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Bishop, Dr. Johnson, and Mr. Cambridge joined with Mr. Ramsay in recollecting the various lines in Horace relating to the subject. Horace's journey to Brundusium being mentioned, Sat. 1. i. 5, Johnson observed, that the brook which he describes is to be seen now, exactly as at that time: and that he had often wondered how it happened that small brooks, such as this, kept the same situation for ages, notwithstanding earthquakes, by which even mountains have been changed, and agriculture, which produces such a variation upon the surface of the earth. CAMBRIDGE: A Spanish writer has this thought in a poetical conceit. After observing that most of the solid structures of Rome are totally perished, while the Tiber remains the same, he adds,

"Lo que erà firme huió, solamente

Lo Fugitivo permanece y dura."'

Dryden's careless verses.' SIR JOSHUA: 'I was glad to hear Charles Fox say it was one of the finest poems in the English language.' LANGTON: Why were you glad? You surely had no doubt of this before.' JOHNSON: 'No; the merit of The Traveller is so well established that Mr. Fox's praise cannot augment it nor his censure diminish it.' SIR JOSHUA: "But his friends may suspect they had too great a partiality for him.' JOHNSON: Nay, sir, the partiality of his friends was always against him. It was with difficulty we could give him a hearing. Goldsmith had no settled notions upon any subject; so he talked always at random. It seemed to be his intention to blurt out what. ever was in his mind, and see what would become of it. He was angry, too, when catched in an absurdity; but it did not prevent him from falling into another the next minute. I

JOHNSON: 'Sir, that is taken from Janus Vita- remember Chamier,' after talking with him

-immota labescunt;

Et quæ perpetuò sunt agitata manent." The Bishop said, it appeared from Horace's writings that he was a cheerful contented man. JOHNSON: We have no reason to believe that, my Lord. Are we to think Pope was happy, because he says so in his writings? We see in his writings what he wished the state of his mind to appear. Dr. Young, who pined for preferment, talks with contempt of it in his writings, and affects to despise everything that he did not despise.' BISHOP OF ST. ASAPH: 'He was like other chaplains, looking for vacancies: but that is not peculiar to the clergy. I remember when I was with the army, after the battle of Lafeldt, the officers seriously grumbled that no general was killed.' CAMBRIDGE: We may believe Horace more, when he says:

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"Romæ Tibur amem ventosus, Tibure Romam;" than when he boasts of his consistency: "Me constare mihi scis, et discedere tristem, Quandocunque trahunt invisa negotia Romam."' BOSWELL: How hard is it that man can never be at rest!' RAMSAY: 'It is not in his nature to be at rest. When he is at rest, he is in the worst state that he can be in; for he has nothing to agitate him. He is then like the man in the Irish song: 1

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some time, said, "Well, I do believe he wrote this poem himself: and let me tell you, that is believing a great deal." Chamier once asked him what he meant by slow, the last word in the first line of The Traveller,

"Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow." Did he mean tardiness of locomotion? Goldsmith, who would say something without consideration, answered, "Yes." I was sitting by, and said, "No, sir; you do not mean tardiness of locomotion; you mean that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude." Chamier believed then that I had written the line, as much as if he had seen me write it. Goldsmith, however, was a man who, whatever he wrote, did it better than any other man could do. He deserved a place in Westminster Abbey; and every year he lived, would have deserved it better. He had indeed been at no pains to fill his mind with knowledge. He transplanted it from one place to another; and it did not settle in his mind; so he could not tell what was in his own books.'

We talked of living in the country. JOHNSON: No wise man will go to live in the country unless he has something to do which can be better done in the country. For instance, if he is to shut himself up for a year to study a science, it is better to look out to the fields than to an opposite wall. Then, if a man walks out in the country, there is nobody to keep him from walking in again; but if a man walks out in London, he is not sure when he shall walk in again. A great city is, to be sure, the school for studying life; and "the proper study of mankind is man,' as Pope observes.' BOSWELL: 'I fancy London is the best place for society: though I have heard that the very first society

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Anthony Chamier, Esq., a member of the LITERARY CLUB, and Under-Secretary of State. He died Oct. 12, 1750.-MALONE.

of Paris is still beyond anything that we have here.' JOHNSON: 'Sir, I question if in Paris such a company as is sitting round this table could be got together in less than half a year. They talk in France of the felicity of men and women living together: the truth is, that there the men are not higher than the women, they know no more than the women do, and they are not held down in their conversation by the presence of women.' RAMSAY: 'Literature is upon the growth; it is in its spring in France; here it is rather passée.' JOHNSON: Literature was in France long before we had it. Paris was the second city for the revival of letters: Italy had it first, to be sure. What have we done for literature equal to what was done by the Stephani and others in France? Our literature came to us through France. Caxton printed only two books, Chaucer and Gower, that were not translated from the French; and Chaucer, we know, took much from the Italians. No, sir, if literature be in its spring in France, it is a second spring; it is after a winter. We are now before the French in literature; but we had it long after them. In England, any man who wears a sword and a powdered wig is ashamed to be illiterate. I believe it is not so in France. Yet there is probably a great deal of learning in France, because they have such a number of religious establishments; so many men who have nothing else to do but to study. I do not know this; but I take it upon the common principles of chance. Where there are many shooters some will hit.'

We talked of old age. Johnson (now in his seventieth year) said, 'It is a man's own fault, it is from want of use, if his mind grows torpid in old age.' The bishop asked if an old man does not lose faster than he gets. JOHNSON: 'I think not, my Lord, if he exerts himself.' One of the company rashly observed that he thought it was happy for an old man that insensibility comes upon him. JOHNSON (with a noble elevation and disdain): 'No, sir, I should never be happy by being less rational.' BISHOP OF ST. ASAPH: Your wish then, sir, is ynpáons didaonóμrvos.' JOHNSON: Yes, my Lord.' His Lordship mentioned a charitable establishment in Wales where people were maintained and supplied with everything, upon the condition of their contributing the weekly produce of their labour; and he said they grew quite torpid for the want of property. JOHNSON: They have no object for hope. Their condition cannot be better. It is rowing without a port.'

One of the company asked him the meaning of the expression in Juvenal, unius lacertæ. JOHNSON: 'I think it clear enough; as much ground as one may have a chance to find a lizard upon.' Commentators have differed as to the exact meaning of the expression by which the poet intended to enforce the sentiment contained in the passage where these words occur. It is

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enough that they mean to denote even a very
small possession, provided it be a man's own:
'Est aliquid, quocunque loco, quocunque recessu,
Unius sese dominum fecisse lacerta.'

This season there was a whimsical fashion in the newspapers of applying Shakspeare's words to describe living persons well known in the world; which was done under the title of Modern Characters from Shakspeare; many of which were admirably adapted. The fancy took so much, that they were afterwards collected into a pamphlet. Somebody said to Johnson, across the table, that he had not been in those characters. 'Yes,' said he, 'I have. I should have been sorry to be left out.' He then repeated what had been applied to him,

'You must borrow me GARAGANTUA's mouth.' Miss Reynolds, not perceiving at once the meaning of this, he was obliged to explain it to her, which had something of an awkward and ludicrous effect. Why, madam, it has a reference to me, as using big words, which require the mouth of a giant to pronounce them. Garagantua is the name of a giant in Rabelais.' BosWELL: But, sir, there is another amongst them for you:

"He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for his power to thunder."' JOHNSON: There is nothing marked in that. No, sir, Garagantua is the best.' Notwithstanding this ease and good humour, when I a little while afterwards repeated his sarcasm on Kenrick, which was received with applause, he asked, Who said that?' and on my suddenly answering Garagantua, he looked serious, which was a sufficient indication that he did not wish it to be kept up.

When we went to the drawing-room there was a rich assemblage. Besides the company who had been at dinner, there were Mr. Garrick, Mr. Harris of Salisbury, Dr. Percy, Dr. Burney, the Honourable Mrs. Cholmondeley, Miss Hannah More, etc. etc.

After wandering about in a kind of pleasing distraction for some time, I got into a corner with Johnson, Garrick, and Harris. GARRICK (to Harris): 'Pray, sir, have you read Potter's Eschylus?' HARRIS: 'Yes and think it pretty.' GARRICK (to Johnson): And what think you, sir, of it?' JOHNSON: 'I thought what I read of it verbiage; but upon Mr. Harris's recommendation I will read a play. (To Mr. Harris.) Don't prescribe two.' Mr. Harris suggested one, I do not remember which. JOHNSON: We must try its effect as an English poem; that is the way to judge of the merit of a translation. Translations are, in general, for people who cannot read the original.' I mentioned the vulgar saying that Pope's Homer was not a good representation of the original. JOHNSON: Sir, it is the greatest work of the kind that has ever been

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produced.' BOSWELL: The truth is, it is impossible perfectly to translate poetry. In a different language it may be the same tune, but it has not the same tone. Homer plays it on a bassoon; Pope on a flageolet.' HARRIS: 'I think heroic poetry is best in blank verse; yet it appears that rhyme is essential to English poetry, from our deficiency in metrical quantities. In my opinion, the chief excellence of our language is numerous prose.' JOHNSON: 'Sir William Temple' was the first writer who gave cadence to English prose. Before this time they were careless of arrangement, and did not mind whether a sentence ended with an important word or an insignificant word, or with what part of speech it was concluded.' Mr. Langton, who now had joined us, commended Clarendon. JOHNSON: He is objected to for his parentheses, his involved clauses, and his want of harmony. But he is supported by his matter. It is, indeed, owing to a plethory of matter that his style is so faulty: every substance (smiling to Mr. Harris) has so many accidents. To be distinct, we must talk analytically. If we analyse language, we must speak of it grammatically; if we analyse argument, we must speak of it logically.' GARRICK: 'Of all the translations that ever were attempted, I think Elphinston's Martial the most extraordinary. He consulted me upon it, who am a little of an epigrammatist myself, you know. I told him freely, "You don't seem to have that turn." I asked him if he was serious; and finding he was, I advised him against publishing. Why, his translation is more difficult to understand than the original. I thought him a man of some talents; but he seems crazy in this.' JOHNSON: Sir, you have done what I had not courage to do. But he did not ask my advice, and I did not force it upon him to make him angry with me.' GARRICK: 'But as a friend, sir- JOHNSON: Why, such a friend as I am with him-no.' GARRICK: 'But if you see a friend going to tumble over a precipice?' JOHNSON: That is an extravagant case, sir. You are sure a friend will thank you for hindering him from tumbling over a precipice; but in the other case, I should hurt his vanity, and do him no good. He would not take my advice. His brother-in-law, Strahan, sent him a subscription of £50, and said he would send him £50 more, if he would not publish.' GARRICK: 'What! eh! is Strahan a good judge of an epigram? Is not he rather an obtuse man, eh?' JOHNSON: Why, sir, he may not be a judge of an epigram; but you see he is a judge of what is not an epigram.' BOSWELL: 'It is easy for you, Mr. Garrick, to talk to an author as you talked to Elphinston; you, who have been so long the manager of a theatre, rejecting the

1A celebrated scholar and statesman. He was born in 1628, and died in 1700,

plays of poor authors. You are an old judge, who have often pronounced sentence of death. You are a practised surgeon, who have often amputated limbs: and though this may have been for the good of your patients, they cannot like you. Those who have undergone a dreadful operation are not very fond of seeing the operator again.' GARRICK: 'Yes, I know enough of that. There was a reverend gentleman (Mr. Hawkins), who wrote a tragedy, the SIEGE of something,' which I refused.' HARRIS: 'So the siege was raised.' JOHNSON: 'Ay, he came to me and complained; and told me that Garrick said his play was wrong in the concoction. Now, what is the concoction of a play? (Here Garrick started, and twisted himself, and seemed sorely vexed; for Johnson told me he believed the story was true.) GARRICK: 'I-I-I-said, first concoction.' JOHNSON (smiling): 'Well, he left out first. And Rich, he said, refused him in false English: he could show it under his hand.' GARRICK: 'He wrote to me in violent wrath for having refused his play: "Sir, this is growing a very serious and terrible affair. I am resolved to publish my play. I will appeal to the world; and how will your judgment appear!" I answered, "Sir, notwithstanding all the seriousness, and all the terrors, I have no objection to your publishing your play; and as you live at a great distance (Devonshire, I believe), if you will send it to me, I will convey it to the press.' I never heard more of it-ha! ha! ha!'

On Friday, April 10, I found Johnson at home in the morning. We resumed the conversation of yesterday. He put me in mind of some of it which escaped my memory, and enabled me to record it more perfectly than I otherwise could have done. He was much pleased with my paying so great attention to his recommendation in 1763, the period when our acquaintance began, that I should keep a journal; and I could perceive he was secretly pleased to find so much of the fruit of his mind preserved; and as he had been used to imagine and say that he always laboured when he said a good thing, it delighted him, on a review, to find that his conversation teemed with point and imagery.

I said to him, 'You were yesterday, sir, in remarkably good humour; but there was nothing to offend you, nothing to produce irritation or violence. There was no bold offender. There was not one capital conviction. It was a maiden assize. You had on your white gloves.'3 He found fault with our friend Langton for

1 It was called The Siege of Aleppo. Mr. Hawkins, the author of it, was formerly Professor of Poetry at Oxford. It is printed in his Miscellanies, 3 vols. Svo.BOSWELL.

2 Garrick had high authority for this expression. Dryden uses it in his preface to Edipus.-MALONE.

3 At an assize, when there has been no capital con viction, the judge receives a pair of white gloves.

having been too silent. 'Sir,' said I, 'you will recollect that he very properly took up Sir Joshua for being glad that Charles Fox had praised Goldsmith's Traveller, and you joined him.' JOHNSON: Yes, sir, I knocked Fox on the head, without ceremony. Reynolds is too much under Fox and Burke at present. He is under the Fox star, and the Irish constellation. He is always under some planet.' BOSWELL: There is no Fox star.' JOHNSON: 'But there is a Dog star.' BOSWELL: 'They say, indeed, a fox and a dog are the same animal.'

I reminded him of a gentleman who, Mrs. Cholmondeley said, was first talkative from affectation, and then silent from the same cause; that he first thought, 'I shall be celebrated as the liveliest man in every company;' and then, all at once, 'Oh! it is much more respectable to be grave, and look wise.' 'He has reversed the Pythagorean discipline, by being first talkative, and then silent. He reverses the course of nature too; he was first the gay butterfly, and then the creeping worm.' Johnson laughed loud and long at this expansion and illustration of what he himself had told me.

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Talking of fame, for which there is so great a desire, I observed how little there is of it in reality, compared with the other objects of human attention. 'Let every man recollect, and he will be sensible how small a part of his time is employed in talking or thinking of Shakspeare, Voltaire, or any of the most celebrated men that have ever lived, or are now supposed to occupy the attention and admiration of the world. Let this be extracted and compressed; into what a narrow space will it go!' I then slily introduced Mr. Garrick's fame, and his assuming the airs of a great man. JOHNSON: 'Sir, it is wonderful how little Garrick assumes. No, sir, Garrick fortunam rercrenter habet. Consider, sir,-celebrated men, such as you have mentioned, have had their applause at a distance; but Garrick had it dashed in his face, sounded in his ears, and went home every night with the plaudits of a thousand in his cranium. Then, sir, Garrick did not find, but made his way to the tables, the levees, and almost the bed-chambers of the great. Then, sir, Garrick had under him a numerous body of people; who, from fear of his power and hopes of his favour, and admiration of his talents, We dined together with Mr. Scott (now Sir were constantly submissive to him. And here William Scott, his Majesty's Advocate-General) is a man who has advanced the dignity of his at his chambers in the Temple; nobody else profession. Garrick has made a player a higher there. The company being small, Johnson was character.' SCOTT: 'And he is a very sprightly not in such spirits as he had been the prewriter too.' JOHNSON: Yes, sir; and all this ceding day, and for a considerable time little supported by great wealth of his own acquisiwas said. At last he burst forth: 'Subordination. If all this had happened to me, I should tion is sadly broken down in this age. now, has the same authority which his father had-except a gaoler. No master has it over his servants; it is diminished in our colleges: nay, in our grammar schools.' BOSWELL: 'What is the cause of this, sir?' JOHNSON : "Why, the coming in of the Scotch' (laughing sarcastically). BOSWELL: That is to say, things have been turned topsy-turvy. But your serious cause?' JOHNSON: Why, sir, there are many causes, the chief of which is, I think, the great increase of money. No man now depends upon the lord of a manor, when he can send to another country and fetch provisions. The shoeblack at the entry of my court does not depend on me. I can deprive him but of a penny a day, which he hopes somebody else will bring him; and that penny I must carry to another shoeblack; so the trade suffers nothing. I have explained, in my Journey to the Hebrides, how gold and silver destroy feudal subordination. But, besides, there is a general relaxation of reverence. No son now depends upon his father, as in former times. Paternity used to be considered as of itself a great thing, which had a right to many claims. That is, in general, reduced to very small bounds. My hope is, that as anarchy produces tyranny, this extreme relaxation will produce freni strictio.'

No man,

have had a couple of fellows with long poles walking before me, to knock down everybody that stood in the way. Consider, if all this had happened to Cibber or Quin, they'd have jumped over the moon. Yet Garrick speaks to us' (smiling). BOSWELL: 'And Garrick is a very good man, a charitable man.' JOHNSON: 'Sir, a liberal man. He has given away more money than any man in England. There may be a little vanity mixed; but he has shown that money is not his first object.' BOSWELL: 'Yet Foote used to say of him, that he walked out with an intention to do a generous action; but turning the corner of a street, he met with the ghost of a halfpenny, which frightened him." JOHNSON: Why, sir, that is very true, too; for I never knew a man of whom it could be said with less certainty to-day, what he will do to-morrow, than Garrick; it depends so much on his humour at the time.' Scorr: 'I am glad to hear of his liberality. He has been represented as very saving.' JOHNSON: With his domestic saving we have nothing to do. I remember drinking tea with him long ago, when Peg Woffington made it, and he grumbled at her for making it too strong. He had then

1 When Johnson told this little anecdote to Sir

Joshua Reynolds, he mentioned a circumstance which he omitted to-day :-' Why,' said Garrick, it is as red as blood.'-BOSWELL

begun to feel money in his purse, and did not know when he should have enough of it.'

was uniformly violent; but in conversation he always exalted the profession of a soldier. And yet I have, in my large and various collection of his writings, a letter to an eminent friend, in which he expresses himself thus: 'My godson called on me lately. He is weary, and rationally weary, of a military life. If you can place him in some other state, I think you may increase his happiness, and secure his virtue. A soldier's time is passed in distress and danger, or in idleness and corruption.' Such was his cool reflection in his study; but whenever he was warmed and animated by the presence of company, he, like other philosowhose minds are impregnated with poetical fancy, caught the common enthusiasm for splendid renown.

On the subject of wealth, the proper use of it, and the effects of that art which is called economy, he observed, 'It is wonderful to think how men of very large estates not only spend their yearly incomes, but are often actually in want of money. It is clear they have not value for what they spend. Lord Shelburne told me that a man of high rank, who looks into his own affairs, may have all that he ought to have, all that can be of any use, or appear with any advantage, for £5000 a year. Therefore a great proportion must go in waste; and, indeed, this is the case with most people, what-phers, ever their fortune is.' BOSWELL: 'I have no doubt, sir, of this. But how is it? What is waste?' JOHNSON: Why, sir, breaking bottles, and a thousand other things. Waste cannot be accurately told, though we are sensible how destructive it is. Economy on the one hand, by which a certain income is made to maintain a man genteelly, and waste on the other, by which, on the same income, another man lives shabbily, cannot be defined. It is a very nice thing; as one man wears his coat out much sooner than another, we cannot tell how.'

We talked of war. JOHNSON: Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier, or not having been at sea.' BOSWELL: 'Lord Mansfield does not.' JOHNSON: 'Sir, if Lord Mansfield were in a company of general officers and admirals who have been in service, he would shrink; he'd wish to creep under the table.' BOSWELL: 'No; he'd think he could try them all.' JOHNSON: 'Yes, if he could catch them but they'd try him much sooner. No, sir; were Socrates and Charles the Twelfth of Sweden both present in any company, and Socrates to say, "Follow me, and hear a lecture in philosophy;" and Charles, laying his hand on his sword, to say, "Follow me, and dethrone the Czar;" a man would be ashamed to follow Socrates. Sir, the impression is universal: yet it is strange. As to the sailor, when you look down from the quarter-deck to the space below, you see the utmost extremity of human misery: such crowding, such filth, such stench!' BosWELL: 'Yet sailors are happy.' JOHNSON: "They are happy as brutes are happy, with a piece of fresh meat-with the grossest sensuality. But, sir, the profession of soldiers and sailors has the dignity of danger. Mankind reverence those who have got over fear, which is so general a weakness.' SCOTT: 'But is not courage mechanical, and to be acquired?' JOHNSON: 'Why yes, sir, in a collective sense. Soldiers consider themselves only as part of a great machine.' SCOTT: 'We find people fond of being sailors.' JOHNSON: 'I cannot account for that, any more than I can account for other strange perversions of imagination.'

He talked of Mr. Charles Fox, of whose abilities he thought highly, but observed that he did not talk much at our CLUB. I have heard Mr. Gibbon remark, that Mr. Fox could not be afraid of Dr. Johnson; yet he certainly was very shy of saying anything in Dr. Johnson's presence.' Mr. Scott now quoted what was said of Alcibiades by a Greek poet, to which Johnson assented.1

He told us that he had given Mrs. Montagu a catalogue of all Daniel Defoe's works of imagination; most, if not all of which, as well as of his other works, he now enumerated, allowing a considerable share of merit to a man who, bred a tradesman, had written so variously and so well. Indeed, his Robinson Crusoe is enough of itself to establish his reputation.

He expressed 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 newspapers. Upon this subject I incautiously offended him, by pressing him with too many questions, and he showed his displeasure. I apologized, saying that 'I asked questions in order to be instructed and entertained; I repaired eagerly to the fountain; but that the moment he gave me a hint, the moment he put a lock upon the well, I desisted.' 'But, sir,' said he, that is forcing one to do a disagreeable thing:' and he continued to rate me. 'Nay, sir,' said I, 'when you have put a lock upon the well, so that I can no longer drink, do

1 Wishing to discover the ancient observation here referred to, I applied to Sir William Scott on the sub

ject, but he had no recollection of it. My old and very learned friend, Dr. Michael Kearney, formerly senior fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, and now Archdeacon of Raphoe in Ireland, has, however, most happily elucidated this passage. He remarks to me, that Mr. Boswell's memory must here have deceived him, and that Mr. Scott's observation must have been

that Mr. Fox, in the instance mentioned, might be considered as the reverse of Phoax, of whom, as Plutarch relates in the Life of Alcibiades, Eupolis the tragedian said, "It is true he can talk, and yet he is no

His abhorrence of the profession of a sailor speaker."'— MALONE.

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