Life of Johnson by James Boswell
Page 31
I record this minute detail, which some may think trifling, in
order to shew clearly how this great man, whose mind could grasp
such large and extensive subjects, as he has shewn in his literary
labours, was yet well-informed in the common affairs of life, and
loved to illustrate them.
Talking of the origin of language; JOHNSON. 'It must have come by
inspiration. A thousand, nay, a million of children could not
invent a language. While the organs are pliable, there is not
understanding enough to form a language; by the time that there is
understanding enough, the organs are become stiff. We know that
after a certain age we cannot learn to pronounce a new language.
No foreigner, who comes to England when advanced in life, ever
pronounces English tolerably well; at least such instances are very
rare. When I maintain that language must have come by inspiration,
I do not mean that inspiration is required for rhetorick, and all
the beauties of language; for when once man has language, we can
conceive that he may gradually form modifications of it. I mean
only that inspiration seems to me to be necessary to give man the
faculty of speech; to inform him that he may have speech; which I
think he could no more find out without inspiration, than cows or
hogs would think of such a faculty.' WALKER. 'Do you think, Sir,
that there are any perfect synonimes in any language?' JOHNSON.
'Originally there were not; but by using words negligently, or in
poetry, one word comes to be confounded with another.'
He talked of Dr. Dodd. 'A friend of mine, (said he,) came to me
and told me, that a lady wished to have Dr. Dodd's picture in a
bracelet, and asked me for a motto. I said, I could think of no
better than Currat Lex. I was very willing to have him pardoned,
that is, to have the sentence changed to transportation: but, when
he was once hanged, I did not wish he should be made a saint.'
Mrs. Burney, wife of his friend Dr. Burney, came in, and he seemed
to be entertained with her conversation.
Garrick's funeral was talked of as extravagantly expensive.
Johnson, from his dislike to exaggeration, would not allow that it
was distinguished by any extraordinary pomp. 'Were there not six
horses to each coach?' said Mrs. Burney. JOHNSON. 'Madam, there
were no more six horses than six phoenixes.'
Time passed on in conversation till it was too late for the service
of the church at three o'clock. I took a walk, and left him alone
for some time; then returned, and we had coffee and conversation
again by ourselves.
We went to evening prayers at St. Clement's, at seven, and then
parted.
On Sunday, April 20, being Easter-day, after attending solemn
service at St. Paul's, I came to Dr. Johnson, and found Mr. Lowe,
the painter, sitting with him. Mr. Lowe mentioned the great number
of new buildings of late in London, yet that Dr. Johnson had
observed, that the number of inhabitants was not increased.
JOHNSON. Why, Sir, the bills of mortality prove that no more
people die now than formerly; so it is plain no more live. The
register of births proves nothing, for not one tenth of the people
of London are born there.' BOSWELL. 'I believe, Sir, a great many
of the children born in London die early.' JOHNSON. 'Why, yes,
Sir.' BOSWELL. 'But those who do live, are as stout and strong
people as any: Dr. Price says, they must be naturally stronger to
get through.' JOHNSON. 'That is system, Sir. A great traveller
observes, that it is said there are no weak or deformed people
among the Indians; but he with much sagacity assigns the reason of
this, which is, that the hardship of their life as hunters and
fishers does not allow weak or diseased children to grow up. Now
had I been an Indian, I must have died early; my eyes would not
have served me to get food. I indeed now could fish, give me
English tackle; but had I been an Indian I must have starved, or
they would have knocked me on the head, when they saw I could do
nothing.' BOSWELL. 'Perhaps they would have taken care of you: we
are told they are fond of oratory, you would have talked to them.'
JOHNSON. Nay, Sir, I should not have lived long enough to be fit
to talk; I should have been dead before I was ten years old.
Depend upon it, Sir, a savage, when he is hungry, will not carry
about with him a looby of nine years old, who cannot help himself.
They have no affection, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'I believe natural
affection, of which we hear so much, is very small.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, natural affection is nothing: but affection from principle
and established duty is sometimes wonderfully strong.' LOWE. 'A
hen, Sir, will feed her chickens in preference to herself.'
JOHNSON. 'But we don't know that the hen is hungry; let the hen be
fairly hungry, and I'll warrant she'll peck the corn herself. A
cock, I believe, will feed hens instead of himself; but we don't
know that the cock is hungry.' BOSWELL. 'And that, Sir, is not
from affection but gallantry. But some of the Indians have
affection.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, that they help some of their children
is plain; for some of them live, which they could not do without
being helped.'
I dined with him; the company were, Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins,
and Mr. Lowe. He seemed not to be well, talked little, grew drowsy
soon after dinner, and retired, upon which I went away.
Having next day gone to Mr. Burke's seat in the country, from
whence I was recalled by an express, that a near relation of mine
had killed his antagonist in a duel, and was himself dangerously
wounded, I saw little of Dr. Johnson till Monday, April 28, when I
spent a considerable part of the day with him, and introduced the
subject, which then chiefly occupied my mind. JOHNSON. 'I do not
see, Sir, that fighting is absolutely forbidden in Scripture; I see
revenge forbidden, but not self-defence.' BOSWELL. 'The Quakers
say it is; "Unto him that smiteth thee on one cheek, offer him also
the other."' JOHNSON. 'But stay, Sir; the text is meant only to
have the effect of moderating passion; it is plain that we are not
to take it in a literal sense. We see this from the context, where
there are other recommendations, which I warrant you the Quaker
will not take literally; as, for instance, "From him that would
borrow of thee, turn thou not away." Let a man whose credit is
bad, come to a Quaker, and say, "Well, Sir, lend me a hundred
pounds;" he'll find him as unwilling as any other man. No, Sir, a
man may shoot the man who invades his character, as he may shoot
him who attempts to break into his house.* So in 1745, my friend,
Tom Gumming, the Quaker, said, he would not fight, but he would
drive an ammunition cart; and we know that the Quakers have sent
flannel waistcoats to our soldiers, to enable them to fight
better.' BOSWELL. 'When a man is the aggressor, and by ill-usage
forces on a duel in which he is killed, have we not little ground
to hope that he is gone into a state of happiness?' JOHNSON.
'Sir, we are not to judge determinately of the state in which a man
leaves this life. He may in a moment have repented effectually,
and it is possible may have been accepted by GOD.'
* I think it necessary to caution my readers against concluding
that in this or any other conversation of Dr. Johnson, they have
his serious and deliberate opinion on the subject of duelling. In
my Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, 3rd edit. p. 386 [p. 366,
Oct. 24], it appears that he made this frank confession:--'Nobody
at times, talks more laxly than I do;' and, ib., p. 231 [Sept. 19,
1773], 'He fairly owned he could not explain the rationality of
duelling.' We may, therefore, infer, that he could not think that
justifiable, which seems so inconsistent with the spirit of the
Gospel.--BOSWELL.
Upon being told that old Mr. Sheridan, indignant at the neglect of
his oratorical plans, had threatened to go to America; JOHNSON. 'I
hope he will go to America.' BOSWELL. 'The Americans don't want
oratory.' JOHNSON. 'But we can want Sheridan.'
On Monday, April 29, I found him at home in the forenoon, and Mr.
Seward with him. Horace having been mentioned; BOSWELL. 'There is
a great deal of thinking in his works. One finds there almost
every thing but religion.' SEWARD. 'He speaks of his returning to
it, in his Ode Parcus Deorum cultor et infrequens.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, he was not in earnest: this was merely poetical.' BOSWELL.
'There are, I am afraid, many people who have no religion at all.'
SEWARD. 'And sensible people too.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, not
sensible in that respect. There must be either a natural or a
moral stupidity, if one lives in a total neglect of so very
important a concern. SEWARD. 'I wonder that there should be
people without religion.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you need not wonder at
this, when you consider how large a proportion of almost every
man's life is passed without thinking of it. I myself was for some
years totally regardless of religion. It had dropped out of my
mind. It was at an early part of my life. Sickness brought it
back, and I hope I have never lost it since.' BOSWELL. 'My dear
Sir, what a man must you have been without religion! Why you must
have gone on drinking, and swearing, and--' JOHNSON (with a
smile,) 'I drank enough and swore enough, to be sure.' SEWARD.
'One should think that sickness and the view of death would make
more men religious.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, they do not know how to go
about it: they have not the first notion. A man who has never had
religion before, no more grows religious when he is sick, than a
man who has never learnt figures can count when he has need of
calculation.'
I mentioned Dr. Johnson's excellent distinction between liberty of
conscience and liberty of teaching. JOHNSON. 'Consider, Sir; if
you have children whom you wish to educate in the principles of the
Church of England, and there comes a Quaker who tries to pervert
them to his principles, you would drive away the Quaker. You would
not trust to the predomination of right, which you believe is in
your opinions; you would keep wrong out of their heads. Now the
vulgar are the children of the State. If any one attempts to teach
them doctrines contrary to what the State approves, the magistrate
may and ought to restrain him.' SEWARD. 'Would you restrain
private conversation, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is difficult
to say where private conversation begins, and where it ends. If we
three should discuss even the great question concerning the
existence of a Supreme Being by ourselves, we should not be
restrained; for that would be to put an end to all improvement.
But if we should discuss it in the presence of ten boarding-school
girls, and as many boys, I think the magistrate would do well to
put us in the stocks, to finish the debate there.'
'How false (said he,) is all this, to say that in ancient times
learning was not a disgrace to a Peer as it is now. In ancient
times a Peer was as ignorant as any one else. He would have been
angry to have it thought he could write his name. Men in ancient
times dared to stand forth with a degree of ignorance with which
nobody would dare now to stand forth. I am always angry when I
hear ancient times praised at the expence of modern times. There
is now a great deal more learning in the world than there was
formerly; for it is universally diffused. You have, perhaps, no
man who knows as much Greek and Latin as Bentley; no man who knows
as much mathematicks as Newton: but you have many more men who know
Greek and Latin, and who know mathematicks.'
On Thursday, May 1, I visited him in the evening along with young
Mr. Burke. He said, 'It is strange that there should be so little
reading in the world, and so much writing. 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. However, I have this
year read all Virgil through. I read a book of the Aeneid every
night, so it was done in twelve nights, and I had great delight in
it. The Georgicks did not give me so much pleasure, except the
fourth book. The Eclogues I have almost all by heart. I do not
think the story of the Aeneid interesting. I like the story of the
Odyssey much better; and this not on account of the wonderful
things which it contains; for there are wonderful things enough in
the Aeneid;--the ships of the Trojans turned to sea-nymphs,--the
tree at Polydorus's tomb dropping blood. The story of the Odyssey
is interesting, as a great part of it is domestick. It has been
said, there is pleasure in writing, particularly in writing verses.
I allow you may have pleasure from writing, after it is over, if
you have written well; but you don't go willingly to it again. I
know when I have been writing verses, I have run my finger down the
margin, to see how many I had made, and how few I had to make.'
He seemed to be in a very placid humour, and although I have no
note of the particulars of young Mr. Burke's conversation, it is
but justice to mention in general, that it was such that Dr.
Johnson said to me afterwards, 'He did very well indeed; I have a
mind to tell his father.'
I have no minute of any interview with Johnson till Thursday, May
15, when I find what follows:--BOSWELL. 'I wish much to be in
Parliament, Sir.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, unless you come resolved to
support any administration, you would be the worse for being in
Parliament, because you would be obliged to live more expensively.'
BOSWELL. 'Perhaps, Sir, I should be the less happy for being in
Parliament. I never would sell my vote, and I should be vexed if
things went wrong.' JOHNSON. 'That's cant, Sir. It would not vex
you more in the house, than in the gallery: publick affairs vex no
man.' BOSWELL. 'Have not they vexed yourself a little, Sir? Have
not you been vexed by all the turbulence of this reign, and by that
absurd vote of the house of Commons, "That the influence of the
Crown has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished?"'
Johnson. 'Sir, I have never slept an hour less, nor eat an ounce
less meat. I would have knocked the factious dogs on the head, to
be sure; but I was not VEXED.' BOSWELL. 'I declare, Sir, upon my
honour, I did imagine I was vexed, and took a pride in it; but it
WAS, perhaps, cant; for I own I neither ate less, nor slept less.'
JOHNSON. 'My dear friend, clear your MIND of cant. You may TALK
as other people do: you may say to a man, "Sir, I am your most
humble servant." You are not his most humble servant. You may
say, "These are bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved
to such times." You don't mind the times. You tell a man, "I am
sorry you had such bad weather the last day of your journey, and
were so much wet." You don't care 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.'
Here he discovered a notion common enough in persons not much
accustomed to entertain company, that there must be a degree of
elaborate attention, otherwise company will think themselves
neglected; and such attention is no doubt very fatiguing. He
proceeded: 'I would not, however, be a stranger in my own county; I
would visit my neighbours, and receive their visits; but I would
not be in haste to return visits. If a gentleman comes to see me,
I tell him he does me a great deal of honour. I do not go to see
him perhaps for ten weeks; then we are very complaisant to each
other. No, Sir, you will have much more influence by giving or
lending money where it is wanted, than by hospitality.'
On Saturday, May 17, I saw him for a short time. Having mentioned
that I had that morning been with old Mr. Sheridan, he remembered
their former intimacy with a cordial warmth, and said to me, 'Tell
Mr. Sheridan, I shall be glad to see him, and shake hands with
him.' BOSWELL. 'It is to me very wonderful that resentment should
be kept up so long.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is not altogether
resentment that he does not visit me; it is partly falling out of
the habit,--partly disgust, as one has at a drug that has made him
sick. Besides, he knows that I laugh at his oratory.'
Another day I spoke of one of our friends, of whom he, as well as
I, had a very high opinion. He expatiated in his praise; but
added, 'Sir, he is a cursed Whig, a BOTTOMLESS Whig, as they all
are now.'
On Monday, May 26, I found him at tea, and the celebrated Miss
Burney, the authour of Evelina and Cecilia, with him. I asked if
there would be any speakers in Parliament, if there were no places
to be obtained. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir. Why do you speak here?
Either to instruct and entertain, which is a benevolent motive; or
for distinction, which is a selfish motive.' I mentioned Cecilia.
JOHNSON. (with an air of animated satisfaction,) 'Sir, if you talk
of Cecilia, talk on.'
We talked of Mr. Barry's exhibition of his pictures. JOHNSON.
'Whatever the hand may have done, the mind has done its part.
There is a grasp of mind there which you find nowhere else.'
I asked whether a man naturally virtuous, or one who has overcome
wicked inclinations, is the best. JOHNSON. 'Sir, to YOU, the man
who has overcome wicked inclinations is not the best. He has more
merit to HIMSELF: 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. There is a witty satirical story of
Foote. He had a small bust of Garrick placed upon his bureau.
"You may be surprized (said he,) that I allow him to be so near my
gold;--but you will observe he has no hands."'
On Friday, May 29, being to set out for Scotland next morning, I
passed a part of the day with him in more than usual earnestness;
as his health was in a more precarious state than at any time when
I had parted from him. He, however, was quick and lively, and
critical as usual. I mentioned one who was a very learned man.
JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, he has a great deal of learning; but it never
lies straight. There is never one idea by the side of another;
'tis all entangled: and their he drives it so aukwardly upon
conversation.'
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?'
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.
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 shew with what composure
of mind, and resignation to the Divine Will, his steady piety
enabled him to behave.
'TO MR. EDMUND ALLEN.
'DEAR SIR,--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, 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,
'June 17, 1783.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
Two days after he wrote thus to Mrs. Thrale:--
'On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture, 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 paralytick 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 horrour 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.
'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. Brocklesby, 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 very 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.
'DEAR SIR,--I have had, indeed, a very heavy 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, &c.
'June 18, 1783.'
'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.'
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. In August he went
as far as the neighbourhood 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.'
While he was here he had a letter from Dr. Brocklesby, acquainting
him of the death of 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.
I shall here insert a few particulars concerning him, with which I
have been favoured by one of his friends.
'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 superiour politeness, and mentioned, with very visible disgust,
the custom they have of spitting on the floors of their apartments.
"This, (said the Doctor), is as gross a thing as 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 civilization would remove it even
among savages."
'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. 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 at noon to a very disconsolate house. You
and I have lost our friends; but you have more friends at home. My
domestick 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.
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.
He this autumn received a visit from the celebrated Mrs. Siddons.
He gives this account of it in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale:--
'Mrs. Siddons, in her visit to me, behaved with great modesty and
propriety, and left nothing behind her to be censured or despised.
Neither praise nor money, the two powerful corrupters of mankind,
seem to have depraved her. I shall be glad to see her again. Her
brother Kemble calls on me, and pleases me very well. Mrs. Siddons
and I talked of plays; and she told me her intention of exhibiting
this winter the characters of Constance, Catharine, and Isabella,
in Shakspeare.'
Mr. Kemble has favoured me with the following minute of what passed
at this visit:--
'When Mrs. Siddons came into the room, there happened to be no
chair ready for her, which he observing, said with a smile, "Madam,
you who so often occasion a want of seats to other people, will the
more easily excuse the want of one yourself."
'Having placed himself by her, he with great good-humour entered
upon a consideration of the English drama; and, among other
inquiries, particularly asked her which of Shakspeare's characters
she was most pleased with. Upon her answering that she thought the
character of Queen Catharine, in Henry the Eighth, the most
natural:--"I think so too, Madam, (said he;) and whenever you
perform it, I will once more hobble out to the theatre myself."
Mrs. Siddons promised she would do herself the honour of acting his
favourite part for him; but many circumstances happened to prevent
the representation of King Henry the Eighth during the Doctor's
life.
'In the course of the evening he thus gave his opinion upon the
merits of some of the principal performers whom he remembered to
have seen upon the stage. "Mrs. Porter in the vehemence of rage,
and Mrs. Clive in the sprightliness of humour, I have never seen
equalled. What Clive did best, she did better than Garrick; but
could not do half so many things well; she was a better romp than
any I ever saw in nature. Pritchard, in common life, was a vulgar
ideot; she would talk of her GOWND: but, when she appeared upon the
stage, seemed to be inspired by gentility and understanding. I
once talked with Colley Cibber, and thought him ignorant of the
principles of his art. Garrick, Madam; was no declaimer; there was
not one of his own scene-shifters who could not have spoken To be,
or not to be, better than he did; yet he was the only actor I ever
saw, whom I could call a master both in tragedy and comedy; though
I liked him best in comedy. A true conception of character, and
natural expression of it, were his distinguished excellencies."
Having expatiated, with his usual force and eloquence, on Mr.
Garrick's extraordinary eminence as an actor, he concluded with
this compliment to his social talents: "And after all, Madam, I
thought him less to be envied on the stage than at the head of a
table."'
Johnson, indeed, had thought more upon the subject of acting than
might be generally supposed. Talking of it one day to 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.'
I find in this, as in former years, notices of his kind attention
to Mrs. Gardiner, who, though in the humble station of a tallow-
chandler upon Snow-hill, was a woman of excellent good sense,
pious, and charitable. She told me, she had been introduced to him
by Mrs. Masters, the poetess, whose volumes he revised, and, it is
said, illuminated here and there with a ray of his own genius.
Mrs. Gardiner was very zealous for the support of the Ladies'
charity-school, in the parish of St. Sepulchre. It is confined to
females; and, I am told, it afforded a hint for the story of Betty
Broom in The Idler.
The late ingenious Mr. Mickle, some time before his death, wrote me
a letter concerning Dr. Johnson, in which he mentions,--'I was
upwards of twelve years acquainted with him, was frequently in his
company, always talked with ease to him, and can truly say, that I
never received from him one rough word.'
Mr. Mickle reminds me in this letter of a conversation, at dinner
one day at Mr. Hoole's with Dr. Johnson, when Mr. Nicol the King's
bookseller and I attempted to controvert the maxim, 'better that
ten guilty should escape, than one innocent person suffer;' and
were answered by Dr. Johnson with great power of reasoning and
eloquence. I am very sorry that I have no record of that day: but
I well recollect my illustrious friend's having ably shewn, that
unless civil institutions insure protection to the innocent, all
the confidence which mankind should have in them would be lost.
Notwithstanding the complication of disorders under which Johnson
now laboured, he did not resign himself to despondency and
discontent, but with wisdom and spirit endeavoured to console and
amuse his mind with as many innocent enjoyments as he could
procure. Sir John Hawkins has mentioned the cordiality with which
he insisted that such of the members of the old club in Ivy-lane as
survived, should meet again and dine together, which they did,
twice at a tavern and once at his house: and in order to insure
himself society in the evening for three days in the week, he
instituted a club at the Essex Head, in Essex-street, then kept by
Samuel Greaves, an old servant of Mr. Thrale's.
'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
'DEAR SIR,--It is inconvenient to me to come out, I should else
have waited on you with an account of a little evening Club which
we are establishing in Essex-street, in the Strand, and of which
you are desired to be one. It will be held at the Essex Head, now
kept by an old servant of Thrale's. The company is numerous, and,
as you will see by the list, miscellaneous. The terms are lax, and
the expences light. Mr. Barry was adopted by Dr. Brocklesby, who
joined with me in forming the plan. We meet thrice a week, and he
who misses forfeits two-pence.
'If you are willing to become a member, draw a line under your
name. Return the list. We meet for the first time on Monday at
eight. I am, &c.
'Dec. 4, 1783.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
It did not suit Sir Joshua to be one of this Club. But when I
mention only Mr. Daines Barrington, Dr. Brocklesby, Mr. Murphy, Mr.
John Nichols, Mr. Cooke, Mr. Joddrel, Mr. Paradise, Dr. Horsley,
Mr. Windham,* I shall sufficiently obviate the misrepresentation of
it by Sir John Hawkins, as if it had been a low ale-house
association, by which Johnson was degraded. Johnson himself, like
his namesake Old Ben, composed the Rules of his Club.
* I was in Scotland when this Club was founded, and during all the
winter. Johnson, however, declared I should be a member, and
invented a word upon the occasion: Boswell (said he,) is a very
CLUBABLE man.' When I came to town I was proposed by Mr.
Barrington, and chosen. I believe there are few societies where
there is better conversation or more decorum, several of us
resolved to continue it after our great founder was removed by
death. Other members were added; and now, above eight years since
that loss, we go on happily.--BOSWELL.
In the end of this year he was seized with a spasmodick asthma of
such violence, that he was confined to the house in great pain,
being sometimes obliged to sit all night in his chair, a recumbent
posture being so hurtful to his respiration, that he could not
endure lying in bed; and there came upon him at the same time that
oppressive and fatal disease, a dropsy. It was a very severe
winter, which probably aggravated his complaints; and the solitude
in which Mr. Levett and Mrs. Williams had left him, rendered his
life very gloomy. Mrs. Desmoulins, who still lived, was herself so
very ill, that she could contribute very little to his relief. He,
however, had none of that unsocial shyness which we commonly see in
people afflicted with sickness. He did not hide his head from the
world, in solitary abstraction; he did not deny himself to the
visits of his friends and acquaintances; but at all times, when he
was not overcome by sleep, was ready for conversation as in his
best days.
'TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.
'DEAR MADAM,--You may perhaps think me negligent that I have not
written to you again upon the loss of your brother; but condolences
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. My nights are miserably restless, and my
days, therefore, are heavy. I try, however, to hold up my head as
high as I can.
'I am sorry that your health is impaired; perhaps the spring and
the summer may, in some degree, restore it: but if not, we must
submit to the inconveniences of time, as to the other dispensations
of Eternal Goodness. Pray for me, and write to me, or let Mr.
Pearson write for you. I am, &c.
'London, Nov. 29, 1783.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
1784: AETAT. 75.]--And now I am arrived at the last year of the
life of SAMUEL JOHNSON, a year in which, although passed in severe
indisposition, he nevertheless gave many evidences of the
continuance of those wondrous powers of mind, which raised him so
high in the intellectual world. His conversation and his letters
of this year were in no respect inferiour to those of former years.
In consequence of Johnson's request that I should ask our
physicians about his case, and desire Sir Alexander Dick to send
his opinion, I transmitted him a letter from that very amiable
Baronet, then in his eighty-first year, with his faculties as
entire as ever; and mentioned his expressions to me in the note
accompanying it: 'With my most affectionate wishes for Dr.
Johnson's recovery, in which his friends, his country, and all
mankind have so deep a stake:' and at the same time a full opinion
upon his case by Dr. Gillespie, who, like Dr. Cullen, had the
advantage of having passed through the gradations of surgery and
pharmacy, and by study and practice had attained to such skill,
that my father settled on him two hundred pounds a year for five
years, and fifty pounds a year during his life, as an honorarium to
secure his particular attendance.
I also applied to three of the eminent physicians who had chairs in
our celebrated school of medicine at Edinburgh, Doctors Cullen,
Hope, and Monro.
All of them paid the most polite attention to my letter, and its
venerable object. Dr. Cullen's words concerning him were, 'It
would give me the greatest pleasure to be of any service to a man
whom the publick properly esteem, and whom I esteem and respect as
much as I do Dr. Johnson.' Dr. Hope's, 'Few people have a better
claim on me than your friend, as hardly a day passes that I do not
ask his opinion about this or that word.' Dr. Monro's, 'I most
sincerely join you in sympathizing with that very worthy and
ingenious character, from whom his country has derived much
instruction and entertainment.'
'TO THE REVEREND DR. TAYLOR, ASHBOURNE, DERBYSHIRE.
'DEAR SIR,--What can be the reason that I hear nothing from you? I
hope nothing disables you from writing. What I have seen, and what
I have felt, gives me reason to fear every thing. Do not omit
giving me the comfort of knowing, that after all my losses I have
yet a friend left.
'I want every comfort. My life is very solitary and very
cheerless. Though it has pleased GOD wonderfully to deliver me
from the dropsy, I am yet very weak, and have not passed the door
since the 13th of December. I hope for some help from warm
weather, which will surely come in time.
'I could not have the consent of the physicians to go to church
yesterday; I therefore received the holy sacrament at home, in the
room where I communicated with dear Mrs. Williams, a little before
her death. O! my friend, the approach of death is very dreadful.
I am afraid to think on that which I know I cannot avoid. It is
vain to look round and round for that help which cannot be had.
Yet we hope and hope, and fancy that he who has lived to-day may
live to-morrow. But let us learn to derive our hope only from GOD.
'In the mean time, let us be kind to one another. I have no friend
now living but you and Mr. Hector, that was the friend of my youth.
Do not neglect, dear Sir, yours affectionately,
'London, Easter-Monday,
April 12, 1784.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
What follows is a beautiful specimen of his gentleness and
complacency to a young lady his god-child, one of the daughters of
his friend Mr. Langton, then I think in her seventh year. He took
the trouble to write it in a large round hand, nearly resembling
printed characters, that she might have the satisfaction of reading
it herself. The original lies before me, but shall be faithfully
restored to her; and I dare say will be preserved by her as a jewel
as long as she lives.
'TO MISS JANE LANGTON, IN ROCHESTER, KENT.
'MY DEAREST MISS JENNY,--I am sorry that your pretty letter has
been so long without being answered; but, when I am not pretty
well, I do not always write plain enough for young ladies. I am
glad, my dear, to see that you write so well, and hope that you
mind your pen, your book, and your needle, for they are all
necessary. Your books will give you knowledge, and make you
respected; and your needle will find you useful employment when you
do not care to read. When you are a little older, I hope you will
be very diligent in learning arithmetick, and, above all, that
through your whole life you will carefully say your prayers, and
read your Bible. I am, my dear, your most humble servant,
'May 10, 1784.'
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
On Wednesday, May 5, I arrived in London, and next morning had the
pleasure to find Dr. Johnson greatly recovered. I but just saw
him; for a coach was waiting to carry him to Islington, to the
house of his friend the Reverend Mr. Strahan, where he went
sometimes for the benefit of good air, which, notwithstanding his
having formerly laughed at the general opinion upon the subject, he
now acknowledged was conducive to health.
One morning afterwards, when I found him alone, he communicated to
me, with solemn earnestness, a very remarkable circumstance which
had happened in the course of his illness, when he was much
distressed by the dropsy. He had shut himself up, and employed a
day in particular exercises of religion--fasting, humiliation, and
prayer. On a sudden he obtained extraordinary relief, for which he
looked up to Heaven with grateful devotion. He made no direct
inference from this fact; but from his manner of telling it, I
could perceive that it appeared to him as something more than an
incident in the common course of events. For my own part, I have
no difficulty to avow that cast of thinking, which by many modern
pretenders to wisdom is called SUPERSTITIOUS. But here I think
even men of dry rationality may believe, that there was an
intermediate interposition of Divine Providence, and that 'the
fervent prayer of this righteous man' availed.
On Saturday, May 15, I dined with him at Dr. Brocklesby's, where
were Colonel Vallancy, Mr. Murphy, and that ever-cheerful companion
Mr. Devaynes, apothecary to his Majesty. Of these days, and others
on which I saw him, I have no memorials, except the general
recollection of his being able and animated in conversation, and
appearing to relish society as much as the youngest man. I find
only these three small particulars:--When a person was mentioned,
who said, 'I have lived fifty-one years in this world without
having had ten minutes of uneasiness;' he exclaimed, 'The man who
says so, lies: he attempts to impose on human credulity.' The
Bishop of Exeter in vain observed, that men were very different.
His Lordship's manner was not impressive, and I learnt afterwards
that Johnson did not find out that the person who talked to him was
a Prelate; if he had, I doubt not that he would have treated him
with more respect; for once talking of George Psalmanazar, whom he
reverenced for his piety, he said, 'I should as soon think of
contradicting a BISHOP.' One of the company* provoked him greatly
by doing what he could least of all bear, which was quoting
something of his own writing, against what he then maintained.
'What, Sir, (cried the gentleman,) do you say to
"The busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by?"'--
Johnson finding himself thus presented as giving an instance of a
man who had lived without uneasiness, was much offended, for he
looked upon such a quotation as unfair. His anger burst out in an
unjustifiable retort, insinuating that the gentleman's remark was a
sally of ebriety; 'Sir, there is one passion I would advise you to
command: when you have drunk out that glass, don't drink another.'
Here was exemplified what Goldsmith said of him, with the aid of a
very witty image from one of Cibber's Comedies: 'There is no
arguing with Johnson; for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you
down with the butt end of it.' Another was this: when a gentleman
of eminence in the literary world was violently censured for
attacking people by anonymous paragraphs in news-papers; he, from
the spirit of contradiction as I thought, took up his defence, and
said, 'Come, come, this is not so terrible a crime; he means only
to vex them a little. I do not say that I should do it; but there
is a great difference between him and me; what is fit for
Hephaestion is not fit for Alexander.' Another, when I told him
that a young and handsome Countess had said to me, 'I should think
that to be praised by Dr. Johnson would make one a fool all one's
life;' and that I answered, 'Madam, I shall make him a fool to-day,
by repeating this to him,' he said, 'I am too old to be made a
fool; but if you say I am made a fool, I shall not deny it. I am
much pleased with a compliment, especially from a pretty woman.'
* Boswell himself, likely enough.--HILL.
On the evening of Saturday, May 15, he was in fine spirits, at our
Essex-Head Club. He told us, 'I dined yesterday at Mrs. Garrick's,
with Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah More, and Miss Fanny Burney. Three
such women are not to be found: I know not where I could find a
fourth, except Mrs. Lennox, who is superiour to them all.'
BOSWELL. 'What! had you them all to yourself, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'I
had them all as much as they were had; but it might have been
better had there been more company there.' BOSWELL. 'Might not
Mrs. Montagu have been a fourth?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, Mrs. Montagu
does not make a trade of her wit; but Mrs. Montagu is a very
extraordinary woman; she has a constant stream of conversation, and
it is always impregnated; it has always meaning.' BOSWELL. 'Mr.
Burke has a constant stream of conversation.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
if a man were to go by chance at the same time with Burke under a
shed, to shun a shower, he would say--"this is an extraordinary
man." If Burke should go into a stable to see his horse drest, the
ostler would say--"we have had an extraordinary man here."'
BOSWELL. 'Foote was a man who never failed in conversation. If he
had gone into a stable--' JOHNSON. 'Sir, if he had gone into a
stable, the ostler would have said, "here has been a comical
fellow"; but he would not have respected him.' BOSWELL. 'And,
Sir, the ostler would have answered him, would have given him as
good as he brought, as the common saying is.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
and Foote would have answered the ostler.--When Burke does not
descend to be merry, his conversation is very superiour indeed.
There is no proportion between the powers which he shews in serious
talk and in jocularity. When he lets himself down to that, he is
in the kennel.' I have in another place opposed, and I hope with
success, Dr. Johnson's very singular and erroneous notion as to Mr.
Burke's pleasantry. Mr. Windham now said low to me, that he
differed from our great friend in this observation; for that Mr.
Burke was often very happy in his merriment. It would not have
been right for either of us to have contradicted Johnson at this
time, in a Society all of whom did not know and value Mr. Burke as
much as we did. It might have occasioned something more rough, and
at any rate would probably have checked the flow of Johnson's good-
humour. He called to us with a sudden air of exultation, as the
thought started into his mind, 'O! Gentlemen, I must tell you a
very great thing. The Empress of Russia has ordered the Rambler to
be translated into the Russian language: so I shall be read on the
banks of the Wolga. Horace boasts that his fame would extend as
far as the banks of the Rhone; now the Wolga is farther from me
than the Rhone was from Horace.' BOSWELL. 'You must certainly be
pleased with this, Sir.' JOHNSON. 'I am pleased, Sir, to be sure.
A man is pleased to find he has succeeded in that which he has
endeavoured to do.'
One of the company mentioned his having seen a noble person driving
in his carriage, and looking exceedingly well, notwithstanding his
great age. JOHNSON. 'Ah, Sir; that is nothing. Bacon observes,
that a stout healthy old man is like a tower undermined.'
On Sunday, May 16, I found him alone; he talked of Mrs. Thrale with
much concern, saying, 'Sir, she has done every thing wrong, since
Thrale's bridle was off her neck;' and was proceeding to mention
some circumstances which have since been the subject of publick
discussion, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Douglas,
now Bishop of Salisbury.
In one of his little manuscript diaries, about this time, I find a
short notice, which marks his amiable disposition more certainly
than a thousand studied declarations.--'Afternoon spent cheerfully
and elegantly, I hope without offence to GOD or man; though in no
holy duty, yet in the general exercise and cultivation of
benevolence.'
On Monday, May 17, I dined with him at Mr. Dilly's, where were
Colonel Vallancy, the Reverend Dr. Gibbons, and Mr. Capel Lofft,
who, though a most zealous Whig, has a mind so full of learning and
knowledge, and so much exercised in various departments, and withal
so much liberality, that the stupendous powers of the literary
Goliath, though they did not frighten this little David of popular
spirit, could not but excite his admiration. There was also Mr.
Braithwaite of the Post-office, that amiable and friendly man, who,
with modest and unassuming manners, has associated with many of the
wits of the age. Johnson was very quiescent to-day. Perhaps too I
was indolent. I find nothing more of him in my notes, but that
when I mentioned that I had seen in the King's library sixty-three
editions of my favourite Thomas a Kempis, amongst which it was in
eight languages, Latin, German, French, Italian, Spanish, English,
Arabick, and Armenian, he said, he thought it unnecessary to
collect many editions of a book, which were all the same, except as
to the paper and print; he would have the original, and all the
translations, and all the editions which had any variations in the
text. He approved of the famous collection of editions of Horace
by Douglas, mentioned by Pope, who is said to have had a closet
filled with them; and he added, every man should try to collect one
book in that manner, and present it to a publick library.'
On Wednesday, May 19, I sat a part of the evening with him, by
ourselves. I observed, that the death of our friends might be a
consolation against the fear of our own dissolution, because we
might have more friends in the other world than in this. He
perhaps felt this as a reflection upon his apprehension as to
death; and said, with heat, 'How can a man know WHERE his departed
friends are, or whether they will be his friends in the other
world? How many friendships have you known formed upon principles
of virtue? Most friendships are formed by caprice or by chance,
mere confederacies in vice or leagues in folly.'
We talked of our worthy friend Mr. Langton. He said, 'I know not
who will go to Heaven if Langton does not. Sir, I could almost
say, Sit anima mea cum Langtono.' I mentioned a very eminent
friend as a virtuous man. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; but ------ has not
the evangelical virtue of Langton. ------, I am afraid, would not
scruple to pick up a wench.'
He however charged Mr. Langton with what he thought want of
judgment upon an interesting occasion. 'When I was ill, (said he,)
I desired he would tell me sincerely in what he thought my life was
faulty. Sir, he 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.'
Johnson, at the time when the paper was presented to him, though at
first pleased with the attention of his friend, whom he thanked in
an earnest manner, soon exclaimed, in a loud and angry tone, 'What
is your drift, Sir?' Sir Joshua Reynolds pleasantly observed, that
it was a scene for a comedy, to see a penitent get into a violent
passion and belabour his confessor.
He had dined that day at Mr. Hoole's, and Miss Helen Maria Williams
being expected in the evening, Mr. Hoole put into his hands her
beautiful Ode on the Peace: Johnson read it over, and when this
elegant and accomplished young lady was presented to him, he took
her by the hand in the most courteous manner, and repeated the
finest stanza of her poem; this was the most delicate and pleasing
compliment he could pay. Her respectable friend, Dr. Kippis, from
whom I had this anecdote, was standing by, and was not a little
gratified.
Miss Williams told me, that the only other time she was fortunate
enough to be in Dr. Johnson's company, he asked her to sit down by
him, which she did, and upon her inquiring how he was, he answered,
'I am very ill indeed, Madam. I am very ill even when you are near
me; what should I be were you at a distance?'
He had now a great desire to go to Oxford, as his first jaunt after
his illness; we talked of it for some days, and I had promised to
accompany him. He was impatient and fretful to-night, because I
did not at once agree to go with him on Thursday. When I
considered how ill he had been, and what allowance should be made
for the influence of sickness upon his temper, I resolved to
indulge him, though with some inconvenience to myself, as I wished
to attend the musical meeting in honour of Handel, in Westminster-
Abbey, on the following Saturday.
In the midst of his own diseases and pains, he was ever
compassionate to the distresses of others, and actively earnest in
procuring them aid, as appears from a note to Sir Joshua Reynolds,
of June, in these words:--'I am ashamed to ask for some relief for
a poor man, to whom, I hope, I have given what I can be expected to
spare. The man importunes me, and the blow goes round. I am going
to try another air on Thursday.'
On Thursday, June 3, the Oxford post-coach took us up in the
morning at Bolt-court. The other two passengers were Mrs.
Beresford and her daughter, two very agreeable ladies from America;
they were going to Worcestershire, where they then resided. Frank
had been sent by his master the day before to take places for us;
and I found, from the waybill, that Dr. Johnson had made our names
be put down. Mrs. Beresford, who had read it, whispered me, 'Is
this the great Dr. Johnson?' I told her it was; so she was then
prepared to listen. As she soon happened to mention in a voice so
low that Johnson did not hear it, that her husband had been a
member of the American Congress, I cautioned her to beware of
introducing that subject, as she must know how very violent Johnson
was against the people of that country. He talked a great deal,
but I am sorry I have preserved little of the conversation. Miss
Beresford was so much charmed, that she said to me aside, 'How he
does talk! Every sentence is an essay.' She amused herself in the
coach with knotting; he would scarcely allow this species of
employment any merit. 'Next to mere idleness (said he,) I think
knotting is to be reckoned in the scale of insignificance; though I
once attempted to learn knotting. Dempster's sister (looking to
me,) endeavoured to teach me it; but I made no progress.'
I was surprised at his talking without reserve in the publick post-
coach of the state of his affairs; 'I have (said he,) about the
world I think above a thousand pounds, which I intend shall afford
Frank an annuity of seventy pounds a year.' Indeed his openness
with people at a first interview was remarkable. He said once to
Mr. Langton, '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.'
Continued
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