carry to another shoe-black, so the trade suffers nothing. I have explained in my Journey to the Hebrides, how gold and silver destroy feudal subordination. But, besides, there is a general relaxation of reverence. No son now depends upon his father, as in former times. Paternity used to be considered as of itself a great thing, which had a right to many claims. That is, in general, reduced to very small bounds. My hope is, that as anarchy produces tyranny, this extreme relaxation will produce freni strictio.'

Talking of fame, for which there is so great a desire, I observed, how little there is of it in reality, compared with the other objects of human attention. 'Let every man recollect, and he will be sensible how small a part of his time is employed in talking or thinking of Shakespeare, Voltaire, or any of the most celebrated men that have ever lived, or are now supposed to оссиру the attention and admiration of the world. Let this be extracted and compressed; into what a narrow space will it go!' I then slily introduced Mr. Garrick's fame, and his assuming the airs of a great man. JOHNSON: 'Sir, it is wonderful how little Garrick assumes. No, sir, Garrick fortunam reverenter habet. Consider, sir, celebrated men, such as you have mentioned, have had their applause at a distance; but Garrick had it dashed in his face, sounded in his ears, and went home every night with the plaudits of a thousand in his cranium. Then, sir, Garrick did not find, but made his way to the tables, the levees, and almost the bed-chambers of the great. Then, sir, Garrick had under him a numerous body of people; who, from fear of his power and hopes of his favour, and admira

man.

tion of his talents, were constantly submissive to him. And here is a man who has advanced the dignity of his profession. Garrick has made a player a higher character.' SCOTT: And he is a very sprightly writer too.' JOHNSON: 'Yes, sir; and all this supported by great wealth of his own acquisition. If all this had happened to me I should have had a couple of fellows with long poles walking before me to knock down everybody that stood in the way. Consider, if all this had happened to Cibber or Quin, they'd have jumped over the moon. Yet Garrick speaks to us' (smiling). BOSWELL: 'And Garrick is a very good man, a charitable man.' JOHNSON: 'Sir, a liberal He has given away more money than any man in England. There may be a little vanity mixed: but he has shown that money is not his first object.' BOSWELL: Yet Foote used to say of him that he walked out with an intention to do a generous action; but turning the corner of a street he met with the ghost of a halfpenny, which frightened him.' JOHNSON: 'Why, sir, that is very true too; for I never knew a man of whom it could be said with less certainty to-day what he will do to-morrow, than Garrick; it depends so much on his humour at the time.' SCOTT: 'I am glad to hear of his liberality. He has been represented as very saving.' JOHNSON : 'With his domestic saving we have nothing to do I remember drinking tea with him long ago, when Peg Woffington made it, and he grumbled at her for making it too strong. He had then begun to feel

1 When Johnson told this little anecdote to Sir Joshua Reynolds, he mentioned a circumstance which he omitted to-day :-'Why (said Garrick), it is as red as blood.'

money in his purse, and did not know when he should have enough of it.'

On the subject of wealth, the proper use of it, and the effects of that art which is called economy, he observed, 'It is wonderful to think how men of very large estates not only spend their yearly incomes, but are often actually in want of money. It is clear they Lord Shelburne

have not value for what they spend. told me that a man of high rank, who looks into his own affairs, may have all that he ought to have, all that can be of any use, or appear with any advantage, for £5000 a year. Therefore a great proportion must go in waste; and, indeed, this is the case with most people, whatever their fortune is.' BosWELL: 'I have no doubt, sir, of this. But how is it? What is waste?' JOHNSON: 'Why, sir, breaking bottles, and a thousand other things. Waste cannot be accurately told, though we are sensible how destructive it is. Economy on the one hand, by which a certain income is made to maintain a man genteely, and waste on the other, by which, on the same income, another man lives shabbily, cannot be defined. It is a very nice thing; as one man wears his coat out much sooner than another, we cannot tell how.'

We talked of war. JOHNSON: 'Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier, or not having been at sea.' BOSWELL: Lord Mansfield does not.' JOHNSON: 'Sir, if Lord Mansfield were in a company of general officers and admirals who have been in service, he would shrink; he'd wish to creep under the table.' BOSWELL: 'No; he'd think he could try them all.' JOHNSON: "Yes, if he could catch them but they'd try him much sooner. No,

sir; were Socrates and Charles the Twelfth of Sweden both present in any company, and Socrates to say, "Follow me, and hear a lecture in philosophy"; and Charles, laying his hand on his sword, to say, "Follow me, and dethrone the Czar"; a man would be ashamed to follow Socrates. Sir, the impression is universal : yet it is strange. As to the sailor, when you look down from the quarter-deck to the space below, you see the utmost extremity of human misery: such crowding, such filth, such stench!' BOSWELL: "Yet sailors are happy.' JOHNSON: 'They are happy as brutes are happy, with a piece of fresh meat,—with the grossest sensuality. But, sir, the profession of soldiers and sailors has the dignity of danger. Mankind reverence those who have got over fear, which is so general a weakness. SCOTT: 'But is not courage mechanical, and to be acquired?' JOHNSON: 'Why yes, sir, in a collective sense. Soldiers consider them selves only as part of a great machine.' SCOTT: 'We find people fond of being sailors.' JOHNSON: 'I cannot account for that any more than I can account for other strange perversions of imagination.'

His abhorrence of the profession of a sailor was uniformly violent; but in conversation he always exalted the profession of a soldier. And yet I have, in my large and various collection of his writings, a letter to an eminent friend, in which he expresses himself thus: 'My godson called on me lately. He is weary, and rationally weary of a military life. If you can place him in some other state, I think you may increase his happiness, and secure his virtue. A soldier's time is passed in distress and danger, or in idleness and corruption.' Such was his cool reflection

in his study; but whenever he was warmed and animated by the presence of company, he, like other philosophers, whose minds are impregnated with poetical fancy, caught the common enthusiasm for splendid renown.

He talked of Mr. Charles Fox, of whose abilities he thought highly, but observed that he did not talk much at our Club. I have heard Mr. Gibbon remark, 'that Mr. Fox could not be afraid of Dr. Johnson; yet he certainly was very shy of saying anything in Dr. Johnson's presence.' Mr. Scott now quoted what was said of Alcibiades by a Greek poet, to which Johnson assented.1

He told us that he had given Mrs. Montague a catalogue of all Daniel Defoe's works of imagination; most, if not all of which, as well as of his other works, he now enumerated, allowing a considerable share of merit to a man, who, bred a tradesman, had written so variously and so well. Indeed, his Robinson Crusoe is enough of itself to establish his reputation.

He expressed great indignation at the imposture of

1 [Wishing to discover the ancient observation here referred to, I applied to Sir William Scott on the subject, but he had no recollection of it. My old and very learned friend, Dr. Michael Kearney, formerly senior fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, and now Archdeacon of Raphoe in Ireland, has, however, most happily elucidated this passage. He remarks to me, that Mr. Boswell's memory must here have deceived him; and that Mr. Scott's observation must have been, that "Mr. Fox, in the instance mentioned, might be considered as the reverse of Phaax, of whom, as Plutarch relates in the Life of Alcibiades, Eupolis the tragedian said, It is true he can talk, and yet he is no speaker."'

If this discovery had been made by a scholiast on an ancient author, with what ardour and exuberant praise would Bentley or Taylor have spoken of it! Sir William Scott, to whom I communicated Dr. Kearney's remark, is perfectly satisfied that it is correct. For the other observations, signed K, we are indebted to the same gentleman. Every classical reader will lament that they are not more numerous.-M.]