Boswell’s Life of Johnson: 230

Edited by Dan Leo, Assistant Professor of 18th Century British Social Studies, Olney Community College; author of Bozzie and Dr. Sam: Mrs. Thrale’s Secret Shame, the Olney Community College Press.

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The death of Mr. Thrale had made a very material alteration with respect to Johnson's reception in that family. The manly authority of the husband no longer curbed the lively exuberance of the lady; and as her vanity had been fully gratified, by having the Colossus of Literature attached to her for many years, she gradually became less assiduous to please him. Whether her attachment to him was already divided by another object, I am unable to ascertain; but it is plain that Johnson's penetration was alive to her neglect or forced attention; for on the 6th of October this year, we find him making a 'parting use of the library' at Streatham, and pronouncing a prayer, which he composed on leaving Mr. Thrale's family:— 'Almighty God, Father of all mercy, help me by thy grace, that I may, with humble and sincere thankfulness, remember the comforts and conveniences which I have enjoyed at this place; and that I may resign them with holy submission, equally trusting in thy protection when thou givest, and when thou takest away. Have mercy upon me, Lord, have mercy upon me. 'To thy fatherly protection, O Lord, I commend this family. Bless, guide, and defend them, that they may so pass through this world, as finally to enjoy in thy presence everlasting happiness, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.' One cannot read this prayer, without some emotions not very favourable to the lady whose conduct occasioned it. In one of his memorandum-books I find, 'Sunday, went to church at Streatham. Templo valedixi cum osculo {I bade farewell to the temple with a kiss – Editor}.' He met Mr. Philip Metcalfe often at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and other places, and was a good deal with him at Brighthelmston this autumn, being pleased at once with his excellent table and animated conversation. Mr. Metcalfe shewed him great respect, and sent him a note that he might have the use of his carriage whenever he pleased. Johnson (3d October, 1782) returned this polite answer:—'Mr. Johnson is very much obliged by the kind offer of the carriage, but he has no desire of using Mr. Metcalfe's carriage, except when he can have the pleasure of Mr. Metcalfe's company.' Mr. Metcalfe could not but be highly pleased that his company was thus valued by Johnson, and he frequently attended him in airings. They also went together to Chichester, and they visited Petworth, and Cowdry, the venerable seat of the Lords Montacute.  'Sir, (said Johnson,) I should like to stay here four-and-twenty hours. We see here how our ancestors lived.' 'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.  'DEAR SIR, 'I heard yesterday of your late disorder {He was attacked, says Northcote (Life of Reynolds, ii. 131), 'by a slight paralytic affection, after an almost uninterrupted course of good health for many years.' – Editor}, and should think ill of myself if I had heard of it without alarm. I heard likewise Of your recovery, which I sincerely wish to be complete and permanent. Your country has been in danger of losing one of its brightest ornaments, and I of losing one of my oldest and kindest friends: but I hope you will still live long, for the honour of the nation: and that more enjoyment of your elegance, your intelligence, and your benevolence, is still reserved for, dear Sir, your most affectionate, &c.  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'Brighthelmston, Nov. 14, 1782.' 1783: AETAT. 74.— In 1783, he was more severely afflicted than ever, as will appear in the course of his correspondence; but still the same ardour for literature, the same constant piety, the same kindness for his friends, and the same vivacity, both in conversation and writing, distinguished him. Having given Dr. Johnson a full account of what I was doing at Auchinleck, and particularly mentioned what I knew would please him,— my having brought an old man of eighty-eight from a lonely cottage to a comfortable habitation within my enclosures, where he had good neighbours near to him,— I received an answer in February, of which I extract what follows:— 'I am delighted with your account of your activity at Auchinleck, and wish the old gentleman, whom you have so kindly removed, may live long to promote your prosperity by his prayers. You have now a new character and new duties: think on them and practise them. 'Make an impartial estimate of your revenue, and whatever it is, live upon less. Resolve never to be poor. Frugality is not only the basis of quiet, but of beneficence. No man can help others that wants help himself; we must have enough before we have to spare. 'I am glad to find that Mrs. Boswell grows well; and hope that to keep her well, no care nor caution will be omitted. May you long live happily together. 'When you come hither, pray bring with you Baxter's Anacreon. I cannot get that edition in London.' On Friday, March 31, having arrived in London the night before, I was glad to find him at Mrs. Thrale's house, in Argyll-street, appearances of friendship between them being still kept up.  I was shewn into his room, and after the first salutation he said, 'I am glad you are come. I am very ill.'  He looked pale, and was distressed with a difficulty of breathing; but after the common inquiries he assumed his usual strong animated style of conversation. Seeing me now for the first time as a Laird, or proprietor of land, he began thus:  'Sir, the superiority of a country-gentleman over the people upon his estate is very agreeable; and he who says he does not feel it to be agreeable, lies; for it must be agreeable to have a casual superiority over those who are by nature equal with us.'  BOSWELL. 'Yet, Sir, we see great proprietors of land who prefer living in London.'  JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, the pleasure of living in London, the intellectual superiority that is enjoyed there, may counter-balance the other. Besides, Sir, a man may prefer the state of the country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for it.'  He said, 'It is better to have five per cent out of land than out of money, because it is more secure; but the readiness of transfer, and promptness of interest, make many people rather choose the funds. Nay, there is another disadvantage belonging to land, compared with money. A man is not so much afraid of being a hard creditor, as of being a hard landlord.'  BOSWELL. 'Because there is a sort of kindly connection between a landlord and his tenants.'  JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; many landlords with us never see their tenants. It is because if a landlord drives away his tenants, he may not get others; whereas the demand for money is so great, it may always be lent.' He talked with regret and indignation of the factious opposition to Government at this time, and imputed it in a great measure to the Revolution.  'Sir, (said he, in a low voice, having come nearer to me, while his old prejudices seemed to be fermenting in his mind,) this Hanoverian family is isolée  here. They have no friends. Now the Stuarts had friends who stuck by them so late as 1745. When the right of the King is not reverenced, there will not be reverence for those appointed by the King.' His observation that the present royal family has no friends, has been too much justified by the very ungrateful behaviour of many who were under great obligations to his Majesty; at the same time there are honourable exceptions; and the very next year after this conversation, and ever since, the King has had as extensive and generous support as ever was given to any monarch, and has had the satisfaction of knowing that he was more and more endeared to his people. He was pleased to say, 'You must be as much with me as you can. You have done me good. You cannot think how much better I am since you came in.' He sent a message to acquaint Mrs. Thrale that I was arrived. I had not seen her since her husband's death. She soon appeared, and favoured me with an invitation to stay to dinner, which I accepted. There was no other company but herself and three of her daughters, Dr. Johnson, and I. She too said, she was very glad I was come, for she was going to Bath, and should have been sorry to leave Dr. Johnson before I came. This seemed to be attentive and kind; and I who had not been informed of any change, imagined all to be as well as formerly. He was little inclined to talk at dinner, and went to sleep after it; but when he joined us in the drawing-room, he seemed revived, and was again himself. (classix comix™ is brought to you by Bob’s Bowery Bar, conveniently located at the northwest corner of Bleecker and the Bowery: “Yes, autumn is finally upon us, and what better way to celebrate its advent than by ‘checking out’ – as my young friends say – some of the new seasonal specialties on the bill of fare at my favorite watering hole, Bob’s Bowery Bar? 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Boswell’s Life of Johnson: 229

Edited by Dan Leo, Associate Professor of 18th Century British Epistemological Studies, Olney Community College; author of Bozzie and Dr. Sam: A Murder at the Manor House, the Olney Community College Press.

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The following letters require no extracts from mine to introduce them:—  'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.  'DEAR SIR,  'The earnestness and tenderness of your letter is such, that I cannot think myself shewing it more respect than it claims by sitting down to answer it the day on which I received it. 'This year has afflicted me with a very irksome and severe disorder. My respiration has been much impeded, and much blood has been taken away. I am now harrassed by a catarrhous cough, from which my purpose is to seek relief by change of air; and I am, therefore, preparing to go to Oxford.  'Whether I did right in dissuading you from coming to London this spring, I will not determine. You have not lost much by missing my company; I have scarcely been well for a single week. I might have received comfort from your kindness; but you would have seen me afflicted, and, perhaps, found me peevish. Whatever might have been your pleasure or mine, I know not how I could have honestly advised you to come hither with borrowed money. Do not accustom yourself to consider debt only as an inconvenience; you will find it a calamity. Poverty takes away so many means of doing good, and produces so much inability to resist evil, both natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means to be avoided. Consider a man whose fortune is very narrow; whatever be his rank by birth, or whatever his reputation by intellectual excellence, what good can he do? or what evil can he prevent? That he cannot help the needy is evident; he has nothing to spare. But, perhaps, his advice or admonition may be useful. His poverty will destroy his influence: many more can find that he is poor, than that he is wise; and few will reverence the understanding that is of so little advantage to its owner. I say nothing of the personal wretched-ness of a debtor, which, however, has passed into a proverb {"Let him who sleeps too much borrow the pillow of a debtor." – Editor}. Of riches, it is not necessary to write the praise. Let it, however, be remembered, that he who has money to spare, has it always in his power to benefit others; and of such power a good man must always be desirous. 'I am pleased with your account of Easter. We shall meet, I hope in Autumn, both well and both cheerful; and part each the better for the other's company. 'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, and to the young charmers.  'I am, &c.  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'London, June 3, 1782.' 'To MR. PERKINS.  'DEAR SIR, I am much pleased that you are going on a very long journey, which may by proper conduct restore your health and prolong your life.  'Observe these rules:  1. Turn all care out of your head as soon as you mount the chaise.  2. Do not think about frugality; your health is worth more than it can cost.  3. Do not continue any day's journey to fatigue.  4. Take now and then a day's rest.  5. Get a smart sea-sickness, if you can. 6. Cast away all anxiety, and keep your mind easy.  'This last direction is the principal; with an unquiet mind, neither exercise, nor diet, nor physick, can be of much use.  'I wish you, dear Sir, a prosperous journey, and a happy recovery. I am, dear Sir,  'Your most affectionate, humble servant,  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'July 28, 1782.' 'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.  'DEAR SIR,  'Being uncertain whether I should have any call this autumn into the country, I did not immediately answer your kind letter. I have no call; but if you desire to meet me at Ashbourne, I believe I can come thither; if you had rather come to London, I can stay at Streatham; take your choice. 'This year has been very heavy. From the middle of January to the middle of June I was battered by one disorder after another! I am now very much recovered, and hope still to be better. What happiness it is that Mrs. Boswell has escaped. 'My Lives are reprinting. 'Of London or Ashbourne you have your free choice; at any place I shall be glad to see you. I am, dear Sir,  'Yours &c.  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'Aug. 24, 1782.' On the 3Oth of August, I informed him that my honoured father had died that morning; a complaint under which he had long laboured having suddenly come to a crisis, while I was upon a visit at the seat of Sir Charles Preston. 'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.  'DEAR SIR,  'I have struggled through this year with so much infirmity of body, and such strong impressions of the fragility of life, that death, whenever it appears, fills me with melancholy; and I cannot hear without emotion, of the removal of any one, whom I have known, into another state. 'Your father's death had every circumstance that could enable you to bear it; it was at a mature age, and it was expected; and as his general life had been pious, his thoughts had doubtless for many years past been turned upon eternity. That you did not find him sensible must doubtless grieve you; his disposition towards you was undoubtedly that of a kind, though not of a fond father. Kindness, at least actual, is in our power, but fondness is not; and if by negligence or imprudence you had extinguished his fondness, he could not at will rekindle it. Nothing then remained between you but mutual forgiveness of each other's faults, and mutual desire of each other's happiness. 'I shall long to know his final disposition of his fortune. 'You, dear Sir, have now a new station, and have therefore new cares, and new employments. Life, as Cowley seems to say, ought to resemble a well-ordered poem; of which one rule generally received is, that the exordium should be simple, and should promise little. Begin your new course of life with the least show, and the least expence possible; you may at pleasure encrease both, but you cannot easily diminish them. Do not think your estate your own, while any man can call upon you for money which you cannot pay; therefore, begin with timorous parsimony. Let it be your first care not to be in any man's debt. 'When the thoughts are extended to a future state, the present life seems hardly worthy of all those principles of conduct, and maxims of prudence, which one generation of men has transmitted to another; but upon a closer view, when it is perceived how much evil is produced, and how much good is impeded by embarrassment and distress, and how little room the expedients of poverty leave for the exercise of virtue, it grows manifest that the boundless importance of the next life enforces some attention to the interests of this. 'Be kind to the old servants, and secure the kindness of the agents and factors; do not disgust them by asperity, or unwelcome gaiety, or apparent suspicion. From them you must learn the real state of your affairs, the characters of your tenants, and the value of your lands. 'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell; I think her expectations from air and exercise are the best that she can form. I hope she will live long and happily. 'I received your letters only this morning. I am, dear Sir,  'Yours &c.  'SAM. JOHNSON.' 'London, Sept. 7, 1782.' In answer to my next letter, I received one from him, dissuading me from hastening to him as I had proposed; what is proper for publication is the following paragraph, equally just and tender: 'One expence, however, I would not have you to spare: let nothing be omitted that can preserve Mrs. Boswell, though it should be necessary to transplant her for a time into a softer climate. She is the prop and stay of your life. How much must your children suffer by losing her.' My wife was now so much convinced of his sincere friendship for me, and regard for her, that, without any suggestion on my part, she wrote him a very polite and grateful letter: 'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL.  'DEAR LADY,  'I have not often received so much pleasure as from your invitation to Auchinleck. The journey thither and back is, indeed, too great for the latter part of the year; but if my health were fully recovered, I would suffer no little heat and cold, nor a wet or a rough road to keep me from you. I am, indeed, not without hope of seeing Auchinleck again; but to make it a pleasant place I must see its lady well, and brisk, and airy. For my sake, therefore, among many greater reasons, take care, dear Madam, of your health, spare no expence, and want no attendance that can procure ease, or preserve it. Be very careful to keep your mind quiet; and do not think it too much to give an account of your recovery to, Madam,  'Yours, &c.  'SAM. JOHNSON.'  'London, Sept. 7, 1782.' 'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.  'DEAR SIR,  'Having passed almost this whole year in a succession of disorders, I went in October to Brighthelmston, whither I came in a state of so much weakness, that I rested four times in walking between the inn and the lodging. By physick and abstinence I grew better, and am now reasonably easy, though at a great distance from health. I am afraid, however, that health begins, after seventy, and long before, to have a meaning different from that which it had at thirty. But it is culpable to murmur at the established order of the creation, as it is vain to oppose it. He that lives must grow old; and he that would rather grow old than die, has GOD to thank for the infirmities of old age. 'At your long silence I am rather angry. You do not, since now you are the head of your house, think it worth your while to try whether you or your friend can live longer without writing, nor suspect that after so many years of friendship, that when I do not write to you, I forget you. Put all such useless jealousies out of your head, and disdain to regulate your own practice by the practice of another, or by any other principle than the desire of doing right. 'Your oeconomy, I suppose, begins now to be settled; your expences are adjusted to your revenue, and all your people in their proper places. Resolve not to be poor: whatever you have, spend less. Poverty is a great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys liberty, and it makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult. 'Let me know the history of your life, since your accession to your estate. How many houses, how many cows, how much land in your own hand, and what bargains you make with your tenants. 'Of my Lives of the Poets, they have printed a new edition in octavo, I hear, of three thousand. 'Mrs. Thrale and the three Misses are now for the winter in Argyll-street. Sir Joshua Reynolds has been out of order, but is well again; and I am, dear Sir,  'Your affectionate humble servant, 'SAM. JOHNSON.' 'London, Dec. 7, 1782.' 'DEAR SIR,  'I was made happy by your kind letter, which gave us the agreeable hopes of seeing you in Scotland again.  'I am much flattered by the concern you are pleased to take in my recovery. I am better, and hope to have it in my power to convince you by my attention of how much consequence I esteem your health to the world and to myself. I remain, Sir, with grateful respect,  'Your obliged and obedient servant,  'MARGARET BOSWELL.' (classix comix™ is made possible in part through a generous endowment from the Bob’s Bowery Bar Artistic & Literary Relief Fund: “A word to the wise guy and gal: every Thursday night at my favorite ‘hangout’ Bob’s Bowery Bar is ‘Bob’s Mom’s BBQ Nite’, so come on down and order up a rack of free-range baby back ribs, slow-cooked in the big converted oil drum out back, slathered in Mom’s special ‘hellfire sauce’ and served with your choice of two sides, including baked beans, deep-fried rutabaga sticks, Pennsylvania Dutch-style chow-chow, crispy fried sweet peas, or house-made tater tots. Vegan substitutes available upon request.” – 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. 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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