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Hawk.

p. 458.

the "gods had made her poetical." Her poem of "The Three Warnings" (the subject she owned not to be original) is highly interesting and serious, and literally comes home to every body's business and bosom. She took, or caused such care to be taken of Johnson, during an illness of continuance, that Goldsmith told her, "he owed his recovery to her attention." She moreover taught him to lay up something of his income every year.] [Johnson had also at Streatham opportunities of exercise, and the pleasure of airings and excursions. In the exercise of a coach he had great delight; it afforded him the indulgence of indolent postures, and, as it seems, the noise of it assisted his hearing.] [When Mrs. Piozzi asked him why he doPiozzi. ted on a coach so, he answered, that," in the first place, the company were shut in with him there, and could not escape as out of a room; and, in the next place, he heard all that was said in a carriage.] [He was prevailed on by Mr. Thrale to join in the pleasures of the chase, in which he showed himself a bold 'rider, for he either leaped, or broke through, the hedges that obstructed him. This he did, not because he was eager in the pursuit, but, as he said, to save the trouble of alighting and remounting. He did not derive the pleasure or benefit from riding that many do: it had no tendency to raise his spirits; and he once said that, in a journey on horseback, he fell asleep.]

p. 213.

Hawk. p. 457.

p. 159.

[He certainly rode on Mr. Piozzi, Thrale's old hunter with a goot firmness, and though he would follow the hounds fifty miles an end sometimes1, would never own himself either tired or amused. "I have now learned," said he, "by hunting, to perceive that it is no diversion at all, nor ever takes a man out of himself for a moment: the dogs have less sagacity than I could have prevailed on myself to suppose; and the gentlemen often called to me not to ride over them. It is very strange and very melancholy, that the paucity of human pleasures should persuade us ever to call hunting one of them." He was however proud to be amongst the sportsmen; and Mrs. Piozzi thought no praise ever went so close to his heart, as when Mr. Hamilton called out one day upon Brighthelmstone Downs,

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"Why, Johnson rides as well, for aught I see, as the most illiterate fellow in England."]

Ed.

Piozzi,

p. 95.

[Mrs. Piozzi's account of the commencement and progress of this acquaintance deserves to be preserved in her own words: ["The first time I ever saw this extraordinary man was in the year 1764, when Mr. Murphy, who had long been the friend and confidential intimate of Mr. Thrale, persuaded him to wish for Johnson's conversation, extolling it in terms which that of no other person could have deserved, till we were only in doubt how to obtain his company, and find an excuse for the invitation. The celebrity of Mr. Woodhouse, a shoemaker, whose verses were at that time the subject of common discourse, soon afforded a pretence, and Mr. Murphy brought Johnson to meet him, giving me a general caution not to be surprised at his figure, dress, or behaviour. What I recollect best of the day's talk was his earnestly recommending Addison's works to Mr. Woodhouse as a model for imitation. "Give nights and days, sir,' said he, to the study of Addison, if you mean either to be a good writer, or, what is more worth, an honest man.' When I saw something like the same expression in his criticism on that authour, lately published, [in the Lives of the Poets] I put him in mind of his past injunctions to the young poet, to which he replied, "That he wished the shoemaker might have remembered them as well.' Mr. Johnson liked his new acquaintance so much, however, that from that time he dined with us every Thursday through the winter, and in the autumn of the next year he followed us to Brighthelmstone, whence we were gone before his arrival; so he was disappointed and enraged, and wrote us a letter expressive of anger, which we were desirous to pacify, and to obtain his company again if possible. Mr. Murphy brought him back to us again very kindly, and from that time his visits grew more frequent, till in the year 1766 his health, which he had always complained of, grew so exceedingly bad, that he could not stir out of his room in the court he inhabited for many weeks together-I think months.

"Mr. Thrale's attentions and my own now became so acceptable to him, that he often lamented to us the horrible condition of his mind, which he said was nearly distracted; and though he charged us to make him odd solemn promises of secrecy on so strange? a subject, yet when we wait

2 [In the second month of his acquaintance with Mr. Boswell, we have seen that Johnson communicated to him his tendency to this infirmity, yet, though he could himself be so unnecessa

ed on him one morning, and heard him, in the most pathetick terms, beg the prayers of Dr. Delap, who had left him as we came in, I felt excessively affected with grief, and well remember that my husband involuntarily lifted up one hand to shut his mouth, from provocation at hearing a man so wildly proclaim what he could at last persuade no one to believe, and what, if true, would have been so very unfit to reveal.

"Mr. Thrale went away soon after, leaving me with him, and bidding me prevail on him to quit his close habitation in the court and come with us to Streatham, where I undertook the care of his health, and had the honour and happiness of contributing to its restoration."]

p. 440.

In the October of this year he Hawk. at length gave to the world his edition of Shakspeare. [He was insensible to Churchill's abuse; but the poem before mentioned had brought to remembrance, that his edition of Shakspeare had long been due. His friends took the alarm, and, by all the arts of reasoning and persuasion, laboured to convince him that having taken subscriptions for a work in which he had made no progress, his credit was at stake. He confessed he was culpable, and promised from time to time to begin a course of such reading as was necessary to qualify him for the work: this was no more than he had formerly done in an engagement with Coxeter, to whom he had bound himself to write the life of Shakspeare, but he never could be prevailed on to begin it, so that even now it was questioned whether his promises were to be relied on. For this reason Sir Joshua Reynolds, and some other of his friends, who were more concerned for his reputation than himself seemed to be, contrived to entangle him by a wager, or some other pecuniary engagement, to perform his task by a certain time.] This edition, if it had no other merit but that of producing his preface, in which the excellencies and de

rily candid, we shall see with what frequency and severity he used to blame Boswell when he presumed to mention his own mental distresses. -ED.]

[Rector of Lewes in Sussex.--ED.]

Thomas Coxeter, Esq. who had also made a large collection of plays, and from whose manuscript notes the Lives of the English Poets, by Shiels and Cibber, were principally compiled. Mr. Coxeter was bred at Trinity College, Oxford, and died in London, April 17th, 1747, in his fiftyA particular account of him may be found in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1781, p. 173.-MALONE. [With regard to Cibber's or Shiels's Lives of the Poets, see ante, p. 75; and post, 10th April, 1776, where the subject is resumed.-ED.]

ninth year.

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fects of that immortal bard are displayed with a masterly hand, the nation would have had no reason to complain. A blind indiscriminate admiration of Shakspeare had exposed the British nation to the ridicule of foreigners. Johnson, by candidly admitting the faults of his poet, had the more credit in bestowing on him deserved and indisputable praise; and doubtless none of all his panegyrists have done him half so much honour. Their praise was like that of a counsel, upon his own side of the cause; Johnson's was like the grave, well considered, and impartial opinion of the judge, which falls from his lips with weight, and is received with reverence. What he did as a commentator has no small share of merit, though his researches were not so ample, and his investigations so acute, as they might have been; which we now certainly know from the labours of other able and ingenious criticks who have followed him. He has enriched his edition with a concise account of each play, and of its characteristick excellence. Many of his notes have illustrated obscurities in the text, and placed passages eminent for beauty in a more conspicuous light; and he has, in general, exhibited such a mode of annotation, as may be beneficial to all subsequent editors.

Piozzi,

159.

[Though he would sometimes divert himself by teazing Garrick P. 44, 45, by commendations on the tomb scene in the Mourning Bride, protesting that Shakspeare had in the same line of excellence nothing as good: "All which is strictly true," he would add, "but that is no reason for supposing that Congreve is to stand in competition with Shakspeare: these fellows know not how to blame, or how to commend." Somebody was praising Corneille one day in opposition to Shakspeare: "Corneille is to Shakspeare," replied Johnson, "as a clipped hedge is to a forest." When he talked of authours, his praise would fall spontaneously on such passages as are sure, in his own phrase, to leave something behind them useful on common occasions, or connected with common manners. It was not Lear cursing his daughters, or deprecating the storm, that he would quote with commendation, but Iago's ingenious malice and subtle revenge; or Prince Henry's gay compliances with the vices of Falstaff, whom he all the while despised. Those plays had indeed no rivals in Johnson's favour. said, "but Shakspeare could have drawn Sir John."]

"No man," he

His Shakspeare was virulently attacked by Mr. William Kenrick, who obtained the degree of LL. D. from a Scotch university, and wrote for the booksellers in a great variety of branches. Though he

"To tell the truth, as I felt no solicitude about this work, I receive no great comfort from its conclusion; but yet am well enough pleased that the publick has no farther claim upon me. I wish you would write more frequently to, dear sir, your affectionate

certainly was not without considerable
merit, he wrote with so little regard to de-
cency, and principles, and decorum, and in
so hasty a manner, that his reputation was
neither extensive nor lasting. I remember
one evening, when some of his works were
mentioned, Dr. Goldsmith said he had nev-humble servant,
er heard of them; upon which Dr. John-
son observed, "Sir, he is one of the many
who have made themselves publick, with-
out making themselves known1."

A young student of Oxford, of the name of Barclay, wrote an answer to Kenrick's review of Johnson's Shakspeare. Johnson was at first angry that Kenrick's attack should have the credit of an answer. But afterwards, considering the young man's good intention, he kindly noticed him, and probably would have done more, had not the young man died.

In his preface to Shakspeare, Johnson treated Voltaire very contemptuously, observing, upon some of his remarks, "These are the petty cavils of petty minds." Voltaire, in revenge, made an attack upon Johnson, in one of his numerous literary sallies which I remember to have read; but there being no general index to his voluminous works, have searched in vain, and therefore cannot quote it.

Voltaire was an antagonist with whom I thought Johnson should not disdain to contend. I pressed him to answer. He said, he perhaps might; but he never did.

ED.

[He appears, in the course of this summer, to have paid a visit to Dr. Warton, at Winchester, and, on the publication of his Shakspeare, he addressed to him the following letter:]

["DR. JOHNSON TO DR. WARTON.

Wool's

Life of Warton,

p. 309.

"9th Oct. 1765.

"DEAR SIR,-Mrs. Warton uses me hardly in supposing that I could forget so much kindness and civility as she showed me at Winchester. I remember, likewise, our conversation about St. Cross 2. The desire of seeing her again will be one of the motives that will bring me into Hampshire.

"I have taken care of your book; being so far from doubting your subscription, that I think you have subscribed twice: you once paid your guinea into my own hand in the garret in Gough-square. When you light on your receipt, throw it on the fire; if you find a second receipt, you may have a second book.

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"SAM. JOHNSON."]

Mr. Burney having occasion to write to Johnson for some receipts for subscriptions to his Shakspeare, which Johnson had omitted to deliver when the money was paid, he availed himself of that opportunity of thanking Johnson for the great pleasure which he had received from the perusal of his preface to Shakspeare; which, although it excited much clamour against him at first, is now justly ranked among the most excel-、 lent of his writings. To this letter Johnson returned the following answer:

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TO CHARLES BURNEY, ESQ. IN POLAND-
STREET.

"16th Oct. 1765.

"SIR,-I am sorry that your kindness to me has brought upon you so much trouble, though you have taken care to abate that sorrow, by the pleasure which I receive from your approbation. I defend my criticism in the same manner with you. We must confess the faults of our favourite, to gain credit to our praise of his excellencies. He that claims, either in himself or for another, the honours of perfection, will surely injure the reputation which he designs to assist.

"Be pleased to make my compliments to your family. I am, sir, your most obliged and most humble servant,

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sity of mental labour. He had discharged | his obligations to the publick, and, with no incumbrance of a family, or any thing to control his wishes or desires, he had his mode of living to choose. Blest with what was to him a competence, he had it now in his power to study, to meditate, and to put in practice a variety of good resolutions, which, almost from his first entrance into life, he had been making.]

In 1764 and 1765 it should seem that Dr. Johnson was so busily employed with his edition of Shakspeare as to have had little leisure for any other literary exertion, or, indeed, even for private correspondence 1. He did not favour me with a single letter for more than two years, for which it will appear that he afterwards apologised.

increased by all that I have been told of you by yourself, or others; and when you return, you will return to an unaltered, and, I hope, unalterable friend.

"All that you have to fear from me is the vexation of disappointing me. No man loves to frustrate expectations which have been formed in his favour; and the pleasure which I promise myself from your journals and remarks is so great, that perhaps no de| gree of attention or discernment will be sufficient to afford it.

"Come home, however, and take your chance. I long to see you, and to hear you; and hope that we shall not be so long separated again. Come home, and expect such welcome as is due to him, whom a wise and noble curiosity has led, where perhaps no native of this country ever was before.

"I have no news to tell you that can deserve your notice; nor would I willingly lessen the pleasure that any novelty may give you at your return. I am afraid we shall find it difficult to keep among us a mind which has been so long feasted with variety. But let us try what esteem and kindness can effect.

Notwithstanding his long silence, I never omitted to write to him, when I had any thing worthy of communicating. I generally kept copies of my letters to him, that I might have a full view of our correspondence, and never be at a loss to understand any reference in his letters. He kept the greater part of mine very carefully; and a short time before his death was attentive enough to seal them up in bundles, and or- "As your father's liberality has indulged der them to be delivered to me, which was you with so long a ramble, I doubt not but accordingly done. Amongst them I found you will think his sickness, or even his deone, of which I had not made a copy, and sire to see you, a sufficient reason for haswhich I own I read with pleasure at the dis- tening your return. The longer we live, tance of almost twenty years. It is dated and the more we think, the higher value we November, 1765, at the Palace of Paoli, in learn to put on the friendship and tenderCorte, the capital of Corsica, and is full of ness of parents and of friends. Parents we generous enthusiasm. After giving a sketch can have but once; and he promises himself of what I had seen and heard in that island, too much, who enters life with the expecit proceeded thus: "I dare to call this a spir-tation of finding many friends. Upon some ited tour. I dare to challenge your approbation."

This letter produced the following answer, which I found on my arrival at Paris.

"A MR. BOSWELL, chez Mr. Waters, Banquier à Paris. "Johnson's-court, Fleet-street, 14 Jan. 1766.

any use.

"Dear sir,—Apologies are seldom of We will delay the reasons, good or bad, which have made me such a sparing and ungrateful correspondent. Be assured, for the present, that nothing has lessened either the esteem or love with which I dismissed you at Harwich.-Both have been

motive, I hope, that you will be here soon;
and am willing to think that it will be an
inducement to your return, that it is sincere-
ly desired by, dear sir, your affectionate hum-
ble servant,
SAM. JOHNSON."

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2 [The reasons which confined him to London, [This trait is amusing: Mr. Boswell concludes during the session of parliament, may be susthat because Johnson did not, for two years, write pected to have had some connexion with his to him, he wrote to nobody, and was exclusively engagement in politicks with Hamilton; and occupied with his Shakspeare, though we have it must be confessed, that Mr. Hamilton's deseen, that, in those years, he found time to pay claration, (ante, p. 218), that he could not exvisits to his friends in Lincolnshire and North-plain what these allusions meant, looks like the amptonshire, and at Cambridge and Winchester. He also visited Brighton. If Mr. Boswell had been those two years in London, there can be no doubt that he would have found Johnson by no means absorbed in Shakspeare.-ED.

evasion of a question which that gentleman did not wish, perhaps did not feel himself authorised, to answer unreservedly. It seems clear, that Johnson was employed by or with Hamilton in some course of political occupation, which obliged

unwilling to sell it, yet hardly know why. If it can be let, it should be repaired, and I purpose to let Kitty have part of the rent while we both live; and wish that you would get it surveyed, and let me know how much money will be necessary to fit it for a tenant. I would not have you stay longer than is convenient, and I thank you for your care of Kitty.

I am

"Do not take my omission amiss. sorry for it, but know not what to say. You must act by your own prudence, and I shall be pleased. Write to me again; I do not design to neglect you any more. It is great pleasure for me to hear from you; but this whole affair is painful to me. I wish you, my dear, many happy years. Give my respects to Kitty. I am, dear am, your most affectionate humble servant, "SAM. JOHNSON."]

Hawk.

p. 452-4.

I returned to London in February, and found Dr. Johnson in a good house in Johnson's-court, Fleet-street, in which he had accommodated Miss Williams with an apartment on the ground floor, while Mr. Levett occupied his post in the garret: his faithful Francis was still attending upon him. [An upper room, which had the advantages of a good light and free air, he fitted up for a study, and furnished with books, chosen with so little regard to editions or their external appearance, as showed they were intended for use, and that he disdained the ostentation of learning. Here he was in a situation and circumstances that enabled him to enjoy the visits of his friends, and to receive mad-them in a manner suitable to the rank and condition of many of them. A silver standish, and some useful plate, which he had been prevailed on to accept as pledges of kindness from some who most esteemed him, together with furniture that would not have disgraced a better dwelling, banished those appearances of squalid indigence, which, in his less happy days, disgusted those who came to see him. In one of his "I only dined with Johnson, who diaries he noted down a resolution to take a Dr. W. seemed cold and indifferent, and seat in the church: this he might possibly scarce said any thing to me; per- do about the time of this removal. The haps he has heard what I said of his Shak-church he frequented was that of St. Clemspeare, or rather was offended at what I wrote to him-as he pleases. Of all solemn coxcombs, Goldsmith is the first; yet sensible-but affects to use Johnson's hard words in conversation. We had a Mr. Dyer who is a scholar and a gentleman. Garrick is entirely off from Johnson, and cannot, he says, forgive him his insinuating that he withheld his old editions, which were always open to him, nor I suppose his never mentioning him in all his works."]

Ed.

[We find in a letter from Dr. Warton to his brother some account of Johnson and his society at this period.

" DR. WARTON TO MR. WARTON.
"22d Jan. 1766.

Nem. of

P. 312.

him to be in town during the session of parliament, and which Johnson thought likely to be of such continuance and importance, as to require his preparing for entering upon it by the solemnity of a prayer.-ED.]

1

[This slight coolness between Johnson and Joseph Warton was probably not serious. A subsequent difference, which arose out of a dispute at Sir Joshua Reynolds's table, was more lasting. -ED.]

2 Samuel Dyer, Esq. a most learned and ingenious member of the Literary Club, for whose understanding and attainments Dr. Johnson had great respect. He died September 14, 1772. A more particular account of this gentleman may be found in a note on the Life of Dryden, p. 186, prefixed to the edition of that great writer's prose works, in four volumes, 8vo. 1800: in which his character is vindicated, and the very unfavourable and unjust representation of it, given by Sir John Hawkins in his Life of Johnson, p. 222-232, is minutely examined.-MALONE. [Johnson paid Dyer a degree of deference he showed to nobody else.-ED.]

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ent Danes, which, though not his parish church, he preferred to that of the Temple, which latter Sir John Hawkins had recommended to him as being free from noise, and, in other respects, more commodious. His only reason was, that in the former he

was best known. He was not constant in his attendance on divine worship; but, from an opinion peculiar to himself, and which he once intimated to me, seemed to wait for some secret impulse as a motive to it. The Sundays which he passed at home were, nevertheless, spent in private exercises of devotion, and sanctified by acts of charity of a singular kind: on that day he accepted of no invitation abroad, but gave a dinner to such of his poor friends had little now to conflict with but what he as might else have gone without one. He called his morbid melancholy, which, though oppressive, had its intermissions, and left him the free exercise of all his faculties, and the power of enjoying the conversation of his numerous friends and visitants. These reliefs he owed in a great measure to the use of opium 3, which he was accustomed to

3 [As Boswell does not contradict this state ment, it must be presumed to be true, and is therefore admitted into the text; but it will be seen that, many years after this, and even when labouring under his last fatal illness, Johnson had some scruples about the use of opium. Perhaps, if we are to give credit to Hawkins's assertion, these later scruples may have arisen from his hav

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