99 At When Davies printed the “Fugitive Pieces" without his knowledge or consent; 1 "How," said I, "would Pope have raved, had he been served so?" "We should never (replied he) have heard the last on't, to be sure; but then Pope was a narrow man: I will however (added he) storm and bluster myself a little this time; -so went to London in all the wrath he could muster up. his return I asked how the affair ended: Why (said he), I was a fierce fellow, and pretended to be very angry, and Thomas was a good-natured fellow, and pretended to be very sorry: so there the matter ended: I believe the dog loves me dearly. Mr. Thrale (turning to my husband), what shall you and I do that is good for Tom Davies? We will do something for him, to be sure.” 66 Of Pope as a writer he had the highest opinion, and once when a lady at our house talked of his preface to Shakespeare as superior to Pope's: "I fear not, Madam (said he), the little fellow has done wonders." His superior reverence of Dryden notwithstanding still appeared in his talk as in his writings; and when some one mentioned the ridicule thrown on him in the “Rehearsal,” as having hurt his general character as an author: "On the contrary (says Mr. Johnson), the greatness of Dryden's reputation is now the only principle of vitality which keeps the duke of Buckingham's play from putrefaction." 66 It was not very easy however for people not quite intimate with Dr. Johnson, to get exactly his opinion of a writer's merit, as he would now and then divert himself by confounding those who thought themselves obliged to say to-morrow what he had said yesterday; and even Garrick, who ought to have been better acquainted with his tricks, professed himself mortified, that one time when he was extolling Dryden in a rapture that I suppose disgusted his friend, Mr. Johnson suddenly challenged him to produce twenty lines in a series that would not disgrace the poet and his admirer. Garrick produced a passage that he had once heard the Doctor commend, in which he now found, if I remember rightly, sixteen faults, and made Garrick look silly at his own table. When I told Mr. Johnson the story, "Why, what a monkey was David now (says he), to tell of his own disgrace!" And in the course of that hour's chat he told me, how he used to teize Garrick by commendations of the tomb scene in Congreve's 'Mourning Bride," protesting that Shakespeare had in the same 66 1 See Life, vol. ii., p. 251. line of excellence nothing as good: "All which is strictly true (said he); but that is no reason for supposing Congreve is to stand in competition with Shakespeare: these fellows know not how to blame, nor how to commend." I forced him one day, in a similar humour, to prefer Young's description of Night to the so much admired ones of Dryden and Shakespeare, as more forcible, and more general. Every reader is not either a lover or a tyrant, but every reader is interested when he hears that "Creation sleeps; 'tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause; "This (said he) is true; but remember that taking the compositions of Young in general, they are but like bright steppingstones over a miry road: Young froths, and foams, and bubbles sometimes very vigorously; but we must not compare the noise made by your tea-kettle here with the roaring of the ocean." 66 Somebody was praising Corneille one day in opposition to Shakespeare: "Corneille is to Shakespeare (replied Mr. Johnson) as a clipped hedge is to a forest." When we talked of Steele's Essays," "They are too thin (says our Critic) for an Englishman's taste: mere superficial observations on life and manners, without erudition enough to make them keep, like the light French wines, which turn sour with standing a while for want of body, as we call it." Of a much admired poem, when extolled as beautiful (he replied), “That it had indeed the beauty of a bubble: the colours are gay (said he), but the substance slight." Of James Harris's Dedication to his "Hermes" I have heard him observe, that, though but fourteen lines long, there were six grammatical faults in it. A friend was praising the style of Dr. Swift; Mr. Johnson did not find himself in the humour to agree with him: the critic was driven from one of his performances to the other. At length you must allow me, said the gentleman, that there are strong facts in the account of the Four last Years of Queen Anne: "Yes surely, Sir (replies Johnson), and so there are in the Ordinary of Newgate's account." This was like the story which Mr. Murphy tells, and Johnson always acknowledged: How Mr. Rose of Hammersmith, contending for the preference of Scotch writers over the English, after having set up his authors like nine-pins, while the Doctor kept bowling them down again; at last, to make sure of victory, he named Ferguson upon Civil Society, and praised the book for being written in a new manner. "I do not (says Johnson) perceive the value of this new manner; it is only like Buckinger, who had no hands, and so wrote with his feet." Of a modern Martial, when it came out: "There are in these verses (says Dr. Johnson) too much folly for madness, I think, and too much madness for folly." If, however, Mr. Johnson lamented, that the nearer he approached to his own times, the more enemies he should make, by telling biographical truths in his "Lives of the later Poets," what may I not apprehend, who, if I relate anecdotes of Mr. Johnson, am obliged to repeat expressions of severity, and sentences of contempt? Let me at least soften them a little, by saying, that he did not hate the persons he treated with roughness, or despise them whom he drove from him by apparent scorn. He really loved and respected many whom he would not suffer to love him. And when he related to me a short dialogue that passed between himself and a writer of the first eminence in the world, when he was in Scotland, I was shocked to think how he must have disgusted him. "Dr. asked me (said he), why I did not join in their public worship when among them? for (said he) I went to your churches often when in England." "So (replied Johnson), I have heard that the Siamese sent ambassadors to Louis Quatorze, but I never heard that the king of France thought it worth his while to send ambassadors from his court to that of Siam." He was no gentler with myself, or those for whom I had the greatest regard. When I one day lamented the loss of a first cousin killed in America1 Prithee, my dear (said he), have done with canting: how would the world be worse for it, I may ask, if all your relations were at once spitted like larks, and roasted for Presto's supper?" Presto was the dog that lay under the table while we talked.When we went into Wales together, and spent some time at Sir Robert Cotton's at Lleweny, one day at dinner I meant to please Mr. Johnson particularly with a dish of very young peas. "Are not they charming?" said I to him, while he was eating them.— Perhaps (said he) they would be so-to a pig." I only instance these replies, to excuse my mentioning those he made to others. 66 When a well-known author published his poems in the year 1 For Baretti's version of this story, see Life, vol. iv., June 30, 1784. 1777: "Such a one's verses are come out," said I: "Yes (replied Johnson) and this frost has struck them in again. Here are some lines I have written to ridicule them: but remember that I love the fellow dearly, now-for all I laugh at him. "Wheresoe'er I turn my view, All is strange, yet nothing new: Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, When he parodied the verses of another eminent writer, it was done with more provocation, I believe, and with some merry malice. A serious translation of the same lines, which I think are from Euripides, may be found in Burney's "History of Music."-Here are the burlesque ones : "Err shall they not, who resolute explore "They to the dome where smoke with curling play "The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, "Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, "When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, Some of the old legendary stories put in verse by modern writers provoked him to caricature them thus one day at Streatham; but they are already well known, I am sure. A famous ballad also, beginning Rio verde, Rio verde, when I commended the translation of it, he said he could do it better himself as thus: "Glassy water, glassy water, Down whose current clear and strong, "But Sir," said I, "this is not ridiculous at all." “ Why no (replied he), why should I always write ridiculously?—perhaps because I made these verses to imitate such a one, naming him : "Hermit hoar, in solemn cell "Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, Come, my lad, and drink some beer."" I could give another comical instance of caricatura imitation. Recollecting some day, when praising these verses of Lopez de Vega, "Se acquien los leones vence O ella di ser mas furiosa," more than he thought they deserved, Mr. Johnson instantly observed, "that they were founded on a trivial conceit; and that conceit ill-explained, and ill-expressed beside. The lady, we all know, does not conquer in the same manner as the lion does : 'Tis a mere play of words (added he), and you might as well say, that "If the man who turnips cries, |