rienced the full flow of London talk, when he retires to country friendships and rural sports, must either be contented to turn baby again and play with the rattle, or he will pine away like a great fish in a little pond, and die for want of his usual food."

130. Knowledge of Life.

"Books without the knowledge of life are useless," I have heard him say; "for what should books teach but the art of living? To study manners however only in coffee-houses, is more than equally imperfect: the minds of men who acquire no solid learning, and only exist on the daily forage that they pick up by running about, and snatching what drops from their neighbours as ignorant as themselves, will never ferment into any knowledge valuable or durable; but like the light wines we drink in hot countries, please for the moment though incapable of keeping. In the study of mankind much will be found to swim as froth, and much must sink as feculence, before the wine can have its effect, and become that noblest liquor which rejoices the heart, and gives vigour to the imagination."

131. Disguise.

Fear of what others may think, is the great cause of affectation; and he was not likely to disguise his notions out of cowardice. He hated disguise, and nobody penetrated it so readily. I showed him a letter written to a common friend, who was at some loss for the explanation of it: "Whoever wrote it," says our Doctor, could, if he chose it, make himself understood; but 'tis the letter of an embarrassed man, Sir;" and so the event proved it to be.

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132. Mysteriousness.

Mysteriousness in trifles offended him on every side: "it commonly ended in guilt," he said;

"" for

those who begin by concealment of innocent things, will soon have something to hide which they dare not bring to light." He therefore encouraged an openness of conduct, in women particularly, "who," he observed, were often led away when children, by their delight and power of surprising."

133. Superfluous Cunning.

Conferring Favours. He recommended, on something like the same principle, that when one person meant to serve another, he should not go about it slily, or, as we say, underhand, out of a false idea of delicacy, to surprise one's friend with an unexpected favour; which, ten to one," says "fails to oblige your acquaintance, who had some reasons against such a mode of obligation, which you might have known but for that superfluous cunning which you think an elegance.

he,

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"Oh! never be seduced by such silly pretences," continued he; "if a wench wants a good gown, do not give her a fine smelling-bottle, because that is more delicate as I once knew a lady lend the key of her library to a poor scribbling dependant, as if she took the woman for an ostrich that could digest iron." He said, indeed, that " women were very difficult to be taught the proper manner of conferring pecuniary favours that they always gave too much money or too little; for that they had an idea of delicacy accompanying their gifts, so that they generally rendered them either useless or ridiculous."

134. General Sarcasms.

He did indeed say very contemptuous things of our sex; but was exceedingly angry when I told Miss Reynolds that he said, "It was well managed of some one to leave his affairs in the hands of his wife, because, in matters of business," said he, 66 no woman stops at integrity." This was, I think, the only sentence I

ever observed him solicitous to explain away after he had uttered it.

"I can

He was not at all displeased at the recollection of a sarcasm thrown on a whole profession at once; when a gentleman leaving the company, somebody who sat next Dr. Johnson asked him, who he was? not exactly tell you, Sir," replied he, " and I would be loath to speak ill of any person who I do not know deserves it, but I am afraid he is an attorney." He did not however encourage general satire, and for the most part professed himself to feel directly contrary to Dr. Swift; “who,” says he, "hates the world, though he loves John and Robert, and certain individuals." Johnson said always, that "the world was well constructed, but that the particular people disgraced the elegance and beauty of the general fabric."

135. Needle-work.

Needle-work had a strenuous approver in Dr. Johnson, who said, that "one of the great felicities of female life, was the general consent of the world, that they might amuse themselves with petty occupations, which contributed to the lengthening their lives, and preserving their minds in a state of sanity." "A man cannot hem a pocket-handkerchief," said a lady of quality to him one day," and so he runs mad, and torments his family and friends." The expression struck him exceedingly; and when one acquaintance grew troublesome, and another unhealthy, he used to quote Lady Frances's (1) observation, that " a man cannot hem a pocket-handkerchief."

136. "Nice People."

The nice people found no mercy from Mr. Johnson ; such I mean as can dine only at four o'clock, who can

(1) Lady Frances Burgoyne, daughter of the last Lord Halifax.-C.

t

not bear to be waked at an unusual hour, or miss a stated meal without inconvenience. He had no such prejudices himself, and with difficulty forgave them in another. I Delicacy does not surely consist," says he, "in impossibility to be pleased, and that is false dignity indeed which is content to depend upon others."

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137. Conversation.

The saying of the old philosopher, who observes, that he who wants least is most like the gods, who want nothing," was a favourite sentence with Dr. Johnson; who on his own part required less attendance, sick or well, than ever I saw any human creature. Conversation was all he required to make him happy; and when he would have tea made at two o'clock in the morning, it was only that there might be a certainty of detaining his companions round him. On that principle it was that he preferred winter to summer, when the heat of the weather gave people an excuse to stroll about, and walk for pleasure in the shade, while he wished to sit still on a chair, and chat day after day, till somebody proposed a drive in the coach; and that was the most delicious moment of his life. "But the carriage must stop sometime,' as he said, "and the people would come home at last; SO his pleasure was of short duration.

138. Love of a Coach.

I asked him why he doated on a coach so? and received for answer, that "in the first place, the company was shut in with him there; and could not escape, as out of a room: in the next place, he heard all that was said in a carriage, where it was my turn to be deaf: and very impatient was he at my occasional difficulty of hearing. On this account he wished to travel all over the world; for the very act of going forward was delightful to him, and he gave himself no

concern about accidents, which he said never happened: nor did the running away of the horses on the edge of a precipice between Vernon and St. Denys in France convince him to the contrary; "for nothing came of it," he said, "r except that Mr. Thrale leaped out of the carriage into a chalk-pit, and then came up again, looking as white!" When the truth was, all their lives were saved by the greatest providence ever exerted in favour of three human creatures; and the part Mr. Thrale took from desperation was the likeliest thing in the world to produce broken limbs and death.

139. Fear.

Fear was indeed a sensation to which Mr. Johnson was an utter stranger, excepting when some sudden apprehensions seized him that he was going to die; and even then he kept all his wits about him, to express the most humble and pathetic petitions to the Almighty: and when the first paralytic stroke took his speech from him, he instantly set about composing a prayer in Latin, at once to deprecate God's mercy, to satisfy himself that his mental powers remained unimpaired, and to keep them in exercise, that they might not perish by permitted stagnation. (1)

When one day he had at my house taken tincture of antimony instead of emetic wine, for a vomit, he was himself the person to direct us what to do for him, and managed with as much coolness and deliberation, as if he had been prescribing for an indifferent person.

Though on another occasion, when he had lamented in the most piercing terms his approaching dissolution, and conjured me solemnly to tell him what I thought, while Sir Richard Jebb was perpetually on the road to Streatham, and Mr. Johnson seemed to think himself neglected if the physician left him for an hour only, I made him a steady, but as I thought a very gentle (1) [See antè, Vol. VIII. p. 223.]