No. IX.

BONS MOTS.

WHEN Dr. Johnson had finished some part of his tragedy of Irene, he read what he had done to Mr. Walmsley, who objected to his having already brought his heroine into great distress; and asked him, "How can you possibly contrive to plunge her into deeper calamity?" Johnson, in sly allusion to the supposed oppressive proceedings of the court of which Mr. Walmsley was registrar, replied, "Sir, I can put her into the spiritual

court!"

Soon after Edwards's Canons of Criticism came out, Johnson was dining at Tonson the bookseller's, with Hayman the painter, and some more company. Hayman related to sir Joshua Reynolds, that the conversation having turned upon Edwards's book, the gentlemen praised it much, and Johnson al.lowed its merit: but when they went farther, and appeared to put that author upon a level with Warburton, "Nay," said Johnson," he has given him some smart hits to be sure; but there is no proportion between the two men ; they must not be named together. A fly, sir, may sting a stately horse, and make him wince; but one is but an insect, and the other is a horse still."

On the 6th of March, 1754, came out lord Bolingbroke's works, published by Mr. David Mallet. Johnson, hearing of their tendency, was roused with a just indignation, and pronounced this me

morable sentence upon the noble author and his editor: "Sir, he was a scoundrel, and a coward : a scoundrel, for charging a blunderbuss against religion and morality; a coward, because he had not resolution to fire it off himself, but left half a crown to a beggarly Scotchman, to draw the trigger after his death!"

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"One day," says Boswell," he read to us a dis sertation which he was preparing for the press, entitled, A History and Chronology of the Fabulous Ages. Some old divinities of Thrace, related to the Titans, and called the Cabiri, made a very important part of the theory of this piece; and in a conversation afterwards, Mr. Wise talked much of his Cabiri. As we returned to Oxford in the evening, I out-walked Johnson, and he cried out, Suflamina, a Latin word which came from his mouth with peculiar grace, and was as much as to say, Put on your drag chain. Before we got home, I again walked too fast for him; and he now cried out, Why you walk as if you were pursued by all the Cabiri in a body.'

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When the messenger, who carried the last sheet of Johnson's Dictionary to Millar, returned, Johnson asked him, " Well, what did he say?" Sir," answered the messenger, " he said, thank God, I have done with him.'" "I am glad," replied Johnson, with a smile, "that he thanks God for any thing."

At a gentleman's seat in the west of England, in order to amuse him till dinner should be ready, he was taken out to walk in the garden. The master of the house, thinking it proper to introduce some

thing scientific into the conversation, addressed him thus: "Are you a botanist, Dr. Johnson ?" No, sir," answered Johnson, "I am not a botanist; and, (alluding, no doubt, to his near-sightedness) should I wish to become a botanist, I must first turn myself into a reptile."

When Mr. Davies first introduced Boswell to Johnson, he was much agitated; and, recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, of which he had heard much, said to Davies, "Don't tell where I come from." "From Scotland," cried Davies, roguishly." Mr. Johnson," said Boswell, indeed come from Scotland, but I can't help it." To which Johnson replied, "That, sir, I find is what a great many of your countrymen cannot help.”

"I do

Mr. Ogilvie was unlucky enough to choose for the topic of his conversation the praises of his native country. He began with saying, that there was very rich land around Edinburgh. Goldsmith, who had studied physic there, contradicted this very untruly, with a sneering laugh. Disconcerted a little by this, Mr. Ogilvie then took a new ground, where he probably thought himself perfectly safe; for he observed, that Scotland had a great many noble wild prospects. JOHNSON. "I believe, sir, you have a great many: Norway, too, has noble wild prospects; and Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble wild prospects: but, sir, let me tell you, the noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to Engiand."

Johnson said he had lately been a long while at Lichfield, but had grown very weary before he left it. BOSWELL. "I wonder at that, sir; it is your

native place." JOHNSON. "Why, so is Scotland your native place."

An essay, written by Mr. Deane, a divine of the church of England, maintaining the future life of brutes, by an explication of certain parts of the Scriptures, was mentioned, and the doctrine insisted on by a gentleman, who seemed fond of cu rious speculation. Johnson, who did not like to hear of any thing concerning a future state, which was not authorized by the regular canons of orthodoxy, discouraged this talk; and being offended at its continuation, he watched an opportunity to give the gentleman a blow of reprehension. So, when the poor speculatist, with a serious metaphysical pensive face, addressed him, " But really, sir, when we see a very sensible dog, we don't know what to think of him,"-Johnson, rolling with joy at the thought which beamed in his eye, turned quickly round, and replied, "True, sir; and when we see a very foolish fellow, we don't know what to think of him." He then rose up, strode to the fire, and stood for some time laughing and exulting.

The late Alexander, earl of Eglintoune," says Boswell, "who loved wit more than wine, and, men of genius more than sycophants, had a great admiration of Johnson; but, from the remarkable elegance of his own manners, was, perhaps, too de. licately sensible of the roughness which sometimes' appeared in Johnson's behaviour. One evening, when his lordship did me the honour to sup at my lodgings, with Dr. Robertson, and several other men of literary distinction, he regretted that Johnson had not been educated with more refinement, and

lived more in polished society. No, no, my lord, said signor Baretti, ' do with him what you would, he would always have been a bear.' 'True,' answered the earl, with a smile, but he would have been a dancing bear.'

"To obviate all the reflections which have gone round to Johnson's prejudice, by applying to him the epithet of bear, let me impress upon my readers a just and happy saying of my friend Goldsmith, who knew him well: Johnson, to be sure, has a roughness in his manner, but no man alive has a more tender heart: he has nothing of the bear but his skin.” ”

Goldsmith, to divert the tedious minutes, while waiting for one of the guests at a dinner-party, strutted about, bragging of his dress, and appeared seriously vain of it (for his mind was wonderfully prone to such expressions): "Come, come," said Garrick, "talk no more of that: you are, perhaps, the worst-eh, eh!" Goldsmith was eagerly attempting to interrupt him, when Garrick went on, laughing ironically, "Nay, you will always look like a gentleman; but I am talking of being well or ill dressed." Well, let me tell you," said Goldsmith, "when my tailor brought home my blossomcoloured coat, he said, 'Sir, I have a favour to beg of you when any body asks you who made your clothes, be pleased to mention John Filby, at the Harrow, in Water-lane.' " JOHNSON. "Why, sir, that was because he knew the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could make a coat even of so absurd a colour.”