“Last Thursday, Nov. 25th, my father set me down at Bolt Court, while he went on upon business. I was anxious to again see poor Dr. Johnson, who has had terrible health since his return from Lichfield. He let me in, though very ill. He was alone, which I much rejoiced at: for I had a longer and more satisfactory conversation with him than I have had for many months. He was in rather better spirits, too, than I have lately seen him; but he told me he was going to try what sleeping out of town might do for him.“‘I remember,’ said he, ‘that my wife, when she was near her end, poor woman, was also advised to sleep out of town; and when she was carried to the lodgings that had been prepared for her, she complained that the staircase was in very bad condition—for the plaster was beaten off the walls in many places. ‘Oh,’ said the man of thehouse, ‘that’s nothing but by the knocks against it of the coffins of the poor souls that have died in the lodgings!’“He laughed, though not without apparent secret anguish, in telling me this. I felt extremely shocked, but, willing to confine my words at least to the literal story, I only exclaimed against the unfeeling absurdity of such a confession.“‘Such a confession,’ cried he, ‘to a person then coming to try his lodging for her health, contains, indeed, more absurdity than we can well lay our account for.’“I had seen Miss T. the day before.“‘So,’ said he, ‘did I.’“I then said: ‘Do you ever, sir, hear from her mother?’“‘No,’ cried he, ‘nor write to her. I drive her quite from my mind. If I meet with one of her letters, I burn it instantly. I have burnt all I can find. I never speak of her, and I desire never to hear of her more. I drive her, as I said, wholly from my mind.’“Yet, wholly to change this discourse, I gave him a history of the Bristolmilk-woman,milk-woman,[59]and told him the tales I had heard of her writing so wonderfully, though she had read nothing but Young and Milton; ‘though those,’ I continued, ‘could never possibly, I should think, be the first authors with anybody. Would children understand them? and grown people who have not read are children in literature.’“‘Doubtless,’ said he; ‘but there is nothing so little comprehended among mankind as what is genius. They give to it all, when it can be but a part. Genius is nothing more than knowing the use of tools; but there must be tools for it to use: a man who has spent all hislife in this room will give a very poor account of what is contained in the next.’“‘Certainly, sir; yet there is such a thing as invention; Shakespeare could never have seen a Caliban.’“‘No; but he had seen a man, and knew, therefore, how to vary him to a monster. A man who would draw a monstrous cow, must first know what a cow commonly is; or how can he tell that to give her an ass’s head or an elephant’s tusk will make her monstrous? Suppose you show me a man who is a very expert carpenter; another will say he was born to be a carpenter—but what if he had never seen any wood? Let two men, one with genius, the other with none, look at an overturned waggon:—he who has no genius, will think of the waggon only as he sees it, overturned, and walk on; he who has genius, will paint it to himself before it was overturned,—standing still, and moving on, and heavy loaded, and empty; but both must see the waggon, to think of it at all.’“How just and true all this, my dear Susy! He then grew animated, and talked on, upon this milk-woman, upon a once as famous shoemaker, and upon our immortal Shakespeare, with as much fire, spirit, wit, and truth of criticism and judgment, as ever yet I have heard him. How delightfully bright are his faculties, though the poor and infirm machine that contains them seems alarmingly giving way.“Yet, all brilliant as he was, I saw him growing worse, and offered to go, which, for the first time I ever remember, he did not oppose; but, most kindly pressing both my hands:“‘Be not,’ he said, in a voice of even tenderness, ‘be not longer in coming again for my letting you go now.’“I assured him I would be the sooner, and was runningoff, but he called me back, in a solemn voice, and, in a manner the most energetic, said:“‘Remember me in your prayers!’“I longed to ask him to remember me, but did not dare. I gave him my promise, and, very heavily indeed, I left him. Great, good, and excellent that he is, how short a time will he be our boast! Ah, my dear Susy, I see he is going! This winter will never conduct him to a more genial season here! Elsewhere, who shall hope a fairer? I wish I had bid him pray for me; but it seemed to me presumptuous, though this repetition of so kind a condescension might, I think, have encouragedme.”me.”
“Last Thursday, Nov. 25th, my father set me down at Bolt Court, while he went on upon business. I was anxious to again see poor Dr. Johnson, who has had terrible health since his return from Lichfield. He let me in, though very ill. He was alone, which I much rejoiced at: for I had a longer and more satisfactory conversation with him than I have had for many months. He was in rather better spirits, too, than I have lately seen him; but he told me he was going to try what sleeping out of town might do for him.
“‘I remember,’ said he, ‘that my wife, when she was near her end, poor woman, was also advised to sleep out of town; and when she was carried to the lodgings that had been prepared for her, she complained that the staircase was in very bad condition—for the plaster was beaten off the walls in many places. ‘Oh,’ said the man of thehouse, ‘that’s nothing but by the knocks against it of the coffins of the poor souls that have died in the lodgings!’
“He laughed, though not without apparent secret anguish, in telling me this. I felt extremely shocked, but, willing to confine my words at least to the literal story, I only exclaimed against the unfeeling absurdity of such a confession.
“‘Such a confession,’ cried he, ‘to a person then coming to try his lodging for her health, contains, indeed, more absurdity than we can well lay our account for.’
“I had seen Miss T. the day before.
“‘So,’ said he, ‘did I.’
“I then said: ‘Do you ever, sir, hear from her mother?’
“‘No,’ cried he, ‘nor write to her. I drive her quite from my mind. If I meet with one of her letters, I burn it instantly. I have burnt all I can find. I never speak of her, and I desire never to hear of her more. I drive her, as I said, wholly from my mind.’
“Yet, wholly to change this discourse, I gave him a history of the Bristolmilk-woman,milk-woman,[59]and told him the tales I had heard of her writing so wonderfully, though she had read nothing but Young and Milton; ‘though those,’ I continued, ‘could never possibly, I should think, be the first authors with anybody. Would children understand them? and grown people who have not read are children in literature.’
“‘Doubtless,’ said he; ‘but there is nothing so little comprehended among mankind as what is genius. They give to it all, when it can be but a part. Genius is nothing more than knowing the use of tools; but there must be tools for it to use: a man who has spent all hislife in this room will give a very poor account of what is contained in the next.’
“‘Certainly, sir; yet there is such a thing as invention; Shakespeare could never have seen a Caliban.’
“‘No; but he had seen a man, and knew, therefore, how to vary him to a monster. A man who would draw a monstrous cow, must first know what a cow commonly is; or how can he tell that to give her an ass’s head or an elephant’s tusk will make her monstrous? Suppose you show me a man who is a very expert carpenter; another will say he was born to be a carpenter—but what if he had never seen any wood? Let two men, one with genius, the other with none, look at an overturned waggon:—he who has no genius, will think of the waggon only as he sees it, overturned, and walk on; he who has genius, will paint it to himself before it was overturned,—standing still, and moving on, and heavy loaded, and empty; but both must see the waggon, to think of it at all.’
“How just and true all this, my dear Susy! He then grew animated, and talked on, upon this milk-woman, upon a once as famous shoemaker, and upon our immortal Shakespeare, with as much fire, spirit, wit, and truth of criticism and judgment, as ever yet I have heard him. How delightfully bright are his faculties, though the poor and infirm machine that contains them seems alarmingly giving way.
“Yet, all brilliant as he was, I saw him growing worse, and offered to go, which, for the first time I ever remember, he did not oppose; but, most kindly pressing both my hands:
“‘Be not,’ he said, in a voice of even tenderness, ‘be not longer in coming again for my letting you go now.’
“I assured him I would be the sooner, and was runningoff, but he called me back, in a solemn voice, and, in a manner the most energetic, said:
“‘Remember me in your prayers!’
“I longed to ask him to remember me, but did not dare. I gave him my promise, and, very heavily indeed, I left him. Great, good, and excellent that he is, how short a time will he be our boast! Ah, my dear Susy, I see he is going! This winter will never conduct him to a more genial season here! Elsewhere, who shall hope a fairer? I wish I had bid him pray for me; but it seemed to me presumptuous, though this repetition of so kind a condescension might, I think, have encouragedme.”me.”
‘He wished to look on her once more; and on the day before his death she long remained in tears on the stairs leading to his bedroom, in the hope that she might be called in to receive his blessing. He was then sinking fast, and though he sent her an affectionate message, was unable to see her.’[60]
44. 1730-1805. A native of Elphin, in Ireland; was educated at St. Omer’s; gave up the trade on which he had entered for literature; published theGray’s Inn Journalfrom 1752 to 1754; went on the stage, wrote dramas, and engaged in politics; at last became a barrister, and died a Commissioner of Bankrupts. He produced twenty-three plays, of which the ‘Grecian Daughter’ was the most popular. His translation of Tacitus had great repute in its day.
44. 1730-1805. A native of Elphin, in Ireland; was educated at St. Omer’s; gave up the trade on which he had entered for literature; published theGray’s Inn Journalfrom 1752 to 1754; went on the stage, wrote dramas, and engaged in politics; at last became a barrister, and died a Commissioner of Bankrupts. He produced twenty-three plays, of which the ‘Grecian Daughter’ was the most popular. His translation of Tacitus had great repute in its day.
45. In January, 1779, Mrs. Thrale wrote to Fanny: “You are twenty odd years old, and I am past thirty-six.”
45. In January, 1779, Mrs. Thrale wrote to Fanny: “You are twenty odd years old, and I am past thirty-six.”
46. John Delap, D.D. (1725-1812), poet and dramatist. After being curate to Mason, the poet, he held livings in Sussex, and wrote numerous poems and tragedies, all of which have long been forgotten.
46. John Delap, D.D. (1725-1812), poet and dramatist. After being curate to Mason, the poet, he held livings in Sussex, and wrote numerous poems and tragedies, all of which have long been forgotten.
47. An Italian composer and singer. Born at Rome in 1747; came to England in 1774; adopted the profession of singing-master in 1777; settled permanently at Bath in 1787, and died there in 1810. He was the author of several Operas, and counted Braham among his pupils.
47. An Italian composer and singer. Born at Rome in 1747; came to England in 1774; adopted the profession of singing-master in 1777; settled permanently at Bath in 1787, and died there in 1810. He was the author of several Operas, and counted Braham among his pupils.
48. This boy was afterwards the celebrated painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence, President of the Royal Academy.
48. This boy was afterwards the celebrated painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence, President of the Royal Academy.
49. Mr. C. Prince Hoare. The intended patronage did not take place. The Lawrences left Devizes almost immediately after the date of the above notice, and thenceforth the whole family were supported by the extraordinary talents of the boy artist.
49. Mr. C. Prince Hoare. The intended patronage did not take place. The Lawrences left Devizes almost immediately after the date of the above notice, and thenceforth the whole family were supported by the extraordinary talents of the boy artist.
50. M.P. for Ipswich in 1784. Described by Dr. Johnson as having “much good in his character, and much usefulness in his knowledge.” Johnson used to visit Mr. Cator at his seat at Beckenham.
50. M.P. for Ipswich in 1784. Described by Dr. Johnson as having “much good in his character, and much usefulness in his knowledge.” Johnson used to visit Mr. Cator at his seat at Beckenham.
51. M.P. for Horsham in 1784.
51. M.P. for Horsham in 1784.
52. “Memoirs,” vol. ii., p. 218.
52. “Memoirs,” vol. ii., p. 218.
53. Diary, November 4, 1782. The story, which was repeated and believed by Lord Byron, that Johnson superintended ‘Cecilia,’ was corrected by Moore in his life of the poet, published in 1830. ‘Lord Byron is here mistaken. Dr. Johnson never saw “Cecilia” till it was in print. A day or two before publication the young authoress, as I understand, sent three copies to the three persons who had most claim to them—her father, Mrs. Thrale, and Dr. Johnson.’
53. Diary, November 4, 1782. The story, which was repeated and believed by Lord Byron, that Johnson superintended ‘Cecilia,’ was corrected by Moore in his life of the poet, published in 1830. ‘Lord Byron is here mistaken. Dr. Johnson never saw “Cecilia” till it was in print. A day or two before publication the young authoress, as I understand, sent three copies to the three persons who had most claim to them—her father, Mrs. Thrale, and Dr. Johnson.’
54. The Honourable Mary Monckton, daughter of the first Viscount Galway, and wife of the seventh Earl of Cork and Ossory, well known to the readers of Boswell as ‘the lively Miss Monckton, who used always to have the finest bit of blue at her parties.’ She was born in April, 1746, and died on the 30th of May1840.1840.
54. The Honourable Mary Monckton, daughter of the first Viscount Galway, and wife of the seventh Earl of Cork and Ossory, well known to the readers of Boswell as ‘the lively Miss Monckton, who used always to have the finest bit of blue at her parties.’ She was born in April, 1746, and died on the 30th of May1840.1840.
55. There is also a letter of Crisp’s in which he mentions a promise of Dr. Burney to make up his daughter’s gains to even money. A few years later, when her reputation was enhanced by ‘Cecilia,’ Miss Burney asked for her third novel, ‘Camilla,’ no more than eleven hundred guineas. On the whole, we are inclined to believe that the sum she received for ‘Cecilia’ was less than £1,000.
55. There is also a letter of Crisp’s in which he mentions a promise of Dr. Burney to make up his daughter’s gains to even money. A few years later, when her reputation was enhanced by ‘Cecilia,’ Miss Burney asked for her third novel, ‘Camilla,’ no more than eleven hundred guineas. On the whole, we are inclined to believe that the sum she received for ‘Cecilia’ was less than £1,000.
56. Daughter of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.
56. Daughter of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.
57. Contributors to “The World.” Soame Jenyns was chiefly known by his work “On the Evidences of the Christian Religion.” He died in 1877; Cambridge in 1802.
57. Contributors to “The World.” Soame Jenyns was chiefly known by his work “On the Evidences of the Christian Religion.” He died in 1877; Cambridge in 1802.
58. Crisp died April 24, 1783, aged seventy-six. A monument to his memory was put up in the little church at Chesington, with an inscription from the pen of Dr. Burney. His library was sold in the following year.
58. Crisp died April 24, 1783, aged seventy-six. A monument to his memory was put up in the little church at Chesington, with an inscription from the pen of Dr. Burney. His library was sold in the following year.
59. Ann Yearsley.
59. Ann Yearsley.
60. Macaulay.
60. Macaulay.