It is impossible to deny to such little sallies the power of the Florentines, who do not permit their verses to be ever written down (though they often deserve it), because, as they express it, cosi se perderebbi la poca gloria. As for translations, we used to make him sometimes run off with one or two in a good humour. He was praising this song of Metastasio, you "Deh, se piacermi vuoi, Chi ciecamente crede, like it in English," said he, "thus? Would you hope to gain my heart, Bid your teasing doubts depart; He who blindly trusts, will find Only teaches how to cheat." Mr. Baretti coaxed him likewise one day at Streatham out of a translation of Emirena's speech to the false courtier Aquileius, and it is probably printed before now, as I think two or three people took copies; but perhaps it has slipped their memories. "Ah! tu in corte invecchiasti, e giurerei Vezzeggiare un nemico; acciò vi cada, I buoni allontanar; d'ogni castigo "Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour;' And then lament his fall with seeming friendship: Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise, And drive discountenanced virtue from the throne: And of his every gift usurp the merit; These characters Dr. Johnson, however, did not delight in reading, or in hearing of: he always maintained that the world was not half as wicked as it was represented; and he might very well continue in that opinion, as he resolutely drove from him every story that could make him change it; and when Mr. Bickerstaff's flight confirmed the report of his guilt, and my husband said, in answer to Johnson's astonishment, that he had long been a suspected man : "By those who look close to the ground, dirt will be seen, Sir," was the lofty reply: "I hope I see things from a greater distance." I pitied a friend before him, who had a whining wife that found every thing painful to her, and nothing pleasing. - "He does not know that she whimpers,' says Johnson; "when a door has creaked for a fortnight together, you may observe the master will scarcely give sixpence to get it oiled." Of another lady, more insipid than offensive, I once heard him say, "She has some softness indeed, but so has a pillow." And when one observed in reply, that her husband's fidelity and attachment were exemplary, notwithstanding this low account at which her perfections were rated "Why, Sir," cries the Doctor, "being married to those sleepy-souled women, is just like playing at cards for nothing: no passion is excited, and the time is filled up. I do not, however, envy a fellow one of those honeysuckle wives for my part, as they are but creepers at best, and commonly destroy the tree they so tenderly cling about." 77. Wales and Scotland. For a lady of quality, since dead, who received us at her husband's seat in Wales with less attention than he had long been accustomed to, he had a rougher denunciation: "That woman," cries Johnson, " is like sour small beer, the beverage of her table, and produce of the wretched country she lives in: like that, she could never have been a good thing, and even that bad thing is spoiled." This was in the same vein of asperity, and I believe with something like the same provocation, that he observed of a Scotch lady, "that she resembled a dead nettle; were she alive,” said he, "she would sting." Mr. Johnson's hatred of the Scotch is so well known, and so many of his bons mots expressive of that hatred have been already repeated in so many books and pamphlets, that 'tis perhaps scarcely worth while to write down the conversation between him and a friend of that nation who always resides in London, and who at his return from the Hebrides asked him, with a firm tone of voice, what he thought of his country? "That it is a very vile country to be sure, Sir," returned for answer Dr. Johnson. "Well, Sir!" replies the other, somewhat mortified, "God made it." "Certainly he did," answers Mr. Johnson again; "but we must always remember that he made it for Scotchmen, and comparisons are odious, Mr. Strahan; but God made hell." 78. Story-telling. — Foote.· - Hawkins Browne. Dr. Johnson did not, I think, much delight in that kind of conversation which consists in telling stories: "Every body," said he, "tells stories of me, and I tell stories of nobody. I do not recollect," added he, “that I have ever told you, that have been always favourites, above three stories; but I hope I do not play the old fool, and force people to hear uninteresting narratives, only because I once was diverted with them myself." 66 He was not, however, an enemy to that sort of talk from the famous Mr. Foote, "whose happiness of manner in relating was such," he said, as subdued arrogance and roused stupidity: His stories were truly like those of Biron in Love's Labour Lost,' so very attractive, 'That aged ears play'd truant with his tales, And younger hearings were quite ravished; "Of all conversers, however," added he, "the late Hawkins Browne was the most delightful with whom I ever was in company: his talk was at once so elegant, so apparently artless, so pure, and so pleasing, it seemed a perpetual stream of sentiment, enlivened by gaiety, and sparkling with images." 79. George Psalmanazar. · Sick-beds. When I asked Dr. Johnson, who was the best man he had ever known? "Psalmanazar," was the unexpected reply he said, likewise, "that though a native of France, as his friend imagined, he possessed more of the English language than any one of the other foreigners who had separately fallen in his way. Though there was much esteem however, there was I believe but little confidence between them; they conversed merely about general topics, religion and learning, of which both were undoubtedly stupendous examples; and, with regard to true Christian perfection, I have heard Johnson say, "that George Psalmanazar's piety, penitence, and virtue exceeded almost what we read as wonderful, even in the lives of saints." I forget in what year it was that this extraordinary person lived and died at a house in Old Street, where Mr. Johnson was witness to his talents and virtues, and to his final preference of the Church of England, after having studied, disgraced, and adorned so many modes of worship. The name he went by, was not supposed by his friend to be that of his family, but all inquiries were vain his reasons for concealing his original were penitentiary; he deserved no other name than that of the impostor, he said. That portion of the Universal History which was written by him, does not seem to me to be composed with peculiar spirit, but all traces of the wit and the wanderer were probably worn out before he undertook the work. His pious and patient endurance of a tedious illness, ending in an exemplary death, confirmed the strong impression his merit had made upon the mind of Mr. Johnson. "It is so very difficult," said he, "always for a sick man not to be a scoundrel. Oh! set the pillows soft, here is Mr. Grumbler o'coming: Ah! let no air in for the world, Mr. Grumbler will be here presently." This perpetual preference is so offensive where the privileges of sickness are besides supported by wealth, and nourished by dependence, that one cannot much wonder that a rough mind is revolted by them. It was however at once comical and touchant (as the French call it), to observe Mr. Johnson so habitually watchful against this sort of behaviour, that he was often ready |