THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON - All 6 Volumes in One Edition. James Boswell
for the easiest word, whatever it be, can never be translated into one more easy.’
[Page 295: Humorous definitions.]
His introducing his own opinions, and even prejudices, under general definitions of words, while at the same time the original meaning of the words is not explained, as his Tory[862], Whig[863], Pension[864], Oats[865], Excise[866], and a few more, cannot be fully defended, and must be placed to the account of capricious and humorous indulgence[867]. Talking to me upon this subject when we were at Ashbourne in 1777, he mentioned a still stronger instance of the predominance of his private feelings in the composition of this work, than any now to be found in it. ‘You know, Sir, Lord Gower forsook the old Jacobite interest. When I came to the word Renegado, after telling that it meant “one who deserts to the enemy, a revolter,” I added, Sometimes we say a GOWER[868]. Thus it went to the press; but the printer had more wit than I, and struck it out.’
[Page 296: Humorous definitions. A.D. 1756.]
Let it, however, be remembered, that this indulgence does not display itself only in sarcasm towards others, but sometimes in playful allusion to the notions commonly entertained of his own laborious task. Thus: ‘Grub-street, the name of a street in London, much inhabited by writers of small histories, dictionaries, and temporary poems; whence any mean production is called Grub-street[869].’—’Lexicographer, a writer of dictionaries, a harmless drudge[870]’.
[Page 297: The gloom of solitude. Ætat 46.]
At the time when he was concluding his very eloquent Preface, Johnson’s mind appears to have been in such a state of depression[871], that we cannot contemplate without wonder the vigorous and splendid thoughts which so highly distinguish that performance. ‘I (says he) may surely be contented without the praise of perfection, which if I could obtain in this gloom of solitude, what would it avail me? I have protracted my work till most of those whom I wished to please have sunk into the grave; and success and miscarriage are empty sounds, I therefore dismiss it with frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or from praise[872].’ That this indifference was rather a temporary than an habitual feeling, appears, I think, from his letters to Mr. Warton[873]; and however he may have been affected for the moment, certain it is that the honours which his great work procured him, both at home and abroad, were very grateful to him[874]. His friend the Earl of Corke and Orrery, being at Florence, presented it to the Academia della Crusca. That Academy sent Johnson their Vocabulario, and the French Academy sent him their Dictionnaire, which Mr. Langton had the pleasure to convey to him[875].
[Page 298: His melancholy at its meridian. A.D. 1755.]
It must undoubtedly seem strange, that the conclusion of his Preface should be expressed in terms so desponding, when it is considered that the authour was then only in his forty-sixth year. But we must ascribe its gloom to that miserable dejection of spirits to which he was constitutionally subject, and which was aggravated by the death of his wife two years before[876]. I have heard it ingeniously observed by a lady of rank and elegance, that ‘his melancholy was then at its meridian[877].’ It pleased GOD to grant him almost thirty years of life after this time; and once, when he was in a placid frame of mind, he was obliged to own to me that he had enjoyed happier days, and had many more friends, since that gloomy hour than before[878].
[Page 299: Johnson’s happiest days last. Ætat 46.]
It is a sad saying, that ‘most of those whom he wished to please had sunk into the grave;’ and his case at forty-five was singularly unhappy, unless the circle of his friends was very narrow. I have often thought, that as longevity is generally desired, and I believe, generally expected, it would be wise to be continually adding to the number of our friends, that the loss of some may be supplied by others. Friendship, ‘the wine of life[879],’ should like a well-stocked cellar, be thus continually renewed; and it is consolatory to think, that although we can seldom add what will equal the generous first-growths of our youth, yet friendship becomes insensibly old in much less time than is commonly imagined, and not many years are required to make it very mellow and pleasant. Warmth will, no doubt, make a considerable difference. Men of affectionate temper and bright fancy will coalesce a great deal sooner than those who are cold and dull.
[Page 300: Garrick’s complimentary epigram. A.D. 1755.]
The proposition which I have now endeavoured to illustrate was, at a subsequent period of his life, the opinion of Johnson himself. He said to Sir Joshua Reynolds, ‘If a man does not make new acquaintance as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone. A man, Sir, should keep his friendship in constant repair.’
The celebrated Mr. Wilkes, whose notions and habits of life were very opposite to his, but who was ever eminent for literature and vivacity, sallied forth with a little Jeu d’Esprit upon the following passage in his Grammar of the English Tongue, prefixed to the Dictionary: ‘H seldom, perhaps never, begins any but the first syllable.’ In an Essay printed in The Publick Advertiser, this lively writer enumerated many instances in opposition to this remark; for example, ‘The authour of this observation must be a man of a quick apprehension, and of a most comprehensive genius.’ The position is undoubtedly expressed with too much latitude.
This light sally, we may suppose, made no great impression on our Lexicographer; for we find that he did not alter the passage till many years afterwards[880].
He had the pleasure of being treated in a very different manner by his old pupil Mr. Garrick, in the following complimentary Epigram[881]:
‘On JOHNSON’S DICTIONARY,
‘Talk of war with a Briton, he’ll boldly advance,
That one English soldier will beat ten of France;
Would we alter the boast from the sword to the pen,
Our odds are still greater, still greater our men:
In the deep mines of science though Frenchmen may toil,
Can their strength be compar’d to Locke, Newton, and Boyle?
Let them rally their heroes, send forth all their pow’rs,
Their verse-men and prose-men, then match them with ours!
First Shakspeare and Milton[882], like gods in the fight,
Have put their whole drama and epick to flight;
In satires, epistles, and odes, would they cope,
Their numbers retreat before Dryden and Pope;
And Johnson, well arm’d like a hero of yore,
Has beat forty French[883], and will beat forty more!’
[Page 301: Zachariah Williams. Ætat 46.]
Johnson this year gave at once a proof of his benevolence, quickness of apprehension, and admirable art of composition, in the assistance which he gave to Mr. Zachariah Williams, father of the blind lady whom he had humanely received under his roof. Mr. Williams had followed the profession of physick in Wales; but having a very strong propensity to the study of natural philosophy, had made many ingenious advances towards a discovery of the longitude, and repaired to London in hopes of obtaining the great parliamentary reward[884]. He failed of success; but Johnson having made himself master of his principles and experiments, wrote for him a pamphlet, published in quarto, with the following title: An Account of an Attempt to ascertain the Longitude at Sea, by an exact Theory of the Variation of the Magnetical Needle; with a Table of the Variations at the most remarkable Cities in Europe, from the year 1660 to 1680.[Dagger] To diffuse it more extensively, it was accompanied with an Italian translation on the opposite page, which it is supposed was the work of Signor Baretti[885], an Italian of considerable literature, who having come to England a few years before, had been employed in the capacity both of a language-master and an authour, and formed an intimacy with Dr. Johnson. This pamphlet Johnson presented to the Bodleian Library[886]. On a blank leaf of it is pasted a paragraph cut out of a newspaper, containing an account of the death