that when one person meant to serve another, he should not go about it slily, or, as we say, underhand, out of a false idea of delicacy, to surprise one's friend with an unexpected favour; "which, ten to one," says he, "fails to oblige your acquaintance, who had some reasons against such a mode of obligation, which you might have known but for that superfluous cunning which you think an elegance."

Oh! never be seduced by such silly pretences," continued he; "if a wench wants a good gown, do not give her a fine smelling-bottle, because that is more delicate; as I once knew a lady lend the key of her library to a poor scribbling dependant, as if she took the woman for an ostrich, that could digest iron." He said, indeed, that "women were very difficult to be taught the proper manner of conferring pecuniary favours: that they always gave too much money or too little; for that they had an idea of delicacy accompanying their gifts, so that they generally rendered them either useless or ridiculous."

134. General Sarcasms.

He did indeed say very contemptuous things of our sex; but was exceedingly angry when I told Miss Reynolds that he said, "It was well managed of some one to leave his affairs in the hands of his wife, because, in matters of business," said he, "no woman stops at integrity." This was, I think, the only sentence I ever observed him solicitous to explain away after he had uttered it.

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He was not at all displeased at the recollection of a sarcasm thrown on a whole profession at once; when a gentleman leaving the company, somebody who sat next Dr. Johnson asked him, who he was? “I cannot exactly tell you, sir," replied he, "and I would be loath to speak ill of any person who I do not know deserves it, but I am afraid he is an attorney." He did not however encourage general satire, and for the most part professed himself to feel directly contrary to Dr. Swift; "who," says he, "hates the world, though he loves John and Robert, and certain individuals." Johnson said always, that “the world was well constructed, but that the particular people disgraced the elegance and beauty of the general fabric.”

135. Needle-work.

Needle-work has a strenuous approver in Dr. Johnson, who said, that "one of the great felicities of female life, was the general consent of the world, that they might amuse themselves with petty occupations, which contributed to the lengthening their lives, and preserving their minds in a state of sanity." "A man cannot hem a pocket-handkerchief," said a lady of quality to him one day, "and so he runs mad, and torments his family and friends." The expression struck him exceedingly; and when one acquaintance grew troublesome, and another unhealthy, he used to quote Lady Frances's* observation, that "a man cannot hem a pocket-handkerchief.”

136. "Nice People."

The nice people found no mercy from Mr. Johnson; such I mean as can dine only at four o'clock, who cannot bear to be waked at an unusual hour, or miss a stated meal without inconvenience. He had no such prejudices himself, and with difficulty forgave them in another. "Delicacy does not surely consist,' says he, "in impossibility to be pleased, and that is false dignity indeed which is content to depend upon others."

137. Conversation.

The saying of the old philosopher, who observes, that "he who wants least is most like the gods, who want nothing," was a favourite sentence with Dr. Johnson; who on his own part required less attendance, sick or well, than ever I saw any human creature. Conversation was all he required to make him happy; and when he would have tea made at two o'clock in the morning, it was only that there might be a certainty of detaining his companions round him. On that principle it was that he preferred winter to summer, when the heat of the weather gave people an excuse to stroll about, and walk for pleasure in the shade, while he wished to sit still on a chair, and chat day after day, till somebody proposed a drive in the coach; and that was the most delicious moment of his

[* Lady Frances Burgoyne, daughter of the last Lord Halifax.-C.]

life. "But the carriage must stop sometime," as he said, "and the people would come home at last;" so his pleasure was of short duration.

138. Love of a Coach.

I asked him why he doated on a coach so? and received for answer, that " in the first place, the company was shut in with him there; and could not escape, as out of a room: in the next place, he heard all that was said in a carriage, where it was my turn to be deaf:" and very impatient was he at my occasional difficulty of hearing. On this account he wished to travel all over the world; for the very act of going forward was delightful to him, and he gave himself no concern about accidents, which he said never happened: nor did the running away of the horses on the edge of a precipice between Vernon and St. Denys in France convince him to the contrary; "for nothing came of it," he said, "except that Mr. Thrale leaped out of the carriage into a chalk-pit, and then came up again, looking as white!"-when the truth was, all their lives were saved by the greatest providence ever exerted in favour of three human creatures; and the part Mr. Thrale took from desperation was the likeliest thing in the world to produce broken limbs and death.

139. Fear.

Fear was indeed a sensation to which Mr. Johnson was an utter stranger, excepting when some sudden apprehension seized him that he was going to die; and even then he kept all his wits about him, to express the most humble and pathetic petitions to the Almighty: and when the first paralytic stroke took his speech from him, he instantly set about composing a prayer in Latin, at once to deprecate God's mercy, to satisfy himself that his mental powers remained unimpaired, and to keep them in exercise, that they might not perish by permitted stagnation.*

When one day he had at my house taken tincture of antimony instead of emetic wine, for a vomit, he was himself the person to direct us what to do for him, and managed

* [See Boswell, vol. viii. p. 223.]

with as much coolness and deliberation, as if he had been prescribing for an indifferent person.

Though on another occasion, when he had lamented in the most piercing terms his approaching dissolution, and conjured me solemnly to tell him what I thought, while Sir Richard Jebb was perpetually on the road to Streatham, and Mr. Johnson seemed to think himself neglected if the physician left him for an hour only, I made him a steady, but as I thought a very gentle harangue, in which I confirmed all that the doctor had been saying, how no present danger could be expected; but that his age and continued ill health must naturally accelerate the arrival of that hour which can be escaped by none: "And this," says Johnson, rising in great anger, "is the voice of female friendship, I suppose, when the hand of the hangman would be softer!"

Another day, when he was ill, and exceedingly lowspirited, and persuaded that death was not far distant, I appeared before him in a dark-coloured gown, which his bad sight and worse apprehensions made him mistake for an iron-gray. "Why do you delight," said he, "thus to thicken the gloom of misery that surrounds me? Is not here sufficient accumulation of horror without anticipated mourning?" "This is not mourning, sir," said I, drawing the curtain, that the light might fall upon the silk, and show it was a purple mixed with green. 'Well, well," replied he, changing his voice, "you little creatures should never wear those sort of clothes, however; they are unsuitable in every way. What! have not all insects gay colours?" I relate these instances chiefly to show that the fears of death itself could not suppress his wit, his sagacity, or his temptation to sudden resentment.

140. Don Quixote.

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“Alas, madam!" said he, one day, "how few books are there of which one ever can possibly arrive at the last page! Was there ever yet anything written by mere man that was wished longer by its readers, excepting Don Quixote, Robinson Crusoe, and the Pilgrim's Progress?" After Homer's Iliad, Mr. Johnson confessed that the work of Cervantes was the greatest in the world, speaking of it I mean as a book of entertainment.

141. French Literature.

Dr. Johnson was a great reader of French literature, and delighted exceedingly in Boileau's works. Molière I think he had hardly sufficient taste of; and he used to condemn me for prefering La Bruyère to the Duc de Rochefoucault, "who," he said, "was the only gentleman writer who wrote like a professed author."

142. Life of a Sailor.

"The life of a sailor was also a continued scene of danger and exertion," he said, "and the manner in which time was spent on shipboard would make all who saw a cabin envy a gaol." The roughness of the language used on board a man-of-war, where he passed a week on a visit to Captain Knight, disgusted him terribly. He asked an officer what some place was called, and received for answer, that it was where the loplolly man kept his loplolly: a reply, he considered, not unjustly, as disrespectful, gross, and ignorant; for though I have been led to mention Dr. Johnson's tenderness towards poor people, I do not wish to mislead my readers, and make them think he had any delight in mean manners or coarse expressions.

143. Dress.

Even dress itself, when it resembled that of the vulgar, offended him exceedingly; and when he had condemned me many times for not adorning my children with more show than I thought useful or elegant, I presented a little girl to him who came o’visiting one evening covered with shining ornaments, to see if he would approve of the appearance she made. When they were gone home, "Well, sir," said I, “how did you like little miss? I hope she was fine enough." "It was the finery of a beggar," said he, and you know it was; she looked like a native of Cow Lane dressed up to be carried to Bartholomew fair."

His reprimand to another lady for crossing her little child's handkerchief before, and by that operation dragging down its head oddly and unintentionally, was on the same principle. "It is the beggar's fear of cold," said he, "that prevails over such parents, and so they pull the poor thing's head down, and give it the look of a baby that plays about