Life and Conversations of Dr. Samuel Johnson

THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity, not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron, which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.

"Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I shall conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so much exultation,

If a letter like that does not "give the world assurance of a man," all writing is worse than vanity. There may be something of Latin in the language of it, but its spirit is genuine Saxon. is of the genus thorough British, and of the species pure Johnsonian. The peer has no chance with the poor bookseller's son when it is mind against mind, and not clothes against clothes. A sound thrashing in his own best room would not have mortified the great man as that scorching epistle must have done. "Blows are sarcasms turned stupid; wit is a form of force that leaves the limbs at rest." And there is more than wit here; there is dignity in every sentence of that letter, grace in its whole air, and finest scorn wrapping it round as with a garment. In a waggish mood, one would say that it is a clear case of a nobleman brought to the dust before a noble man. It is brains versus blood, and no doubt whatever as to the jury's decision. Yet, up through all the biting satire, proud contempt, and high sense of personal worth, mark how there wells a beautiful little spring of tender recollection in these touching words: "Till I am solitary, and cannot impart it." It would be difficult to prove that Johnson's wife ever died-to him: "multum amatam diuque defletam." To those whose mental picture of our hero is that of a rough, unkempt, "bearish" figure, exhibiting, perhaps, the possibility of softening a

VISIT TO OXFORD.

'I viewed them with indignation!' We had then a long conversation on Gothic buildings; and in talking of the form of old halls, he said, 'In these halls, the fire-place was anciently always in the middle of the room, till the Whigs removed it on one side.' About this time there had been an execution of two or three criminals at Oxford, on a Monday. Soon afterwards, one day at dinner, I was saying that Mr. Swinton, the chaplain of the gaol, and also a frequent preacher before the University, a learned man, but often thoughtless and absent, preached the condemnation sermon on repentance, before the convicts, on the preceding day, Sunday; and that in the close he told his audience that he should give them the remainder of what he had to say on the subject, the next Lord's day. Upon which, one of our company, a Doctor of Divinity, and a plain matter-of-fact man, by way of offering an apology for Mr. Swinton, gravely remarked, that he had probably preached the same sermon before the University: 'Yes, sir,' says Johnson, but the University were not to be hanged the next morning.'

"I forgot to observe before, that when he left Mr. Meeke (as I have told above), he added, 'About the same time of life, Meeke was left behind at Oxford to feed on a Fellowship, and I went to London to get my living: now, sir, see the difference of our literary characters !'"

And with this honest self-gratulation, on our Author's part, we shall suppose this Oxford visit to have terminated only begging the reader's special attention to one sentence in the above account, which perhaps tells us more of JOHNSON THE MAN than all the rest put together:-" He was highly pleased to find all the collegeservants which he had left there still remaining, particularly a very old butler; and expressed great satisfaction at being recognised by them, and conversed with them familiarly."

IN 1754, the Dictionary would appear to have engaged almost the whole of Johnson's attention. The Plan of that work, it will be remembered, had been dedicated to the Earl of Chesterfield in 1747. Directly or indirectly, that nobleman had led our Author to believe that he was his true friend, and would use his influence in favour of both him and his work. These promising hopes had proved vain; the Earl had steadily neglected the struggling author for years. But now, when the great work was about to be published, Chesterfield's friendship sprang up anew, and with wonderful suddenness. He wrote two papers in "The World," in laudation of Johnson and his forthcoming Dictionary; trusting, no doubt, that this literary puff would secure for himself the Dedication of the whole work, as his supposed friendship had already procured him that of the Plan. This was adding insult to injury, and Johnson was not the man to be injured or insulted with impunity. "Sir," said he, "after making great professions, he had, for many years, taken no notice of me; but when my Dictionary was coming out, he fell a-scribbling in 'The World' about it. Upon which I wrote him a letter expressed in civil terms, but such as might show him that I did not mind what he said or wrote, and that I had done with him." In other words, Johnson found that the Earl's strong professions of regard had been a mere sham; and shams were the only things in the world he could never forgive. He could pardon a man for being a player, or even for being a Scotchman, but to an unmasked sham he would show no mercy-not though it came before him

THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

with a coronet on its brow. Here is the letter, famous now, and

likely to remain for centuries yet one of the very finest pieces of work in all literature

"TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

"MY LORD,

66 February 7, 1755.

"I have been lately informed by the proprietor of 'The World,' that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the public, were written by your lordship. To be so distinguished is an honour, which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

"When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre; that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

"Seven years, my lord, have now passed, since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.

"The shepherd in 'Virgil' grew at last acquainted with Love, and found him a native of the rocks.

"Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been

THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

"My lord, your lordship's most humble,
"Most obedient servant,

"SAM. JOHNSON."

If a letter like that does not "give the world assurance of a man," all writing is worse than vanity. There may be something of Latin in the language of it, but its spirit is genuine Saxon. It is of the genus thorough British, and of the species pure Johnsonian. The peer has no chance with the poor bookseller's son when it is mind against mind, and not clothes against clothes. A sound thrashing in his own best room would not have mortified the great man as that scorching epistle must have done. "Blows are sarcasms turned stupid; wit is a form of force that leaves the limbs at rest." And there is more than wit here; there is dignity in every sentence of that letter, grace in its whole air, and finest scorn wrapping it round as with a garment. In a waggish mood, one would say that it is a clear case of a nobleman brought to the dust before a noble man. It is brains versus blood, and no doubt whatever as to the jury's decision. Yet, up through all the biting satire, proud contempt, and high sense of personal worth, mark how there wells a beautiful little spring of tender recollection in these touching words: "Till I am solitary, and cannot impart it." It would be difficult to prove that Johnson's wife ever died-to him "multum amatam diuque defletam." To those whose mental picture of our hero is that of a rough, unkempt, "bearish" figure, exhibiting, perhaps, the possibility of softening a

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Life and Conversations of Dr. Samuel Johnson: (founded Chiefly Upon Boswell).