Boswell’s Life of Johnson: 228

Edited by Dan Leo, Assistant Professor of 18th Century British Epistolary Studies, Olney Community College; author of Bozzie and Dr. Sam: The Case of the Persistent Cough, the Olney Community College Press.

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'To MR. HECTOR, IN BIRMINGHAM.  'DEAR SIR, 'I hope I do not very grossly flatter myself to imagine that you and dear Mrs. Careless {Hector’s widowed sister, and Johnson’s first love – Editor} will be glad to hear some account of me. I performed the journey to London with very little inconvenience, and came safe to my habitation, where I found nothing but ill health, and, of consequence, very little cheerfulness. I then went to visit a little way into the country, where I got a complaint by a cold which has hung eight weeks upon me, and from which I am, at the expence of fifty ounces of blood, not yet free. I am afraid I must once more owe my recovery to warm weather, which seems to make no advances towards us. 'Such is my health, which will, I hope, soon grow better. In other respects I have no reason to complain. I know not that I have written any thing more generally commended than the Lives of the Poets; and have found the world willing enough to caress me, if my health had invited me to be in much company; but this season I have been almost wholly employed in nursing myself. 'When summer comes I hope to see you again, and will not put off my visit to the end of the year. I have lived so long in London, that I did not remember the difference of seasons. 'Your health, when I saw you, was much improved. You will be prudent enough not to put it in danger. I hope, when we meet again, we shall all congratulate each other upon fair prospects of longer life; though what are the pleasures of the longest life, when placed in comparison with a happy death? 'I am, dear Sir,  'Yours most affectionately,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'London, March 21, 1782.' To THE SAME.  [Without a date, but supposed to be about this time.]  'DEAR SIR,  'That you and dear Mrs. Careless should have care or curiosity about my health, gives me that pleasure which every man feels from finding himself not forgotten. In age we feel again that love of our native place and our early friends, which in the bustle or amusements of middle life were overborne and suspended. You and I should now naturally cling to one another: we have outlived most of those who could pretend to rival us in each other's kindness. In our walk through life we have dropped our companions, and are now to pick up such as chance may offer us, or to travel on alone. You, indeed, have a sister, with whom you can divide the day: I have no natural friend left; but Providence has been pleased to preserve me from neglect; I have not wanted such alleviations of life as friendship could supply. My health has been, from my twentieth year, such as has seldom afforded me a single day of ease; but it is at least not worse: and I sometimes make myself believe that it is better. My disorders are, however, still sufficiently oppressive. 'I think of seeing Staffordshire again this autumn, and intend to find my way through Birmingham, where I hope to see you and dear Mrs. Careless well. I am Sir,  'Your affectionate friend,  'SAM. JOHNSON.' I wrote to him at different dates; regretted that I could not come to London this spring, but hoped we should meet somewhere in the summer; mentioned the state of my affairs, and suggested hopes of some preferment; informed him, that as The Beauties of Johnson had been published in London, some obscure scribbler had published at Edinburgh what he called The deformities of Johnson. 'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.  'DEAR SIR, 'The pleasure which we used to receive from each other on Good-Friday and Easter-day, we must be this year content to miss. Let us, however, pray for each other, and hope to see one another yet from time to time with mutual delight. My disorder has been a cold, which impeded the organs of respiration, and kept me many weeks in a state of great uneasiness; but by repeated phlebotomy it is now relieved; and next to the recovery of Mrs. Boswell, I flatter myself, that you will rejoice at mine. 'What we shall do in the summer it is yet too early to consider. You want to know what you shall do now; I do not think this time of bustle and confusion likely to produce any advantage to you. Every man has those to reward and gratify who have contributed to his advancement. To come hither with such expectations at the expence of borrowed money, which, I find, you know not where to borrow, can hardly be considered as prudent. I am sorry to find, what your solicitation seems to imply, that you have already gone the whole length of your credit. This is to set the quiet of your whole life at hazard. If you anticipate your inheritance, you can at last inherit nothing; all that you receive must pay for the past. You must get a place, or pine in penury, with the empty name of a great estate. Poverty, my dear friend, is so great an evil, and pregnant with so much temptation, and so much misery, that I cannot but earnestly enjoin you to avoid it. Live on what you have; live if you can on less; do not borrow either for vanity or pleasure; the vanity will end in shame, and the pleasure in regret: stay therefore at home, till you have saved money for your journey hither. The Beauties of Johnson are said to have got money to the collector; if the Deformities have the same success, I shall be still a more extensive benefactor. 'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, who is, I hope, reconciled to me; and to the young people whom I never have offended. 'I am, dear Sir, 'Your most affectionate,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'London, March 28, 1782.' Notwithstanding his afflicted state of body and mind this year, the following correspondence affords a proof not only of his benevolence and conscientious readiness to relieve a good man from errour, but shews his extraordinary command of clear and forcible expression. A clergyman at Bath wrote to him, that in The Morning Chronicle, a passage in The Beauties of Johnson, article DEATH, had been pointed out as supposed by some readers to recommend suicide, the words being, 'To die is the fate of man; but to die with lingering anguish is generally his folly;' and respectfully suggesting to him, that such an erroneous notion of any sentence in the writings of an acknowledged friend of religion and virtue, should not pass uncontradicted. Johnson thus answered the clergyman's letter:—          To THE REVEREND MR. ——, AT BATH.  'SIR, 'Being now in the country in a state of recovery, as I hope, from a very oppressive disorder, I cannot neglect the acknowledgement of your Christian letter. The book called The Beauties of Johnson is the production of I know not whom: I never saw it but by casual inspection, and considered myself as utterly disengaged from its consequences. Of the passage you mention, I remember some notice in some paper; but knowing that it must be misrepresented, I thought of it no more, nor do I know where to find it in my own books. I am accustomed to think little of newspapers; but an opinion so weighty and serious as yours has determined me to do, what I should, without your seasonable admonition, have omitted; and I will direct my thought to be shewn in its true state. If I could find the passage, I would direct you to it. I suppose the tenour is this:—'Acute diseases are the immediate and inevitable strokes of Heaven; but of them the pain is short, and the conclusion speedy; chronical disorders, by which we are suspended in tedious torture between life and death, are commonly the effect of our own misconduct and intemperance. To die, &c.'— This, Sir, you see is all true and all blameless. I hope, some time in the next week, to have all rectified. My health has been lately much shaken: if you favour me with any answer, it will be a comfort to me to know that I have your prayers.  'I am, &c.,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'May 15, 1782.' This letter, as might be expected, had its full effect, and the clergyman acknowledged it in grateful and pious terms.  (classix comix™ is brought to you by the friendly staff and management of Bob’s Bowery Bar, conveniently located at the northwest corner of Bleecker and the Bowery: “Just a reminder for our viewers in the metropolitan area as well as those planning a trip to the ‘Big Apple’, be it for business and pleasure: every Wednesday night at my favorite urban oasis Bob’s Bowery Bar is ‘Chicken ‘n’ Waffles Nite’! Stop by any time between the hours of 6pm to 3am and order a big plate of crispy panko-breaded free range fried chicken and a stack of buttermilk waffles bathed in ‘Mom’s Own’ gravy, with your choice of two sides, including coleslaw, creamed spinach, house-pickled beets, boiled sweet peas, onion rings, or candied carrots – a steal at only $4.95, and goes swell with Bob’s justly renowned basement-brewed house bock!” – Horace P. Sternwall, host 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: “Hark! The Bus Driver Beeps His Horn!”, by Howard Pontius Skeffington, starring Kitty Carlisle as “Dr. Blanche”, with very special guest star Mr. Jackie Gleason.)  part 229

Boswell’s Life of Johnson: 227

Edited by Dan Leo, Associate Professor of 18th Century British Theological Studies, Olney Community College; author of Bozzie and Dr. Sam: Dead Men Make No Bons Mots, the Olney Community College Press.

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TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.  'DEAR SIR, 'I sit down to answer your letter on the same day in which I received it, and am pleased that my first letter of the year is to you. No man ought to be at ease while he knows himself in the wrong; and I have not satisfied myself with my long silence. The letter relating to Mr. Sinclair, however, was, I believe, never brought. 'My health has been tottering this last year; and I can give no very laudable account of my time. I am always hoping to do better than I have ever hitherto done. 'My journey to Ashbourne and Staffordshire was not pleasant; for what enjoyment has a sick man visiting the sick? {Johnson wrote  to Mrs. Thrale from Lichfield on the previous Oct. 27: 'All here is gloomy; a faint struggle with the tediousness of time; a doleful confession of present misery, and the approach seen and felt of what is most dreaded and most shunned. But such is the lot of man.' – Editor} — Shall we ever have another frolick like our journey to the Hebrides? 'I hope that dear Mrs. Boswell will surmount her complaints; in losing her you would lose your anchor, and be tost, without stability, by the waves of life. I wish both her and you very many years, and very happy. 'For some months past I have been so withdrawn from the world, that I can send you nothing particular. All your friends, however, are well, and will be glad of your return to London.  'I am, dear Sir,  'Yours most affectionately,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'January 5, 1782.' At a time when he was less able than he had once been to sustain a shock, he was suddenly deprived of Mr. Levett, which event he thus communicated to Dr. Lawrence:— 'SIR,  'Our old friend, Mr. Levett, who was last night eminently cheerful, died this morning. The man who lay in the same room, hearing an uncommon noise, got up and tried to make him speak, but without effect. He then called Mr. Holder, the apothecary, who, though when he came he thought him dead, opened a vein, but could draw no blood. So has ended the long life of a very useful and very blameless man.  'I am, Sir,  'Your most humble servant,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'Jan. 17, 1782.' In one of his memorandum-books in my possession, is the following entry:—  'January 20, Sunday. Robert Levett was buried in the church-yard of Bridewell, between one and two in the afternoon. He died on Thursday 17, about seven in the morning, by an instantaneous death. He was an old and faithful friend; I have known him from about 46. May GOD have mercy on him. May he have mercy on me.' In one of Johnson's registers of this year, there occurs the following curious passage:—  'Jan. 20. The Ministry is dissolved. I prayed with Francis and gave thanks.' It has been the subject of discussion, whether there are two distinct particulars mentioned here? or that we are to understand the giving of thanks to be in consequence of the dissolution of the Ministry? In support of the last of these conjectures may be urged his mean opinion of that Ministry, which has frequently appeared in the course of this work; and it is strongly confirmed by what he said on the subject to Mr. Seward:— 'I am glad the Ministry is removed. Such a bunch of imbecility never disgraced a country. If they sent one army to the relief of another, the first army was defeated and taken before the second arrived. I will not say that what they did was always wrong; but it was always done at a wrong time.' 'TO MRS. STRAHAN.  'DEAR MADAM,  'Mrs. Williams shewed me your kind letter. This little habitation is now but a melancholy place, clouded with the gloom of disease and death. Of the four inmates, one has been suddenly snatched away; two are oppressed by very afflictive and dangerous illness; and I tried yesterday to gain some relief by a third bleeding, from a disorder which has for some time distressed me, and I think myself to-day much better.  'I am glad, dear Madam, to hear that you are so far recovered as to go to Bath. Let me once more entreat you to stay till your health is not only obtained, but confirmed. Your fortune is such as that no moderate expence deserves your care; and you have a husband, who, I believe, does not regard it. Stay, therefore, till you are quite well. I am, for my part, very much deserted; but complaint is useless. I hope GOD will bless you, and I desire you to form the same wish for me. 'I am, dear Madam,  'Your most humble servant,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'Feb. 4, 1782.' 'TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.  'DEAR MADAM,  'I went away from Lichfield ill, and have had a troublesome time with my breath; for some weeks I have been disordered by a cold, of which I could not get the violence abated, till I had been let blood three times. I have not, however, been so bad but that I could have written, and am sorry that I neglected it.  'My dwelling is but melancholy; both Williams, and Desmoulins, and myself, are very sickly: Frank is not well; and poor Levett died in his bed the other day, by a sudden stroke; I suppose not one minute passed between health and death; so uncertain are human things.  'Such is the appearance of the world about me; I hope your scenes are more cheerful. But whatever befalls us, though it is wise to be serious, it is useless and foolish, and perhaps sinful, to be gloomy. Let us, therefore, keep ourselves as easy as we can; though the loss of friends will be felt, and poor Levett had been a faithful adherent for thirty years.  'Forgive me, my dear love, the omission of writing; I hope to mend that and my other faults. Let me have your prayers.  'Make my compliments to Mrs. Cobb, and Miss Adey, and Mr. Pearson, and the whole company of my friends. I am, my dear,  'Your most humble servant,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'London, March 2, 1782.' TO CAPTAIN LANGTON, IN ROCHESTER.  'DEAR SIR,  'It is now long since we saw one another; and whatever has been the reason neither you have written to me, nor I to you. To let friendship die away by negligence and silence, is certainly not wise. It is voluntarily to throw away one of the greatest comforts of this weary pilgrimage, of which when it is, as it must be, taken finally away, he that travels on alone, will wonder how his esteem could be so little. Do not forget me; you see that I do not forget you. It is pleasing in the silence of solitude to think, that there is one at least, however distant, of whose benevolence there is little doubt, and whom there is yet hope of seeing again. 'Of my life, from the time we parted, the history is mournful. The spring of last year deprived me of Thrale, a man whose eye for fifteen years had scarcely been turned upon me but with respect or tenderness; for such another friend, the general course of human things will not suffer man to hope. I passed the summer at Streatham, but there was no Thrale; and having idled away the summer with a weakly body and neglected mind, I made a journey to Staffordshire on the edge of winter. The season was dreary, I was sickly, and found the friends sickly whom I went to see. After a sorrowful sojourn, I returned to a habitation possessed for the present by two sick women, where my dear old friend, Mr. Levett, to whom as he used to tell me, I owe your acquaintance, died a few weeks ago, suddenly in his bed. At night, as at Mrs. Thrale's I was musing in my chamber, I thought with uncommon earnestness, that however I might alter my mode of life, or whithersoever I might remove, I would endeavour to retain Levett about me; in the morning my servant brought me word that Levett was called to another state, a state for which, I think, he was not unprepared, for he was very useful to the poor. How much soever I valued him, I now wish that I had valued him more. 'I have myself been ill more than eight weeks of a disorder, from which at the expence of about fifty ounces of blood, I hope I am now recovering.  'You, dear Sir, have, I hope, a more cheerful scene; you see George fond of his book, and the pretty misses airy and lively, with my own little Jenny {Johnson’s god-daughter – Editor} equal to the best. May whatever you enjoy of good be encreased, and whatever you suffer of evil be diminished. I am, dear Sir,                    Your humble servant,                            'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'Bolt-court, Fleet-street,    March 20, 1782.' (classix comix™ is made possible in part through a continuing emolument from the Bob’s Bowery Bar Fund for Underemployed Artists and Writers: “Labor Day has come and gone, and, yes, a faint coolish whiff of autumn is in the air; why not take a brisk walk through Metropolis and wend your way to my favorite destination, Bob’s Bowery Bar, unveiling this week our new fall menu, featuring such perennial favorites as Mom’s Mulligan Stew and Bob’s Big Bowery Burger (eight ounces of fresh ground round topped with limburger and raw red onion, nestled on a warm-from-the-oven eight-grain roll), as well as several intriguing new items, of which perhaps my personal favorite is Mom’s Traditional Steak-and-Kidney Pie, which I can attest goes swell with a brimming imperial pint of Bob’s justly-renowned basement-brewed house bock!” – Horace P. Sternwall, host 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 presentation: “The Morbid Mr. Mordor”, by Hubert P. Shillingsworth, starring Kitty Carlisle as “Dr. Blanche”, with special guest star Wally Cox as “Mr. Mordor”.)    part 228

Boswell’s Life of Johnson: 226

Edited by Dan Leo, Associate Professor of Basic Epistolary Skills, Olney Community College; author of Bozzie and Dr. Sam: The Case of the Missing Case of Scotch, the Olney Community College Press.

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To BENNET LANGTON, ESQ.  'DEAR SIR,  'How welcome your account of yourself and your invitation to your new house was to me, I need not tell you, who consider our friendship not only as formed by choice, but as matured by time. We have been now long enough acquainted to have many images in common, and therefore to have a source of conversation which neither the learning nor the wit of a new companion can supply. 'My Lives are now published; and if you will tell me whither I shall send them, that they may come to you, I will take care that you shall not be without them. 'You will, perhaps, be glad to hear, that Mrs. Thrale is disencumbered of her brewhouse; and that it seemed to the purchaser so far from an evil, that he was content to give for it an hundred and thirty-five thousand pounds. Is the nation ruined? 'Please to make my respectful compliments to Lady Rothes, and keep me in the memory of all the little dear family, particularly pretty Mrs. Jane. 'I am, Sir,  'Your affectionate humble servant,  'SAM. JOHNSON.' 'Bolt-Court, June 16, 1781.' Johnson's charity to the poor was uniform and extensive, both from inclination and principle. He not only bestowed liberally out of his own purse, but what is more difficult as well as rare, would beg from others, when he had proper objects in view. This he did judiciously as well as humanely. Mr. Philip Metcalfe tells me, that when he has asked him for some money for persons in distress, and Mr. Metcalfe has offered what Johnson thought too much, he insisted on taking less, saying 'No, no, Sir; we must not  pamper them.' I am indebted to Mr. Malone, one of Sir Joshua Reynolds's executors, for the following note, which was found among his papers after his death, and which, we may presume, his unaffected modesty prevented him from communicating to me with the other letters from Dr. Johnson with which he was pleased to furnish me. However slight in itself, as it does honour to that illustrious painter, and most amiable man, I am happy to introduce it. 'To SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.  'DEAR SIR, 'It was not before yesterday that I received your splendid benefaction. To a hand so liberal in distributing, I hope nobody will envy the power of acquiring.  'I am, dear Sir, Your obliged and most humble servant, SAM, JOHNSON. June 23, 1781.' The following curious anecdote I insert in Dr. Burney's own words:—  'Dr. Burney related to Dr. Johnson the partiality which his writings had excited in a friend of Dr. Burney's, the late Mr. Bewley, well known in Norfolk by the name of the Philosopher of Massingham: who, from the Ramblers and Plan of his Dictionary, and long before the authour's fame was established by the Dictionary itself, or any other work, had conceived such a reverence for him, that he urgently begged Dr. Burney to give him the cover of the first letter he had received from him, as a relick of so estimable a writer. This was in 1755. In 1760, when Dr. Burney visited Dr. Johnson at the Temple in London, where he had then Chambers, he happened to arrive there before he was up; and being shewn into the room where he was to breakfast, finding himself alone, he examined the contents of the apartment, to try whether he could undiscovered steal any thing to send to his friend Bewley, as another relick of the admirable Dr. Johnson. But finding nothing better to his purpose, he cut some bristles off his hearth-broom, and enclosed them in a letter to his country enthusiast, who received them with due reverence.  The Doctor was so sensible of the honour done him by a man of genius and science, to whom he was an utter stranger, that he said to Dr. Burney, "Sir, there is no man possessed of the smallest portion of modesty, but must be flattered with the admiration of such a man. I'll give him a set of my Lives, if he will do me the honour to accept of them." In this he kept his word; and Dr. Burney had not only the pleasure of gratifying his friend with a present more worthy of his acceptance than the segment from the hearth-broom, but soon after of introducing him to Dr. Johnson himself in Bolt-court, with whom he had the satisfaction of conversing a considerable time, not a fortnight before his death; which happened in St. Martin's-street, during his visit to Dr. Burney, in the house where the great Sir Isaac Newton had lived and died before.' In one of his little memorandum-books is the following minute:—  'August 9, 3 P.M., aetat. 72, in the summer-house at Streatham. After innumerable resolutions formed and neglected, I have retired hither, to plan a life of greater diligence, in hope that I may yet be useful, and be daily better prepared to appear before my Creator and my Judge, from whose infinite mercy I humbly call for assistance and support. 'My purpose is,  'To pass eight hours every day in some serious employment.  'Having prayed, I purpose to employ the next six weeks upon the Italian language, for my settled study.' How venerably pious does he appear in these moments of solitude, and how spirited are his resolutions for the improvement of his mind, even in elegant literature, at a very advanced period of life, and when afflicted with many complaints. In autumn he went to Oxford, Birmingham, Lichfield, and Ashbourne, for which very good reasons might be given in the conjectural yet positive manner of writers, who are proud to account for every event which they relate. He himself, however, says, 'The motives of my journey I hardly know; I omitted it last year, and am not willing to miss it again.' But some good considerations arise, amongst which is the kindly recollection of Mr. Hector, surgeon at Birmingham: 'Hector is likewise an old friend, the only companion of my childhood that passed through the school with me. We have always loved one another; perhaps we may be made better by some serious conversation, of which however I have no distinct hope.' He says too,  'At Lichfield, my native place, I hope to shew a good example by frequent attendance on publick worship.' My correspondence with him during the rest of this year was I know not why very scanty, and all on my side. I wrote him one letter to introduce Mr. Sinclair (now Sir John), the member for Caithness, to his acquaintance; and informed him in another that my wife had again been affected with alarming symptoms of illness. In 1782, his complaints increased, and the history of his life this year, is little more than a mournful recital of the variations of his illness, in the midst of which, however, it will appear from his letters, that the powers of his mind were in no degree impaired.   (classix comix™ is sponsored by Bob’s Bowery Bar, conveniently located at the northwest corner of Bleecker and the Bowery: “Stuck in the city over Labor Day Weekend due to lack of funds? Why not make your way to Bob’s Bowery Bar, with its currently-working air-conditioning and prices that won’t produce ‘sticker shock’! As a special bonus to the American workingman and woman, and those who would work if only given the chance, all during the long weekend, from 7am Friday to 4am Tuesday, Bob’s world-renowned basement-brewed house bock will be offered at half-price! Offer good only while supplies last.” – Horace P. Sternwall, host of the Bob’s Bowery Bar Labor Day Weekend Telethon, broadcast live from noon Sunday {EST} continuosly to noon Monday, exclusively on the Dumont Television Network. Horace’s co-hosts this year will be Miss Hyacinth Wilde and Mr. Angus Strongbow, both currently appearing in Horace’s A Pigeon Is Not a Peacock at the Belasco Theatre, and the house band will be Tony Winston & his Winstonians featuring chanteuse Shirley De LaSalle. Expect many surprise guests from the worlds of the stage, the silver screen, radio and television! As usual, all funds will be in aid of the Bob’s Bowery Bar Fund for Down-and-Out Artists.)  part 227

Boswell’s Life of Johnson: 225

Edited by Dan Leo, Associate Professor of Basic Reading and Comprehension Skills, Olney Community College; author of Bozzie and Dr. Sam: The Case of the Oafish Scotchman, the Olney Community College Press.

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Dr. Gibbons, the Dissenting minister, being mentioned, he said, 'I took to Dr. Gibbons.' And addressing himself to Mr. Charles Dilly, added, 'I shall be glad to see him. Tell him, if he'll call on me, and dawdle over a dish of tea in an afternoon, I shall take it kind.' The Reverend Mr. Smith, Vicar of Southill, a very respectable man, with a very agreeable family, sent an invitation to us to drink tea. I remarked Dr. Johnson's very respectful politeness. Though always fond of changing the scene, he said, 'We must have Mr. Dilly's leave. We cannot go from your house, Sir, without your permission.'  We all went, and were well satisfied with our visit. I however remember nothing particular, except a nice distinction which Dr. Johnson made with respect to the power of memory, maintaining that forgetfulness was a man's own fault.  'To remember and to recollect (said he) are different things. A man has not the power to recollect what is not in his mind; but when a thing is in his mind he may remember it.'  The remark was occasioned by my leaning back on a chair, which a little before I had perceived to be broken, and pleading forgetfulness as an excuse.  'Sir, (said he,) its being broken was certainly in your mind.' When I observed that a housebreaker was in general very timorous;  JOHNSON. 'No wonder, Sir; he is afraid of being shot getting into a house, or hanged when he has got out of it.' He told us, that he had in one day written six sheets of a translation from the French, adding, 'I should be glad to see it now. I wish that I had copies of all the pamphlets written against me, as it is said Pope had. Had I known that I should make so much noise in the world, I should have been at pains to collect them. I believe there is hardly a day in which there is not something about me in the newspapers.' On Monday, June 4, we all went to Luton-Hoe, to see Lord Bute's magnificent seat, for which I had obtained a ticket. {Horace Walpole recorded in his Journal of the Reign of George III that Lord Bute “had built a palace there, another in town, and had furnished the former in the most expensive manner, bought pictures and books, and made a vast park and lake.” – Editor} As we entered the park, I talked in a high style of my old friendship with Lord Mountstuart, and said, 'I shall probably be much at this place.'  The Sage, aware of human vicissitudes, gently checked me: 'Don't you be too sure of that.'  He made two or three peculiar observations; as when shewn the botanical garden, 'Is not every garden a botanical garden?'  When told that there was a shrubbery to the extent of several miles: 'That is making a very foolish use of the ground; a little of it is very well.'  When it was proposed that we should walk on the pleasure-ground; 'Don't let us fatigue ourselves. Why should we walk there? Here's a fine tree, let's get to the top of it.'  But upon the whole, he was very much pleased. He said, 'This is one of the places I do not regret having come to see. It is a very stately place, indeed; in the house magnificence is not sacrificed to convenience, nor convenience to magnificence. The library is very splendid: the dignity of the rooms is very great; and the quantity of pictures is beyond expectation, beyond hope.' It happened without any previous concert, that we visited the seat of Lord Bute upon the King's birthday; we dined and drank his Majesty's health at an inn, in the village of Luton. In the evening I put him in mind of his promise to favour me with a copy of his celebrated Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield, and he was at last pleased to comply with this earnest request, by dictating it to me from his memory; for he believed that he himself had no copy. {Johnson had written a famous letter rebuking Lord Chesterfield upon his praising of Johnson’s Dictionary after giving Johnson only ten pounds when he had requested patronage from him for the project. – Editor} There was an animated glow in his countenance while he thus recalled his high-minded indignation. On Tuesday, June 5, Johnson was to return to London. He was very pleasant at breakfast; I mentioned a friend of mine having resolved never to marry a pretty woman.  JOHNSON. 'Sir, it is a very foolish resolution to resolve not to marry a pretty woman. Beauty is of itself very estimable. No, Sir, I would prefer a pretty woman, unless there are objections to her. A pretty woman may be foolish; a pretty woman may be wicked; a pretty woman may not like me. But there is no such danger in marrying a pretty woman as is apprehended: she will not be persecuted if she does not invite persecution. A pretty woman, if she has a mind to be wicked, can find a readier way than another; and that is all.' I accompanied him in Mr. Dilly's chaise to Shefford, where talking of Lord Bute's never going to Scotland, he said, 'As an Englishman, I should wish all the Scotch gentlemen should be educated in England; Scotland would become a province; they would spend all their rents in England.'  This is a subject of much consequence, and much delicacy. The advantage of an English education is unquestionably very great to Scotch gentlemen of talents and ambition; and regular visits to Scotland, and perhaps other means, might be effectually used to prevent them from being totally estranged from their native country, any more than a Cumberland or Northumberland gentleman who has been educated in the South of England. I own, indeed, that it is no small misfortune for Scotch gentlemen, who have neither talents nor ambition, to be educated in England, where they may be perhaps distinguished only by a nick-name, lavish their fortune in giving expensive entertainments to those who laugh at them, and saunter about as mere idle insignificant hangers-on even upon the foolish great; when if they had been judiciously brought up at home, they might have been comfortable and creditable members of society. At Shefford I had another affectionate parting from my revered friend, who was taken up by the Bedford coach and carried to the metropolis. I went with Messieurs Dilly, to see some friends at Bedford; dined with the officers of the militia of the county, and next day proceeded on my journey. (classix comix™ is made possible in part through the generous assistance of the Bob’s Bowery Bar Foundation for Worthy but Hopelessly Uncommercial Literary & Artistic Endeavour: “A gentle reminder to the our studio and at-home audience: every Wednesday night is ‘Amateur Nite’ at my favorite watering-hole Bob’s Bowery Bar! Got a song to sing? A poem or short story to recite? A joke or two? A demonstration of one of the hot new dance crazes? An embarrassing but amusing personal reminiscence? Well, the show starts at 8pm sharp, so get there early to be sure you make the list! My good friend Tony Winston will be on hand at the Steinway upright to provide musical accompaniment, and joining me as judges this week will be my other good friends Edward R. Murrow, Dawn Powell, and Clare Boothe Luce. Best in show will receive a ten-dollar chit redeemable in drinks and food at – where else? – Bob’s Bowery Bar!” – 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 Man Who Forgot to Forget, by Hermione Pound Schilling, starring Kitty Carlisle as “Dr. Blanche”, with very special guest star Sir Laurence Olivier as “Lord Snoydton”.)   part 226