Life Of Johnson, Vol. 1 by Boswell, Edited by Birkbeck Hill

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[Page 41: His eyesight.]

[Page 42: The king's evil.]

Young Johnson had the misfortune to be much afflicted with the
scrophula, or king's evil, which disfigured a countenance naturally well
formed, and hurt his visual nerves so much, that he did not see at all
with one of his eyes, though its appearance was little different from
that of the other. There is amongst his prayers, one inscribed '_When
my_ EYE _was restored to its use_[130],' which ascertains a defect that
many of his friends knew he had, though I never perceived it[131]. I
supposed him to be only near-sighted; and indeed I must observe, that in
no other respect could I discern any defect in his vision; on the
contrary, the force of his attention and perceptive quickness made him
see and distinguish all manner of objects, whether of nature or of art,
with a nicety that is rarely to be found. When he and I were travelling
in the Highlands of Scotland, and I pointed out to him a mountain which
I observed resembled a cone, he corrected my inaccuracy, by shewing me,
that it was indeed pointed at the top, but that one side of it was
larger than the other[132]. And the ladies with whom he was acquainted
agree, that no man was more nicely and minutely critical in the elegance
of female dress[133]. When I found that he saw the romantick beauties of
Islam, in Derbyshire, much better than I did, I told him that he
resembled an able performer upon a bad instrument[134]. How false and
contemptible then are all the remarks which have been made to the
prejudice either of his candour or of his philosophy, founded upon a
supposition that he was almost blind. It has been said, that he
contracted this grievous malady from his nurse[135]. His mother yielding
to the superstitious notion, which, it is wonderful to think, prevailed
so long in this country, as to the virtue of the regal touch; a notion,
which our kings encouraged, and to which a man of such inquiry and such
judgement as Carte[136] could give credit; carried him to London, where he
was actually touched by Queen Anne. Mrs. Johnson indeed, as Mr. Hector
informed me, acted by the advice of the celebrated Sir John Floyer[137],
then a physician in Lichfield. Johnson used to talk of this very
frankly; and Mrs. Piozzi has preserved his very picturesque description
of the scene, as it remained upon his fancy. Being asked if he could
remember Queen Anne, 'He had (he said) a confused, but somehow a sort of
solemn recollection of a lady in diamonds, and a long black hood[138].'
This touch, however, was without any effect. I ventured to say to him,
in allusion to the political principles in which he was educated, and of
which he ever retained some odour, that 'his mother had not carried him
far enough; she should have taken him to ROME.'

[Page 43: Johnson at a dame's school.]

He was first taught to read English by Dame Oliver[139], a widow, who kept
a school for young children in Lichfield. He told me she could read the
black letter, and asked him to borrow for her, from his father, a bible
in that character. When he was going to Oxford, she came to take leave
of him, brought him, in the simplicity of her kindness, a present of
gingerbread, and said, he was the best scholar she ever had. He
delighted in mentioning this early compliment: adding, with a smile,
that 'this was as high a proof of his merit as he could conceive.' His
next instructor in English was a master, whom, when he spoke of him to
me, he familiarly called Tom Brown, who, said he, 'published a
spelling-book, and dedicated it to the UNIVERSE; but, I fear, no copy of
it can now be had[140].'

[Page 44: Lichfield School.]

He began to learn Latin[141] with Mr. Hawkins, usher, or under-master of
Lichfield school, 'a man (said he) very skilful in his little way.' With
him he continued two years[142], and then rose to be under the care of Mr.
Hunter, the head-master, who, according to his account, 'was very
severe, and wrong-headedly severe. He used (said he) to beat us
unmercifully; and he did not distinguish between ignorance and
negligence; for he would beat a boy equally for not knowing a thing, as
for neglecting to know it. He would ask a boy a question; and if he did
not answer it, he would beat him, without considering whether he had an
opportunity of knowing how to answer it. For instance, he would call up
a boy and ask him Latin for a candlestick, which the boy could not
expect to be asked. Now, Sir, if a boy could answer every question,
there would be no need of a master to teach him.'

[Page 45: Johnson's school-fellows.]

It is, however, but justice to the memory of Mr. Hunter to mention, that
though he might err in being too severe, the school of Lichfield was
very respectable in his time[143]. The late Dr. Taylor, Prebendary of
Westminster, who was educated under him, told me, that 'he was an
excellent master, and that his ushers were most of them men of eminence;
that Holbrook, one of the most ingenious men, best scholars, and best
preachers of his age, was usher during the greatest part of the time
that Johnson was at school[144]. Then came Hague, of whom as much might be
said, with the addition that he was an elegant poet. Hague was succeeded
by Green, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, whose character in the learned
world is well known[145]. In the same form with Johnson was Congreve[146],
who afterwards became chaplain to Archbishop Boulter, and by that
connection obtained good preferment in Ireland. He was a younger son of
the ancient family of Congreve, in Staffordshire, of which the poet was
a branch. His brother sold the estate. There was also Lowe, afterwards
Canon of Windsor[147].'

[Page 46: Mr. Hunter.]

Indeed Johnson was very sensible how much he owed to Mr. Hunter. Mr.
Langton one day asked him how he had acquired so accurate a knowledge of
Latin, in which, I believe, he was exceeded by no man of his time; he
said, 'My master whipt me very well. Without that, Sir, I should have
done nothing.' He told Mr. Langton, that while Hunter was flogging his
boys unmercifully, he used to say, 'And this I do to save you from the
gallows.' Johnson, upon all occasions, expressed his approbation of
enforcing instruction by means of the rod[148]. 'I would rather (said he)
have the rod to be the general terrour to all, to make them learn, than
tell a child, if you do thus, or thus, you will be more esteemed than
your brothers or sisters. The rod produces an effect which terminates in
itself. A child is afraid of being whipped, and gets his task, and
there's an end on't; whereas, by exciting emulation and comparisons of
superiority, you lay the foundation of lasting mischief; you make
brothers and sisters hate each other[149].'

When Johnson saw some young ladies in Lincolnshire who were remarkably
well behaved, owing to their mother's strict discipline and severe
correction[150], he exclaimed, in one of Shakspeare's lines a little
varied,

'_Rod_, I will honour thee for this thy duty[151].'

[Page 47: Johnson a King of men.]

That superiority over his fellows, which he maintained with so much
dignity in his march through life, was not assumed from vanity and
ostentation, but was the natural and constant effect of those
extraordinary powers of mind, of which he could not but be conscious by
comparison; the intellectual difference, which in other cases of
comparison of characters, is often a matter of undecided contest, being
as clear in his case as the superiority of stature in some men above
others. Johnson did not strut or stand on tip-toe: He only did not
stoop. From his earliest years his superiority was perceived and
acknowledged[152]. He was from the beginning [Greek: anax andron], a king
of men. His schoolfellow, Mr. Hector, has obligingly furnished me with
many particulars of his boyish days[153]: and assured me that he never
knew him corrected at school, but for talking and diverting other boys
from their business. He seemed to learn by intuition; for though
indolence and procrastination were inherent in his constitution,
whenever he made an exertion he did more than any one else. In short, he
is a memorable instance of what has been often observed, that the boy is
the man in miniature: and that the distinguishing characteristicks of
each individual are the same, through the whole course of life. His
favourites used to receive very liberal assistance from him; and such
was the submission and deference with which he was treated, such the
desire to obtain his regard, that three of the boys, of whom Mr. Hector
was sometimes one, used to come in the morning as his humble attendants,
and carry him to school. One in the middle stooped, while he sat upon
his back, and one on each side supported him; and thus he was borne
triumphant. Such a proof of the early predominance of intellectual
vigour is very remarkable, and does honour to human nature. Talking to
me once himself of his being much distinguished at school, he told me,
'they never thought to raise me by comparing me to any one; they never
said, Johnson is as good a scholar as such a one; but such a one is as
good a scholar as Johnson; and this was said but of one, but of Lowe;
and I do not think he was as good a scholar.'

[Page 48: Johnson's tenacious memory.]

He discovered a great ambition to excel, which roused him to counteract
his indolence. He was uncommonly inquisitive; and his memory was so
tenacious, that he never forgot any thing that he either heard or read.
Mr. Hector remembers having recited to him eighteen verses, which, after
a little pause, he repeated _verbatim_, varying only one epithet, by
which he improved the line.

He never joined with the other boys in their ordinary diversions: his
only amusement was in winter, when he took a pleasure in being drawn
upon the ice by a boy barefooted, who pulled him along by a garter fixed
round him; no very easy operation, as his size was remarkably large. His
defective sight, indeed, prevented him from enjoying the common sports;
and he once pleasantly remarked to me, 'how wonderfully well he had
contrived to be idle without them.' Lord Chesterfield, however, has
justly observed in one of his letters, when earnestly cautioning a
friend against the pernicious effects of idleness, that active sports
are not to be reckoned idleness in young people; and that the listless
torpor of doing nothing, alone deserves that name[154]. Of this dismal
inertness of disposition, Johnson had all his life too great a share.
Mr. Hector relates, that 'he could not oblige him more than by
sauntering away the hours of vacation in the fields, during which he was
more engaged in talking to himself than to his companion.'

[Page 49: His fondness for romances.]

Dr. Percy[155], the Bishop of Dromore, who was long intimately acquainted
with him, and has preserved a few anecdotes concerning him, regretting
that he was not a more diligent collector, informs me, that 'when a boy
he was immoderately fond of reading romances of chivalry, and he
retained his fondness for them through life; so that (adds his Lordship)
spending part of a summer[156] at my parsonage-house in the country, he
chose for his regular reading the old Spanish romance of _Felixmarte of
Hircania_, in folio, which he read quite through[157]. Yet I have heard
him attribute to these extravagant fictions that unsettled turn of mind
which prevented his ever fixing in any profession.'

[Page 50: Stourbridge School.]

1725: AETAT. 16.--After having resided for some time at the house of his
uncle, Cornelius Ford[158], Johnson was, at the age of fifteen, removed to
the school of Stourbridge, in Worcestershire, of which Mr. Wentworth was
then master. This step was taken by the advice of his cousin, the
Reverend Mr. Ford, a man in whom both talents and good dispositions were
disgraced by licentiousness[159], but who was a very able judge of what
was right.

At this school he did not receive so much benefit as was expected. It
has been said, that he acted in the capacity of an assistant to Mr.
Wentworth, in teaching the younger boys. 'Mr. Wentworth (he told me) was
a very able man, but an idle man, and to me very severe; but I cannot
blame him much. I was then a big boy; he saw I did not reverence him;
and that he should get no honour by me. I had brought enough with me, to
carry me through; and all I should get at his school would be ascribed
to my own labour, or to my former master. Yet he taught me a great
deal.'

He thus discriminated, to Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, his progress at
his two grammar-schools. 'At one, I learnt much in the school, but
little from the master; in the other, I learnt much from the master, but
little in the school.'

The Bishop also informs me, that 'Dr. Johnson's father, before he was
received at Stourbridge, applied to have him admitted as a scholar and
assistant to the Reverend Samuel Lea, M.A., head master of Newport
school, in Shropshire (a very diligent, good teacher, at that time in
high reputation, under whom Mr. Hollis[160] is said, in the Memoirs of his
Life, to have been also educated[161]). This application to Mr. Lea was
not successful; but Johnson had afterwards the gratification to hear
that the old gentleman, who lived to a very advanced age, mentioned it
as one of the most memorable events of his life, that 'he was very near
having that great man for his scholar.'

He remained at Stourbridge little more than a year, and then returned
home, where he may be said to have loitered, for two years, in a state
very unworthy his uncommon abilities. He had already given several
proofs of his poetical genius, both in his school-exercises and in other
occasional compositions. Of these I have obtained a considerable
collection, by the favour of Mr. Wentworth, son of one of his masters,
and of Mr. Hector, his school-fellow and friend; from which I select the
following specimens:

[Page 51: Johnson's youthful compositions.]

_Translation of_ VIRGIL. Pastoral I.

MELIBOEUS.

Now, Tityrus, you, supine and careless laid,
Play on your pipe beneath this beechen shade;
While wretched we about the world must roam,
And leave our pleasing fields and native home,
Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame,
And the wood rings with Amarillis' name.

TITYRUS.

Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd,
For I shall never think him less than God;
Oft on his altar shall my firstlings lie,
Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye:
He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads,
And me to tune at ease th' unequal reeds.

MELIBOEUS.

My admiration only I exprest,
(No spark of envy harbours in my breast)
That, when confusion o'er the country reigns,
To you alone this happy state remains.
Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats,
Far from their ancient fields and humble cots.
This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock
Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock.
Had we not been perverse and careless grown,
This dire event by omens was foreshown;
Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke, )
And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak, )
Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak. )

_Translation of_ HORACE. Book I. Ode xxii.

The man, my friend, whose conscious heart
With virtue's sacred ardour glows,
Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart,
Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows:

Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads,
Or horrid Africk's faithless sands;
Or where the fam'd Hydaspes spreads
His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands.

For while by Chloe's image charm'd,
Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd;
Me singing, careless and unarm'd,
A grizly wolf surprised, and fled.

No savage more portentous stain'd
Apulia's spacious wilds with gore;
No fiercer Juba's thirsty land,
Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.

Place me where no soft summer gale
Among the quivering branches sighs;
Where clouds condens'd for ever veil
With horrid gloom the frowning skies:

Place me beneath the burning line,
A clime deny'd to human race;
I'll sing of Chloe's charms divine,
Her heav'nly voice, and beauteous face.

_Translation of_ HORACE. Book II. Ode ix.

Clouds do not always veil the skies,
Nor showers immerse the verdant plain;
Nor do the billows always rise,
Or storms afflict the ruffled main.

Nor, Valgius, on th' Armenian shores
Do the chain'd waters always freeze;
Not always furious Boreas roars,
Or bends with violent force the trees.

But you are ever drown'd in tears,
For Mystes dead you ever mourn;
No setting Sol can ease your care,
But finds you sad at his return.

The wise experienc'd Grecian sage
Mourn'd not Antilochus so long;
Nor did King Priam's hoary age
So much lament his slaughter'd son.

Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs,
Augustus' numerous trophies sing;
Repeat that prince's victories,
To whom all nations tribute bring.

Niphates rolls an humbler wave,
At length the undaunted Scythian yields,
Content to live the Roman's slave,
And scarce forsakes his native fields.

_Translation of part of the Dialogue between_ HECTOR _and_
ANDROMACHE;
_from the Sixth Book of_ HOMER'S ILIAD.

She ceas'd: then godlike Hector answer'd kind,
(His various plumage sporting in the wind)
That post, and all the rest, shall be my care;
But shall I, then, forsake the unfinished war?
How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name!
And one base action sully all my fame,
Acquired by wounds and battles bravely fought!
Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought.
Long since I learn'd to slight this fleeting breath,
And view with cheerful eyes approaching death
The inexorable sisters have decreed
That Priam's house, and Priam's self shall bleed:
The day will come, in which proud Troy shall yield,
And spread its smoking ruins o'er the field.
Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age,
Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage,
Nor my brave brothers, that have bit the ground,
Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound,
Can in my bosom half that grief create,
As the sad thought of your impending fate:
When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose,
Mimick your tears, and ridicule your woes;
Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat,
And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight:
Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry,
Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy!
Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous eyes,
And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs!
Before that day, by some brave hero's hand
May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand.

_To a_ YOUNG LADY _on her_ BIRTH-DAY[162].

This tributary verse receive my fair,
Warm with an ardent lover's fondest pray'r.
May this returning day for ever find
Thy form more lovely, more adorn'd thy mind;
All pains, all cares, may favouring heav'n remove,
All but the sweet solicitudes of love!
May powerful nature join with grateful art,
To point each glance, and force it to the heart!
O then, when conquered crouds confess thy sway,
When ev'n proud wealth and prouder wit obey,
My fair, be mindful of the mighty trust,
Alas! 'tis hard for beauty to be just.
Those sovereign charms with strictest care employ;
Nor give the generous pain, the worthless joy:
With his own form acquaint the forward fool,
Shewn in the faithful glass of ridicule;
Teach mimick censure her own faults to find, )
No more let coquettes to themselves be blind, )
So shall Belinda's charms improve mankind. )

THE YOUNG AUTHOUR[163].

When first the peasant, long inclin'd to roam,
Forsakes his rural sports and peaceful home,
Pleas'd with the scene the smiling ocean yields,
He scorns the verdant meads and flow'ry fields:
Then dances jocund o'er the watery way,
While the breeze whispers, and the streamers play:
Unbounded prospects in his bosom roll,
And future millions lift his rising soul;
In blissful dreams he digs the golden mine,
And raptur'd sees the new-found ruby shine.
Joys insincere! thick clouds invade the skies,
Loud roar the billows, high the waves arise;
Sick'ning with fear, he longs to view the shore,
And vows to trust the faithless deep no more.
So the young Authour, panting after fame,
And the long honours of a lasting name,
Entrusts his happiness to human kind,
More false, more cruel, than the seas or wind.
'Toil on, dull croud, in extacies he cries,
For wealth or title, perishable prize;
While I those transitory blessings scorn,
Secure of praise from ages yet unborn.'
This thought once form'd, all council comes too late,
He flies to press, and hurries on his fate;
Swiftly he sees the imagin'd laurels spread,
And feels the unfading wreath surround his head.
Warn'd by another's fate, vain youth be wise,
Those dreams were Settle's[164] once, and Ogilby's[165]:
The pamphlet spreads, incessant hisses rise,
To some retreat the baffled writer flies;
Where no sour criticks snarl, no sneers molest,
Safe from the tart lampoon, and stinging jest;
There begs of heaven a less distinguish'd lot,
Glad to be hid, and proud to be forgot.

EPILOGUE, _intended to have been spoken by a_ LADY _who was to personate
the Ghost of_ HERMIONE[166].

Ye blooming train, who give despair or joy,
Bless with a smile, or with a frown destroy;
In whose fair cheeks destructive Cupids wait,
And with unerring shafts distribute fate;
Whose snowy breasts, whose animated eyes,
Each youth admires, though each admirer dies;
Whilst you deride their pangs in barb'rous play, }
Unpitying see them weep, and hear them pray, }
And unrelenting sport ten thousand lives away; }
For you, ye fair, I quit the gloomy plains;
Where sable night in all her horrour reigns;
No fragrant bowers, no delightful glades,
Receive the unhappy ghosts of scornful maids.
For kind, for tender nymphs the myrtle blooms,
And weaves her bending boughs in pleasing glooms:
Perennial roses deck each purple vale,
And scents ambrosial breathe in every gale:
Far hence are banish'd vapours, spleen, and tears,
Tea, scandal, ivory teeth, and languid airs:
No pug, nor favourite Cupid there enjoys
The balmy kiss, for which poor Thyrsis dies;
Form'd to delight, they use no foreign arms,
Nor torturing whalebones pinch them into charms;
No conscious blushes there their cheeks inflame,
For those who feel no guilt can know no shame;
Unfaded still their former charms they shew,
Around them pleasures wait, and joys for ever new.
But cruel virgins meet severer fates;
Expell'd and exil'd from the blissful seats,
To dismal realms, and regions void of peace,
Where furies ever howl, and serpents hiss.
O'er the sad plains perpetual tempests sigh,
And pois'nous vapours, black'ning all the sky,
With livid hue the fairest face o'ercast,
And every beauty withers at the blast:
Where e'er they fly their lover's ghosts pursue,
Inflicting all those ills which once they knew;
Vexation, Fury, Jealousy, Despair,
Vex ev'ry eye, and every bosom tear;
Their foul deformities by all descry'd,
No maid to flatter, and no paint to hide.
Then melt, ye fair, while crouds around you sigh,
Nor let disdain sit lowring in your eye;
With pity soften every awful grace,
And beauty smile auspicious in each face;
To ease their pains exert your milder power,
So shall you guiltless reign, and all mankind adore.'

[Page 57: His wide reading. AETAT. 19.]

The two years which he spent at home, after his return from Stourbridge,
he passed in what he thought idleness[167], and was scolded by his father
for his want of steady application[168]. He had no settled plan of life,
nor looked forward at all, but merely lived from day to day. Yet he read
a great deal in a desultory manner, without any scheme of study, as
chance threw books in his way, and inclination directed him through
them. He used to mention one curious instance of his casual reading,
when but a boy. Having imagined that his brother had hid some apples
behind a large folio upon an upper shelf in his father's shop, he
climbed up to search for them. There were no apples; but the large folio
proved to be Petrarch, whom he had seen mentioned in some preface, as
one of the restorers of learning. His curiosity having been thus
excited, he sat down with avidity, and read a great part of the book.
What he read during these two years he told me, was not works of mere
amusement, 'not voyages and travels, but all literature, Sir, all
ancient writers, all manly: though but little Greek, only some of
Anacreon and Hesiod; but in this irregular manner (added he) I had
looked into a great many books, which were not commonly known at the
Universities, where they seldom read any books but what are put into
their hands by their tutors; so that when I came to Oxford, Dr. Adams,
now master of Pembroke College, told me I was the best qualified for the
University that he had ever known come there[169].'

In estimating the progress of his mind during these two years, as well
as in future periods of his life, we must not regard his own hasty
confession of idleness; for we see, when he explains himself, that he
was acquiring various stores; and, indeed he himself concluded the
account with saying, 'I would not have you think I was doing nothing
then.' He might, perhaps, have studied more assiduously; but it may be
doubted whether such a mind as his was not more enriched by roaming at
large in the fields of literature than if it had been confined to any
single spot. The analogy between body and mind is very general, and the
parallel will hold as to their food, as well as any other particular.
The flesh of animals who feed excursively, is allowed to have a higher
flavour than that of those who are cooped up. May there not be the same
difference between men who read as their taste prompts and men who are
confined in cells and colleges to stated tasks?