The Life of Samuel Johnson - James Boswell [177]
He this evening again recommended to me to perambulate Spain.a I said it would amuse him to get a letter from me dated at Salamancha. Johnson. ‘I love the University of Salamancha; for when the Spaniards were in doubt as to the lawfulness of their conquering America, the University of Salamancha gave it as their opinion that it was not lawful.’ He spoke this with great emotion, and with that generous warmth which dictated the lines in his London, against Spanish encroachment.
I expressed my opinion of my friend Derrick as but a poor writer. Johnson. ‘To be sure, Sir, he is; but you are to consider that his being a literary man has got for him all that he has. It has made him King of Bath. Sir, he has nothing to say for himself but that he is a writer. Had he not been a writer, he must have been sweeping the crossings in the streets, and asking halfpence from every body that past.’
In justice, however, to the memory of Mr. Derrick, who was my first tutor in the ways of London, and shewed me the town in all its variety of departments, both literary and sportive, the particulars of which Dr. Johnson advised me to put in writing, it is proper to mention what Johnson, at a subsequent period, said of him both as a writer and an editor: ‘Sir, I have often said, that if Derrick’s letters had been written by one of a more established name, they would have been thought very pretty letters.’b And, ‘I sent Derrick to Dryden’s relations to gather materials for his life; and I believe he got all that I myself should have got.’c
Poor Derrick! I remember him with kindness. Yet I cannot with-hold from my readers a pleasant humourous sally which could not have hurt him had he been alive, and now is perfectly harmless. In his collection of poems, there is one upon entering the harbour of Dublin, his native city, after a long absence. It begins thus:
‘Eblana! much lov’d city, hail!
Where first I saw the light of day.’201
And after a solemn reflection on his being ‘numbered with forgotten dead,’ there is the following stanza:
‘Unless my lines protract my fame,
And those, who chance to read them, cry,
I knew him! Derrick was his name,
In yonder tomb his ashes lie.’
Which was thus happily parodied by Mr. John Home, to whom we owe the beautiful and pathetick tragedy of Douglas:
‘Unless my deeds protract my fame,
And he who passes sadly sings,
I knew him! Derrick was his name,
On yonder tree his carcase swings!
I doubt much whether the amiable and ingenious authour of these burlesque lines will recollect them, for they were produced extempore one evening while he and I were walking together in the dining-room at Eglintoune Castle, in 1760, and I have never mentioned them to him since.
Johnson said once to me, ‘Sir, I honour Derrick for his presence of mind. One night, when Floyd,a another poor authour, was wandering about the streets in the night, he found Derrick fast asleep upon a bulk;202 upon being suddenly waked, Derrick started up, “My dear Floyd, I am sorry to see you in this destitute state; will you go home with me to my lodgings?”’
I again begged his advice as to my method of study at Utrecht. ‘Come, (said he) let us make a day of it. Let us go down to Greenwich and dine, and talk of it there.’ The following Saturday was fixed for this excursion.
As we walked along the Strand to-night, arm in arm, a woman of the town accosted us, in the usual enticing manner. ‘No, no, my girl, (said Johnson) it won’t do.’ He, however, did not treat her with harshness, and we talked of the wretched life of such women; and agreed, that much more misery than happiness, upon the whole, is produced by illicit commerce between the sexes.
On Saturday, July 30, Dr. Johnson and I took a sculler at the Temple-stairs, and set out for Greenwich. I asked him if he really thought a knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages an essential requisite to a good education. Johnson. ‘Most certainly, Sir;