James Boswell,

the biographer of Dr Johnson, was born at Edinburgh, 18th October 1740, eldest son of Lord Auchinleck, a law lord, who had taken his title from the Ayrshire estate which had belonged to the family since the reign of James IV. He was educated at the Edinburgh High School and at the universities of Edinburgh and Glasgow, but greatly irritated the shrewd and surly old judge by his frivolity and dissipation. A restless itch for writing made him, a boy of eighteen, keep an 'exact journal,' write poems and logues to Edinburgh plays, and publish, at twenty-three, a series of would-be clever and witty letters that had

pro

Rousseau. Rousseau gave him a letter of introduction to Paoli, and to that hero the indefatigable Boswell at once repaired (1765). He was well received by the Corsicans, and for a time played the great Englishman to his heart's content, not forgetting to ask Paoli 'a thousand questions with regard to the most minute and private circumstances of his life.' Returning through France in 1766, he escorted Therese Levasseur on her way to rejoin Rousseau in England, and immediately

don he had the supreme happiness of making Dr Johnson's acquaintance in the back-parlour of Tom Davies's shop in Russell Street (16th May 1763). The sincerity of the disciple's respect seems to have touched the master's heart, and the acquaintance quickly ripened into a warm friendship, which stood the strain of many a brutal rebuff on Johnson's part, and was kept in repair by frequent letters on both sides throughout the rest of Johnson's life. A few months later Johnson accompanied Boswell to Harwich, on his way to study civil law at Utrecht, and parted from him with many wise counsels. At Utrecht Boswell spent one winter between study and dissipation, on an allowance from his father of £240 a year; after which, instead of returning home, he went on a tour through Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, and made the acquaintance of Voltaire and

afterwards he passed advocate, and had some little professional success; he seems to have employed himself voluntarily at least in the last stages of the famous Douglas cause. His Account of Corsica appeared early in 1768, and had a great vogue. Johnson said the journal was 'in a very high degree delightful and curious; but the poet Gray, whose eyes were undimmed by the partiality of friendship, called it, in a letter to Horace Walpole, 'a dialogue between a green goose and a hero.' Early in 1767 Boswell waited upon Chatham in Corsican costume to plead for Paoli, and was honoured some time after by

a warm letter from the great statesman, which encouraged him in reply to the characteristic temerity of asking, 'Could your lordship find time to honour me now and then with a letter? To correspond with a Paoli and with a Chatham is enough to keep a young man ever ardent in the pursuit of virtuous fame.'

From this time Boswell's mind was much taken up with a succession of matrimonial schemes, which ended somewhat prosaically with his marriage (1769) to his cousin, Margaret Montgomery, a prudent and amiable woman, who bore him seven children, and proved herself a sensible and forgiving wife. On the same day his father married a cousin of his own, to the son's disgust and alarm. The old judge allowed his son £300 a year, and from time to time paid his debts for him, but not without much grumbling and many

threats. Boswell never became a prosperous lawyer, and continued to make visits to London almost every year. In 1773, fortunately for the world but against the wishes of many of the members, he was, through Johnson's influence, elected a member of the famous Literary Club. Later in the same year occurred the memorable journey to the Hebrides. Neither Lord Auchinleck nor Boswell's own wife could understand the enthusiasm for the uncouth-looking philosopher, and although the latter was studiously polite, she could not hide from the astute Johnson the fact that he was disliked. In 1775 Boswell began to keep his terms at the Inner Temple, and was ultimately called to the English Bar in 1786; in 1776 the Auchinleck property was entailed upon him; and in the August of 1782 he succeeded, on his father's death, to an estate of £1600 a year. His last meeting with Johnson was at dinner with Sir Joshua Reynolds early in 1784, the year Johnson died. Croker calculated that Boswell met Johnson in all on one hundred and eighty days, or two hundred and seventy-six including the Scotch tour.

Boswell now made some attempts to enter on a political career, for some years entertained hopes from the patronage of Lord Lonsdale, and could not understand Pitt's utter folly' in not seeing the value of 'my popular and pleasant talents;' but his sole reward was the recordership of Carlisle, which he resigned in a year, through resentment of his patron's treatment of him. In 1789 his wife died, and henceforward his drinking habits got the mastery of him; he had been drinking all his days, with fits of repentance and solemn promises of amendment between. From his drunkard's hypochondria and the pressure of money difficulties he found refuge in writing Johnson's Life, which occupied him several years. Spite of occasional despondency and the pinch of financial difficulty, he refused to part with the copyright, and his confidence was justified. The book appeared in the May of 1791, was received with delight, and sold so rapidly that a second edition was issued in July 1793. But his success failed to lighten his gloom or break him of his intemperate habits; his health gave way, and he died in London, after a brief illness, on the 19th of May 1795.

Boswell's Life of Johnson is admittedly our greatest biography, and the singular merit of the book raised the question how it could possibly have been written by a man of such egregious weakness and vanity as Boswell. Macaulay advanced the preposterous paradox that it was because of his unrivalled qualifications as a fool that its author had written the best life in existence. The true explanation doubtless is, that this vanity and folly by no means made up Boswell's whole mental equipment, and that the unenviable qualities in his character become so conspicuous largely because he had so much less reticence than

ordinary men. The man who could retain the friendship of Samuel Johnson, and who could be described as 'the best travelling companion in the world,' was something more than a parasite and a fool. Nor could the most veracious fool have written such a dexterously artistic book. No doubt he had a noble subject; Johnson's character and wit, his winged words, and his unsurpassed command of the mother-tongue in unforgetable phrases rendered a remarkable picture almost certain. But in Boswell's hands nothing has suffered; from evidence we have about a few of the conversations, we know that these at any rate have gained greatly in point from his editorial touch. He adds not one word too much, but gives us the most vivid dramatic pictures by a few simple but subtle strokes. This is not the work of memory nearly so much as of artistic reproduction-it is not photographic and realistic half so much as it is idealistic and creative. We have here a special literary faculty, and, moreover, one of the rarest. This obtrusive, irrepressible, absurd, drunken Scotch advocate and laird had in him something of the true Shakespearean

secret.

Of the following extracts, the first is from A Tour in Corsica, the others from Boswell's Johnson.

Boswell in Paoli's Camp.

The ambasciadore Inglese, The English ambassadour, as the good peasants and soldiers used to call me, became a great favourite among them. I got a Corsican dress made, in which I walked about with an air of true satisfaction. The General did me the honour to present me with his own pistols, made in the island, all of Corsican wood and iron, and of excellent workmanship. I had every other accoutrement. I even got one of the shells which had often sounded the alarm to liberty. I preserve them all with great care.

The Corsican peasants and soldiers were quite free and easy with me. Numbers of them used to come and see me of a morning, and just go out and in as they pleased. I did every thing in my power to make them fond of the British, and bid them hope for an alliance with us. They asked me a thousand questions about my country, all which I cheerfully answered as well as I could.

One day they would needs hear me play upon my German flute. To have told my honest natural visitants, Really, gentlemen, I play very ill, and put on such airs as we do in our genteel companies, would have been highly ridiculous. I therefore immediately complied with their request. I gave them one or two Italian airs, and then some of our beautiful old Scots tunes, Gilderoy, the Lass of Patie's Mill, Corn Riggs are Bonny. The pathetick simplicity and pastoral gaiety of the Scots musick will always please those who have the genuine feelings of nature. The Corsicans were charmed with the specimens I gave them, though I may now say that they were very indifferently performed.

My good friends insisted also to have an English song from me. I endeavoured to please them in this too, and was very lucky in that which occurred to me. I sung

Boswell's First Meeting with Johnson.

At last, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was sitting in Mr Davies's back-parlour, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs Davies, Johnson unexpectedly came into the shop; and Mr Davies having perceived him, through the glass-door in the room in which we were sitting, advancing towards us, he announced his awful approach to me, somewhat in the manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet on the appearance of his father's ghost, 'Look, my lord, it comes!' I found that I had a very perfect idea of Johnson's figure, from the portrait of him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had published his Dictionary, in the attitude of sitting in his easy chair in deep meditation; which was the first picture his friend did for him, which Sir Joshua very kindly presented to me, and from which an engraving has been made for this work. Mr Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully introduced me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to Davies, 'Don't tell where I come from.'-'From Scotland,' cried Davies, roguishly. 'Mr Johnson,' said I, ‘I do indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it.' I am willing to flatter myself that I meant this as light pleasantry to soothe and conciliate him, and not as an humiliating abasement at the expense of my country. But however that might be, this speech was somewhat unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which he was so remarkable, he seized the expression, 'come from Scotland,' which I used in the sense of being of that country; and, as if I had said that I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, 'That, Sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.' This stroke stunned me a good deal; and when we had sat down, I felt myself not a little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might come next. addressed himself to Davies: 'What do you think of Garrick? He has refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he knows the house will be full, and that an order would be worth three shillings.' Eager to take any opening to get into conversation with him, I ventured to say, 'O Sir, I cannot think Mr Garrick would grudge such a trifle to you.' 'Sir,' said he, with a stern look, I have known David Garrick longer than you have done; and I know no right you have to talk to me on the subject.' Perhaps I deserved this check; for it was rather presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any doubt of the justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance and pupil. I now felt myself much mortified, and began to think that the hope which I had long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was blasted. And, in truth, had not my ardour been uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly persevering, so rough a reception might have deterred me for ever from making any further attempts. Fortunately, however, I remained upon the field not wholly discomfited, and was soon rewarded by hearing some of his conversation. [1763.]

He then

Johnson at the 'Mitre.'

I had learnt that his place of frequent resort was the Mitre tavern in Fleet Street, where he loved to sit up late, and I begged I might be allowed to pass an evening with him there soon, which he promised I should. A few days afterwards, I met him near Temple Bar about one o'clock in the morning, and asked if he would then go to the Mitre. 'Sir,' said he, 'it is too late; they won't let us in. But I'll go with you another night, with all my heart.'

:

A revolution of some importance in my plan of life had just taken place for instead of procuring a com mission in the foot guards, which was my own inclination, I had, in compliance with my father's wishes, agreed to study the law, and was soon to set out for Utrecht, to hear the lectures of an excellent civilian in that University, and then to proceed on my travels. Though very desirous of obtaining Dr Johnson's advice and instructions on the mode of pursuing my studies, I was at this time so occupied, shall I call it? or so dissipated by the amusements of London, that our next meeting was not till Saturday, June 25, when, happening to dine at Clifton's eating-house, in Butcher-row, I was surprised to perceive Johnson come in and take his seat at another table. The mode of dining, or rather being fed, at such houses in London is well known to many to be particularly unsocial, as there is no ordinary, or united company, but each person has his own mess, and is under no obligation to hold any intercourse with any one. A liberal and full-minded man, however, who loves to talk, will break through this churlish and unsocial restraint. Johnson and an Irish gentleman got into a dispute concerning the cause of some part of mankind being black. 'Why, Sir,' said Johnson, it has been accounted for in three ways: either by supposing that they are the posterity of Ham, who was cursed; or that God at first created two kinds of men, one black, and another white; or that, by the heat of the sun, the skin is scorched, and so acquires a sooty hue. This matter has been much canvassed among naturalists, but has never been brought to any certain issue.' What the Irishman said is totally obliterated from my mind; but I remember that he became very warm and intemperate in his expressions; upon which Johnson rose, and quietly walked away. When he had retired, his antagonist took his revenge, as he thought, by saying, 'He has a most ungainly figure, and an affectation of pomposity unworthy of a man of genius.'

The

Johnson had not observed that I was in the room. I followed him, however, and he agreed to meet me in the evening at the Mitre. I called on him, and we went thither at nine. We had a good supper, and port wine, of which he then sometimes drank a bottle. orthodox high-church sound of the Mitre,-the figure and manner of the celebrated Samuel Johnson,-the extraordinary power and precision of his conversation, and the pride, arising from finding myself admitted as his companion, produced a variety of sensations and a pleasing elevation of mind beyond what I had ever before experienced. [1763.]

Johnson in the Stage-Coach.

On Friday, August 5, we set out early in the morning in the Harwich stage-coach. A fat elderly gentlewoman and a young Dutchman seemed the most inclined among

us to conversation. At the inn where we dined, the gentlewoman said she had done her best to educate her children, and particularly that she had never suffered them to be a moment idle. Johnson. 'I wish, Madam, you would educate me too; for I have been an idle fellow all my life.' 'I am sure, Sir,' said she, 'you have not been idle.' Johnson. 'Nay, Madam, it is very true : and that gentleman there (pointing to me) has been idle. He was idle at Edinburgh. His father sent him to Glasgow, where he continued to be idle. He then came to London, where he has been very idle; and now he is going to Utrecht, where he will be as idle as ever.' I asked him privately how he could expose me so. Johnson. Poh, poh!' said he, 'they knew nothing about you, and will think of it no more.' In the afternoon the gentlewoman talked violently against the Roman Catholics, and of the horrors of the Inquisition. To the utter astonishment of all the passengers but myself, who knew that he could talk upon any side of a question, he defended the Inquisition, and maintained that false doctrine should be checked on its first appearance; that the civil power should unite with the church in punishing those who dare to attack the established religion, and that such only were punished by the Inquisition.' He had in his pocket Pomponius Mela de Situ Orbis, in which he read occasionally, and seemed very intent upon ancient geography. Though by no means niggardly, his attention to what was generally right was so minute that having observed at one of the stages that I ostentatiously gave a shilling to the coachman, when the custom was for each passenger to give only sixpence, he took me aside and scolded me, saying that what I had done would make the coachman dissatisfied with all the rest of the passengers, who gave him no more than his due. This was a just reprimand; for in whatever way a man may indulge his generosity or his vanity in spending his money, for the sake of others he ought not to raise the price of any article for which there is a constant demand..

Having stopped a night at Colchester, Johnson talked of that town with veneration, for having stood a siege for Charles the First. The Dutchman alone now remained with us. He spoke English tolerably well; and thinking to recommend himself to us by expatiating on the superiority of the criminal jurisprudence of this country over that of Holland, he inveighed against the barbarity of putting an accused person to the torture in order to force a confession. But Johnson was as ready for this as for the Inquisition. Why, Sir, you do not, I find, understand the law of your own country. To torture in Holland is considered as a favour to an accused person; for no man is put to the torture there unless there is as much evidence against him as would amount to conviction in England. An accused person among you, therefore, has one chance more to escape punishment than those who are tried among us.'

At supper this night he talked of good eating with uncommon satisfaction. Some people,' said he, 'have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my own part, I mind my belly very studiously and very carefully; for I look upon it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else.' He now appeared to me Jean Bull philosophe, and he was for the moment not only serious but vehement. [1763.]

Mrs Williams's Tea-Table.

We went home to his house to tea. Mrs Williams made it with sufficient dexterity, notwithstanding her blindness, though her manner of satisfying herself that the cups were full enough appeared to me a little awkward; for I fancied she put her finger down a certain way, till she felt the tea touch it. In my first elation at being allowed the privilege of attending Dr Johnson at his late visits to this lady, which was like being e secretioribus consiliis, I willingly drank cup after cup, as if it had been the Heliconian spring. But as the charm of novelty went off, I grew more fastidious; and besides, I discovered that she was of a peevish temper.

There was a pretty large circle this evening. Dr Johnson was in very good humour, lively, and ready to talk upon all subjects. Mr Fergusson, the self-taught philosopher, told him of a new invented machine which went without horses; a man who sat in it turned a handle, which worked a spring, that drove it forward. 'Then, Sir,' said Johnson, 'what is gained is, the man has his choice whether he will move himself alone, or himself and the machine too.' Dominicetti being mentioned, he would not allow him any merit. 'There is nothing in all this boasted system. No, Sir; medicated baths can be no better than warm water; their only effect can be that of tepid moisture.' One of the company took the other side, maintaining that medicines of various sorts, and some too of most powerful effect, are introduced into the human frame by the medium of the pores; and, therefore, when warm water is impreg nated with salutiferous substances, it may produce great effects as a bath. This appeared to me very satisfactory. Johnson did not answer it; but talking for victory, and determined to be master of the field, he had recourse to the device which Goldsmith imputed to him in the witty words of one of Cibber's comedies: 'There is no arguing with Johnson; for when his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt-end of it.' He turned to the gentleman, 'Well, Sir, go to Dominicetti, and get thyself fumigated; but be sure that the steam be directed to thy head, for that is the peccant part. This produced a triumphant roar of laughter from the motley assembly of philosophers, printers, and dependents, male and female.

I know not how so whimsical a thought came into my mind, but I asked, 'If, Sir, you were shut up in a castle, and a new-born child with you, what would you do?' Johnson. Why, Sir, I should not much like my company.' Boswell. But would you take the trouble of rearing it?' He seemed, as may well be supposed, unwilling to pursue the subject; but upon my persevering in my question, replied, "Why yes, Sir, I would; but I must have all conveniences. If I had no garden, I would make a shed on the roof, and take it there for fresh air. I should feed it, and wash it much, and with warm water to please it, not with cold water to give it pain.' Boswell. But, Sir, does not heat relax?' Johnson. Sir, you are not to imagine the water is to be very hot. I would not coddle the child. No, Sir, the hardy method of treating children does no good. I'll take you five children from London, who shall cuff five Highland children. Sir, a man bred in London will carry a burden, or run, or wrestle, as well as a man brought up in the hardest manner in the country.' Boswell. Good living, I suppose, makes the Londoners

strong.' Johnson. Why, Sir, I don't know that it does. Our chairmen from Ireland, who are as strong men as any, have been brought up upon potatoes. Quantity makes up for quality.' Boswell. 'Would you teach this child that I have furnished you with anything?' Johnson. 'No, I should not be apt to teach it.' Boswell. Would not you have a pleasure in teaching it?' Johnson. 'No, Sir, I should not have a pleasure in teaching it.' Boswell. 'Have you not a pleasure in teaching men? There I have you. You have the same pleasure in teaching men that I should have in teaching children.' Johnson. 'Why, something about that.' [26th October 1769.]

Johnson at his Inn.

We dined at an excellent inn at Chapel-house, where he expatiated on the felicity of England in its taverns and inns, and triumphed over the French for not having, in any perfection, the tavern life. 'There is no private house,' said he, in which people can enjoy themselves so well as at a capital tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty of good things, ever so much grandeur, ever so much elegance, ever so much desire that everybody should be easy, in the nature of things it cannot be there must always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of the house is anxious to entertain his guests-the guests are anxious to be agreeable to him; and no man but a very impudent dog indeed can as freely command what is in another man's house as if it were his own. Whereas at a tavern there is a general freedom from anxiety. You are sure you are welcome; and the more noise you make, the more trouble you give, the more good things you call for, the welcomer you are. No servants will attend you with the alacrity which waiters do, who are incited by the prospect of an immediate reward in proportion as they please. No, Sir, there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.' He then repeated, with great emotion, Shenstone's lines :

'Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found

The warmest welcome at an inn.'

My illustrious friend, I thought, did not sufficiently admire Shenstone. That ingenious and elegant gentleman's opinion of Johnson appears in one of his letters to Mr Graves, dated Feb. 9, 1760. 'I have lately been reading one or two volumes of the Rambler, who, excepting against some few hardnesses in his manner, and the want of more examples to enliven, is one of the most nervous, most perspicuous, most concise, most harmonious prose writers I know. A learned diction improves by time.'

In the afternoon, as we were driven rapidly along in the post-chaise, he said to me, 'Life has not many things better than this.' We stopped at Stratford-uponAvon, and drank tea and coffee; and it pleased me to be with him upon the classic ground of Shakespeare's native place. [21st March 1776.]

Meeting of Johnson and Wilkes. Upon the much-expected Wednesday, I called on him about half an hour before dinner, as I often did when we were to dine out together, to see that he was ready

in time, and to accompany him. I found him buffeting his books as upon a former occasion, covered with dust, and making no preparation for going abroad. 'How is this, Sir?' said I. 'Don't you recollect that you

are to dine at Mr Dilly's?' Johnson. 'Sir, I did not think of going to Dilly's: it went out of my head. I have ordered dinner at home with Mrs Williams.' Boswell. But, my dear Sir, you know you were engaged to Mr Dilly, and I told him so. He will expect you, and will be much disappointed if you don't come." Johnson. You must talk to Mrs Williams about this.'

Here was a sad dilemma. I feared that what I was so confident I had secured would yet be frustrated. He had accustomed himself to show Mrs Williams such a degree of humane attention as frequently imposed some restraint upon him; and I knew that if she should be obstinate, he would not stir. I hastened down stairs to the blind lady's room, and told her I was in great uneasiness, for Dr Johnson had engaged to me to dine this day at Mr Dilly's, but that he had told me he had forgotten his engagement, and had ordered dinner at home. 'Yes, Sir,' said she, pretty peevishly, 'Dr Johnson is to dine at home.'-'Madam,' said I, 'his respect for you is such that I know he will not leave you unless you absolutely desire it. But as you have so much of his company, I hope you will be good enough to forego it for a day; as Mr Dilly is a very worthy man, has frequently had agreeable parties at his house for Dr Johnson, and will be vexed if the Doctor neglects him to-day. And then, Madam, be pleased to consider my situation; I carried the message, and I assured Mr Dilly that Dr Johnson was to come; and no doubt he has made a dinner, and invited a company, and boasted of the honour he expected to have. I shall be quite disgraced if the Doctor is not there.' She gradually softened to my solicitations, which were certainly as earnest as most entreaties to ladies upon any occasion, and was graciously pleased to empower me to tell Dr Johnson, That all things considered, she thought he should certainly go.' I flew back to him, still in dust, and careless of what should be the event, indifferent in his choice to go or stay;' but as soon as I had announced to him Mrs Williams's consent, he roared, 'Frank! a clean shirt'-and was very soon drest. When I had him fairly seated in a hackney-coach with me, I exulted as much as a fortune-hunter who has got an heiress into a post-chaise with him, to set out for Gretna Green.

When we entered Mr Dilly's drawing-room, he found himself in the midst of a company he did not know. I kept myself snug and silent, watching how he would conduct himself. I observed him whispering to Mr Dilly, Who is that gentleman, Sir?'-'Mr Arthur Lee.'-Johnson. 'Too, too, too,' (under his breath,) which was one of his habitual mutterings. Mr Arthur Lee could not but be very obnoxious to Johnson, for he was not only a patriot but an American. He was afterwards minister from the United States at the Court of Madrid. And who is the gentleman in lace?'— 'Mr Wilkes, Sir.' This information confounded him still more; he had some difficulty to restrain himself, and taking up a book, sat down upon a window-seat and read, or at least kept his eye intently upon it for some time, till he composed himself. His feelings, I dare say, were awkward enough. But he no doubt recollected having rated me for supposing that he could