We stopped at Welwyn, where I wished much to see, in the company of Dr. Johnson, the residence of the authour of Night Thoughts {A long poem by Edward Young, published between 1742 and 1745; Boswell called it "the grandest and richest poetry that human genius has ever produced"; today it is best known for the illustrations done for it in 1797 by William Blake.– Editor}, which was then in the possession of his son, Mr. Young.
Here some address was requisite, for I was not acquainted with Mr. Young, and had I proposed to Dr. Johnson that we send to him, he would have checked my wish, and perhaps have been offended. I therefore concerted with Mr. Dilly, that I should steal away from Dr. Johnson and him, and try what reception I could procure from Mr. Young; if unfavourable, nothing was to be said; but if agreeable, I should return and notify it to them.
I hastened to Mr. Young’s, found he was at home, sent in word that a gentleman desired to wait upon him, and was shewn in to a parlour where he and a young lady, his daughter, were sitting. He appeared to be a plain, civil, country gentleman: and when I begged pardon for presuming to trouble him, but that I wished much to see his place, if he would give me leave; he behaved very courteously, and answered, ‘By all means, Sir; we are just going to drink tea; will you sit down?’
I thanked him, but said, Dr. Johnson had come with me from London, and I must return to the inn to drink tea with him; that my name was Boswell, that I had traveled with him in the Hebrides.
‘Sir (said he), I should think it a great honour to see Dr. Johnson here. Will you allow me to send for him?’
Availing myself of this opening, I said that, ‘I would go myself and bring him, when he had drunk tea; he knew nothing of my calling here.’
Having been thus successful, I hastened back to the inn, and informed Dr. Johnson that ‘Mr. Young, son of Dr. Young, the authour of Night Thoughts, whom I had just left, desired to have the honour of seeing him at the house where his father lived.’
Dr. Johnson luckily made no inquiry as to how this invitation had arisen, but agreed to go, and when we entered Mr. Young’s parlour, he addressed him with a very polite bow, ‘Sir, I had a curiosity to see this place. I had the honour to know that great man, your father.’
We went into the garden, where we found a gravel walk, on each side of which was a row of trees, planted by Dr. Young, which formed a handsome Gothick arch: Dr. Johnson called it a fine grove. I beheld it with reverence.
We sat some time in the summer-house. I said to Mr. Young, that I had been told his father was cheerful.
‘Sir (said he), he was too well-bred a man not to be cheerful in company; but he was gloomy when alone. He never was cheerful after my mother’s death, and he had many disappointments.’
Dr. Johnson observed to me afterwards, ‘That this was no favourable account of Dr. Young; for it is not becoming in a man to have so little acquiescence in the ways of Providence, as to be gloomy because he has not obtained as much preferment as he expected; nor to continue gloomy for the loss of his wife. Grief has its time.’
The last part of this censure was theoretically made. Practically, we know that grief for the loss of a wife may continue very long, in proportion as affection has been sincere. No man knew this better than Dr. Johnson.
Upon the road we talked about the uncertainty with which authours and booksellers engage in the publication of literary works.
JOHNSON. ‘My judgement I have found is no certain rule as to the sale of a book.’
BOSWELL. ‘Pray, Sir, have you been much plagued with authours sending you their works to revise?’
JOHNSON. ‘No, sir; I have been thought a sour, surly fellow.’
BOSWELL. ‘Very lucky for you, Sir, – in that respect.’
I must however observe, notwithstanding what he now said,
which he no doubt imagined at the time to be the fact, there was, perhaps, no man who more frequently yielded to the solicitations even of very obscure authours, to read their manuscripts, or more liberally assisted them with advice and correction.
He found himself very happy at Squire Dilly’s, where there is always abundance of excellent fare, and hearty welcome.
(classix comix™ is sponsored by Bob’s Bowery Bar, conveniently located at the northwest corner of Bleecker and the Bowery: “Say, it was a scorcher today, and the weatherman says we’re in for quite likely two more months of the same! If you just happen to reside – not unlike yours truly – in a sixth-floor tenement walk-up with no air-conditioning, I know a swell way to beat the heat!
Why not do what I do and head on down (or, in my case, go downstairs) to Bob’s Bowery Bar, where the central air-conditioning has finally been fixed, and is always kept at a cooling but not downright arctic 76 degrees. Ask your server about the house summer drink specials, too; and false modesty shall not prevent me from recommending the eponymous Sternwall Snowball: an eminently refreshing concoction of British Royal Navy rum, ‘triple sec’, just a wee dram of absinthe, fresh lime juice, crystalized ginger and jaggeree, Osterized with lots of ice and served in a milkshake glass – bet you can’t drink just one, but take my advice, and don’t drink more than four!”
– Horace P. Sternwall, host and narrator of Bob’s Bowery Bar Presents Philip Morris Commander’s “Blanche Weinberg: Lady Psychiatrist”, broadcast live 8pm Sundays {EST} exclusively on the Dumont Television Network. This week’s play: The Bad Humor Man , by Herman P. Schlossberg, starring Kitty Carlisle as “Dr. Blanche”, with special guest star Alastair Sim as “Mr. Mooge”.)
part 224
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