Chapter II: Part 2

So easy is his style in these Lives, that I do not recollect more than three uncommon or learned words[139]; one, when giving an account of the approach of Waller's mortal disease, he says, 'he found his legs grow _tumid_;' by using the expression his legs _swelled_, he would have avoided this; and there would have been no impropriety in its being followed by the interesting question to his physician, 'What that _swelling_ meant?' Another, when he mentions that Pope had _emitted_ proposals; when _published_ or _issued_ would have been more readily understood; and a third, when he calls Orrery and Dr. Delany[140], writers both undoubtedly _veracious_[141], when _true, honest_, or _faithful_, might have been used. Yet, it must be owned, that none of these are _hard_ or _too big_ words; that custom would make them seem as easy as any others; and that a language is richer and capable of more beauty of expression, by having a greater variety of synonimes.

His dissertation[142] upon the unfitness of poetry for the aweful subjects of our holy religion, though I do not entirely agree with with him, has all the merit of originality, with uncommon force and reasoning.

_Various Readings in the Life of_ WALLER.

'Consented to [the insertion of their names] _their own nomination_.

'[After] _paying_ a fine of ten thousand pounds.

'Congratulating Charles the Second on his [coronation] _recovered right_.

'He that has flattery ready for all whom the vicissitudes of the world happen to exalt, must be [confessed to degrade his powers] _scorned as a prostituted mind_.

'The characters by which Waller intended to distinguish his writings are [elegance] _sprightliness_ and dignity.

'Blossoms to be valued only as they [fetch] _foretell_ fruits.

'Images such as the superficies of nature [easily] _readily_ supplies.

'[His] Some applications [are sometimes] _may be thought_ too remote and unconsequential.

'His images are [sometimes confused] _not always distinct_?

Against his Life of MILTON, the hounds of Whiggism have opened in full cry[143]. But of Milton's great excellence as a poet, where shall we find such a blazon as by the hand of Johnson? I shall select only the following passage concerning _Paradise Lost_[144]:

'Fancy can hardly forbear to conjecture with what temper Milton surveyed the silent progress of his work, and marked his reputation stealing its way in a kind of subterraneous current, through fear and silence. I cannot but conceive him calm and confident, little disappointed, not at all dejected, relying on his own merit with steady consciousness, and waiting without impatience the vicissitudes of opinion, and the impartiality of a future generation[145].'

Indeed even Dr. Towers, who may be considered as one of the warmest zealots of _The Revolution Society_[146] itself, allows, that 'Johnson has spoken in the highest terms of the abilities of that great poet, and has bestowed on his principal poetical compositions the most honourable encomiums[147].'

That a man, who venerated the Church and Monarchy as Johnson did, should speak with a just abhorrence of Milton as a politician, or rather as a daring foe to good polity, was surely to be expected; and to those who censure him, I would recommend his commentary on Milton's celebrated complaint of his situation, when by the lenity of Charles the Second, 'a lenity of which (as Johnson well observes) the world has had perhaps no other example, he, who had written in justification of the murder of his Sovereign, was safe under an Act of Oblivion[148].'

'No sooner is he safe than he finds himself in danger, _fallen on evil days and evil tongues_, [and] _with darkness and with danger compassed round_[149]. This darkness, had his eyes been better employed, had undoubtedly deserved compassion; but to add the mention of danger, was ungrateful and unjust. He was fallen, indeed, on _evil days_; the time was come in which regicides could no longer boast their wickedness. But of _evil tongues_ for Milton to complain, required impudence at least equal to his other powers; Milton, whose warmest advocates must allow, that he never spared any asperity of reproach, or brutality of insolence[150].'

I have, indeed, often wondered how Milton, 'an acrimonious and surly Republican[151],'--'a man who in his domestick relations was so severe and arbitrary[152],' and whose head was filled with the hardest and most dismal tenets of Calvinism[153], should have been such a poet; should not only have written with sublimity, but with beauty, and even gaiety; should have exquisitely painted the sweetest sensations of which our nature is capable; imaged the delicate raptures of connubial love; nay, seemed to be animated with all the spirit of revelry. It is a proof that in the human mind the departments of judgement and imagination, perception and temper, may sometimes be divided by strong partitions; and that the light and shade in the same character may be kept so distinct as never to be blended[154].

In the Life of Milton, Johnson took occasion to maintain his own and the general opinion of the excellence of rhyme over blank verse, in English poetry[155]; and quotes this apposite illustration of it by 'an ingenious critick,' that _it seems to be verse only to the eye_[156]. The gentleman whom he thus characterises, is (as he told Mr. Seward) Mr. Lock[157], of Norbury Park, in Surrey, whose knowledge and taste in the fine arts is universally celebrated; with whose elegance of manners the writer of the present work has felt himself much impressed, and to whose virtues a common friend, who has known him long, and is not much addicted to flattery, gives the highest testimony.

_Various Readings in the Life of_ MILTON.

'I cannot find any meaning but this which [his most bigotted advocates] _even kindness and reverence_ can give.

'[Perhaps no] _scarcely any_ man ever wrote so much, and praised so few.

'A certain [rescue] _perservative_ from oblivion.

'Let me not be censured for this digression, as [contracted] _pedantick_ or paradoxical.

'Socrates rather was of opinion, that what we had to learn was how to [obtain and communicate happiness] _do good and avoid evil_.

'Its elegance [who can exhibit?] _is less attainable._'

I could, with pleasure, expatiate upon the masterly execution of the Life of DRYDEN, which we have seen[158] was one of Johnson's literary projects at an early period, and which it is remarkable, that after desisting from it, from a supposed scantiness of materials, he should, at an advanced age, have exhibited so amply.

His defence[159] of that great poet against the illiberal attacks upon him, as if his embracing the Roman Catholick communion had been a time-serving measure, is a piece of reasoning at once able and candid. Indeed, Dryden himself, in his _Hind and Panther_, has given such a picture of his mind, that they who know the anxiety for repose as to the aweful subject of our state beyond the grave, though they may think his opinion ill-founded, must think charitably of his sentiment:--

'But, gracious GOD, how well dost thou provide
For erring judgements an unerring guide!
Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.
O! teach me to believe thee thus conceal'd,
And search no farther than thyself reveal'd;
But Her alone for my director take,
Whom thou hast promis'd never to forsake.
My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires;
My manhood long misled by wand'ring fires,
Follow'd false lights; and when their glimpse was gone,
My pride struck out new sparkles of her own.
Such was I, such by Nature still I am;
Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame.
Good life be now my task: my doubts are done;
What more could shock[160] my faith than Three in One?'

In drawing Dryden's character, Johnson has given, though I suppose unintentionally, some touches of his own. Thus:--'The power that predominated in his intellectual operations was rather strong reason than quick sensibility. Upon all occasions that were presented, he studied rather than felt; and produced sentiments not such as Nature enforces, but meditation supplies. With the simple and elemental passions as they spring separate in the mind, he seems not much acquainted. He is, therefore, with all his variety of excellence, not often pathetick; and had so little sensibility of the power of effusions purely natural, that he did not esteem them in others[161].' It may indeed be observed, that in all the numerous writings of Johnson, whether in prose or verse, and even in his Tragedy, of which the subject is the distress of an unfortunate Princess, there is not a single passage that ever drew a tear[162].

_Various Readings in the Life of_ DRYDEN.

'The reason of this general perusal, Addison has attempted to [find in] _derive from_ the delight which the mind feels in the investigation of secrets.

'His best actions are but [convenient] _inability of_ wickedness.

'When once he had engaged himself in disputation, [matter] _thoughts_ flowed in on either side.

'The abyss of an un-ideal [emptiness] _vacancy_.

'These, like [many other harlots,] _the harlots of other men_, had his love though not his approbation.

'He [sometimes displays] _descends to display_ his knowledge with pedantick ostentation.

'French words which [were then used in] _had then crept into_ conversation.'

The Life of POPE[163] was written by Johnson _con amore_, both from the early possession which that writer had taken of his mind, and from the pleasure which he must have felt, in for ever silencing all attempts to lessen his poetical fame, by demonstrating his excellence, and pronouncing the following triumphant eulogium[164]:--'After all this, it is surely superfluous to answer the question that has once been asked, Whether Pope was a poet? otherwise than by asking in return, If Pope be not a poet, where is poetry to be found? To circumscribe poetry by a definition, will only shew the narrowness of the definer; though a definition which shall exclude Pope will not easily be made. Let us look round upon the present time, and back upon the past; let us enquire to whom the voice of mankind has decreed the wreath of poetry; let their productions be examined, and their claims stated, and the pretensions of Pope will be no more disputed.'

I remember once to have heard Johnson say, 'Sir, a thousand years may elapse before there shall appear another man with a power of versification equal to that of Pope.' That power must undoubtedly be allowed its due share in enhancing the value of his captivating composition.

Johnson, who had done liberal justice to Warburton in his edition of _Shakspeare_[165], which was published during the life of that powerful writer, with still greater liberality[166] took an opportunity, in the Life of Pope, of paying the tribute due to him when he was no longer in 'high place,' but numbered with the dead[167].

It seems strange, that two such men as Johnson and Warburton, who lived in the same age and country, should not only not have been in any degree of intimacy, but been almost personally unacquainted. But such instances, though we must wonder at them, are not rare. If I am rightly informed, after a careful enquiry, they never met but once, which was at the house of Mrs. French, in London, well known for her elegant assemblies, and bringing eminent characters together. The interview proved to be mutually agreeable[168].

I am well informed, that Warburton said of Johnson, 'I admire him, but I cannot bear his style:' and that Johnson being told of this, said, 'That is exactly my case as to him[169].' The manner in which he expressed his admiration of the fertility of Warburton's genius and of the variety of his materials was, 'The table is always full, Sir. He brings things from the north, and the south, and from every quarter. In his _Divine Legation_, you are always entertained. He carries you round and round, without carrying you forward to the point; but then you have no wish to be carried forward.' He said to the Reverend Mr. Strahan, 'Warburton is perhaps the last man who has written with a mind full of reading and reflection[170].'

It is remarkable, that in the Life of Broome[171], Johnson takes notice of Dr. Warburton using a mode of expression which he himself used, and that not seldom, to the great offence of those who did not know him. Having occasion to mention a note, stating the different parts which were executed by the associated translators of _The Odyssey_, he says, 'Dr. Warburton told me, in his warm language, that he thought the relation given in the note _a lie_. The language is _warm_ indeed; and, I must own, cannot be justified in consistency with a decent regard to the established forms of speech. Johnson had accustomed himself to use the word _lie_[172], to express a mistake or an errour in relation; in short, when the _thing was not so as told_, though the relator did not _mean_ to deceive. When he thought there was intentional falsehood in the relator, his expression was, 'He _lies_, and he _knows_ he _lies_.'

Speaking of Pope's not having been known to excel in conversation, Johnson observes, that 'traditional memory retains no sallies of raillery, or[173] sentences of observation; nothing either pointed or solid, wise or merry[174]; and that one apophthegm only is recorded[175].' In this respect, Pope differed widely from Johnson, whose conversation was, perhaps, more admirable than even his writings, however excellent. Mr. Wilkes has, however, favoured me with one repartee of Pope, of which Johnson was not informed. Johnson, after justly censuring him for having 'nursed in his mind a foolish dis-esteem of Kings,' tells us, 'yet a little regard shewn him by the Prince of Wales melted his obduracy; and he had not much to say when he was asked by his Royal Highness, _how he could love a Prince, while he disliked Kings_[176]?' The answer which Pope made, was, 'The young lion is harmless, and even playful; but when his claws are full grown he becomes cruel, dreadful, and mischievous.'

But although we have no collection of Pope's sayings, it is not therefore to be concluded, that he was not agreeable in social intercourse; for Johnson has been heard to say, that 'the happiest conversation is that of which nothing is distinctly remembered but a general effect of pleasing impression.' The late Lord Somerville[177], who saw much both of great and brilliant life, told me, that he had dined in company with Pope, and that after dinner the _little man_, as he called him, drank his bottle of Burgundy, and was exceedingly gay and entertaining.

I cannot withhold from my great friend a censure of at least culpable inattention, to a nobleman, who, it has been shewn[178], behaved to him with uncommon politeness. He says, 'Except Lord Bathurst, none of Pope's noble friends were such as that a good man would wish to have his intimacy with them known to posterity[179].' This will not apply to Lord Mansfield, who was not ennobled in Pope's life-time; but Johnson should have recollected, that Lord Marchmont was one of those noble friends. He includes his Lordship along with Lord Bolingbroke, in a charge of neglect of the papers which Pope left by his will; when, in truth, as I myself pointed out to him, before he wrote that poet's life, the papers were 'committed to _the sole care and judgement_ of Lord Bolingbroke, unless he (Lord Bolingbroke) shall not survive me;' so that Lord Marchmont had no concern whatever with them[180]. After the first edition of the _Lives_, Mr. Malone, whose love of justice is equal to his accuracy, made, in my hearing, the same remark to Johnson; yet he omitted to correct the erroneous statement[181]. These particulars I mention, in the belief that there was only forgetfulness in my friend; but I owe this much to the Earl of Marchmont's reputation, who, were there no other memorials, will be immortalised by that line of Pope, in the verses on his Grotto:

'And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul.'

_Various Readings in the Life of POPE._

'[Somewhat free] _sufficiently bold_ in his criticism.

'All the gay [niceties] _varieties_ of diction.

'Strikes the imagination with far [more] _greater_ force.

'It is [probably] _certainly_ the noblest version of poetry which the world has ever seen.

'Every sheet enabled him to write the next with [less trouble] _more facility_.

'No man sympathizes with [vanity, depressed] _the sorrows of vanity_.

'It had been [criminal] _less easily excused_.

'When he [threatened to lay down] _talked of laying down_ his pen.

'Society [is so named emphatically in opposition to] _politically regulated, is a state contra-distinguished from_ a state of nature.

'A fictitious life of an [absurd] _infatuated_ scholar.

'A foolish [contempt, disregard,] _disesteem_ of Kings.

'His hopes and fears, his joys and sorrows [were like those of other mortals] _acted strongly upon his mind_.

'Eager to pursue knowledge and attentive to [accumulate] _retain it_.

'A mind [excursive] _active_, ambitious, and adventurous.

'In its [noblest] _widest_ researches still longing to go forward.

'He wrote in such a manner as might expose him to few [neglects] _hazards_.

'The [reasonableness] _justice_ of my determination.

'A [favourite] _delicious_ employment of the poets.

'More terrifick and more powerful [beings] _phantoms_ perform on the stormy ocean.

'The inventor of [those] _this_ petty [beings] _nation_.

'The [mind] _heart_ naturally loves truth.'

In the Life of ADDISON we find an unpleasing account of his having lent Steele a hundred pounds, and 'reclaimed his loan by an execution[182].' In the new edition of the _Biographia Britannica_, the authenticity of this anecdote is denied. But Mr. Malone has obliged me with the following note concerning it:--

'Many persons having doubts concerning this fact, I applied to Dr. Johnson to learn on what authority he asserted it. He told me, he had it from Savage, who lived in intimacy with Steele, and who mentioned, that Steele told him the story with tears in his eyes.--Ben Victor[183], Dr. Johnson said, likewise informed him of this remarkable transaction, from the relation of Mr. Wilkes[184] the comedian, who was also an intimate of Steele's.--Some in defence of Addison, have said, that "the act was done with the good natured view of rousing Steele, and correcting that profusion which always made him necessitous."--"If that were the case, (said Johnson,) and that he only wanted to alarm Steele, he would afterwards have _returned_ the money to his friend, which it is not pretended he did."--"This too, (he added,) might be retorted by an advocate for Steele, who might alledge, that he did not repay the loan _intentionally_, merely to see whether Addison would be mean and ungenerous enough to make use of legal process to recover it. But of such speculations there is no end: we cannot dive into the hearts of men; but their actions are open to observation[185]."

'I then mentioned to him that some people thought that Mr. Addison's character was so pure, that the fact, _though true_, ought to have been suppressed[186]. He saw no reason for this[187]. "If nothing but the bright side of characters should be shewn, we should sit down in despondency, and think it utterly impossible to imitate them in _any thing_. The sacred writers (he observed) related the vicious as well as the virtuous actions of men; which had this moral effect, that it kept mankind from _despair_, into which otherwise they would naturally fall, were they not supported by the recollection that others had offended like themselves, and by penitence and amendment of life had been restored to the favour of Heaven."

'E.M.'

'March 15, 1782.'

The last paragraph of this note is of great importance; and I request that my readers may consider it with particular attention. It will be afterwards referred to in this work[188].

_Various Readings in the Life of_ ADDISON.

'[But he was our first great example] _He was, however, one of our earliest examples_ of correctness.

And [overlook] _despise_ their masters.

His instructions were such as the [state] _character_ of his [own time] _readers_ made [necessary] _proper_.

His purpose was to [diffuse] _infuse_ literary curiosity by gentle and unsuspected conveyance [among] _into_ the gay, the idle, and the wealthy.

Framed rather for those that [wish] _are learning_ to write.

Domestick [manners] _scenes_.'

In his Life of PARNELL, I wonder that Johnson omitted to insert an Epitaph which he had long before composed for that amiable man, without ever writing it down, but which he was so good as, at my request, to dictate to me, by which means it has been preserved.

'_Hic requiescit_ THOMAS PARNELL, _S.T.P.
Qui sacerdos pariter et poeta,
Utrasque partes ita implevit,
Ut neque sacerdoti suavitas poetae,
Neo poetae sacerdotis sanctitas_[189], _deesset_.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ PARNELL.

'About three years [after] _afterwards_.

[Did not much want] _was in no great need of_ improvement.

But his prosperity _did not last long_ [was clouded by that which took away all his powers of enjoying either profit or pleasure, the death of his wife, whom he is said to have lamented with such sorrow, as hastened his end[190].] His end, whatever was the cause, was now approaching.

In the Hermit, the [composition] _narrative_, as it is less airy, is less pleasing.'

In the Life of BLACKMORE, we find that writer's reputation generously cleared by Johnson from the cloud of prejudice which the malignity of contemporary wits had raised around it[191]. In this spirited exertion of justice, he has been imitated by Sir Joshua Reynolds, in his praise of the architecture of Vanburgh[192].

We trace Johnson's own character in his observations on Blackmore's 'magnanimity as an authour.' 'The incessant attacks of his enemies, whether serious or merry, are never discovered to have disturbed his quiet, or to have lessened his confidence in himself.' Johnson, I recollect, once told me, laughing heartily, that he understood it had been said of him, 'He _appears_ not to feel; but when he is _alone_, depend upon it, he _suffers sadly_.' I am as certain as I can be of any man's real sentiments, that he _enjoyed_ the perpetual shower of little hostile arrows as evidences of his fame.

_Various Readings in the Life of_ BLACKMORE.

To [set] _engage_ poetry [on the side] _in the cause_ of virtue.

He likewise [established] _enforced_ the truth of Revelation.

[Kindness] _benevolence_ was ashamed to favour.

His practice, which was once [very extensive] _invidiously great_. There is scarcely any distemper of dreadful name [of] which he has not [shewn] _taught his reader_ how [it is to be opposed] _to oppose_.

Of this [contemptuous] _indecent_ arrogance.

[He wrote] _but produced_ likewise a work of a different kind.

At least [written] _compiled_ with integrity.

Faults which many tongues [were desirous] _would have made haste_ to publish.

But though he [had not] _could not boast of_ much critical knowledge.

He [used] _waited for_ no felicities of fancy.

Or had ever elevated his [mind] _views_ to that ideal perfection which every [mind] _genius_ born to excel is condemned always to pursue and never overtake.

The [first great] _fundamental_ principle of wisdom and of virtue.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ PHILIPS.

'His dreaded [rival] _antagonist_ Pope.

They [have not often much] _are not loaded with_ thought.

In his translations from Pindar, he [will not be denied to have reached] _found the art of reaching_ all the obscurity of the Theban bard.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ CONGREVE.

'Congreve's conversation must surely have been _at least_ equally pleasing with his writings.

It apparently [requires] _pre-supposes_ a familiar knowledge of many characters.

Reciprocation of [similes] _conceits_.

The dialogue is quick and [various] _sparkling_.

Love for Love; a comedy [more drawn from life] _of nearer alliance to life_.

The general character of his miscellanies is, that they shew little wit and [no] _little_ virtue.

[Perhaps] _certainly_ he had not the fire requisite for the higher species of lyrick poetry.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ TICKELL.

'[Longed] _long wished_ to peruse it.

At the [accession] _arrival_ of King George.

Fiction [unnaturally] _unskilfully_ compounded of Grecian deities and Gothick fairies.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ AKENSIDE.

'For [another] _a different_ purpose.

[A furious] _an unnecessary_ and outrageous zeal.

[Something which] _what_ he called and thought liberty.

A [favourer of innovation] _lover of contradiction_.

Warburton's [censure] _objections_.

His rage [for liberty] _of patriotism_.

Mr. Dyson with [a zeal] _an ardour_ of friendship.'

In the Life of LYTTELTON, Johnson seems to have been not favourably disposed towards that nobleman[193]. Mrs. Thrale suggests that he was offended by _Molly Aston's_[194] preference of his Lordship to him[195]. I can by no means join in the censure bestowed by Johnson on his Lordship, whom he calls 'poor Lyttelton,' for returning thanks to the Critical Reviewers for having 'kindly commended' his _Dialogues of the Dead_. Such 'acknowledgements (says my friend) never can be proper, since they must be paid either for flattery or for justice.' In my opinion, the most upright man, who has been tried on a false accusation, may, when he is acquitted, make a bow to his jury. And when those who are so much the arbiters of literary merit, as in a considerable degree to influence the publick opinion, review an authour's work, _placido lumine_[196], when I am afraid mankind in general are better pleased with severity, he may surely express a grateful sense of their civility[197].

_Various Readings in the Life of_ LYTTELTON.

'He solaced [himself] _his grief_ by writing a long poem to her memory.

The production rather [of a mind that means well than thinks vigorously] _as it seems of leisure than of study, rather effusions than compositions_.

His last literary [work] _production_.

[Found the way] _undertook_ to persuade.'

As the introduction to his critical examination of the genius and writings of YOUNG, he did Mr. Herbert Croft[198], then a Barrister of Lincoln's-inn, now a clergyman, the honour to adopt[199] a _Life of Young_ written by that gentleman, who was the friend of Dr. Young's son, and wished to vindicate him from some very erroneous remarks to his prejudice. Mr. Croft's performance was subjected to the revision of Dr. Johnson, as appears from the following note to Mr. John Nichols[200]:--

'This _Life of Dr. Young_ was written by a friend of his son. What is crossed with black is expunged by the authour, what is crossed with red is expunged by me. If you find any thing more that can be well omitted, I shall not be sorry to see it yet shorter[201]'

It has always appeared to me to have a considerable share of merit, and to display a pretty successful imitation of Johnson's style. When I mentioned this to a very eminent literary character[202], he opposed me vehemently, exclaiming, 'No, no, it is _not_ a good imitation of Johnson; it has all his pomp without his force; it has all the nodosities of the oak without its strength.' This was an image so happy, that one might have thought he would have been satisfied with it; but he was not. And setting his mind again to work, he added, with exquisite felicity, 'It has all the contortions of the Sybil, without the inspiration.'

Mr. Croft very properly guards us against supposing that Young was a gloomy man[203]; and mentions, that 'his parish was indebted to the good-humour of the authour of the _Night Thoughts_ for an Assembly and a Bowling-Green[204].' A letter from a noble foreigner is quoted, in which he is said to have been 'very pleasant in conversation[205].'

Mr. Langton, who frequently visited him, informs me, that there was an air of benevolence in his manner, but that he could obtain from him less information than he had hoped to receive from one who had lived so much in intercourse with the brightest men of what has been called the Augustan age of England; and that he shewed a degree of eager curiosity concerning the common occurrences that were then passing, which appeared somewhat remarkable in a man of such intellectual stores, of such an advanced age, and who had retired from life with declared disappointment in his expectations.

An instance at once of his pensive turn of mind, and his cheerfulness of temper, appeared in a little story which he himself told to Mr. Langton, when they were walking in his garden: 'Here (said he) I had put a handsome sun-dial, with this inscription, _Eheu fugaces!_[206] which (speaking with a smile) was sadly verified, for by the next morning my dial had been carried off.'[207]

'It gives me much pleasure to observe, that however Johnson may have casually talked,[208] yet when he sits, as "an ardent judge zealous to his trust, giving sentence" [209] upon the excellent works of Young, he allows them the high praise to which they are justly entitled. "The _Universal Passion_ (says he) is indeed a very great performance,--his distichs have the weight of solid sentiment, and his points the sharpness of resistless truth."'[210]

But I was most anxious concerning Johnson's decision upon _Night Thoughts_, which I esteem as a mass of the grandest and richest poetry that human genius has ever produced; and was delighted to find this character of that work: 'In his _Night Thoughts_, he has exhibited a very wide display of original poetry, variegated with deep reflections and striking allusions; a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue and of every odour. This is one of the few poems in which blank verse could not be changed for rhime but with disadvantage.'[211] And afterwards, 'Particular lines are not to be regarded; the power is in the whole; and in the whole there is a magnificence like that ascribed to Chinese plantation[212], the magnificence of vast extent and endless diversity.'

But there is in this Poem not only all that Johnson so well brings in view, but a power of the _Pathetick_ beyond almost any example that I have seen. He who does not feel his nerves shaken, and his heart pierced by many passages in this extraordinary work, particularly by that most affecting one, which describes the gradual torment suffered by the contemplation of an object of affectionate attachment, visibly and certainly decaying into dissolution, must be of a hard and obstinate frame[213].

To all the other excellencies of _Night Thoughts_ let me add the great and peculiar one, that they contain not only the noblest sentiments of virtue, and contemplations on immortality, but the _Christian Sacrifice_, the _Divine Propitiation_, with all its interesting circumstances, and consolations to 'a wounded spirit[214],' solemnly and poetically displayed in such imagery and language, as cannot fail to exalt, animate, and soothe the truly pious. No book whatever can be recommended to young persons, with better hopes of seasoning their minds with _vital religion_, than YOUNG'S _Night Thoughts_.

In the Life of SWIFT, it appears to me that Johnson had a certain degree of prejudice against that extraordinary man, of which I have elsewhere had occasion to speak[215]. Mr. Thomas Sheridan imputed it to a supposed apprehension in Johnson, that Swift had not been sufficiently active in obtaining for him an Irish degree when it was solicited[216], but of this there was not sufficient evidence; and let me not presume to charge Johnson with injustice, because he did not think so highly of the writings of this authour, as I have done from my youth upwards. Yet that he had an unfavourable bias is evident, were it only from that passage in which he speaks of Swift's practice of saving, as, 'first ridiculous and at last detestable;' and yet after some examination of circumstances, finds himself obliged to own, that 'it will perhaps appear that he only liked one mode of expence better than another, and saved merely that he might have something to give[217].'

One observation which Johnson makes in Swift's life should be often inculcated:--

'It may be justly supposed, that there was in his conversation what appears so frequently in his letters, an affectation of familiarity with the great, an ambition of momentary equality, sought and enjoyed by the neglect of those ceremonies which custom has established as the barriers between one order of society and another. This transgression of regularity was by himself and his admirers termed greatness of soul; but a great mind disdains to hold any thing by courtesy, and therefore never usurps what a lawful claimant may take away. He that encroaches on another's dignity puts himself in his power; he is either repelled with helpless indignity, or endured by clemency and condescension[218].'

_Various Readings in the Life of Swift_.

'Charity may be persuaded to think that it might be written by a man of _a_ peculiar [opinions] _character_, without ill intention.

He did not [disown] _deny_ it.

'[To] _by_ whose kindness it is not unlikely that he was [indebted for] _advanced to_ his benefices.

[With] _for_ this purpose he had recourse to Mr. Harley.

Sharpe, whom he [represents] _describes_ as "the harmless tool of others' hate."

Harley was slow because he was [irresolute] _doubtful_.

When [readers were not many] _we were not yet a nation of readers_.

[Every man who] _he that could say he_ knew him.

Every man of known influence has so many [more] petitions [than] _which_ he [can] _cannot_ grant, that he must necessarily offend more than he [can gratify] _gratifies_.

Ecclesiastical [preferments] _benefices_.

'Swift [procured] _contrived_ an interview.

[As a writer] _In his works_ he has given very different specimens.

On all common occasions he habitually [assumes] _affects_ a style of [superiority] _arrogance_.

By the [omission] _neglect_ of those ceremonies.

That their merits filled the world [and] _or that_ there was no [room for] _hope of_ more.'

I have not confined myself to the order of the _Lives_, in making my few remarks. Indeed a different order is observed in the original publication, and in the collection of Johnson's _Works_. And should it be objected, that many of my various readings are inconsiderable, those who make the objection will be pleased to consider, that such small particulars are intended for those who are nicely critical in composition, to whom they will be an acceptable selection[219].

_Spence's Anecdotes_, which are frequently quoted and referred to in Johnson's _Lives of the Poets_, are in a manuscript collection, made by the Reverend Mr. Joseph Spence[220], containing a number of particulars concerning eminent men. To each anecdote is marked the name of the person on whose authority it is mentioned. This valuable collection is the property of the Duke of Newcastle, who upon the application of Sir Lucas Pepys, was pleased to permit it to be put into the hands of Dr. Johnson, who I am sorry to think made but an aukward return. 'Great assistance (says he) has been given me by Mr. Spence's Collection, of which I consider the communication as a favour worthy of publick acknowledgement[221];' but he has not owned to whom he was obliged; so that the acknowledgement is unappropriated to his Grace.

While the world in general was filled with admiration of Johnson's _Lives of the Poets_, there were narrow circles in which prejudice and resentment were fostered, and from which attacks of different sorts issued against him[222]. By some violent Whigs he was arraigned of injustice to Milton; by some Cambridge men of depreciating Gray; and his expressing with a dignified freedom what he really thought of George, Lord Lyttelton, gave offence to some of the friends of that nobleman, and particularly produced a declaration of war against him from Mrs. Montagu, the ingenious Essayist on Shakspeare, between whom and his Lordship a commerce of reciprocal compliments had long been carried on[223]. In this war the smaller powers in alliance with him were of course led to engage, at least on the defensive, and thus I for one was excluded from the enjoyment of 'A Feast of Reason,' such as Mr. Cumberland has described, with a keen, yet just and delicate pen, in his _Observer_[224]. These minute inconveniencies gave not the least disturbance to Johnson. He nobly said, when I talked to him of the feeble, though shrill outcry which had been raised, 'Sir, I considered myself as entrusted with a certain portion of truth. I have given my opinion sincerely; let them shew where they think me wrong[225].'

While my friend is thus contemplated in the splendour derived from his last and perhaps most admirable work, I introduce him with peculiar propriety as the correspondent of WARREN HASTINGS! a man whose regard reflects dignity even upon JOHNSON; a man, the extent of whose abilities was equal to that of his power; and who, by those who are fortunate enough to know him in private life, is admired for his literature and taste, and beloved for the candour, moderation, and mildness of his character. Were I capable of paying a suitable tribute of admiration to him, I should certainly not withhold it at a moment[226] when it is not possible that I should be suspected of being an interested flatterer. But how weak would be my voice after that of the millions whom he governed. His condescending and obliging compliance with my solicitation, I with humble gratitude acknowledge; and while by publishing his letter to me, accompanying the valuable communication, I do eminent honour to my great friend, I shall entirely disregard any invidious suggestions, that as I in some degree participate in the honour, I have, at the same time, the gratification of my own vanity in view.

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. Park Lane, Dec. 2, 1790.

SIR,

I have been fortunately spared the troublesome suspense of a long search, to which, in performance of my promise, I had devoted this morning, by lighting upon the objects of it among the first papers that I laid my hands on: my veneration for your great and good friend, Dr. Johnson, and the pride, or I hope something of a better sentiment, which I indulged in possessing such memorials of his good will towards me, having induced me to bind them in a parcel containing other select papers, and labelled with the titles appertaining to them. They consist but of three letters, which I believe were all that I ever received from Dr. Johnson. Of these, one, which was written in quadruplicate, under the different dates of its respective dispatches, has already been made publick[227], but not from any communication of mine. This, however, I have joined to the rest; and have now the pleasure of sending them to you for the use to which you informed me it was your desire to destine them.

'My promise was pledged with the condition, that if the letters were found to contain any thing which should render them improper for the publick eye, you would dispense with the performance of it. You will have the goodness, I am sure, to pardon my recalling this stipulation to your recollection, as I should be both to appear negligent of that obligation which is always implied in an epistolary confidence. In the reservation of that right I have read them over with the most scrupulous attention, but have not seen in them the slightest cause on that ground to withhold them from you. But, though not on that, yet on another ground I own I feel a little, yet but a little, reluctance to part with them: I mean on that of my own credit, which I fear will suffer by the information conveyed by them, that I was early in the possession of such valuable instructions for the beneficial employment of the influence of my late station, and (as it may seem) have so little availed myself of them. Whether I could, if it were necessary, defend myself against such an imputation, it little concerns the world to know. I look only to the effect which these relicks may produce, considered as evidences of the virtues of their authour: and believing that they will be found to display an uncommon warmth of private friendship, and a mind ever attentive to the improvement and extension of useful knowledge, and solicitous for the interests of mankind, I can cheerfully submit to the little sacrifice of my own fame, to contribute to the illustration of so great and venerable a character. They cannot be better applied, for that end, than by being entrusted to your hands. Allow me, with this offering, to infer from it a proof of the very great esteem with which I have the honour to profess myself, Sir,

Your most obedient
And most humble servant,
'WARREN HASTINGS.'

'_P.S_. At some future time, and when you have no further occasion for these papers, I shall be obliged to you if you would return them.'

The last of the three letters thus graciously put into my hands, and which has already appeared in publick, belongs to this year; but I shall previously insert the first two in the order of their dates. They altogether form a grand group in my biographical picture.

TO THE HONOURABLE WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ.

'SIR,

Though I have had but little personal knowledge of you, I have had enough to make me wish for more; and though it be now a long time since I was honoured by your visit, I had too much pleasure from it to forget it. By those whom we delight to remember, we are unwilling to be forgotten; and therefore I cannot omit this opportunity of reviving myself in your memory by a letter which you will receive from the hands of my friend Mr. Chambers[228]; a man, whose purity of manners and vigour of mind are sufficient to make every thing welcome that he brings.

That this is my only reason for writing, will be too apparent by the uselessness of my letter to any other purpose. I have no questions to ask; not that I want curiosity after either the ancient or present state of regions in which have been seen all the power and splendour of wide-extended empire; and which, as by some grant of natural superiority, supply the rest of the world with almost all that pride desires and luxury enjoys. But my knowledge of them is too scanty to furnish me with proper topicks of enquiry; I can only wish for information; and hope, that a mind comprehensive like yours will find leisure, amidst the cares of your important station, to enquire into many subjects of which the European world either thinks not at all, or thinks with deficient intelligence and uncertain conjecture. I shall hope, that he who once intended to increase the learning of his country by the introduction of the Persian language[229], will examine nicely the traditions and histories of the East; that he will survey the wonders of its ancient edifices, and trace the vestiges of its ruined cities; and that, at his return, we shall know the arts and opinions of a race of men, from whom very little has been hitherto derived.

You, Sir, have no need of being told by me, how much may be added by your attention and patronage to experimental knowledge and natural history. There are arts of manufacture practised in the countries in which you preside, which are yet very imperfectly known here, either to artificers or philosophers. Of the natural productions, animate and inanimate, we yet have so little intelligence, that our books are filled, I fear, with conjectures about things which an Indian peasant knows by his senses.

Many of those things my first wish is to see; my second to know, by such accounts as a man like you will be able to give.

As I have not skill to ask proper questions, I have likewise no such access to great men as can enable me to send you any political information. Of the agitations of an unsettled government, and the struggles of a feeble ministry[230], care is doubtless taken to give you more exact accounts than I can obtain. If you are inclined to interest yourself much in publick transactions, it is no misfortune to you to be so distant from them.

That literature is not totally forsaking us, and that your favourite language is not neglected, will appear from the book[231], which I should have pleased myself more with sending, if I could have presented it bound: but time was wanting. I beg, however, Sir, that you will accept it from a man very desirous of your regard; and that if you think me able to gratify you by any thing more important you will employ me.

I am now going to take leave, perhaps a very long leave, of my dear Mr. Chambers. That he is going to live where you govern, may justly alleviate the regret of parting; and the hope of seeing both him and you again, which I am not willing to mingle with doubt, must at present comfort as it can, Sir, Your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON. March 30, 1774.'

To THE SAME.

'SIR, Being informed that by the departure of a ship, there is now an opportunity of writing to Bengal, I am unwilling to slip out of your memory by my own negligence, and therefore take the liberty of reminding you of my existence, by sending you a book which is not yet made publick.

I have lately visited a region less remote, and less illustrious than India, which afforded some occasions for speculation; what has occurred to me, I have put into the volume[232], of which I beg your acceptance.

Men in your station seldom have presents totally disinterested; my book is received, let me now make my request.

There is, Sir, somewhere within your government, a young adventurer, one Chauncey Lawrence, whose father is one of my oldest friends. Be pleased to shew the young man what countenance is fit, whether he wants to be restrained by your authority, or encouraged by your favour. His father is now President of the College of Physicians, a man venerable for his knowledge, and more venerable for his virtue[233].

I wish you a prosperous government, a safe return, and a long enjoyment of plenty and tranquillity.

I am, Sir,
Your most obedient
And most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON[234].

London, Dec. 20, 1774.'

TO THE SAME.

'Jan. 9, 1781.

Sir,

Amidst the importance and multiplicity of affairs in which your great office engages you, I take the liberty of recalling your attention for a moment to literature, and will not prolong the interruption by an apology which your character makes needless.

Mr. Hoole, a gentleman long known, and long esteemed in the India-House, after having translated Tasso[235], has undertaken Ariosto. How well he is qualified for his undertaking he has already shewn. He is desirous, Sir, of your favour in promoting his proposals, and flatters me by supposing that my testimony may advance his interest.

It is a new thing for a clerk of the India-House to translate poets; --it is new for a Governour of Bengal to patronize learning. That he may find his ingenuity rewarded, and that learning may flourish under your protection, is the wish of, Sir, Your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.'

I wrote to him in February, complaining of having been troubled by a recurrence of the perplexing question of Liberty and Necessity;--and mentioning that I hoped soon to meet him again in London.

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

DEAR SIR,

I hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery. What have you to do with Liberty and Necessity[236]? Or what more than to hold your tongue about it? Do not doubt but I shall be most heartily glad to see you here again, for I love every part about you but your affectation of distress.

I have at last finished my _Lives_, and have laid up for you a load of copy[237], all out of order, so that it will amuse you a long time to set it right. Come to me, my dear Bozzy, and let us be as happy as we can. We will go again to the Mitre, and talk old times over.

I am, dear Sir,
Yours affectionately,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'

March, 14, 1781.

On Monday, March 19, I arrived in London, and on Tuesday, the 20th, met him in Fleet-street, walking, or rather indeed moving along; for his peculiar march is thus described in a very just and picturesque manner, in a short Life[238] of him published very soon after his death:--'When he walked the streets, what with the constant roll of his head, and the concomitant motion of his body, he appeared to make his way by that motion, independent of his feet.' That he was often much stared at while he advanced in this manner, may easily be believed; but it was not safe to make sport of one so robust as he was. Mr. Langton saw him one day, in a fit of absence, by a sudden start, drive the load off a porter's back, and walk forward briskly, without being conscious of what he had done.

The porter was very angry, but stood still, and eyed the huge figure with much earnestness, till he was satisfied that his wisest course was to be quiet, and take up his burthen again.

Our accidental meeting in the street after a long separation was a pleasing surprize to us both. He stepped aside with me into Falcon-court, and made kind inquiries about my family, and as we were in a hurry going different ways, I promised to call on him next day; he said he was engaged to go out in the morning. 'Early, Sir?' said I. JOHNSON: 'Why, Sir, a London morning does not go with the sun.'

I waited on him next evening, and he gave me a great portion of his original manuscript of his _Lives of the Poets_, which he had preserved for me.

I found on visiting his friend, Mr. Thrale, that he was now very ill, and had removed, I suppose by the solicitation of Mrs. Thrale, to a house in Grosvenor-square[239]. I was sorry to see him sadly changed in his appearance.

He told me I might now have the pleasure to see Dr. Johnson drink wine again, for he had lately returned to it. When I mentioned this to Johnson, he said, 'I drink it now sometimes, but not socially.' The first evening that I was with him at Thrale's, I observed he poured a large quantity of it into a glass, and swallowed it greedily. Every thing about his character and manners was forcible and violent; there never was any moderation; many a day did he fast, many a year did he refrain from wine; but when he did eat, it was voraciously; when he did drink wine, it was copiously. He could practise abstinence, but not temperance[240].

Mrs. Thrale and I had a dispute, whether Shakspeare or Milton had drawn the most admirable picture of a man[241]. I was for Shakspeare; Mrs. Thrale for Milton; and after a fair hearing, Johnson decided for my opinion.

I told him of one of Mr. Burke's playful sallies upon Dean Marlay[242]: 'I don't like the Deanery of _Ferns_, it sounds so like a _barren_ title.'--'Dr. Heath should have it;' said I. Johnson laughed, and condescending to trifle in the same mode of conceit, suggested Dr. _Moss_[243].

He said, 'Mrs. Montagu has dropt me. Now, Sir, there are people whom one should like very well to drop, but would not wish to be dropped by[244].' He certainly was vain of the society of ladies, and could make himself very agreeable to them, when he chose it; Sir Joshua Reynolds agreed with me that he could. Mr. Gibbon, with his usual sneer, controverted it, perhaps in resentment of Johnson's having talked with some disgust of his ugliness[245], which one would think a _philosopher_ would not mind. Dean Marlay wittily observed, 'A lady may be vain, when she can turn a wolf-dog into a lap-dog.'

The election for Ayrshire, my own county, was this spring tried upon a petition, before a Committee of the House of Commons. I was one of the Counsel for the sitting member, and took the liberty of previously stating different points to Johnson, who never failed to see them clearly, and to supply me with some good hints. He dictated to me the following note upon the registration of deeds:--

'All laws are made for the convenience of the community: what is legally done, should be legally recorded, that the state of things may be known, and that wherever evidence is requisite, evidence may be had. For this reason, the obligation to frame and establish a legal register is enforced by a legal penalty, which penalty is the want of that perfection and plentitude of right which a register would give. Thence it follows, that this is not an objection merely legal: for the reason on which the law stands being equitable, makes it an equitable objection.'