Anecdotes of the late Samuel Johnson [59]
It happened very comically that the moment this curious conversation passed, of which I was a silent auditress, was in the coach, in some distant province, either Shropshire or Derbyshire, I believe; and as soon as it was over, Mr. Johnson took out of his pocket a little book and read, while a gentleman of no small distinction for his birth and elegance suddenly rode up to the carriage, and paying us all his proper compliments, was desirous not to neglect Dr. Johnson; but observing that he did not see him, tapped him gently on the shoulder. "'Tis Mr. Ch-lm---ley," says my husband. "Well, sir! and what if it is Mr. Ch-lm---ley!" says the other, sternly, just lifting his eyes a moment from his book, and returning to it again with renewed avidity.
He had sometimes fits of reading very violent; and when he was in earnest about getting through some particular pages, for I have heard him say he never read but one book, which he did not consider as obligatory, through in his whole life (and "Lady Mary Wortley's Letters," was the book); he would be quite lost to the company, and withdraw all his attention to what he was reading, without the smallest knowledge or care about the noise made round him. His deafness made such conduct less odd and less difficult to him than it would have been to another man: but his advising others to take the same method, and pull a little book out when they were not entertained with what was going forward in society, seemed more likely to advance the growth of science than of polished manners, for which he always pretended extreme veneration.
Mr. Johnson, indeed, always measured other people's notions of everything by his own, and nothing could persuade him to believe that the books which he disliked were agreeable to thousands, or that air and exercise which he despised were beneficial to the health of other mortals. When poor Smart, so well known for his wit and misfortunes, was first obliged to be put in private lodgings, a common friend of both lamented in tender terms the necessity which had torn so pleasing a companion from their acquaintance. "A madman must be confined, sir," replies Dr. Johnson. "But," says the other, "I am now apprehensive for his general health, he will lose the benefit of exercise." "Exercise!" returns the Doctor, "I never heard that he used any: he might, for aught I know, walk TO the alehouse; but I believe he was always CARRIED home again."
It was, however, unlucky for those who delighted to echo Johnson's sentiments, that he would not endure from them to-day what perhaps he had yesterday, by his own manner of treating the subject, made them fond of repeating; and I fancy Mr. B---- has not forgotten that though his friend one evening in a gay humour talked in praise of wine as one of the blessings permitted by heaven, when used with moderation, to lighten the load of life, and give men strength to endure it; yet, when in consequence of such talk he thought fit to make a Bacchanalian discourse in its favour, Mr. Johnson contradicted him somewhat roughly, as I remember; and when, to assure himself of conquest, he added these words: "You must allow me, sir, at least that it produces truth; in vino veritas, you know, sir." "That," replied Mr. Johnson, "would be useless to a man who knew he was not a liar when he was sober."
When one talks of giving and taking the lie familiarly, it is impossible to forbear recollecting the transactions between the editor of "Ossian," and the author of the "Journey to the Hebrides." It was most observable to me, however, that Mr. Johnson never bore his antagonist the slightest degree of ill-will. He always kept those quarrels which belonged to him as a writer separate from those which he had to do with as a man; but I never did hear him say in private one malicious word of a public enemy; and of Mr. Macpherson I once heard him speak respectfully, though his reply to the friend who asked him if ANY MAN LIVING could have written such a book, is well known, and has been often repeated--"Yes, sir, many men, many women, and
He had sometimes fits of reading very violent; and when he was in earnest about getting through some particular pages, for I have heard him say he never read but one book, which he did not consider as obligatory, through in his whole life (and "Lady Mary Wortley's Letters," was the book); he would be quite lost to the company, and withdraw all his attention to what he was reading, without the smallest knowledge or care about the noise made round him. His deafness made such conduct less odd and less difficult to him than it would have been to another man: but his advising others to take the same method, and pull a little book out when they were not entertained with what was going forward in society, seemed more likely to advance the growth of science than of polished manners, for which he always pretended extreme veneration.
Mr. Johnson, indeed, always measured other people's notions of everything by his own, and nothing could persuade him to believe that the books which he disliked were agreeable to thousands, or that air and exercise which he despised were beneficial to the health of other mortals. When poor Smart, so well known for his wit and misfortunes, was first obliged to be put in private lodgings, a common friend of both lamented in tender terms the necessity which had torn so pleasing a companion from their acquaintance. "A madman must be confined, sir," replies Dr. Johnson. "But," says the other, "I am now apprehensive for his general health, he will lose the benefit of exercise." "Exercise!" returns the Doctor, "I never heard that he used any: he might, for aught I know, walk TO the alehouse; but I believe he was always CARRIED home again."
It was, however, unlucky for those who delighted to echo Johnson's sentiments, that he would not endure from them to-day what perhaps he had yesterday, by his own manner of treating the subject, made them fond of repeating; and I fancy Mr. B---- has not forgotten that though his friend one evening in a gay humour talked in praise of wine as one of the blessings permitted by heaven, when used with moderation, to lighten the load of life, and give men strength to endure it; yet, when in consequence of such talk he thought fit to make a Bacchanalian discourse in its favour, Mr. Johnson contradicted him somewhat roughly, as I remember; and when, to assure himself of conquest, he added these words: "You must allow me, sir, at least that it produces truth; in vino veritas, you know, sir." "That," replied Mr. Johnson, "would be useless to a man who knew he was not a liar when he was sober."
When one talks of giving and taking the lie familiarly, it is impossible to forbear recollecting the transactions between the editor of "Ossian," and the author of the "Journey to the Hebrides." It was most observable to me, however, that Mr. Johnson never bore his antagonist the slightest degree of ill-will. He always kept those quarrels which belonged to him as a writer separate from those which he had to do with as a man; but I never did hear him say in private one malicious word of a public enemy; and of Mr. Macpherson I once heard him speak respectfully, though his reply to the friend who asked him if ANY MAN LIVING could have written such a book, is well known, and has been often repeated--"Yes, sir, many men, many women, and