A few days before his death, he had asked Sir John Hawkins, as one of his executors, where he should be buried; and on being answered, 'Doubtless, in Westminster-Abbey,' seemed to feel a satisfaction, very natural to a Poet; and indeed in my opinion very natural to every man of any imagination, who has no family sepulchre in which he can be laid with his fathers. Accordingly, upon Monday, December 20, his remains were deposited in that n.o.ble and renowned edifice; and over his grave was placed a large blue flag-stone, with this inscription:--

'SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.

_Obiit_ XIII _die Decembris_, _Anno Domini_ M. DCC. Lx.x.xIV.

Aetatis suoe_ LXXV.'

His funeral was attended by a respectable number of his friends, particularly such of the members of the LITERARY CLUB as were then in town; and was also honoured with the presence of several of the Reverend Chapter of Westminster. Mr. Burke, Sir Joseph Banks, Mr. Windham, Mr.

Langton, Sir Charles Bunbury, and Mr. Colman, bore his pall[1271]. His schoolfellow, Dr. Taylor, performed the mournful office of reading the burial service[1272].

I trust, I shall not be accused of affectation, when I declare, that I find myself unable to express all that I felt upon the loss of such a 'Guide[1273], Philosopher, and Friend[1274].' I shall, therefore, not say one word of my own, but adopt those of an eminent friend[1275], which he uttered with an abrupt felicity, superior to all studied compositions:--'He has made a chasm, which not only nothing can fill up, but which nothing has a tendency to fill up. Johnson is dead. Let us go to the next best:--there is n.o.body; no man can be said to put you in mind of Johnson[1276].'

As Johnson had abundant homage paid to him during his life[1277], so no writer in this nation ever had such an acc.u.mulation of literary honours after his death. A sermon upon that event was preached in St. Mary's Church, Oxford, before the University, by the Reverend Mr. Agutter, of Magdalen College[1278]. The _Lives_, the _Memoirs_, the _Essays_, both in prose and verse, which have been published concerning him, would make many volumes. The numerous attacks too upon him, I consider as part of his consequence, upon the principle which he himself so well knew and a.s.serted[1279]. Many who trembled at his presence, were forward in a.s.sault, when they no longer apprehended danger. When one of his little pragmatical foes was invidiously snarling at his fame, at Sir Joshua Reynolds's table, the Reverend Dr. Parr exclaimed, with his usual bold animation, 'Ay, now that the old lion is dead, every a.s.s thinks he may kick at him.'

A monument for him, in Westminster Abbey, was resolved upon soon after his death, and was supported by a most respectable contribution[1280]; but the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's having come to a resolution of admitting monuments there, upon a liberal and magnificent plan, that Cathedral was afterwards fixed on, as the place in which a cenotaph should be erected to his memory[1281]: and in the cathedral of his native city of Lichfield, a smaller one is to be erected. To compose his epitaph, could not but excite the warmest compet.i.tion of genius[1282].

If _laudari a laudato viro_ be praise which is highly estimable[1283], I should not forgive myself were I to omit the following sepulchral verses on the authour of THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY, written by the Right Honourable Henry Flood[1284]:--

'No need of Latin or of Greek to grace Our JOHNSON'S memory, or inscribe his grave; His native language claims this mournful s.p.a.ce, To pay the Immortality he gave.'

The character of SAMUEL JOHNSON has, I trust, been so developed in the course of this work, that they who have honoured it with a perusal, may be considered as well acquainted with him. As, however, it may be expected that I should collect into one view the capital and distinguishing features of this extraordinary man, I shall endeavour to acquit myself of that part of my biographical undertaking[1285], however difficult it may be to do that which many of my readers will do better for themselves.

His figure was large and well formed, and his countenance of the cast of an ancient statue; yet his appearance was rendered strange and somewhat uncouth, by convulsive cramps, by the scars of that distemper which it was once imagined the royal touch could cure, and by a slovenly mode of dress. He had the use only of one eye; yet so much does mind govern and even supply the deficiency of organs, that his visual perceptions, as far as they extended, were uncommonly quick and accurate[1286]. So morbid was his temperament, that he never knew the natural joy of a free and vigorous use of his limbs: when he walked, it was like the struggling gait of one in fetters; when he rode, he had no command or direction of his horse, but was carried as if in a balloon[1287]. That with his const.i.tution and habits of life he should have lived seventy-five years, is a proof that an inherent _vivida vis_[1288] is a powerful preservative of the human frame.

Man is, in general, made up of contradictory qualities; and these will ever shew themselves in strange succession, where a consistency in appearance at least, if not in reality, has not been attained by long habits of philosophical discipline. In proportion to the native vigour of the mind, the contradictory qualities will be the more prominent, and more difficult to be adjusted; and, therefore, we are not to wonder, that Johnson exhibited an eminent example of this remark which I have made upon human nature. At different times, he seemed a different man, in some respects; not, however, in any great or essential article, upon which he had fully employed his mind, and settled certain principles of duty, but only in his manners, and in the display of argument and fancy in his talk. He was p.r.o.ne to superst.i.tion, but not to credulity. Though his imagination might incline him to a belief of the marvellous and the mysterious, his vigorous reason examined the evidence with jealousy[1289]. He was a sincere and zealous Christian, of high Church-of-England and monarchical principles, which he would not tamely suffer to be questioned; and had, perhaps, at an early period, narrowed his mind somewhat too much, both as to religion and politicks. His being impressed with the danger of extreme lat.i.tude in either, though he was of a very independent spirit, occasioned his appearing somewhat unfavourable to the prevalence of that n.o.ble freedom of sentiment which is the best possession of man. Nor can it be denied, that he had many prejudices; which, however, frequently suggested many of his pointed sayings, that rather shew a playfulness of fancy than any settled malignity. He was steady and inflexible in maintaining the obligations of religion and morality; both from a regard for the order of society, and from a veneration for the GREAT SOURCE of all order; correct, nay stern in his taste; hard to please, and easily offended[1290]; impetuous and irritable in his temper, but of a most humane and benevolent heart[1291], which shewed itself not only in a most liberal charity, as far as his circ.u.mstances would allow, but in a thousand instances of active benevolence. He was afflicted with a bodily disease, which made him often restless and fretful; and with a const.i.tutional melancholy, the clouds of which darkened the brightness of his fancy, and gave a gloomy cast to his whole course of thinking: we, therefore, ought not to wonder at his sallies of impatience and pa.s.sion at any time; especially when provoked by obtrusive ignorance, or presuming petulance; and allowance must be made for his uttering hasty and satirical sallies even against his best friends. And, surely, when it is considered, that, 'amidst sickness and sorrow[1292],'he exerted his faculties in so many works for the benefit of mankind, and particularly that he atchieved the great and admirable DICTIONARY of our language, we must be astonished at his resolution. The solemn text, 'of him to whom much is given, much will be required[1293],' seems to have been ever present to his mind, in a rigorous sense, and to have made him dissatisfied with his labours and acts of goodness, however comparatively great; so that the unavoidable consciousness of his superiority was, in that respect, a cause of disquiet. He suffered so much from this, and from the gloom which perpetually haunted him, and made solitude frightful, that it may be said of him, 'If in this life only he had hope, he was of all men most miserable[1294].' He loved praise, when it was brought to him; but was too proud to seek for it. He was somewhat susceptible of flattery. As he was general and unconfined in his studies, he cannot be considered as master of any one particular science; but he had acc.u.mulated a vast and various collection of learning and knowledge, which was so arranged in his mind, as to be ever in readiness to be brought forth. But his superiority over other learned men consisted chiefly in what may be called the art of thinking, the art of using his mind; a certain continual power of seizing the useful substance of all that he knew, and exhibiting it in a clear and forcible manner; so that knowledge, which we often see to be no better than lumber in men of dull understanding, was, in him, true, evident, and actual wisdom. His moral precepts are practical; for they are drawn from an intimate acquaintance with human nature. His maxims carry conviction; for they are founded on the basis of common sense, and a very attentive and minute survey of real life.

His mind was so full of imagery, that he might have been perpetually a poet; yet it is remarkable, that, however rich his prose is in this respect, his poetical pieces, in general, have not much of that splendour, but are rather distinguished by strong sentiment and acute observation, conveyed in harmonious and energetick verse, particularly in heroick couplets. Though usually grave, and even aweful, in his deportment, he possessed uncommon and peculiar powers of wit and humour; he frequently indulged himself in colloquial pleasantry; and the heartiest merriment[1295] was often enjoyed in his company; with this great advantage, that as it was entirely free from any poisonous tincture of vice or impiety, it was salutary to those who shared in it. He had accustomed himself to such accuracy in his common conversation[1296], that he at all times expressed his thoughts with great force, and an elegant choice of language, the effect of which was aided by his having a loud voice, and a slow deliberate utterance[1297].

In him were united a most logical head with a most fertile imagination, which gave him an extraordinary advantage in arguing: for he could reason close or wide, as he saw best for the moment. Exulting in his intellectual strength and dexterity, he could, when he pleased, be the greatest sophist that ever contended in the lists of declamation; and, from a spirit of contradiction and a delight in shewing his powers, he would often maintain the wrong side with equal warmth and ingenuity; so that, when there was an audience, his real opinions could seldom be gathered from his talk[1298]; though when he was in company with a single friend, he would discuss a subject with genuine fairness: but he was too conscientious to make errour permanent and pernicious, by deliberately writing it; and, in all his numerous works, he earnestly inculcated what appeared to him to be the truth; his piety being constant, and the ruling principle of all his conduct[1299].

Such was SAMUEL JOHNSON, a man whose talents, acquirements, and virtues, were so extraordinary, that the more his character is considered, the more he will be regarded by the present age, and by posterity, with admiration and reverence[1300].

APPENDIX A.

(_Page_ 115, _note_ 4.)

There are at least three accounts of this altercation and three versions of the lines. Two of these versions nearly agree. The earliest is found in a letter by Richard Burke, senior, dated Jan. 6, 1773 (_Burke Corres_. i. 403); the second in _The Annual Register_ for 1776, p. 223; and the third in Miss Reynolds's _Recollections_ (Croker's _Boswell_, 8vo. p. 833). R. Burke places the scene in Reynolds's house. Whether he himself was present is not clear. 'The dean,' he says, 'a.s.serted that after forty-five a man did not improve. "I differ with you, Sir,"

answered Johnson; "a man may improve, and you yourself have great room for improvement." The dean was confounded, and for the instant silent.

Recovering, he said, "On recollection I see no cause to alter my opinion, except I was to call it improvement for a man to grow (which I allow he may) positive, rude, and insolent, and save arguments by brutality."' Neither the _Annual Register_ nor Miss Reynolds reports the Dean's speech. But she says that 'soon after the ladies withdrew, Dr.

Johnson followed them, and sitting down by the lady of the house [that is by herself, if they were at Sir Joshua's] he said, "I am very sorry for having spoken so rudely to the Dean." "You very well may, Sir."

"Yes," he said, "it was highly improper to speak in that style to a minister of the gospel, and I am the more hurt on reflecting with what mild dignity he received it."' If Johnson really spoke of the Dean's _mild dignity_, it is clear that Richard Burke's account is wrong. But it was written just after the scene, and Boswell says there was 'a pretty smart altercation.' Miss Reynolds continues:--'When the Dean came up into the drawing-room, Dr. Johnson immediately rose from his seat, and made him sit on the sofa by him, and with such a beseeching look for pardon and with such fond gestures--literally smoothing down his arms and his knees,' &c. The _Annual Register_ says that Barnard the next day sent the verses addressed to 'Sir Joshua Reynolds & Co.' On the next page I give Richard Burke's version of the lines, and show the various readings.

MISS REYNOLD'S RICHARD BURKE'S VERSION. _Annual Register_ VERSION I lately thought no man alive Could e'er improve past forty-five, And ventured to a.s.sert it; The observation was not new, But seem'd to me so just and true, That none could controvert it.

'No, Sir,' says Johnson, ''tis not so; 'Tis _That's_ your mistake, and I can show An instance, if you doubt it; You who perhaps are _You, Sir, who are near_ forty-eight, still May _much_ improve, 'tis not too late; I wish you'd set about it.'

Encouraged thus to mend my faults, I turn'd his counsel in my thoughts, could Which way I _should_ apply it: Genius I knew was _Learning and wit seem'd_ past my reach, what none can For who can learn _where none will_ teach? when And wit--I could not buy it.

Then come, my friends, and try your skill, may You _can improve me, if you will; inform (My books are at a distance).

With you I'll live and learn; and then Instead of books I shall read men, _So_ lend me your a.s.sistance. To

Dear Knight of Plympton[1301], teach me how unclouded To suffer with _unruffled_ brow, as And smile serene _like_ thine, and The jest uncouth _or_ truth severe, Like thee to turn _To such apply_ my deafest ear, To such And calmly drink my wine. I'll turn

Thou say'st, not only skill is gain'd, attained But genius too may be _obtain'd_, attained invitation By studious _imitation_; Thy temper mild, thy genius fine, study I'll _copy_ till I make _them_ mine, thee meditation By constant _application_.

Thy art of pleasing teach me, Garrick, reverest (_sic_) Thou who _reversest_ odes Pindarick[1302], A second time read o'er; Oh! could we read thee backwards too, Past _Last_ thirty years thou shouldst review, And charm us thirty more.

If I have thoughts and can't express 'em, Gibbon shall teach me how to dress 'em In terms select and terse; Jones teach me modesty--and Greek; Smith how to think; _Burke_ how to speak, Burk And Beauclerk to converse.

Let Johnson teach me how to place In fairest light each borrowed grace, From him I'll learn to write; free and easy Copy his _clear and easy_ style, clear And from the roughness of his file, familiar like Grow _as_ himself--polite.' like

Horace Walpole, on Dec. 27, 1775, speaks of these verses as if they were fresh. 'They are an answer,' he writes, 'to a gross brutality of Dr.

Johnson, to which a properer answer would have been to fling a gla.s.s of wine in his face. I have no patience with an unfortunate monster trusting to his helpless deformity for indemnity for any impertinence that his arrogance suggests, and who thinks that what he has read is an excuse for everything he says.' Horace Walpole's _Letters,_ vi. 302. It is strange that Walpole should be so utterly ignorant of Johnson's courage and bodily strength. The date of Walpole's letter makes me suspect that Richard Burke dated his Jan. 6, 1775 (he should have written 1776), and that the blunder of a copyist has changed 1775 into 1773.

APPENDIX B.

(_Page_ 238.)

Had Boswell continued the quotation from Priestley's _Ill.u.s.trations of Philosophical Necessity_ he would have shown that though Priestley could not _hate_ the rioters, he could very easily _prosecute_ them.

He says:--

'If as a Necessarian I cease to _blame_ men for their vices in the ultimate sense of the word, though, in the common and proper sense of it, I continue to do as much as other persons (for how necessarily soever they act, they are influenced by a base and mischievous disposition of mind, against which I must guard myself and others in proportion as I love myself and others),' &c. Priestley's _Works_, iii. 508.

Of his interview with Johnson, Priestley, in his _Appeal to the Public_, part ii, published in 1792 (_Works_, xix. 502), thus writes, answering 'the impudent falsehood that when I was at Oxford Dr. Johnson left a company on my being introduced to it':--

'In fact we never were at Oxford at the same time, and the only interview I ever had with him was at Mr. Paradise's, where we dined together at his own request. He was particularly civil to me, and promised to call upon me the next time he should go through Birmingham.

He behaved with the same civility to Dr. Price, when they supped together at Dr. Adams's at Oxford. Several circ.u.mstances show that Dr.

Johnson had not so much of bigotry at the decline of life as had distinguished him before, on which account it is well known to all our common acquaintance, that I declined all their pressing solicitations to be introduced to him.'

Priestley expresses himself ill, but his meaning can be made out. Parr answered Boswell in the March number of the _Gent. Mag._ for 1795, p.

179. But the evidence that he brings is rendered needless by Priestley's positive statement. May peace henceforth fall on 'Priestley's injured name.' (Mrs. Barbauld's _Poems_, ii. 243.)

When Boswell a.s.serts that Johnson 'was particularly resolute in not giving countenance to men whose writings he considered as pernicious to society,' he forgets that that very summer of 1783 he had been willing to dine at Wilkes's house (_ante_, p. 224, note 2).

Dr. Franklin (_Memoirs_, ed. 1833, iii. 157) wrote to Dr. Price in 1784:--'It is said that scarce anybody but yourself and Dr. Priestley possesses the art of knowing how to differ decently.' Gibbon (_Misc.

Works_, i. 304), describing in 1789 the honestest members of the French a.s.sembly, calls them 'a set of wild visionaries, like our Dr. Price, who gravely debate, and dream about the establishment of a pure and perfect democracy of five and twenty millions, the virtues of the golden age, and the primitive rights and equality of mankind.' Admiration of Price made Samuel Rogers, when a boy, wish to be a preacher. 'I thought there was nothing on earth so _grand_ as to figure in a pulpit. Dr. Price lived much in the society of Lord Lansdowne [Earl of Shelburne] and other people of rank; and his manners were extremely polished. In the pulpit he was great indeed.' Rogers's _Table Talk_, p. 3.

The full t.i.tle of the tract mentioned by Boswell is, _A small Whole-Length of Dr. Priestley from his Printed Works_. It was published in 1792, and is a very poor piece of writing.

Johnson had refused to meet the Abbe Raynal, the author of the _Histoire Philosophique et Politique du Commerce des Deux Indes_, when he was over in England in 1777. Mrs. Chapone, writing to Mrs. Carter on June 15 of that year, says:--

'I suppose you have heard a great deal of the Abbe Raynal, who is in London. I fancy you would have served him as Dr. Johnson did, to whom when Mrs. Vesey introduced him, he turned from him, and said he had read his book, and would have nothing to say to him.' Mrs. Chapone's _Posthumous Works_, i. 172.

See Walpole's _Letters_, v. 421, and vi. 444. His book was burnt by the common hangman in Paris. Carlyle's _French Revolution_, ed. 1857, i. 45.