463. Milton.

On Monday, Johnson was in full song, and I quarrelled with him sadly. I accused him of not having done justice to the "Allegro" and "Penseroso." He spoke disparagingly of both. I praised" Lycidas," which he absolutely abused, adding, "If Milton had not written the Paradise Lost,' he would only have ranked among the minor poets: he was a Phidias that cut a Colossus out of a rock, but could not cut heads out of cherry stones." (1)

464. Boswell and Garrick.

Boswell brought to my mind the whole of a very mirthful conversation at dear Mrs. Garrick's; and my being made, by Sir William Forbes, the umpire in a trial of skill between Garrick and Boswell, which could most nearly imitate Dr. Johnson's manner. I remember I gave it for Boswell in familiar conversation, and for Garrick in reciting.

Poor Johnson is in a bad state of health. I fear his constitution is broken up; I am quite grieved at it. He will not leave an abler defender of religion and virtue behind him; and the following little touch of tenderness, which I heard of him last night from one of the Turk's Head Club, endears him to me exceedingly. There are always a great many candidates ready, when any vacancy happens in the club, and it requires no small interest and reputation to get elected; but, upon Garrick's death, when numberless applications were made to succeed him, Johnson was deaf to them all: he said, "No, there never could be found any successor worthy of such a man; and he insisted upon it there should be

(1) [See antè, Vol. VIII. p. 306.]

a year's widowhood in the Club, before they thought of a new election. (')

466. Metaphysical Distresses.

the

In Dr. Johnson, some contrarieties very harmoniously meet: if he has too little charity with the opinions of others, and too little patience for their faults, he has the greatest tenderness for their persons. He told me, other day, he hated to hear people whine about metaphysical distresses, when there was so much want and hunger in the world. I told him I supposed, then, he never wept at any tragedy but Jane Shore, who died for want of a loaf. He called me saucy girl, but did not deny the inference. (1782.)

467. Abstinence and Temperance.

I dined very pleasantly at the Bishop of Chester's (Dr. Porteus). Johnson was there; and the Bishop was very desirous to draw him out, as he wished to show him off to some of the company who had never seen him. He begged me to sit next him at dinner, and to devote myself to making him talk. To this end, I consented to talk more than became me; and our stratagem succeeded. You would have enjoyed seeing him take me by the hand in the middle of dinner, and repeat, with no small enthusiasm, many passages from the "Fair Penitent," &c. I urged him to take a little wine; he replied, "I can't drink a little, child; therefore I never touch it. Abstinence is as easy to me, as temperance would be difficult." He was very good-humoured and gay. One of the company happened to say a word about poetry; Hush, hush!" said he, "it is dangerous to say a word of poetry before it is talking of the art of war before Hannibal."

her;

66

(1) [Garrick died in January, 1779, and no new election took place till November, 1780; when Dr. Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph, was chosen a member.]

He continued his jokes, and lamented that I had not married Chatterton, that posterity might have seen a propagation of poets.

468. Oxford. Pembroke College.

66

Who do you think is my principal Cicerone at Oxford? Only Dr. Johnson! and we do so gallant it about! You cannot imagine with what delight he showed me every part of his own college (Pembroke). Dr. Adams, the master, had contrived a very pretty piece of gallantry. We spent the day and evening at his house. After dinner, Johnson begged to conduct me to see the college; he would let no one show me it but himself. "This was my room; this Shenstone's." Then, after pointing out all the rooms of the poets who had been of his college, "In short," said he, we were a nest of singing birds." "Here we walked, there we played at cricket." He ran over with pleasure the history of the juvenile days he passed there. When we came into the common hall, we spied a fine large print of Johnson, framed and hung up that very morning, with this motto, "And is not Johnson ours, himself a host? Under which stared you in the face, 66 From Miss More's 'Sensibility.' This little incident amused us;but, alas! Johnson looks very ill indeed. and wan. (June 13. 1782.)

-

469. Jesuits and Jansenists.

spiritless

Saturday, I went to Mrs. Reynolds's, to meet Sir Joshua and Dr. Johnson. Our conversation ran very much upon religious opinions, chiefly those of the Roman Catholics. He took the part of the Jesuits, and I declared myself a Jansenist. He was very angry because I quoted Boileau's bon-mot upon the Jesuits, that they had lengthened the Creed and shortened the Decalogue; but I continued sturdily to vindicate my old friends of the Port Royal. He looked so dreadfully,

that it quite grieved me. placent than he used to be. softened his mind, without

He is more mild and comHis sickness seems to have having at all weakened it.

I was struck with the mild radiance of this setting sun. (1783.)

470. "The Bas Bleu."

and as to the Bas from every body He said, but I body, for I am - he said, there

I went to see Dr. Johnson. He received me with the greatest kindness and affection; Bleu, all the flattery I ever received together would not make up the sum. seriously insist you do not tell any ashamed of writing it even to you; was no name in poetry that might not be glad to own it.(1) You cannot imagine how I stared: all this from Johnson, the parsimonious praiser! I told him I was quite delighted at his approbation: he answered quite characteristically, " And so you may; for I give you the opinion of a man who does not rate his judgment on these things very low, I can tell you. (April, 1784.)

471. Johnson's last Illness.

says

Poor dear Johnson ! he is past all hope. I have, however, the comfort to hear that his dread of dying is in a great measure subsided; and now he "the bitterness of death is past." He sent the other day for Sir Joshua Reynolds; and after much serious conversation told him he had three favours to beg of him, and he hoped he would not refuse a dying friend, be they what they would. Sir Joshua promised. The first was, that he would never paint on a Sunday; the second, that he would forgive him thirty pounds that he had lent him, as he wanted to leave them to a distressed family; the third was, that he would read the Bible whenever he had an opportunity, and that he

(1) [See antè, p. 123.]

would never omit it on a Sunday. There was no difficulty but upon the first point; but at length Sir Joshua promised to gratify him in all. How delighted should I be to hear the dying discourse of this great and good man, especially now that faith has subdued his fears!

Mr. Pepys wrote me a very kind letter on the death of Johnson, thinking I should be impatient to hear something relating to his last hours. Dr. Brocklesby, his physician, was with him: he said to him a little before he died, "Doctor, you are a worthy man, and my friend, but I am afraid you are not a Christian! What can I do better for you than offer up, in your presence, a prayer to the great God, that you may become a Christian in my sense of the word?" Instantly he fell on his knees, and put up a fervent prayer: when he got up he caught hold of his hand with great eagerness, and cried, "Doctor! you do not say, Amen!" The doctor looked foolish; but after a pause, cried, Amen! Johnson said, My dear doctor, believe a dying man, there is no salvation but in the sacrifice of the Lamb of God. Go home, write down my prayer, and every word I have said, and bring it me to-morrow." Brocklesby did so.

66

A friend desired he would make his will; and as Hume, in his last moments, had made an impious declaration of his opinions, he thought it might tend to counteract the poison, if Johnson would make a public confession of his faith in his will. He said he would, seized the pen with great earnestness, and asked, what was the usual form of beginning a will? His friend told him. After the usual forms he wrote, "I offer up my soul to the great and merciful God; I offer it full of pollution, but in full assurance that it will be cleansed in the blood of my Redeemer." And for some time he wrote on with the same vigour and spirit as if he had been in perfect health. When he expressed some of