[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]
This is the concluding instalment of what has been my highlights package of James Boswell's biography of the eighteenth-century giant of English literature, Dr Samuel Johnson.
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| 'Johnson is dead. Let us go to the next best. There is nobody; no man can be said to put you in mind of Johnson.' |
Part one is at https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2026/04/quotes-and-notes-on-james-boswells-life.html; part two https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2026/04/quotes-and-notes-on-james-boswells-life_23.html.
For an audio version of this text, replete with my questionable attempts to mimic both Boswell and Johnson, visit https://youtu.be/E9Oks7jZeZs.
In the year 1779
‘[I] would rather be attacked than unnoticed. For the worst thing you can do to an authour is to be silent as to his works. An assault upon a town is a bad thing; but starving it is still worse; an assault may be unsuccessful; you may have more men killed than you kill; but if you starve the town, you are sure of victory.'A version of 'The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about’. That, and the idea that indifference is worse than hatred.
‘[B]randy will do soonest for a man what drinking CAN do for him. There are, indeed, few who are able to drink brandy. That is a power rather to be wished for than attained. And yet, (proceeded he,) as in all pleasure hope is a considerable part, I know not but fruition comes too quick by brandy.’
It's why I prefer to drink beer. I pass my alcohol limits too soon with spirits, often with disastrous results.
'He is YOUNG, my Lord; (looking to his Lordship with an arch smile,) all BOYS love liberty, till experience convinces them they are not so fit to govern themselves as they imagined. We are all agreed as to our own liberty; we would have as much of it as we can get; but we are not agreed as to the liberty of others: for in proportion as we take, others must lose. I believe we hardly wish that the mob should have liberty to govern us. When that was the case some time ago, no man was at liberty not to have candles in his windows.'
'Freedom for me. Restraint for others!' Total freedom, of course and as I've written about before, is an impossibility.
‘A particular kind of manufacture fails: those who have been used to work at it, can, for some time, work at nothing else. You meet a man begging; you charge him with idleness: he says, "I am willing to labour. Will you give me work?"—"I cannot."—"Why, then you have no right to charge me with idleness."'
Kind of explains my current predicament. Kind of! I've no problem working, if I can find the right work!
'Aliis laetus, sapiens sibi' ('cheerful for others, wise for himself').
‘[B]randy will do soonest for a man what drinking CAN do for him. There are, indeed, few who are able to drink brandy. That is a power rather to be wished for than attained. And yet, (proceeded he,) as in all pleasure hope is a considerable part, I know not but fruition comes too quick by brandy.’
It's why I prefer to drink beer. I pass my alcohol limits too soon with spirits, often with disastrous results.
'He is YOUNG, my Lord; (looking to his Lordship with an arch smile,) all BOYS love liberty, till experience convinces them they are not so fit to govern themselves as they imagined. We are all agreed as to our own liberty; we would have as much of it as we can get; but we are not agreed as to the liberty of others: for in proportion as we take, others must lose. I believe we hardly wish that the mob should have liberty to govern us. When that was the case some time ago, no man was at liberty not to have candles in his windows.'
'Freedom for me. Restraint for others!' Total freedom, of course and as I've written about before, is an impossibility.
‘A particular kind of manufacture fails: those who have been used to work at it, can, for some time, work at nothing else. You meet a man begging; you charge him with idleness: he says, "I am willing to labour. Will you give me work?"—"I cannot."—"Why, then you have no right to charge me with idleness."'
Kind of explains my current predicament. Kind of! I've no problem working, if I can find the right work!
'Aliis laetus, sapiens sibi' ('cheerful for others, wise for himself').
'You may be wise in your study in the morning, and gay in company at a tavern in the evening. Every man is to take care of his own wisdom and his own virtue, without minding too much what others think.’
I could do better on the first part of that. Indeed, I could do better on both aspects!
He, I know not why, shewed upon all occasions an aversion to go to Ireland, where I proposed to him that we should make a tour. JOHNSON. 'It is the last place where I should wish to travel.' BOSWELL. 'Should you not like to see Dublin, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir! Dublin is only a worse capital.' BOSWELL. 'Is not the Giant's-Causeway worth seeing?' JOHNSON. 'Worth seeing? yes; but not worth going to see.'
Yet he had a kindness for the Irish nation, and thus generously expressed himself to a gentleman from that country, on the subject of an UNION which artful Politicians have often had in view—'Do not make an union with us, Sir. We should unite with you, only to rob you. We should have robbed the Scotch, if they had had any thing of which we could have robbed them.'
Johnson knew what a union would entail!
'The Ambassadour says well—His Excellency observes—' And then he expanded and enriched the little that had been said, in so strong a manner, that it appeared something of consequence. This was exceedingly entertaining to the company who were present, and many a time afterwards it furnished a pleasant topick of merriment: 'The Ambassadour says well,' became a laughable term of applause, when no mighty matter had been expressed.
The opposite, in a way, to my father’s understated use of ‘very good’ for something that was quite noteworthy.
‘Surely I shall not spend my whole life with my own total disapprobation.’
Johnson wrote this on the day of his seventy-second birthday in 1780. I can relate to the sentiments.
He would allow no settled indulgence of idleness upon principle, and always repelled every attempt to urge excuses for it. A friend one day suggested, that it was not wholesome to study soon after dinner. JOHNSON: "Ah, Sir, don't give way to such a fancy. At one time of my life I had taken it into my head that it was not wholesome to study between breakfast and dinner."
One can always find an excuse not to do something!
‘A Frenchman must be always talking, whether he knows any thing of the matter or not; an Englishman is content to say nothing, when he has nothing to say.’
'You say it best, when you say nothing at all.'
‘Nil te quaesiveris extra.’
'Stretch your arm no further than your sleeve will reach.' Johnson said this to Goldsmith in relation to his modest accommodation at the time. It was said in a reassuring way.
Of Dr. Goldsmith he said, 'No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had.'
I guess this can be viewed as advice for one to stick to his area of expertise/talents.
The inspiration comes in fits and starts.
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.
When he went at it, he went at it! One knows a character or two who fit that mould.
I mentioned his scale of liquors;—claret for boys,—port for men,—brandy for heroes. 'Then (said Mr. Burke,) let me have claret: I love to be a boy; to have the careless gaiety of boyish days.' JOHNSON. 'I should drink claret too, if it would give me that; but it does not: it neither makes boys men, nor men boys. You'll be drowned by it, before it has any effect upon you.'
Careful, there, Edmund! I get the sentiment, though. What one would give to go back to one's younger days.
This [asking Johnson a risky question] was risking a good deal, and required the boldness of a General of Irish Volunteers to make the attempt.
The fighting Irish, eh?
‘[W]henever there is exaggerated praise, every body is set against a character. They are provoked to attack it.’
Like when people say how *amazing* Colombia — or anything, for that matter — is, I feel compelled to counter. Everything has its faults!
‘[A] man does not love to go to a place from whence he comes out exactly as he went in.’
Oftentimes I wish I could leave a tienda bar in the same state that I entered it!
‘Lectures were once useful; but now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are unnecessary. If your attention fails, and you miss a part of a lecture, it is lost; you cannot go back as you do upon a book.’
One may need guidance, all the same. I guess that's the idea of tutorials: do the assigned readings, then discuss them with fellow students and a tutor.
I [Boswell] was not a little amused by observing Allen perpetually struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like the little frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the stately ox.
Don't try to be somebody you're not. Many of us could do with heeding that advice more regularly.
‘I love Blair's Sermons. Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and every thing he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such was my candour,' (smiling.)
The great Dr Johnson indeed, admiring a man who was not only a Presbyterian, but a Scotsman to boot — and one whom he might like to boot!
WILKES. (naming a celebrated orator,) 'Amidst all the brilliancy of ———'s imagination, and the exuberance of his wit, there is a strange want of TASTE. It was observed of Apelles's Venus, that her flesh seemed as if she had been nourished by roses: his oratory would sometimes make one suspect that he eats potatoes and drinks whisky.'
Might John Wilkes have been referring to Edmund Burke, with the potatoes/whiskey jibe a little dig at the Irish?
‘Always, Sir, set a high value on spontaneous kindness. He whose inclination prompts him to cultivate your friendship of his own accord, will love you more than one whom you have been at pains to attach to you.’
These days, it seems too many expect to be up in the friendship deal. Or that might be just my cynicism of genuine friendship after years living in Colombia.
Mrs. Thrale justly and wittily accounted for such conduct by saying, that Johnson's conversation was by much too strong for a person accustomed to obsequiousness and flattery; it was mustard in a young child's mouth!
Johnson was certainly no yes-man. He may not always have been right, but he told it as he saw it, a characteristic that is sorely lacking amongst many in the public sphere these days.
Although upon most occasions I never heard a more strenuous advocate for the advantages of wealth, than Dr. Johnson: he this day, I know not from what caprice, took the other side. 'I have not observed (said he,) that men of very large fortunes enjoy any thing extraordinary that makes happiness.’
A certain amount of wealth can bring "happiness" i.e. enough to ensure that one isn't constantly worrying about paying for the basics. But, as has been said elsewhere, ‘The more one makes, the more one spends.’ Although some folk become even more parsimonious the more money they have!
Johnson's charity to the poor was uniform and extensive, both from inclination and principle. He not only bestowed liberally out of his own purse, but what is more difficult as well as rare, would beg from others, when he had proper objects in view. This he did judiciously as well as humanely. Mr. Philip Metcalfe tells me, that when he has asked him for some money for persons in distress, and Mr. Metcalfe has offered what Johnson thought too much, he insisted on taking less, saying, 'No, no, Sir; we must not PAMPER them.'
Enough to help those in distress, but don't go overboard. A hand up, rather than a handout.
In one of his little memorandum-books is the following minute:
August 9, 3 P.M., aetat. 72, in the summer-house at Streatham.
'My purpose is,
To pass eight hours every day in some serious employment.
Having prayed, I purpose to employ the next six weeks upon the Italian language, for my settled study.’
Keeping the mind occupied as one ages. It's important at any age, though.
‘[A] man may prefer the state of the country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for it.’
I’m pretty sure if I had my own country estate, I wouldn't leave it to go and live in a big city. I'd visit and stay in the city for periods, for sure, but give up living in the country estate indefinitely, no!
‘Fox never talks in private company; not from any determination not to talk, but because he has not the first motion. A man who is used to the applause of the House of Commons, has no wish for that of a private company. A man accustomed to throw for a thousand pounds, if set down to throw for sixpence, would not be at the pains to count his dice. Burke's talk is the ebullition of his mind; he does not talk from a desire of distinction, but because his mind is full.’
So, according to Johnson, Burke spoke out of passion, Fox only when it was likely to win him favour. The wily Fox, perhaps!
‘A man cannot make a bad use of his money, so far as regards Society, if he does not hoard it; for if he either spends it or lends it out, Society has the benefit. It is in general better to spend money than to give it away; for industry is more promoted by spending money than by giving it away. A man who spends his money is sure he is doing good with it: he is not so sure when he gives it away. A man who spends ten thousand a year will do more good than a man who spends two thousand and gives away eight.’
One does need to keep a little in reserve all the same. How much is “a little” is very much open to interpretation, however!
‘Sir, a man may be so much of every thing, that he is nothing of any thing.’
‘A jack of all trades, a master of none.’ Or, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.’ A versatile factotum has his value. Yet, there is a risk where you can do many things fairly well but don't properly focus on any one of them.
‘Nec sufferre queat majoris pondera gemmae.’
‘Nor can it bear the weight of a greater gem.’ Said in reply to Boswell's comment that narrow-minded folk would be satisfied with a simple piece of jewellery rather than a great diamond. I get the metaphor, but in terms of actual materialism, I am more of a minimalist. To refer to an earlier comment of Johnson's, 'Stretch your arm no further than your sleeve will reach.’
‘A man should pass a part of his time with THE LAUGHERS, by which means any thing ridiculous or particular about him might be presented to his view, and corrected.’
Yes, we should all be able to take a bit of mocking, within reason.
‘Ah, Dr. Johnson [asked a Scotsman], what would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an Englishman?' 'Why, Sir, (said Johnson, after a little pause,) I should NOT have said of Buchanan, had he been an ENGLISHMAN, what I will now say of him as a SCOTCHMAN,—that he was the only man of genius his country ever produced.’
He disapproved of parentheses; and I believe in all his voluminous writings, not half a dozen of them will be found.
[T]here lurked about him a propensity to paultry saving. One day I owned to him that 'I was occasionally troubled with a fit of NARROWNESS.' 'Why, Sir, (said he,) so am I. BUT I DO NOT TELL IT.' He has now and then borrowed a shilling of me; and when I asked for it again, seemed to be rather out of humour. A droll little circumstance once occurred: as if he meant to reprimand my minute exactness as a creditor, he thus addressed me;—'Boswell, LEND me sixpence—NOT TO BE REPAID.’
I wouldn't have been inclined to lend him money, so!
‘Sir, there is no settling the point of precedency between a louse and a flea.’
The louse and the flea might argue the toss, though! Leave them at it!
‘Gravina, an Italian critick, observes, that every man desires to see that of which he has read; but no man desires to read an account of what he has seen: so much does description fall short of reality. Description only excites curiosity: seeing satisfies it.’
I would add that few people like to read an account of a subject they think they know well, which may be an impediment. For example, I often find it difficult to read, listen to or watch material on Colombia.
‘People in general do not willingly read, if they can have any thing else to amuse them. There must be an external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or avarice. The progress which the understanding makes through a book, has more pain than pleasure in it. Language is scanty, and inadequate to express the nice gradations and mixtures of our feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure inclination. The books that we do read with pleasure are light compositions, which contain a quick succession of events.'
For sure, one often has to force oneself to read. I do, anyway! Now, I do have a desire to read more, but I am easily distracted from doing so.
‘[C]lear your MIND of cant . . . 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 six-pence 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.’
Quite. Even when we ask somebody how they are, most if not all of the time we don't really care how they are!
‘I would rather trust my money to a man who has no hands, and so a physical impossibility to steal, than to a man of the most honest principles.’
In other words, you can never truly trust people. Nobody is completely virtuous.
‘Get as much force of mind as you can. Live within your income. Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let your imports be more than your exports, and you'll never go far wrong.’
Nothing revelatory in this, but it's good to know he said it.
In a letter to Edmund Allen:
‘It has pleased GOD, this morning, to deprive me of the powers of speech; and as I do not know but that it may be his further good pleasure to deprive me soon of my senses.’
Good old god works in mysterious ways, for sure!
‘As I know more of mankind I expect less of them, and am ready now to call a man A GOOD MAN, upon easier terms than I was formerly.’
One’s expectations become lower as one ages. I guess it's happening to me, too.
[T]o Mr. Kemble, he said, 'Are you, Sir, one of those enthusiasts who believe yourself transformed into the very character you represent?' Upon Mr. Kemble's answering that he had never felt so strong a persuasion himself; 'To be sure not, Sir, (said Johnson;) the thing is impossible. And if Garrick really believed himself to be that monster, Richard the Third, he deserved to be hanged every time he performed it.’
It could be said we're always playing a character, even when we're *being* ourselves. Or is it just me who thinks so?!
‘[C]ondolences and consolations are such common and such useless things, that the omission of them is no great crime: and my own diseases occupy my mind, and engage my care.’
I tend to agree about condolences and consolations, although sometimes it is nice to know that somebody does care, even if just superficially. Another great English writer, but one of more recent vintage and who liked America, Christopher Hitchens, in his memoir Hitch-22, endorses the idea of sending condolences.
Those were Goldsmith’s words. Of course, this isn't to say that Johnson was always right, although he often was, he was just difficult to argue against!
‘Sir, he [Mr Langton] 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 an animadversion, all that he could say amounted to this,—that I sometimes contradicted people in conversation. Now what harm does it do to any man to be contradicted?' BOSWELL. 'I suppose he meant the MANNER of doing it; roughly,—and harshly.' JOHNSON. 'And who is the worse for that?' BOSWELL. 'It hurts people of weak nerves.' JOHNSON. 'I know no such weak-nerved people.' Mr. Burke, to whom I related this conference, said, 'It is well, if when a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon his conscience than having been a little rough in conversation.’
Hear, hear Mr Burke!
'I think I am like Squire Richard in The Journey to London, "I'm never strange in a strange place."' He was truly SOCIAL. He strongly censured what is much too common in England among persons of condition,—maintaining an absolute silence, when unknown to each other; as for instance, when occasionally brought together in a room before the master or mistress of the house has appeared. 'Sir, that is being so uncivilised as not to understand the common rights of humanity.’
We could say that Johnson was more Irish than stiff-upper-lip English in this sense!
‘[T]he greatest profligate will be as well received as the man of the greatest virtue, and this by a very good woman, by a woman who says her prayers three times a day . . . No, no, a lady will take Jonathan Wild as readily as St. Austin, if he has threepence more; and, what is worse, her parents will give her to him. Women have a perpetual envy of our vices; they are less vicious than we, not from choice, but because we restrict them; they are the slaves of order and fashion; their virtue is of more consequence to us than our own, so far as concerns this world.’
And once they were *freed*, they readily embraced our vices! I've touched on many of the points Johnson raises here. See, for example, The wages of love, A prostitute by any other name, and Dealing with a sexed-up society.
‘You put me in mind of Dr. Barrowby, the physician, who was very fond of swine's flesh. One day, when he was eating it, he said, "I wish I was a Jew." "Why so? (said somebody;) the Jews are not allowed to eat your favourite meat." "Because, (said he,) I should then have the gust of eating it, with the pleasure of sinning."’
The hellishly good forbidden fruit.
I had the resolution to ask Johnson whether he thought that the roughness of his manner had been an advantage or not, and if he would not have done more good if he had been more gentle. I proceeded to answer myself thus: 'Perhaps it has been of advantage, as it has given weight to what you said: you could not, perhaps, have talked with such authority without it.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; I have done more good as I am. Obscenity and Impiety have always been repressed in my company.' BOSWELL. 'True, Sir; and that is more than can be said of every Bishop. Greater liberties have been taken in the presence of a Bishop, though a very good man, from his being milder, and therefore not commanding such awe. Yet, Sir, many people who might have been benefited by your conversation, have been frightened away. A worthy friend of ours has told me, that he has often been afraid to talk to you.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he had any thing rational to say. If he had not, it was better he did not talk.’
We are who we are. I can be quite fiery, impatient, but if I wasn't, I wouldn't be me. Has my temperament been a net benefit for me? That's hard to know. And yes, we can always try to be better, where we feel it's needed.
‘We have more respect for a man who robs boldly on the highway, than for a fellow who jumps out of a ditch, and knocks you down behind your back. Courage is a quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is always respected, even when it is associated with vice.’
Quite. Down with those sneaky, pernicious, two-faced cowards.
I could do better on the first part of that. Indeed, I could do better on both aspects!
He, I know not why, shewed upon all occasions an aversion to go to Ireland, where I proposed to him that we should make a tour. JOHNSON. 'It is the last place where I should wish to travel.' BOSWELL. 'Should you not like to see Dublin, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir! Dublin is only a worse capital.' BOSWELL. 'Is not the Giant's-Causeway worth seeing?' JOHNSON. 'Worth seeing? yes; but not worth going to see.'
Yet he had a kindness for the Irish nation, and thus generously expressed himself to a gentleman from that country, on the subject of an UNION which artful Politicians have often had in view—'Do not make an union with us, Sir. We should unite with you, only to rob you. We should have robbed the Scotch, if they had had any thing of which we could have robbed them.'
Johnson knew what a union would entail!
'Everything 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.'
'The Ambassadour says well—His Excellency observes—' And then he expanded and enriched the little that had been said, in so strong a manner, that it appeared something of consequence. This was exceedingly entertaining to the company who were present, and many a time afterwards it furnished a pleasant topick of merriment: 'The Ambassadour says well,' became a laughable term of applause, when no mighty matter had been expressed.
The opposite, in a way, to my father’s understated use of ‘very good’ for something that was quite noteworthy.
‘Surely I shall not spend my whole life with my own total disapprobation.’
Johnson wrote this on the day of his seventy-second birthday in 1780. I can relate to the sentiments.
He would allow no settled indulgence of idleness upon principle, and always repelled every attempt to urge excuses for it. A friend one day suggested, that it was not wholesome to study soon after dinner. JOHNSON: "Ah, Sir, don't give way to such a fancy. At one time of my life I had taken it into my head that it was not wholesome to study between breakfast and dinner."
One can always find an excuse not to do something!
‘A Frenchman must be always talking, whether he knows any thing of the matter or not; an Englishman is content to say nothing, when he has nothing to say.’
'You say it best, when you say nothing at all.'
‘Nil te quaesiveris extra.’
'Stretch your arm no further than your sleeve will reach.' Johnson said this to Goldsmith in relation to his modest accommodation at the time. It was said in a reassuring way.
Of Dr. Goldsmith he said, 'No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had.'
I guess this can be viewed as advice for one to stick to his area of expertise/talents.
1781, aged 72
In 1781 Johnson at last completed his Lives of the Poets, of which he gives this account: 'Some time in March I finished the Lives of the Poets, which I wrote in my usual way, dilatorily and hastily, unwilling to work, and working with vigour and haste.' In a memorandum previous to this, he says of them: 'Written, I hope, in such a manner as may tend to the promotion of piety.'The inspiration comes in fits and starts.
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.
When he went at it, he went at it! One knows a character or two who fit that mould.
I mentioned his scale of liquors;—claret for boys,—port for men,—brandy for heroes. 'Then (said Mr. Burke,) let me have claret: I love to be a boy; to have the careless gaiety of boyish days.' JOHNSON. 'I should drink claret too, if it would give me that; but it does not: it neither makes boys men, nor men boys. You'll be drowned by it, before it has any effect upon you.'
Careful, there, Edmund! I get the sentiment, though. What one would give to go back to one's younger days.
This [asking Johnson a risky question] was risking a good deal, and required the boldness of a General of Irish Volunteers to make the attempt.
The fighting Irish, eh?
‘[W]henever there is exaggerated praise, every body is set against a character. They are provoked to attack it.’
Like when people say how *amazing* Colombia — or anything, for that matter — is, I feel compelled to counter. Everything has its faults!
‘[A] man does not love to go to a place from whence he comes out exactly as he went in.’
Oftentimes I wish I could leave a tienda bar in the same state that I entered it!
‘Lectures were once useful; but now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are unnecessary. If your attention fails, and you miss a part of a lecture, it is lost; you cannot go back as you do upon a book.’
One may need guidance, all the same. I guess that's the idea of tutorials: do the assigned readings, then discuss them with fellow students and a tutor.
I [Boswell] was not a little amused by observing Allen perpetually struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like the little frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the stately ox.
Don't try to be somebody you're not. Many of us could do with heeding that advice more regularly.
‘I love Blair's Sermons. Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and every thing he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such was my candour,' (smiling.)
The great Dr Johnson indeed, admiring a man who was not only a Presbyterian, but a Scotsman to boot — and one whom he might like to boot!
WILKES. (naming a celebrated orator,) 'Amidst all the brilliancy of ———'s imagination, and the exuberance of his wit, there is a strange want of TASTE. It was observed of Apelles's Venus, that her flesh seemed as if she had been nourished by roses: his oratory would sometimes make one suspect that he eats potatoes and drinks whisky.'
Might John Wilkes have been referring to Edmund Burke, with the potatoes/whiskey jibe a little dig at the Irish?
‘Always, Sir, set a high value on spontaneous kindness. He whose inclination prompts him to cultivate your friendship of his own accord, will love you more than one whom you have been at pains to attach to you.’
These days, it seems too many expect to be up in the friendship deal. Or that might be just my cynicism of genuine friendship after years living in Colombia.
Mrs. Thrale justly and wittily accounted for such conduct by saying, that Johnson's conversation was by much too strong for a person accustomed to obsequiousness and flattery; it was mustard in a young child's mouth!
Johnson was certainly no yes-man. He may not always have been right, but he told it as he saw it, a characteristic that is sorely lacking amongst many in the public sphere these days.
Although upon most occasions I never heard a more strenuous advocate for the advantages of wealth, than Dr. Johnson: he this day, I know not from what caprice, took the other side. 'I have not observed (said he,) that men of very large fortunes enjoy any thing extraordinary that makes happiness.’
A certain amount of wealth can bring "happiness" i.e. enough to ensure that one isn't constantly worrying about paying for the basics. But, as has been said elsewhere, ‘The more one makes, the more one spends.’ Although some folk become even more parsimonious the more money they have!
‘Sir, a man may be so much of every thing, that he is nothing of any thing.’
Johnson's charity to the poor was uniform and extensive, both from inclination and principle. He not only bestowed liberally out of his own purse, but what is more difficult as well as rare, would beg from others, when he had proper objects in view. This he did judiciously as well as humanely. Mr. Philip Metcalfe tells me, that when he has asked him for some money for persons in distress, and Mr. Metcalfe has offered what Johnson thought too much, he insisted on taking less, saying, 'No, no, Sir; we must not PAMPER them.'
Enough to help those in distress, but don't go overboard. A hand up, rather than a handout.
In one of his little memorandum-books is the following minute:
August 9, 3 P.M., aetat. 72, in the summer-house at Streatham.
'My purpose is,
To pass eight hours every day in some serious employment.
Having prayed, I purpose to employ the next six weeks upon the Italian language, for my settled study.’
Keeping the mind occupied as one ages. It's important at any age, though.
‘[A] man may prefer the state of the country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for it.’
I’m pretty sure if I had my own country estate, I wouldn't leave it to go and live in a big city. I'd visit and stay in the city for periods, for sure, but give up living in the country estate indefinitely, no!
‘Fox never talks in private company; not from any determination not to talk, but because he has not the first motion. A man who is used to the applause of the House of Commons, has no wish for that of a private company. A man accustomed to throw for a thousand pounds, if set down to throw for sixpence, would not be at the pains to count his dice. Burke's talk is the ebullition of his mind; he does not talk from a desire of distinction, but because his mind is full.’
So, according to Johnson, Burke spoke out of passion, Fox only when it was likely to win him favour. The wily Fox, perhaps!
‘A man cannot make a bad use of his money, so far as regards Society, if he does not hoard it; for if he either spends it or lends it out, Society has the benefit. It is in general better to spend money than to give it away; for industry is more promoted by spending money than by giving it away. A man who spends his money is sure he is doing good with it: he is not so sure when he gives it away. A man who spends ten thousand a year will do more good than a man who spends two thousand and gives away eight.’
One does need to keep a little in reserve all the same. How much is “a little” is very much open to interpretation, however!
‘Sir, a man may be so much of every thing, that he is nothing of any thing.’
‘A jack of all trades, a master of none.’ Or, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.’ A versatile factotum has his value. Yet, there is a risk where you can do many things fairly well but don't properly focus on any one of them.
‘Nec sufferre queat majoris pondera gemmae.’
‘Nor can it bear the weight of a greater gem.’ Said in reply to Boswell's comment that narrow-minded folk would be satisfied with a simple piece of jewellery rather than a great diamond. I get the metaphor, but in terms of actual materialism, I am more of a minimalist. To refer to an earlier comment of Johnson's, 'Stretch your arm no further than your sleeve will reach.’
‘A man should pass a part of his time with THE LAUGHERS, by which means any thing ridiculous or particular about him might be presented to his view, and corrected.’
Yes, we should all be able to take a bit of mocking, within reason.
‘Ah, Dr. Johnson [asked a Scotsman], what would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an Englishman?' 'Why, Sir, (said Johnson, after a little pause,) I should NOT have said of Buchanan, had he been an ENGLISHMAN, what I will now say of him as a SCOTCHMAN,—that he was the only man of genius his country ever produced.’
He disapproved of parentheses; and I believe in all his voluminous writings, not half a dozen of them will be found.
[T]here lurked about him a propensity to paultry saving. One day I owned to him that 'I was occasionally troubled with a fit of NARROWNESS.' 'Why, Sir, (said he,) so am I. BUT I DO NOT TELL IT.' He has now and then borrowed a shilling of me; and when I asked for it again, seemed to be rather out of humour. A droll little circumstance once occurred: as if he meant to reprimand my minute exactness as a creditor, he thus addressed me;—'Boswell, LEND me sixpence—NOT TO BE REPAID.’
I wouldn't have been inclined to lend him money, so!
‘Sir, there is no settling the point of precedency between a louse and a flea.’
The louse and the flea might argue the toss, though! Leave them at it!
‘Gravina, an Italian critick, observes, that every man desires to see that of which he has read; but no man desires to read an account of what he has seen: so much does description fall short of reality. Description only excites curiosity: seeing satisfies it.’
I would add that few people like to read an account of a subject they think they know well, which may be an impediment. For example, I often find it difficult to read, listen to or watch material on Colombia.
‘People in general do not willingly read, if they can have any thing else to amuse them. There must be an external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or avarice. The progress which the understanding makes through a book, has more pain than pleasure in it. Language is scanty, and inadequate to express the nice gradations and mixtures of our feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure inclination. The books that we do read with pleasure are light compositions, which contain a quick succession of events.'
For sure, one often has to force oneself to read. I do, anyway! Now, I do have a desire to read more, but I am easily distracted from doing so.
'A lady will take Jonathan Wild as readily as St. Austin, if he has threepence more; and, what is worse, her parents will give her to him.'
‘[C]lear your MIND of cant . . . 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 six-pence 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.’
Quite. Even when we ask somebody how they are, most if not all of the time we don't really care how they are!
‘I would rather trust my money to a man who has no hands, and so a physical impossibility to steal, than to a man of the most honest principles.’
In other words, you can never truly trust people. Nobody is completely virtuous.
‘Get as much force of mind as you can. Live within your income. Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let your imports be more than your exports, and you'll never go far wrong.’
Nothing revelatory in this, but it's good to know he said it.
In a letter to Edmund Allen:
‘It has pleased GOD, this morning, to deprive me of the powers of speech; and as I do not know but that it may be his further good pleasure to deprive me soon of my senses.’
Good old god works in mysterious ways, for sure!
‘As I know more of mankind I expect less of them, and am ready now to call a man A GOOD MAN, upon easier terms than I was formerly.’
One’s expectations become lower as one ages. I guess it's happening to me, too.
[T]o Mr. Kemble, he said, 'Are you, Sir, one of those enthusiasts who believe yourself transformed into the very character you represent?' Upon Mr. Kemble's answering that he had never felt so strong a persuasion himself; 'To be sure not, Sir, (said Johnson;) the thing is impossible. And if Garrick really believed himself to be that monster, Richard the Third, he deserved to be hanged every time he performed it.’
It could be said we're always playing a character, even when we're *being* ourselves. Or is it just me who thinks so?!
‘[C]ondolences and consolations are such common and such useless things, that the omission of them is no great crime: and my own diseases occupy my mind, and engage my care.’
I tend to agree about condolences and consolations, although sometimes it is nice to know that somebody does care, even if just superficially. Another great English writer, but one of more recent vintage and who liked America, Christopher Hitchens, in his memoir Hitch-22, endorses the idea of sending condolences.
1784, aged 75
'There is no arguing with Johnson; for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.’Those were Goldsmith’s words. Of course, this isn't to say that Johnson was always right, although he often was, he was just difficult to argue against!
‘Sir, he [Mr Langton] 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 an animadversion, all that he could say amounted to this,—that I sometimes contradicted people in conversation. Now what harm does it do to any man to be contradicted?' BOSWELL. 'I suppose he meant the MANNER of doing it; roughly,—and harshly.' JOHNSON. 'And who is the worse for that?' BOSWELL. 'It hurts people of weak nerves.' JOHNSON. 'I know no such weak-nerved people.' Mr. Burke, to whom I related this conference, said, 'It is well, if when a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon his conscience than having been a little rough in conversation.’
Hear, hear Mr Burke!
'I think I am like Squire Richard in The Journey to London, "I'm never strange in a strange place."' He was truly SOCIAL. He strongly censured what is much too common in England among persons of condition,—maintaining an absolute silence, when unknown to each other; as for instance, when occasionally brought together in a room before the master or mistress of the house has appeared. 'Sir, that is being so uncivilised as not to understand the common rights of humanity.’
We could say that Johnson was more Irish than stiff-upper-lip English in this sense!
‘[T]he greatest profligate will be as well received as the man of the greatest virtue, and this by a very good woman, by a woman who says her prayers three times a day . . . No, no, a lady will take Jonathan Wild as readily as St. Austin, if he has threepence more; and, what is worse, her parents will give her to him. Women have a perpetual envy of our vices; they are less vicious than we, not from choice, but because we restrict them; they are the slaves of order and fashion; their virtue is of more consequence to us than our own, so far as concerns this world.’
And once they were *freed*, they readily embraced our vices! I've touched on many of the points Johnson raises here. See, for example, The wages of love, A prostitute by any other name, and Dealing with a sexed-up society.
‘You put me in mind of Dr. Barrowby, the physician, who was very fond of swine's flesh. One day, when he was eating it, he said, "I wish I was a Jew." "Why so? (said somebody;) the Jews are not allowed to eat your favourite meat." "Because, (said he,) I should then have the gust of eating it, with the pleasure of sinning."’
The hellishly good forbidden fruit.
I had the resolution to ask Johnson whether he thought that the roughness of his manner had been an advantage or not, and if he would not have done more good if he had been more gentle. I proceeded to answer myself thus: 'Perhaps it has been of advantage, as it has given weight to what you said: you could not, perhaps, have talked with such authority without it.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; I have done more good as I am. Obscenity and Impiety have always been repressed in my company.' BOSWELL. 'True, Sir; and that is more than can be said of every Bishop. Greater liberties have been taken in the presence of a Bishop, though a very good man, from his being milder, and therefore not commanding such awe. Yet, Sir, many people who might have been benefited by your conversation, have been frightened away. A worthy friend of ours has told me, that he has often been afraid to talk to you.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he had any thing rational to say. If he had not, it was better he did not talk.’
We are who we are. I can be quite fiery, impatient, but if I wasn't, I wouldn't be me. Has my temperament been a net benefit for me? That's hard to know. And yes, we can always try to be better, where we feel it's needed.
‘I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.’
‘We have more respect for a man who robs boldly on the highway, than for a fellow who jumps out of a ditch, and knocks you down behind your back. Courage is a quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is always respected, even when it is associated with vice.’
Quite. Down with those sneaky, pernicious, two-faced cowards.
‘That he [God] is infinitely good, as far as the perfection of his nature will allow, I certainly believe; but it is necessary for good upon the whole, that individuals should be punished. As to an INDIVIDUAL, therefore, he is not infinitely good; and as I cannot be SURE that I have fulfilled the conditions on which salvation is granted, I am afraid I may be one of those who shall be damned.’
If Johnson has been sent to hell, then I shall certainly be there. Maybe I already am there!
[W]e passed to discourse of life, whether it was upon the whole more happy or miserable. Johnson was decidedly for the balance of misery: in confirmation of which I maintained, that no man would choose to lead over again the life which he had experienced. Johnson acceded to that opinion in the strongest terms.
I concur. Life is a sea of mediocrity, if not quite misery, which receives an occasional shower of joy. These freshwater rains soon match the composition of the salty sea, however.
‘[N]o man is a hypocrite in his pleasures.’
Said in reply to Joshua Reynolds in relation to ‘taking the altitude’ of a man’s tastes.
The difference, he observed, between a well-bred and an ill-bred man is this: 'One immediately attracts your liking, the other your aversion. You love the one till you find reason to hate him; you hate the other till you find reason to love him.'
I think most decent people tend to like me, until I give them a reason not to!
[H]e had no taste for painting.
Said Boswell. That makes two of us! Well, I'm certainly not a painting fanatic! Later, in reply to Boswell's remark about the inferiority of painting to poetry, Johnson said, ‘Painting, Sir, can illustrate, but cannot inform.’
‘This is taking prodigious pains about a man.'
'O! Sir, (said I, with most sincere affection,) your friends would do every thing for you.' He paused, grew more and more agitated, till tears started into his eyes, and he exclaimed with fervent emotion, 'GOD bless you all.' I was so affected that I also shed tears. After a short silence, he renewed and extended his grateful benediction, 'GOD bless you all, for JESUS CHRIST'S sake.' We both remained for some time unable to speak. He rose suddenly and quitted the room, quite melted in tenderness.
Johnson's reaction on hearing that his friends had asked the government to pay for his planned trip to Italy for the coming winter.
'Sir, it is in the intellectual world as in the physical world; we are told by natural philosophers that a body is at rest in the place that is fit for it; they who are content to live in the country, are FIT for the country.’
Horses for courses, as the saying goes. I think I am fit for the country, or at least a country town as opposed to a sprawling metropolis.
‘I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.’
I, too, wish to leave the land of the living in this way. Go down fighting, with vigour.
It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time.
It's a task few of us seem eager to carry out.
Johnson, with that native fortitude, which, amidst all his bodily distress and mental sufferings, never forsook him, asked Dr. Brocklesby, as a man in whom he had confidence, to tell him plainly whether he could recover. 'Give me (said he,) a direct answer.' The Doctor having first asked him if he could hear the whole truth, which way soever it might lead, and being answered that he could, declared that, in his opinion, he could not recover without a miracle. 'Then, (said Johnson,) I will take no more physick, not even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to GOD unclouded.’
Principled and strong right to the end.
The book ends with these words, said by an unnamed acquaintance of Boswell's. I can think of no better way but to also end with them:
‘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 us go to the next best:—there is nobody; no man can be said to put you in mind of Johnson.’
If Johnson has been sent to hell, then I shall certainly be there. Maybe I already am there!
[W]e passed to discourse of life, whether it was upon the whole more happy or miserable. Johnson was decidedly for the balance of misery: in confirmation of which I maintained, that no man would choose to lead over again the life which he had experienced. Johnson acceded to that opinion in the strongest terms.
I concur. Life is a sea of mediocrity, if not quite misery, which receives an occasional shower of joy. These freshwater rains soon match the composition of the salty sea, however.
‘[N]o man is a hypocrite in his pleasures.’
Said in reply to Joshua Reynolds in relation to ‘taking the altitude’ of a man’s tastes.
The difference, he observed, between a well-bred and an ill-bred man is this: 'One immediately attracts your liking, the other your aversion. You love the one till you find reason to hate him; you hate the other till you find reason to love him.'
I think most decent people tend to like me, until I give them a reason not to!
[H]e had no taste for painting.
Said Boswell. That makes two of us! Well, I'm certainly not a painting fanatic! Later, in reply to Boswell's remark about the inferiority of painting to poetry, Johnson said, ‘Painting, Sir, can illustrate, but cannot inform.’
‘This is taking prodigious pains about a man.'
'O! Sir, (said I, with most sincere affection,) your friends would do every thing for you.' He paused, grew more and more agitated, till tears started into his eyes, and he exclaimed with fervent emotion, 'GOD bless you all.' I was so affected that I also shed tears. After a short silence, he renewed and extended his grateful benediction, 'GOD bless you all, for JESUS CHRIST'S sake.' We both remained for some time unable to speak. He rose suddenly and quitted the room, quite melted in tenderness.
Johnson's reaction on hearing that his friends had asked the government to pay for his planned trip to Italy for the coming winter.
'Sir, it is in the intellectual world as in the physical world; we are told by natural philosophers that a body is at rest in the place that is fit for it; they who are content to live in the country, are FIT for the country.’
Horses for courses, as the saying goes. I think I am fit for the country, or at least a country town as opposed to a sprawling metropolis.
‘I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.’
I, too, wish to leave the land of the living in this way. Go down fighting, with vigour.
It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time.
It's a task few of us seem eager to carry out.
Johnson, with that native fortitude, which, amidst all his bodily distress and mental sufferings, never forsook him, asked Dr. Brocklesby, as a man in whom he had confidence, to tell him plainly whether he could recover. 'Give me (said he,) a direct answer.' The Doctor having first asked him if he could hear the whole truth, which way soever it might lead, and being answered that he could, declared that, in his opinion, he could not recover without a miracle. 'Then, (said Johnson,) I will take no more physick, not even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to GOD unclouded.’
Principled and strong right to the end.
The book ends with these words, said by an unnamed acquaintance of Boswell's. I can think of no better way but to also end with them:
‘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 us go to the next best:—there is nobody; no man can be said to put you in mind of Johnson.’
