Boswell's  statement  and  the 
authority  of  the  College  books,  but  we  have  the  evidence  of 
a  letter  he  wrote  from  Lichfield  on  October  30,  1731,  and 
two  entries  in  his  diary  for  1732.  If  he  had  known  Whit- 
field he  would  have  known  Shenstone,  for  Shenstone  entered' 
Pembroke  six  months  before  Whitfield  ;  but,  so  far  as  I 
know,  there  is  no  evidence  that  they  were  ever  acquainted. 
I  cannot  pretend  to  reconcile  Boswell's  statement — and  for 
the  matter  of  that  Johnson's,  seeing  that  he  revised  the^ 
manuscript — with  the  facts  of  the  case.  We  are  told, 
indeed,  that  a  year  or  two  after  he  left  Oxford  he  borrowed 
a  book  from  the  library  of  Pembroke  College.  It  would  not 
have  been  impossible,  or  even  improbable,  that  a  man  who, 
like  Johnson,  frequently  walked  from  Lichfield  to  Birming- 
ham and  back,  would  have  trudged  all  the  way  to  Oxford  to 


APPENDIX,  341 


fetch  the  book.  In  that  case  he  might  have  seen  Whitfield, 
But  Boswell  tells  us  that  '  the  first  time  of  his  being  at 
Oxford  after  quitting  the  University'  was  in  1754. 

The  evidence,  then,  as  those  who  have  had  patience  to 
follow  me  will  have  seen,  is  strong  on  both  sides,  and  in  one 
part  at  least  full  of  perplexity.  Jt  had  at  one  time  occurred 
to  me  that,  when  his  means  failed,  he  might  have  occupied 
the  post  of  a  servito?.  A  servitor  I  thought,  perhaps,  had 
no  charge  made  against  him  in  the  books.  But  by  the  kind- 
ness of  Mr.  Mowar,  the  Bursar  of  Pembroke  College,  I 
have  since  inspected  the  College  books,  and  I  have  satisfied 
myself  tha!t  at  no  time  of  his  University  course  was  Johnson 
a  servitor.  I  have  looked  at  Whitfield's  battels,  who  waS 
a  servitor,  and  I  have  found  that  though  they  were  more 
moderate  in  amount  they  were  kept  like  a  commoner's.  His 
name,  moreover,  as  a  servitor,  is  entered  on  a  different  part 
of  the  page  from  those  of  the  commoners.  He  comes  after 
the  Obsonator^  Protnus,  and  Coquus,  while  Johnson's  name 
remains  from  first  to  last  in  the  same  division. 

Mr.  Elwin  is  bound  to  show  in  support  of  his  hypothesis 
at  least  one  instance  at  the  University  of  free  commons. 
Even  if  a  man  had  free  commons,  nevertheless,  as  a  matter  of 
account  and  as  a  proof  of  residence  we  should  have  expected 
that  his  battels  would  have  been  kept  in  the  usual  way. 

The  more  I  consider  the  question,  the  more  I  incline  to 
the  opinion  that  Johnson's  residence  at  Oxford  practically 
came  to  an  end  in  December  1729.  The  books  seem  to 
show  that  he  was  in  residence  one  week  in  March  1730,  and 
one  week  in  the  following  September. 

As  I  have  said  above,  the  proof  of  residence  is  estab- 
lished, and  alone  established,  by  the  entries  in  the  buttery 
books.     It   is  not  by  residing  in  college,  but  by  eating  in' 


342  DR.  JOHNSON, 


college,  that  the  required  number  of  terms  is  kept.  Had 
the  college  authorities  wished  to  assist  Johnson,  they  could 
have  done  so  by  subscribing  together  to  pay  his  battels,  but 
the  account  of  his  battels  would  have  been  kept  just  the 
same.  With  what  Mr.  Elwin  calls  free  battels,  he  could 
never  have  taken  his  degree. 


NOTE. 

I  HAD  already  received  from  the  printer  the  revised  proofs 
of  this  chapter,  when,  in  the  hope  of  throwing  more  light  on 
this  perplexing  question,  I  examined,  by  the  kind  permission 
of  the  Treasurer  of  Christ  Church,  the  battel-books  of  the 
College.  I  have  been  more  than  repaid  for  the  trouble  that 
I  have  taken  by  the  discovery  that  I  have  made.  I  now  feel 
no  doubt  whatever  that  Johnson's  residence  at  Pembroke 
College  came  to  an  end,  as  the  Pembroke  battel-books 
show,  in  December,  1729.  Mr.  Croker  therefore  was  right,  I 
hold,  in  maintaining  that,  so  far  from  being  three  years  at 
Oxford,  he  was  there  barely  fourteen  months.  I  should  before 
this  have  come  with  full  certainty  to  this  conclusion,  had  it 
not  been  for  Mr.  Croker's  statement  as  to  the  date  of  Dr. 
Taylor's  matriculation  at  Christ  Church.  Hawkins,  indeed, 
and  Boswell  both  say  that  Johnson  was  at  college  three 
years.  His  name  certainly  was  not  finally  taken  off  the 
books  till  three  years  after  his  matriculation.  But  the  only 
contemporary  evidence  (excluding  the  statement  about 
Whitfield)  that  seemed  to  prove  that  Johnson  was  in  resi- 
dence after  December  1729,  was  his  own  statement  about 
Taylor.   He  had  himself  told  Mrs.  Thrale,  as  I  have  pointed 


APPENDIX.  .  343 

out,  that  the  history  of  his  Oxford  exploits  lay  All  between 
Taylor  and  Adams.  One  of  these  '  exploits '  has  been  handed 
down  in  the  story  told  about  Johnson's  visit  to  Taylor  in  the 
worn-out  pair  of  shoes.  '  Authoritatively,'  says  Mr.  Croker, 
'  and  circumstantially  as  this  story  is  told,  it  seems  impossible 
to  reconcile  it  with  some  indisputable  facts  and  dates.'  In- 
disputable though  Mr.  Croker's  facts  and  dates  may  be,  I 
shall  nevertheless  venture  to  dispute  them.  As  I  was  revis- 
ing this  chapter  and  balancing  once  more  in  my  mind  the 
evidence  that  seemed  so  strong  and  yet  was  so  contradictory, 
it  occurred  to  me  that,  perhaps,  it  was  Mr.  Croker  himself 
who  had  blundered.  He  it  was  who  first  asserted  that  John- 
son had  left  college  in  December  1729.  He  it  was  who  first 
asserted  that  Taylor,  Johnson's  companion  at  the  University, 
had  matriculated  on  June  27th,  1730. 

I  obtained  permission  to  examine  the  battel-books  of 
Christ  Church.  As  I  turned  over  the  pages  covered  with 
the  dust  of  long  years,  I  certainly  found  the  entry  of  the 
matriculation  of  John  Taylor  on  June  27,  1730;  but  I  was 
not  discouraged,  Taylor  is  not  an  uncommon  name,  and  there 
might  be  not  only  two  Taylors  but  also  two  John  Taylors  at 
one  College  at  the  same  time.  On  a  different  page  I  had 
noticed  the  name  of  another  Taylor.  His  Christian  name, 
however,  was  not  given.  With  some  anxiety  but  with  more 
confidence  I  eagerly  traced  him  backwards  through  two  or 
three  volumes,  and  at  last  came  upon  the  entry  of  his  matri- 
culation. John  Taylor  matriculated  on  February  24, 1728-9. 
This,  I  felt  sure,  was  the  Dr.  Taylor  of  Boswell.  He  came 
into  residence  therefore  but  four  months  after  Johnson.  My 
satisfaction  was  complete.  At  that  moment,  perhaps,  one 
of  the  happiest  men  in  Oxford  was  to  be  found  in  a  garret  in 
Christ  Church  into  which  the  light  of  the  sun  never  makes 


344  DR.  JOHNSON. 


its  way.  The  reader  may  smile,  but  I  will  exclaim  with 
Goldsmith  *  I  do  not  love  a  man  who  is  zealous  for  nothing.' 
•■  Against  all  the  evidence  that  can  be  brought  forward  on 
the  other  side  there  is  nothing  left  of  any  weight  but  the  state- 
ments of  Boswell  and  Hawkins.  I  have  already  said  that  it 
is  not  unlikely  that  Boswell  has  merely  followed  the  account 
given  by  Hawkins.  He  would  have  been  the  less  likely  to 
have  discovered  Hawkins'  error  from  the  fact  that,  as  John- 
son's name  was  for  about  three  years  on  the  College  books, 
he  was  so  long,  in  name  at  least,  a  member  of  the  College. 

The  following  table  that  I  have  drawn  up  will  assist  the 
reader  in  arriving  at  a  conclusion  on  this  matter. 

1723.  Adams  elected  to  a  Fellowship  at  Pembroke. 

1725.  J.  Meeke  entered. 

1727.  Corbet  „ 

1728.  Jones  „ 

„     Oct.      31.  Johnson  entered. 

„    Nov.  Fludyer        „ 

„     Dec.      16.  Johnson  matriculated. 
1729  Feb.      24.  Taylor  „ 

.   „     March  16.  Jorden  elected  to  a  University  living. 

„    June  Edwards  entered. 

„     Oct.      24.  No  charge  for  battels  against  Johnson  this 
week. 
'Johnson  at   Lichfield  in  the   College  va- 
cation of  1729  overwhelmed  with  hypo- 
chondria.' 

„     Dec.     12.  Johnson's  period  of  regular  battels  came  to 
an  end. 

„        „  Entry  in  his  diary,  S.  J.  Oxonio  rediit. 

„        „       26.  Johnson  charged  5^.  in  battel-books. 


APPENDIX.  345 


1730  Jan.        2.  Johnson  charged  5^.  in  battel-books. 

>?       »        3*-^*  »  »  )> 

„    March  13.  „         4^.  7^.  „ 

J)        w       27.  „  5^'  >» 

„    April      8.  Blackwall  died. 

y,        „       ID.  Edwards  left  college. 

„  Sept.  18.  Charges  against  Johnson  in  battel-books 
but  the  account  not  added  up. 

„  Nov.  27.  Johnson^s  name  disappears  from  the  battel- 
books. 

„     Dec.     23.  Jorden's  Fellowship  filled  up. 

1 731  Jan.      29.  Johnson's  name  reappears  for  this  week, 

with  no  charge  added  to  it. 
„    March  12.  Johnson*s  name  reappears  and  remains  on 

the  books  till  the  following  October,  when 

it  finally  disappears. 
„     Oct.      3a  Johnson,  in  a  letter  written  at  Lichfield,  says, 

*  as  I  am  yfet  unemployed.' 
„    Dec.  Michael  Johnson  died. 

1732  May     25.  Shenstone  matriculated. 

„    July      16.  Entry  in  Johnson's  diary  :  Bosvortiam  pedes 

petit. 
„    Nov.      7.  Whitfield  matriculated. 


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