of a sudden blast.' In short, he interpreted the expression as referring to condition, not to position. The common notion, therefore, seems to be erroneous; and Shenstone's witty remark on divines trying to give the tree a jerk upon a death-bed, to make it lie favourably, is not well founded. I asked him what works of Richard Baxter's I should read. He said, 'Read any of them; they are all good.' He said, '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.' I assured him, that in the extensive and various range of his acquaintance there never had been any one who had a more sincere respect and affection for him than I had. He said, 'I believe it, sir. Were I in distress, there is no man to whom I should sooner come than to you. I should like to come and have a cottage in your park, toddle about, live mostly on milk, and be taken care of by Mrs. Boswell. She and I are good friends now-are we not?' Talking of devotion, he said, 'Though it be true that "GoD dwelleth not in temples made with hands," yet in this state of being, our minds are more piously affected in places appropriated to divine worship than in others. Some people have a particular room in their houses, where they say their prayers; of which I do not disapprove, as it may animate their devotion.' He embraced me, and gave me his blessing, as usual when I was leaving him for any length of time. I walked from his door to-day, with a fearful apprehension of what might happen before I returned. 'TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM WINDHAM. 'LONDON, May 31, 1783. 'SIR,-The bringer of this letter is the father of Miss Philips,' a singer, who comes to try her voice on the stage at Dublin. 'Mr. Philips is one of my old friends; and as I am of opinion that neither he nor his daughter will do anything that can disgrace their benefactors, I take the liberty of entreating you to countenance and protect them so far as may be suitable to your station and character; 2 and shall consider myself as obliged by any favourable notice which they shall have the honour of receiving from you.-I am, sir, your most humble servant, 'SAM. JOHNSON.' 'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 'June 2, 1783. 'DEAR SIR,-I have sent you some of my godson's performances, of which I do not pretend to form any opinion. When I took the liberty of mentioning him to you, I did not know what I have since been told, that Mr. Moser had admitted him among the students of the Academy. What more can be done for him, I earnestly entreat you to consider; for I am very desirous that he should derive some advantage from my connection with him. If you are inclined to see him, I will bring him to wait on you at any time that you shall be pleased to appoint.—I am, sir, your most humble servant, 'SAM. JOHNSON.' My anxious apprehensions at parting with him this year proved to be but too well founded; for not long afterwards he had a dreadful stroke of the palsy, of which there are very full and accurate accounts in letters written by himself, to show with what composure of mind, and resignation to the Divine Will, his steady piety enabled him to behave. 'TO MR. EDMUND ALLEN. 'June 17, 1783. 'DEAR SIR,-It has pleased God this morning to deprive me of the power of speech; and as I do not know but that it may be His further good pleasure to deprive me soon of my senses, I request you will, on the receipt of this note, come to me, and act for me, as the exigencies of my case may require.—I am, sincerely yours, 'SAM. JOHNSON.' TO THE REVEREND DR. JOHN TAYLOR. 'June 17, 1783. 'DEAR SIR,-It has pleased God, by a paralytic stroke in the night, to deprive me of speech. 'I am very desirous of Dr. Heberden's assistance, as I think my case is not past remedy. Let me see you as soon as it is possible. Bring Dr. Heberden with you, if you can; but come yourself at all events. I am glad you are so well, when I am so dreadfully attacked. 'I think that by speedy application of stimulants much may be done. I question if a vomit, vigorous and rough, would not rouse the organs of speech to action. As it is too early to send, I will try to recollect what I can, that can be suspected to have brought on this dreadful distress. 'I have been accustomed to bleed frequently for an asthmatic complaint, but have forborne for some time by Dr. Pepys's persuasion, who The following is another instance of his active perceived my legs beginning to swell. I somebenevolence : 1 Afterwards Mrs. Crouch.-BOSWELL. 2 Mr. Windham was at this time in Dublin, Secretary to the Earl of Northington, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.-BOSWELL. times alleviate a painful, or more properly an oppressive, constriction of my chest, by opiates; and have lately taken opium frequently, but the last or two last times in smaller quantities. My 1 Son of Mr. Samuel Paterson.-BoSWELL largest dose is three grains, and last night I took but two. You will suggest these things (and they are all that I can call to mind) to Dr. Heberden.-I am, etc., 'SAM. JOHNSON.' Two days after he wrote thus to Mrs. Thrale: 'On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture [to Miss Reynolds], and walked a considerable way with little inconvenience. In the afternoon and evening I felt myself light and easy, and began to plan schemes of life. Thus I went to bed, and in a short time waked and sat up, as has been long my custom, when I felt a confusion and indistinctness in my head, which lasted I suppose about half a minute. I was alarmed, and prayed God, that however he might afflict my body, he would spare my understanding. This prayer, that I might try the integrity of my faculties, I made in Latin verse. The lines were not very good, but I knew them not to be very good: I made them easily, and concluded myself to be unimpaired in my faculties. 'Soon after I perceived that I had suffered a paralytic stroke, and that my speech was taken from me. I had no pain, and so little dejection in this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy, and considered that perhaps death itself, when it should come, would excite less horror than seems now to attend it. 'In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams. Wine has been celebrated for the production of eloquence. I put myself into violent motion, and I think repeated it; but all was vain. I then went to bed, and strange as it may seem, I think slept. When I saw light, it was time to contrive what I should do. Though God stopped my speech, he left me my hand; I enjoyed a mercy which was not granted to my dear friend Lawrence, who now perhaps overlooks me as I am writing, and rejoices that I have what he wanted. My first note was necessarily to my servant, who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend why he should read what I put into his hands. blow; but God, who yet spares my life, I humbly hope will spare my understanding, and restore my speech. As I am not at all helpless, I want no particular assistance, but am strongly affected by Mrs. Davies's tenderness; and when I think she can do me good, shall be very glad to call upon her. I had ordered friends to be shut out, but one or two have found the way in; and if you come you shall be admitted, for I know not whom I can see that will bring more amusement on his tongue, or more kindness in his heart.-I am, etc., 'SAM. JOHNSON,' It gives me great pleasure to preserve such a memorial of Johnson's regard for Mr. Davies, to whom I was indebted for my introduction to him. He indeed loved Davies cordially, of which I shall give the following little evidence. One day, when he had treated him with too much asperity, Tom, who was not without pride and spirit, went off in a passion; but he had hardly reached home, when Frank, who had been sent after him, delivered this note: Come, come, dear Davies, I am always sorry when we quarrel; send me word that we are friends.' TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. 'LONDON, July 3, 1783. 'DEAR SIR,-Your anxiety about my health is very friendly, and very agreeable with your general kindness. I have, indeed, had a very frightful blow. On the 17th of last month, about three in the morning, as near as I can guess, I perceived myself almost totally deprived of speech. I had no pain. My organs were so obstructed that I could say no, but could scarcely say yes. I wrote the necessary directions, for it pleased God to spare my hand, and sent for Dr. Heberden and Dr. Brocklesby. Between the time in which I discovered my own disorder, and that in which I sent for the doctors, I had, I believe, in spite of my surprise and solicitude, a little sleep, and nature began to renew its operations. They came and gave the directions which the disease required, and from that time I have been continually improving in articulation. I can now speak; but the nerves are weak, and I cannot continue discourse long; but strength, hope, will return. The physi 'I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet friend at hand, to act as occasion should require. In penning this note, I had some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made wrong letters. I then wrote to Dr. Taylor to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden: and I sent to Dr. Brock-cians consider me as cured. I was last Sunday lesby, who is my neighbour. My physicians are very friendly, and give me great hopes; but you may imagine my situation. I have so far recovered my vocal powers as to repeat the Lord's Prayer with no imperfect articulation. My memory, I hope, yet remains as it was; but such an attack produces solicitude for the safety of every faculty.' 'TO MR. THOMAS DAVIES. 'June 18, 1783. *DEAR SIR,—I have had, indeed, a very heavy at church. On Tuesday I took an airing to Hampstead, and dined with the Club, where Lord Palmerston was proposed, and, against my opinion, was rejected. I designed to go next week with Mr. Langton to Rochester, where I purpose to stay about ten days, and then try some other air. I have many kind invitations. 1 Poor Derrick, however, though he did not himself introduce me to Dr. Johnson as he promised, had the merit of introducing me to Davies, the immediate introductor.—BoswELL. 'TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD. 'LONDON, July 5, 1783. 'DEAR MADAM,-The account which you give of your health is but melancholy. May it please GOD to restore you. My disease affected my speech, and still continues, in some degree, to obstruct my utterance; my voice is distinct enough for a while; but the organs being still weak are quickly weary; but in other respects I am, I think, rather better than I have lately been; and can let you know my state without the help of any other hand. In the opinion of my friends, and in my own, I am gradually mending. The physicians consider me as cured, and I had leave four days ago to wash the cantharides from my head. Last Tuesday I dined at the Club. 'I am going next week into Kent, and purpose to change the air frequently this summer: whether I shall wander so far as Staffordshire I cannot tell. I should be glad to come. Return my thanks to Mrs. Cobb and Mr. Pearson, and all that have shown attention to me. 'Let us, my dear, pray for one another, and consider our sufferings as notices mercifully given us to prepare ourselves for another state. 'I live now but in a melancholy way. My old friend Mr. Levett is dead, who lived with me in the house, and was useful and companionable; Mrs. Desmoulins is gone away; and Mrs. Williams is so much decayed, that she can add little to another's gratifications. The world passes away, and we are passing with it; but there is doubtless another world, which will endure for ever. Let us all fit ourselves for it. Such was the general vigour of his constitution, that he recovered from this alarming and severe attack with wonderful quickness; so that in July he was able to make a visit to Mr. Langton at Rochester, where he passed about a fortnight, and made little excursions as easily as at any time of his life.1 1 In his letter to Mrs. Thrale, written on the 18th of August, we find the following melancholy paragraph :'I am now broken with disease, without the alleviation of familiar friendship or domestic society; I have no middle state between clamour and silence, between general conversation and self-tormenting solitude. Levett is dead, and poor Williams is making haste to die: I know not if she will ever more come out of her chamber.' In a subsequent letter, August 26, he adds, 'Mrs. CHAPTER LVIII. 1783. IN August Johnson went as far as the neighbour. hood of Salisbury, to Heale, the seat of William Bowles, Esq., a gentleman whom I have heard him praise for exemplary religious order in his family. In his diary I find a short but honourable mention of this visit :- August 28, I came to Heale without fatigue. 30, I am entertained quite to my mind.' 'TO DR. BROCKLESBY. 'HEALE, NEAR SALISBURY, Aug. 29, 1783. 'DEAR SIR,-Without appearing to want a just sense of your kind attention, I cannot omit to give an account of the day which seemed to appear in some sort perilous. I rose at five, and went out at six; and having reached Salisbury about nine, went forward a few miles in my friend's chariot. I was no more wearied with the journey, though it was a high-hung, rough coach, than I should have been forty years We shall now see what air will do. The country is all a plain, and the house in which I am, so far as I can judge from my window, for I write before I have left my chamber, is sufficiently pleasant. ago. 'Be so kind as to continue your attention to Mrs. Williams; it is great consolation to the well, and still greater to the sick, that they find themselves not neglected; and I know that you will be desirous of giving comfort, even where you have no great hope of giving help. 'Since I wrote the former part of the letter, I find that by the course of the post I cannot send it before the thirty-first.-I am, etc., • SAM. JOHNSON.' While he was here, he had a letter from Dr. Brocklesby, acquainting him of the death of 'Some benefit may be perhaps received from change of air, some from change of company, and some from mere change of place. It is not easy to grow well in a chamber where one has long been sick, and where everything seen, and every person speaking, revives and impresses images of pain. Though it be true that no man can run away from himself, yet he may escape from many causes of useless uneasiness. That the mind is its own place, is the boast of a fallen angel that had learned to lie. External locality has great effects, at least upon all embodied beings. I hope this little journey will afford me at least some suspense of melancholy.'-MALONE. Mrs. Williams,' which affected him a good deal. Though for several years her temper had not been complacent, she had valuable qualities, and her departure left a blank in his house. Upon this occasion he, according to his habitual course of piety, composed a prayer.2 I shall here insert a few particulars concerning him, with which I have been favoured by one of his friends : 'He had once conceived the design of writing the life of Oliver Cromwell, saying that he thought it must be highly curious to trace his extraordinary rise to the supreme power, from so obscure a beginning. He at length laid aside his scheme, on discovering that all that can be told of him is already in print; and that it is impracticable to procure any authentic information in addition to what the world is already in possession of.' 3 'He had likewise projected, but at what part of his life is not known, a work to show how small a quantity of REAL FICTION there is in the world; and that the same images, with very little variation, have served all the authors who have ever written.' 'His thoughts, in the latter part of his life, were frequently employed on his deceased friends. He often muttered these, or such like sentences: "Poor man! and then he died." 'Speaking of a certain literary friend, "He is a very pompous, puzzling fellow," said he; "he lent me a letter once that somebody had written to him, no matter what it was about; but he wanted to have the letter back, and expressed a mighty value for it; he hoped it was to be met with again, he would not lose it for a thousand pounds. I laid my hands upon it soon afterwards 1 In his letter to Miss Susanna Thrale, Sept. 9, 1783, he thus writes: Pray show mamma this passage of a letter from Dr. Brocklesby. "Mrs. Williams, from mere inanition, has at length paid the great debt to nature about three o'clock this morning. (Sept. 6.) She died without a struggle, retaining her faculties to the very last, and, as she expressed it, having set her house in order, was prepared to leave it, at the last summons of nature."" In his letter to Mrs. Thrale, Sept. 22, he adds, 'Poor Williams has, I hope, seen the end of her afflictions. She acted with prudence, and she bore with fortitude. She has left me. "Thou thy weary task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages." Had she had good humour and prompt elocution, her universal curiosity and comprehensive knowledge would have made her the delight of all that knew her. She has left her little to your charity school.'-MALONE. 2 Prayers and Meditations. 3 This, however, was entirely a mistake, as appears from the Memoirs published by Mr. Noble. Had Johnson been furnished with the materials which the industry of that gentleman has procured, and with others which, it is believed, are yet preserved in manuscript, he would, without doubt, have produced a most valuable and curious history of Cromwell's life. - MALONE. and gave it him. I believe I said I was very glad to have met with it. Oh, then he did not know that it signified anything. So you see, when the letter was lost it was worth a thousand pounds, and when it was found it was not worth a farthing."" "The style and character of his conversation is pretty generally known: it was certainly conducted in conformity with a precept of Lord Bacon; but it is not clear, I apprehend, that this conformity was either perceived or intended by Johnson. The precept alluded to is as follows: "In all kinds of speech, either pleasant, grave, severe, or ordinary, it is convenient to speak leisurely, and rather drawlingly than hastily; because hasty speech confounds the memory, and oftentimes, besides the unseemliness, drives a man either to stammering, a nonplus, or harping on that which should follow; whereas a slow speech confirmeth the memory, addeth a conceit of wisdom to the hearers, besides a seemliness of speech and countenance." Dr. Johnson's method of conversation was certainly calculated to excite attention, and to amuse and instruct (as it happened), without wearying or confusing his company. He was always most perfectly clear and perspicuous; and his language was so accurate, and his sentences so neatly constructed, that his conversation might have been all printed without any correction. At the same time, it was easy and natural; the accuracy of it had no appearance of labour, constraint, or stiffness; he seemed more correct than others, by the force of habit, and the customary exercises of his powerful mind.' 1 'He spoke often in praise of French literature. "The French are excellent in this," he would say; "they have a book on every subject." From what he had seen of them, he denied them the praise of superior politeness, and mentioned, with very visible disgust, the custom they have "This," said the Doctor, "is as gross a thing as of spitting on the floors of their apartments. can well be done; and one wonders how any man, or set of men, can persist in so offensive a practice for a whole day together; one should expect that the first effort towards civilisation would remove it even among savages. 'Baxter's Reasons of the Christian Religion, he thought, contained the best collection of the evidences of the divinity of the Christian system.' 'Chymistry was always an interesting pursuit with Dr. Johnson. Whilst he was in Wiltshire he attended some experiments that were made by a physician at Salisbury, on the new kinds of air. In the course of the experiments, frequent mention being made of Dr Priestley, Dr. Johnson knit his brows, and in a stern manner inquired, "Why do we hear so much of Dr. 1 Hints for Civil Conversation.-Bacon's Works, 4to, vol. i. p. 571.-MALONE. Priestley?" He was very properly answered, "Sir, because we are indebted to him for these important discoveries." On this Dr. Johnson appeared well content, and replied, "Well, well, I believe we are; and let every man have the honour he has merited." 'A friend was one day, about two years before his death, struck with some instance of Dr. Johnson's great candour. "Well, sir," said he, "I will always say that you are a very candid man. ."-"Will you?" replied the Doctor; "I doubt, then, you will be very singular. But indeed, sir," continued he, "I look upon myself | to be a man very much misunderstood. I am not an uncandid, nor am I a severe man. I sometimes say more than I mean, in jest; and people are apt to believe me serious: however, I am more candid than I was when I was younger. 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." On his return from Heale he wrote to Dr. Burney : 'I came home on the 18th of September, at noon, to a very disconsolate house. You and I have lost our friends; but you have more friends at home. My domestic companion is taken from me. She is much missed, for her acquisitions were many, and her curiosity universal; so that she partook of every conversation. I am not well enough to go much out; and to sit, and eat, or fast alone, is very wearisome. I always mean to send my compliments to all the ladies.' His fortitude and patience met with severe trials during this year. The stroke of the palsy has been related circumstantially; but he was also afflicted with the gout, and was, besides, troubled with a complaint which not only was attended with immediate inconvenience, but threatened him with a chirurgical operation, from which most men would shrink. The complaint was a sarcocele, which Johnson bore with uncommon firmness, and was not at all frightened while he looked forward to amputation. He was attended by Mr. Pott and Mr. Cruikshank. I have before me a letter of the 30th of July this year, to Mr. Cruikshank, in which he says, 'I am going to put myself into your hands;' and another accompanying a set of his Lives of the Poets, in which he says, 'I beg The Rev. Dr. Parr, in a late tract, appears to suppose that Dr. Johnson not only endured, but almost solicited, an interview with Dr. Priestley. In justice to Dr. Johnson, I declare my firm belief that he never did. My illustrious friend was particularly resolute in not giving countenance to men whose writings he considered as pernicious to society. I was present at Oxford when Dr. Price, even before he had rendered himself so generally obnoxious by his zeal for the French Revolution, came into a company where Johnson was, who instantly left the room. Much more would he have reprobated Dr. Priestley.-BoSWELL. your acceptance of these volumes as an acknowledgment of the great favours which you have bestowed on, sir, your most obliged and most humble servant.' I have in my possession several more letters from him to Mr. Cruikshank, and also to Dr. Mudge, at Plymouth, which it would be improper to insert, as they are filled with unpleasing technical details. I shall, however, extract from his letters to Dr. Mudge such passages as show either a felicity of expression or the undaunted state of his mind :— 'My conviction of your skill, and my belief of your friendship, determine me to entreat your opinion and advice.' 'In this state I with great earnestness desire you to tell me what is to be done. Excision is doubtless necessary to the cure, and I know not any means of palliation. The operation is doubtless painful; but is it dangerous? The pain I hope to endure with decency; but I am loath to put life into much hazard.' 'By representing the gout as an antagonist to the palsy, you have said enough to make it welcome. This is not strictly the first fit; but I hope it is as good as the first; for it is the second that ever confined me; and the first was ten years ago, much less fierce and fiery than this.' 'Write, dear sir, what you can to inform or encourage me. The operation is not delayed by any fears or objections of mine.' 'TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ. 'LONDON, Sept. 29, 1783. 'DEAR SIR,-You may very reasonably charge me with insensibility of your kindness and that of Lady Rothes, since I-have suffered so much time to pass without paying any acknowledgment. I now, at last, return my thanks; and why I did it not sooner I ought to tell you. I went into Wiltshire as soon as I well could, and was there much employed in palliating my own malady. Disease produces much selfishness. A man in pain is looking after ease, and lets most other things go as chance shall dispose of them. In the meantime I have lost a companien, to whom I have had recourse for domestic amusement for thirty years, and whose variety of knowledge never was exhausted; and now return to a habitation vacant and desolate. I carry about a very troublesome and dangerous complaint, which admits no cure but by the chirurgical knife. Let me have your prayers.— I am, etc., 'SAM. JOHNSON.' Happily the complaint abated without his being put to the torture of amputation. But we must surely admire the manly resolution which he discovered while it hung over him. In a letter to the same gentleman he writes, 'The gout has, within these four days, come upon me with a violence which I never expe rienced before. It made me helpless as an |