DEAR MADAM: TO MRS. THRALE Lichfield, October 27, 1777. You talk of writing and writing, as if you had all the writing to yourself. If our correspondence were 5 printed, I am sure posterity, for posterity is always the author's favorite, would say that I am a good writer too-Anch' io sono pittore. To sit down so often with nothing to say; to say something so often, almost without consciousness of saying, and without any re10 membrance of having said, is a power of which I will not violate my modesty by boasting, but I do not believe that every body has it. Some, when they write to their friends, are all affection; some are wise and sententious; some strain their 15 powers for efforts of gaiety; some write news, and some write secrets; but to make a letter without affection, without wisdom, without gaiety, without news, and without a secret, is, doubtless, the great epistolic art. In a man's letters, you know, Madam, his soul lies 20 naked, his letters are only the mirror of his breast; whatever passes within him is shown undisguised in its natural process; nothing is inverted, nothing distorted; you see systems in their elements; you discover actions in their motives. This is the where doubt 25 Of this great truth, sounded by the knowing to the ignorant, and so echoed by the ignorant to the knowing, what evidence have you now before you! Is not my soul laid open in these veracious pages? Do not you see me reduced to my first principles? 30 pleasure of corresponding with a friend, and distrust have no place, and every thing is said as it is thought. The original idea is laid down in its simple purity, and all the supervenient conceptions are spread over it stratum super stratum, as they happened 35 to be formed. These are the letters by which souls are united, and by which minds naturally in unison move each other as they are moved themselves. I know, dearest Lady, that in the perusal of this, such is the consanguinity of our intellects, you will be touched as I am touched. I have indeed concealed nothing from 5 you, nor do I expect ever to repent of having thus opened my heart. I am, &c., SAM. JOHNSON. SIR: TO JAMES BOSWELL The debate between Dr. Percy and me is one of those 10 foolish controversies which begin upon a question of which neither party cares how it is decided, and which is, nevertheless, continued to acrimony, by the vanity with which every man resists confutation. Dr. Percy's warmth proceeded from a cause which, perhaps, does 15 him more honor than he could have derived from juster criticism. His abhorrence of Pennant proceeded from his opinion that Pennant had wantonly and indecently censured his patron. His anger made him resolve that, for having been once wrong he never should be right. 20 Pennant has much in his notions that I do not like: but still I think him a very intelligent traveler. If Percy is really offended, I am sorry; for he is a man whom I never knew to offend any one. He is a man very willing to learn, and very able to teach; 25 a man out of whose company I never go without having learned something. It is sure that he vexes me sometimes, but I am afraid it is by making me feel my own ignorance. So much extension of mind, and so much minute accuracy of inquiry, if you survey your 30 whole circle of acquaintance, you will find so scarce, if you find it at all, that you will value Percy by comparison. Lord Hailes is somewhat like him: but Lord Hailes does not, perhaps, go beyond him in research; and I do not know that he equals him in elegance. Percy's attention to poetry has given grace and splendor to his studies of antiquity. A mere antiquarian is a rugged being. Upon the whole, you see that what I might say in 5 sport or petulance to him, is very consistent with full conviction of his merit. Having myself suffered what you are now suffering, I well know the weight of your distress, how much need you have of comfort, and how little comfort can be given. A loss such as yours lacerates the mind, and 15 breaks the whole system of purposes and hopes. It leaves a dismal vacuity in life, which affords nothing on which the affections can fix, or to which endeavor may be directed. All this I have known, and it is now, in the vicissitude of things, your turn to know it. 20 25 But in the condition of mortal things, one must lose another. What would be the wretchedness of life, if there was not something always in view, some Being immutable and unfailing, to whose mercy man may have recourse. Τὸν πρῶτον κινοῦντα ἀκίνητον. Here we must rest. The greatest Being is the most benevolent. We must not grieve for the dead as men without hope, because we know that they are in his hands. We have indeed not leisure to grieve long, because we are hastening to follow them. Your race 30 and mine have been interrupted by many obstacles, but we must humbly hope for an happy end. July 27, 1778. I am, Sir, Your most humble servant, DEAR SIR: TO JAMES BOSWELL 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 5 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, all out of order, so that it will amuse you a long time to set it right. Come to me, my dear 10 Bozzy, and let us be as happy as we can. We will go again to the Mitre, and talk old times over. That you are gradually recovering your tranquillity is the effect to be humbly expected from trust in God. Do not represent life as darker than it is. Your loss 20 has been very great, but you retain more than almost any other can hope to possess. You are high in the opinion of mankind; you have children from whom much pleasure may be expected; and that you will find many friends, you have no reason to doubt. Of my 25 friendship, be it worth more or less, I hope you think yourself certain, without much art or care. It will not be easy for me to repay the benefits that I have received; but I hope to be always ready at your call. Our sorrow has different effects; you are withdrawn 30 into solitude, and I am driven into company. I am afraid of thinking what I have lost. I never had such a friend before. Let me have your prayers and those of my dear Queeney. The prudence and resolution of your design to return so soon to your business and your duty deserves great praise; I shall communicate it on Wednesday to the other executors. Be pleased to let me know whether 5 you would have me come to Streatham to receive you, or stay here till the next day. I am, &c. SAM. JOHNSON. TO MISS LUCY PORTER, LICHFIELD DEAR MADAM: I went away from Lichfield ill, and have had a trouble10 some time with my breath; for some weeks I have been disordered by a cold, of which I could not get the violence abated, till I had been let blood three times. I have not, however, been so bad but that I could have written, and am sorry that I neglected it. 15 My dwelling is but melancholy; both Williams, and Desmoulins, and myself, are very sickly; Frank is not well; and poor Levett died in his bed the other day by a sudden stroke; I suppose not one minute passed between health and death; so uncertain are human things. 20 Such is the appearance of the world about me; I hope your scenes are more cheerful. But whatever befalls us, though it is wise to be serious, it is useless and foolish, and perhaps sinful, to be gloomy. Let us, therefore, keep ourselves as easy as we can; though 25 the loss of friends will be felt, and poor Levett had been a faithful adherent for thirty years. Forgive me, my dear love, the omission of writing; I hope to mend that and my other faults. Let me have your prayers. 30 Make my compliments to Mrs. Cobb, and Miss Adey, and Mr. Pearson, and the whole company of my friends. 3365 I am, my dear, Your most humble servant, London, March 2, 1782. |