cutting off, as he does. No, sir; you have expressed the rational and just nature of sympathy."-Boswell.

Talking of our feeling for the distresses of others, Johnson: "Why, sir, there is much noise made about it, but it is greatly exaggerated. No, sir; we have a certain degree of feeling to prompt us to do good; more than that Providence does not intend. It would be misery to no purpose." Boswell: "But suppose now, sir, that one of your intimate friends were apprehended for an offence for which he might be hanged." Johnson: "I should do what I could to bail him, and give him any other assistance; but if he were once fairly hanged, I should not suffer." Boswell: "Would you eat your dinner that day, sir?" Johnson: “Yes, sir, and eat it as if he were eating with me. Why, there's Baretti, who is to be tried for his life to-morrow. Friends have risen up for him on every side; yet, if he should be hanged, none of them will eat a slice of plum-pudding the less. Sir, that sympathetic feeling goes a very little way in depressing the mind."

I told him that I had dined lately at Foote's, who showed me a letter which he had received from Tom Davies, telling him that he had not been able to sleep, from the concern he felt on account of "this sad affair of Baretti," begging of him to try if he could suggest anything that might be of service; and, at the same time, recommending to him an industrious young man who kept a pickle shop. Johnson: "Ay, sir, here you have a specimen of human sympathya friend hanged, and a cucumber pickled. We know not whether Baretti or the pickle-man has kept Davies from sleep, nor does he know himself. And as to his not sleeping, sir, Tom Davies is a very great man; Tom has been upon the stage, and knows how to do those things: I have not been upon the stage, and cannot do those things." Boswell: "I have often blamed myself, sir, for not feeling for others as sensibly as many say they do." Johnson: "Sir,

don't be duped by them any more.

You will find these very feeling people are not very ready to do you good. They pay you by feeling."-Boswell.

In the evening our gentleman-farmer and two others entertained themselves and the company with a great number of tunes on the fiddle. Johnson desired to have "Let ambition fire thy mind," played over again, and appeared to give a patient attention to it; though he owned to me that he was very insensible to the power of music. I told him that it affected me to such a degree as often to agitate my nerves painfully, producing in my mind alternate sensations of pathetic dejection, so that I was ready to shed tears; and of daring resolution, so that I was inclined to rush into the thickest part of the battle. "Sir," said he, "I should never hear it, if it made me such a fool."—Boswell.

I repeated to him an argument of a lady of my acquaintance, who maintained that her husband's having been guilty of numberless infidelities, released her from conjugal obligations, because they were reciprocal. Johnson: "This is miserable stuff, sir. To the contract of marriage, besides the man and wife, there is a third party-society; and, if it be considered as a vow-GOD: and therefore it cannot be dissolved by their consent alone. Laws are not made for particular cases, but for men in general. A woman may be unhappy with her husband; but she cannot be freed from him without the approbation of the civil and ecclesiastical power. A man may be unhappy, because he is not so rich as another; but he is not to seize upon another's property with his own hand." Boswell: "But, sir, this lady does not want that the contract should be dissolved; she only argues that she may indulge herself in gallantries, with equal freedom as her husband does, provided she takes care not to introduce a spurious issue into his family. You know, sir, what Macrobius has told of Julia." John

son: "This lady of yours, sir, I think, is very fit for a brothel."-Boswell.

On Friday, May 7th, I breakfasted with him at Mr. Thrale's, in the Borough. While we were alone, I endeavored as well as I could to apologize 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 obligation; 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 sensible 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 whore, and there's an end on't."—Boswell.

I have no minute of any interview with Johnson till Thursday, May 15th, when I find what follows. Boswell: "I wish much to be in Parliament, sir." Johnson: "Why, sir, unless you come resolved to support any administration, you would be the worse for being in Parliament, because. you would be obliged to live more expensively." Boswell: "Perhaps, sir, I should be the less happy for being in Parliament. I never would sell my vote, and I should be vexed if things went wrong." Johnson: "That's cant, sir. It would not vex you more in the House than in the gallery: public affairs vex no man.' "Boswell: "Have not they vexed yourself a little, sir? Have not you been vexed by all the turbulence of this reign, and by that absurd vote of the

House of Commons, 'That the influence of the Crown has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished?" Johnson: "Sir, I have never slept an hour less, nor eat an ounce less meat. I would have knocked the factious dogs on the head, to be sure; but I was not vexed." Boswell: "I declare, sir, upon my honor, I did imagine I was vexed, and took a pride in it; but it was, perhaps, cant; for I own I neither eat less, nor slept less." Johnson: “My dear friend, clear your mind of cant. You may talk as other people do you may say to a man, 'Sir, I am your most humble servant.' You are not his most humble servant. You may say, 'These are bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved to such times.' You don't mind the times. You tell a man, 'I am sorry you had such bad weather the last day of your journey, and were so much wet.' You don't care sixpence whether he is wet or dry. You may talk in this manner-it is a mode of talking in society-but don't think foolishly."-Boswell.

While Dr. Johnson possessed the strongest compassion for poverty or illness, he did not even pretend to feel for those who lamented the loss of a child, a parent, or a friend.* "These are the distresses of sentiment," he would reply, "which a man who is really to be pitied has no leisure to feel. The sight of people who want food and raiment is so common in great cities, that a surly fellow like me has no compassion to spare for wounds given only to vanity or softness." Canter, indeed, was he none: he would forget to ask people after the health of their nearest relations, and say, in excuse, "that he knew they did not care. Why should they?" said he; "every one in this world has as much as they can do in caring for themselves, and few have leisure really to think of their neighbor's distresses, however

*A most exaggerated statement. Mrs. Piozzi had cause to know him better. (See p. 177.)

they may delight their tongues with talking of them." An acquaintance lost the almost certain hope of a good estate that had been long expected. "Such a one will grieve," said I, “at her friend's disappointment." "She will suffer as much, perhaps," said he, "as your horse did when your cow miscarried."-Mrs. Piozzi.

Boswell wrote him a letter, complaining of melancholy and mental suffering, arising from metaphysical problems which were too deep for him. He received this reply from Johnson: "I hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery. What have you to do with Liberty and Necessity? 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." Once, in the course of a political conversation, he said, "The notion of liberty amuses the people of England, and helps to keep off the tedium vitæ. When a butcher tells you that his heart bleeds for his country, he has, in fact, no uneasy feeling."-Editor.

ARROGANCE.

He was vehement against old Dr. Mounsey, of Chelsea College, as "a fellow who swore and talked bawdy." "I have often been in his company," said Dr. Percy, "and never heard him swear or talk bawdy." Mr. Davies, who sat next to Dr. Percy, having after this had some conversation aside with him, made a discovery which, in his zeal to pay court to Dr. Johnson, he eagerly proclaimed aloud from the foot of the table: "Oh, sir, I have found out a very good reason why Dr. Percy never heard Mounsey swear or talk bawdy, for he tells me he never saw him but at the Duke of Northumberland's table." "And so, sir," said Dr. Johnson, loudly, to Dr. Percy, "you would shield this man