THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON - All 6 Volumes in One Edition. James Boswell

      [190] Hector, in his account of Johnson’s early life, says:—‘After a long absence from Lichfield, when he returned, I was apprehensive of something wrong in his constitution which might either impair his intellect or endanger his life; but, thanks to Almighty God, my fears have proved false.’ Hawkins, p. 8. The college books show that Johnson was absent but one week in the Long Vacation of 1729. It is by no means unlikely that he went to Lichfield in that week to consult Dr. Swinfen about his health. In that case his first attack, when he tried to overcome the malady by frequently walking to Birmingham, must have been at an earlier date. In his time students often passed the vacation at the University. The following table shows the number of graduates and undergraduates in residence in Pembroke College at the end of each fourth week, from June to December 1729:—

      Members in residence.

       June 20, 1729 … 54

       July 18, ” … 34

       Aug. 15, ” … 25

       Sept. 12, ” … 16

       Oct. 10, ” … 30

       Nov. 7, ” … 52

       Dec. 5, ” … 49

      At Christmas there were still sixteen men left in the college. That under a zealous tutor the vacation was by no means a time of idleness is shown by a passage in Wesley’s Journal, in which he compares the Scotch Universities with the English. ‘In Scotland,’ he writes, ‘the students all come to their several colleges in November, and return home in May. So they may study five months in the year, and lounge all the rest! O where was the common sense of those who instituted such colleges? In the English colleges everyone may reside all the year, as all my pupils did; and I should have thought myself little better than a highwayman if I had not lectured them every day in the year but Sundays.’ Wesley’s Journal, iv. 75. Johnson lived to see Oxford empty in the Long Vacation. Writing on Aug. 1, 1775, he said:—‘The place is now a sullen solitude.’ Piozzi Letters, i. 294.

      [191] Johnson, perhaps, was thinking of himself when he thus criticised the character of Sir Roger de Coverley. ‘The variable weather of the mind, the flying vapours of incipient madness, which from time to time cloud reason without eclipsing it, it requires so much nicety to exhibit that Addison seems to have been deterred from prosecuting his own design.’ Johnson’s Works, vii. 431.

      [192] Writing in his old age to Hector, he said,—‘My health has been from my twentieth year such as has seldom afforded me a single day of ease’ (post, under March 21, 1782). Hawkins writes, that he once told him ‘that he knew not what it was to be totally free from pain.’ Hawkins, p. 396.

      [193] See post, Oct. 27, 1784, note.

      [194] In the Rambler, No. 85, he pointed out ‘how much happiness is gained, and how much misery escaped, by frequent and violent agitation of the body.’ See post, July 21, 1763, for his remedies against melancholy.

      [195] Thirty-two miles in all. Southey mentions that in 1728, the Wesleys, to save the more money for the poor, began to perform their journeys on foot. He adds,—‘It was so little the custom in that age for men in their rank of life to walk any distance, as to make them think it a discovery that four or five-and-twenty miles are an easy and safe day’s journey.’ Southey’s Wesley, i. 52.

      [196] Boswell himself suffered from hypochondria. He seems at times to boast of it, as Dogberry boasted of his losses; so that Johnson had some reason for writing to him with seventy, as if he were ‘affecting it from a desire of distinction.’ Post, July 2, 1776.

      [197] Johnson on April 7, 1776, recommended Boswell to read this book, and again on July 2 of the same year.

      [198] On Dec. 24, 1754, writing of the poet Collins, who was either mad or close upon it, he said,—‘Poor dear Collins! I have often been near his state.’ Wooll’s Warton, p. 229. ‘I inherited,’ Johnson said, ‘a vile melancholy from my father, which has made me mad all my life, at least not sober.’ Boswell’s Hebrides, Sept. 16, 1773. ‘When I survey my past life,’ he wrote in 1777, ‘I discover nothing but a barren waste of time, with some disorders of body and disturbances of the mind very near to madness.’ Pr. and Med. p. 155. Reynolds recorded that ‘what Dr. Johnson said a few days before his death of his disposition to insanity was no new discovery to those who were intimate with him.’ Taylor’s Reynolds, ii. 455. See also post Sept. 20, 1777.

      [199] Ch. 44.

      [200] ‘Of the uncertainties of our present state, the most dreadful and alarming is the uncertain continuance of reason.’ Rasselas, ch. 43.

      [201] Boswell refers to Mrs. Piozzi (Anec., pp. 77, 127), and Hawkins (Life, pp. 287-8).

      [202] ‘Quick in these seeds is might of fire and birth of heavenly place.’ Morris, Aeneids, vi. 730.

      [203] On Easter Sunday 1716 during service some pieces of stone from the spire of St. Mary’s fell on the roof of the church. The congregation, thinking that the steeple was coming down, in their alarm broke through the windows. Johnson, we may well believe, witnessed the scene. The church was pulled down, and the new one was opened in Dec. 1721. Harwood’s Lichfield, p. 460.

      [204] ‘Sept. 23, 1771. I have gone voluntarily to church on the week day but few times in my life. I think to mend. April 9, 1773. I hope in time to take pleasure in public worship. April 6, 1777. I have this year omitted church on most Sundays, intending to supply the deficience in the week. So that I owe twelve attendances on worship. I will make no more such superstitious stipulations, which entangle the mind with unbidden obligations.’ Pr. and Med. pp. 108, 121, 161. In the following passage in the Life of Milton, Johnson, no doubt, is thinking of himself:—‘In the distribution of his hours there was no hour of prayer, either solitary or with his household; omitting public prayers he omitted all…. That he lived without prayer can hardly be affirmed; his studies and meditations were an habitual prayer. The neglect of it in his family was probably a fault for which he condemned himself, and which he intended to correct, but that death as too often happens, intercepted his reformation.’ Johnson’s Works, vii. 115. See post, Oct. 10, 1779.

      [205] We may compare with this a passage in Verecundulus’s letter in The Rambler, No. 157:—‘Though many among my fellow students [at the university] took the opportunity of a more remiss discipline to gratify their passions, yet virtue preserved her natural superiority, and those who ventured to neglect were not suffered to insult her.’ Oxford at this date was somewhat wayward in her love for religion. Whitefield records:—‘I had no sooner received the sacrament publicly on a week-day at St. Mary’s, but I was set up as a mark for all the polite students that knew me to shoot at. By this they knew that I was commenced Methodist, for though there is a sacrament at the beginning of every term, at which all, especially the seniors, are by statute obliged to be present, yet so dreadfully has that once faithful city played the harlot, that very few masters, and no undergraduates but the Methodists attended upon it. I daily underwent some contempt at college. Some have thrown dirt at me; others by degrees took away their pay from me.’ Tyerman’s Whitefield, i. 19. Story, the Quaker, visiting Oxford in 1731, says, ‘Of all places wherever I have been the scholars of Oxford were the rudest, most giddy, and unruly rabble, and most mischievous.’ Story’s Journal, p. 675.

      [206] John Wesley, who was also at Oxford, writing of about this same year, says:—‘Meeting now with Mr. Law’s Christian Perfection and Serious Call the light flowed in so mightily upon my soul that everything appeared in a new view.’ Wesley’s Journal, i. 94. Whitefield writes:—‘Before I went to the University, I met with Mr. Law’s Serious Call, but had not then money to purchase it. Soon after my coming up to the University, seeing a small edition of it in a friend’s hand I soon procured it. God worked powerfully upon my soul by that and his other excellent treatise upon Christian perfection.’ Tyerman’s Whitefield, i. 16. Johnson called the Serious Call ‘the finest piece of hortatory theology in any language;’ post,