We have now reached the point at which Johnson's life becomes distinctly visible through the eyes of a competent observer. The last twenty years are those which are really familiar to us; and little remains1 but to give some brief selection of Boswell's anecdotes3. The task, however, is a difficult one. It is easy enough to make a selection of the gems4 of Boswell's narrative5; but it is also inevitable6 that, taken from their setting, they should lose the greatest part of their brilliance8. We lose all the quaint9 semiconscious touches of character which make the original so fascinating; and Boswell's absurdities10 become less amusing when we are able to forget for an instant that the perpetrator is also the narrator. The effort, however, must be made; and it will be best to premise11 a brief statement of the external conditions of the life.
From the time of the pension until his death, Johnson was elevated above the fear of poverty. He had a pleasant refuge at the Thrales', where much of his time was spent; and many friends gathered round him and regarded his utterances12 with even excessive admiration13. He had still frequent periods of profound depression. His diaries reveal an inner life tormented15 by gloomy forebodings, by remorse16 for past indolence and futile17 resolutions of amendment18; but he could always escape from himself to a society of friends and admirers. His abandonment of wine seems to have improved his health and diminished the intensity19 of his melancholy20 fits. His literary activity, however, nearly ceased. He wrote a few political pamphlets in defence of Government, and after a long period of indolence managed to complete his last conspicuous21 work—the Lives of the Poets, which was published in 1779 and 1781. One other book of some interest appeared in 1775. It was an account of the journey made with Boswell to the Hebrides in 1773. This journey was in fact the chief interruption to the even tenour of his life. He made a tour to Wales with the Thrales in 1774; and spent a month with them in Paris in 1775. For the rest of the period he lived chiefly in London or at Streatham, making occasional trips to Lichfield and Oxford22, or paying visits to Taylor, Lang-ton, and one or two other friends. It was, however, in the London which he loved so ardently24 ("a man," he said once, "who is tired of London is tired of life"), that he was chiefly conspicuous. There he talked and drank tea illimitably at his friends' houses, or argued and laid down the law to his disciples27 collected in a tavern28 instead of Academic groves29. Especially he was in all his glory at the Club, which began its meetings in February, 1764, and was afterwards known as the Literary Club. This Club was founded by Sir Joshua Reynolds, "our Romulus," as Johnson called him.
The original members were Reynolds, Johnson, Burke, Nugent, Beauclerk, Langton, Goldsmith, Chamier, and Hawkins. They met weekly at the Turk's Head, in Gerard Street, Soho, at seven o'clock, and the talk generally continued till a late hour. The Club was afterwards increased in numbers, and the weekly supper changed to a fortnightly dinner. It continued to thrive, and election to it came to be as great an honour in certain circles as election to a membership of Parliament. Among the members elected in Johnson's lifetime were Percy of the Reliques, Gar-rick, Sir W. Jones, Boswell, Fox, Steevens, Gibbon, Adam Smith, the War-tons, Sheridan, Dunning, Sir Joseph Banks, Windham, Lord Stowell, Malone, and Dr. Burney. What was best in the conversation at the time was doubtless to be found at its meetings.
Johnson's habitual31 mode of life is described by Dr. Maxwell, one of Boswell's friends, who made his acquaintance in 1754. Maxwell generally called upon him about twelve, and found him in bed or declaiming over his tea. A levée, chiefly of literary men, surrounded him; and he seemed to be regarded as a kind of oracle32 to whom every one might resort for advice or instruction. After talking all the morning, he dined at a tavern, staying late and then going to some friend's house for tea, over which he again loitered for a long time. Maxwell is puzzled to know when he could have read or written. The answer seems to be pretty obvious; namely, that after the publication of the Dictionary he wrote very little, and that, when he did write, it was generally in a brief spasm33 of feverish34 energy. One may understand that Johnson should have frequently reproached himself for his indolence; though he seems to have occasionally comforted himself by thinking that he could do good by talking as well as by writing. He said that a man should have a part of his life to himself; and compared himself to a physician retired35 to a small town from practice in a great city. Boswell, in spite of this, said that he still wondered that Johnson had not more pleasure in writing than in not writing. "Sir," replied the oracle, "you may wonder."
I will now endeavour, with Boswell's guidance, to describe a few of the characteristic scenes which can be fully36 enjoyed in his pages alone. The first must be the introduction of Boswell to the sage37. Boswell had come to London eager for the acquaintance of literary magnates. He already knew Goldsmith, who had inflamed38 his desire for an introduction to Johnson. Once when Boswell spoke39 of Levett, one of Johnson's dependents, Goldsmith had said, "he is poor and honest, which is recommendation enough to Johnson." Another time, when Boswell had wondered at Johnson's kindness to a man of bad character, Goldsmith had replied, "He is now become miserable40, and that insures the protection of Johnson." Boswell had hoped for an introduction through the elder Sheridan; but Sheridan never forgot the contemptuous phrase in which Johnson had referred to his fellow-pensioner. Possibly Sheridan had heard of one other Johnsonian remark. "Why, sir," he had said, "Sherry is dull, naturally dull; but it must have taken him a great deal of pains to become what we now see him. Such an excess of stupidity, sir, is not in Nature." At another time he said, "Sheridan cannot bear me; I bring his declamation41 to a point." "What influence can Mr. Sheridan have upon the language of this great country by his narrow exertions42? Sir, it is burning a farthing candle at Dover to show light at Calais." Boswell, however, was acquainted with Davies, an actor turned bookseller, now chiefly remembered by a line in Churchill's Rosciad which is said to have driven him from the stage— He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
Boswell was drinking tea with Davies and his wife in their back parlour when Johnson came into the shop. Davies, seeing him through the glass-door, announced his approach to Boswell in the spirit of Horatio addressing Hamlet: "Look, my Lord, it comes!" Davies introduced the young Scotchman, who remembered Johnson's proverbial prejudices. "Don't tell him where I come from!" cried Boswell. "From Scotland," said Davies roguishly. "Mr. Johnson," said Boswell, "I do indeed come from Scotland; but I cannot help it!" "That, sir," was the first of Johnson's many retorts to his worshipper, "is what a great many of your countrymen cannot help."
Poor Boswell was stunned44; but he recovered when Johnson observed 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." "O, sir," intruded45 the unlucky Boswell, "I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge46 such a trifle to you." "Sir," replied Johnson sternly, "I have known David Garrick longer than you have done, and I know no right you have to talk to me on the subject." The second blow might have crushed a less intrepid47 curiosity. Boswell, though silenced, gradually recovered sufficiently48 to listen, and afterwards to note down parts of the conversation. As the interview went on, he even ventured to make a remark or two, which were very civilly received; Davies consoled him at his departure by assuring him that the great man liked him very well. "I cannot conceive a more humiliating position," said Beauclerk on another occasion, "than to be clapped on the back by Tom Davies." For the present, however, even Tom Davies was a welcome encourager to one who, for the rest, was not easily rebuffed. A few days afterwards Boswell ventured a call, was kindly49 received and detained for some time by "the giant in his den25." He was still a little afraid of the said giant, who had shortly before administered a vigorous retort to his countryman Blair. Blair had asked Johnson whether he thought that any man of a modern age could have written Ossian.
"Yes, sir," replied Johnson, "many men, many women, and many children." Boswell, however, got on very well, and before long had the high honour of drinking a bottle of port with Johnson at the Mitre, and receiving, after a little autobiographical sketch50, the emphatic51 approval, "Give me your hand, I have taken a liking52 to you."
In a very short time Boswell was on sufficiently easy terms with Johnson, not merely to frequent his levées but to ask him to dinner at the Mitre. He gathered up, though without the skill of his later performances, some fragments of the conversational53 feast. The great man aimed another blow or two at Scotch43 prejudices. To an unlucky compatriot of Boswell's, who claimed for his country a great many "noble wild prospects55," Johnson replied, "I believe, sir, you have a great many, Norway, too, has noble wild prospects; and Lapland is remarkable57 for prodigious58 noble wild prospects. But, sir, let me tell you the noblest prospect56 which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England."
Though Boswell makes a slight remonstrance59 about the "rude grandeur60 of Nature" as seen in "Caledonia," he sympathized in this with his teacher. Johnson said afterwards, that he never knew any one with "such a gust61 for London." Before long he was trying Boswell's tastes by asking him in Greenwich Park, "Is not this very fine?" "Yes, sir," replied the promising62 disciple26, "but not equal to Fleet Street." "You are right, sir," said the sage; and Boswell illustrates64 his dictum by the authority of a "very fashionable baronet," and, moreover, a baronet from Rydal, who declared that the fragrance65 of a May evening in the country might be very well, but that he preferred the smell of a flambeau at the playhouse.
In more serious moods Johnson delighted his new disciple by discussions upon theological, social, and literary topics. He argued with an unfortunate friend of Boswell's, whose mind, it appears, had been poisoned by Hume, and who was, moreover, rash enough to undertake the defence of principles of political equality. Johnson's view of all propagators of new opinions was tolerably simple. "Hume, and other sceptical innovators," he said, "are vain men, and will gratify themselves at any expense. Truth will not afford sufficient food to their vanity; so they have betaken themselves to error. Truth, sir, is a cow which will yield such people no more milk, and so they are gone to milk the bull." On another occasion poor Boswell, not yet acquainted with the master's prejudices, quoted with hearty66 laughter a "very strange" story which Hume had told him of Johnson. According to Hume, Johnson had said that he would stand before a battery of cannon67 to restore Convocation to its full powers. "And would I not, sir?" thundered out the sage with flashing eyes and threatening gestures. Boswell judiciously68 bowed to the storm, and diverted Johnson's attention. Another manifestation70 of orthodox prejudice was
less terrible. Boswell told Johnson that he had heard a Quaker woman preach. "A woman's preaching," said Johnson, "is like a dog's walking on his hind71 legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all."
So friendly had the pair become, that when Boswell left England to continue his studies at Utrecht, Johnson accompanied him in the stagecoach72 to Harwich, amusing him on the way by his frankness of address to fellow-passengers, and by the voracity73 of his appetite. He gave him some excellent advice, remarking of a moth74 which fluttered into a candle, "that creature was its own tormentor75, and I believe its name was Boswell." He refuted Berkeley by striking his foot with mighty76 force against a large stone, till he rebounded77 from it. As the ship put out to sea Boswell watched him from the deck, whilst he remained "rolling his majestic78 frame in his usual manner." And so the friendship was cemented, though Boswell disappeared for a time from the scene, travelled on the Continent, and visited Paoli in Corsica. A friendly letter or two kept up the connexion till Boswell returned in 1766, with his head full of Corsica and a projected book of travels.
In the next year, 1767, occurred an incident upon which Boswell dwells with extreme complacency. Johnson was in the habit of sometimes reading in the King's Library, and it came into the head of his majesty79 that he should like to see the uncouth80 monster upon whom he had bestowed81 a pension. In spite of his semi-humorous Jacobitism, there was probably not a more loyal subject in his majesty's dominions82. Loyalty83 is a word too often used to designate a sentiment worthy84 only of valets, advertising85 tradesmen, and writers of claptrap articles. But it deserves all respect when it reposes87, as in Johnson's case, upon a profound conviction of the value of political subordination, and an acceptance of the king as the authorized88 representative of a great principle. There was no touch of servility in Johnson's respect for his sovereign, a respect fully reconcilable with a sense of his own personal dignity. Johnson spoke of his interview with an unfeigned satisfaction, which it would be difficult in these days to preserve from the taint89 of snobbishness90. He described it frequently to his friends, and Boswell with pious91 care ascertained92 the details from Johnson himself, and from various secondary sources. He contrived93 afterwards to get his minute submitted to the King himself, who graciously authorized its publication. When he was preparing his biography, he published this account with the letter to Chesterfield in a small pamphlet sold at a prohibitory price, in order to secure the copyright.
"I find," said Johnson afterwards, "that it does a man good to be talked to by his sovereign. In the first place a man cannot be in a passion." What other advantages he perceived must be unknown, for here the oracle was interrupted. But whatever the advantages, it could hardly be reckoned amongst them, that there would be room for the hearty cut and thrust retorts which enlivened his ordinary talk. To us accordingly the conversation is chiefly interesting as illustrating94 what Johnson meant by his politeness. He found that the King wanted him to talk, and he talked accordingly. He spoke in a "firm manly95 manner, with a sonorous96 voice," and not in the subdued97 tone customary at formal receptions. He dilated98 upon various literary topics, on the libraries of Oxford and Cambridge, on some contemporary controversies99, on the quack100 Dr. Hill, and upon the reviews of the day. All that is worth repeating is a complimentary101 passage which shows Johnson's possession of that courtesy which rests upon sense and self-respect. The King asked whether he was writing anything, and Johnson excused himself by saying that he had told the world what he knew for the present, and had "done his part as a writer."
"I should have thought so too," said the King, "if you had not written so well." "No man," said Johnson, "could have paid a higher compliment; and it was fit for a King to pay—it was decisive." When asked if he had replied, he said, "No, sir. When the King had said it, it was to be. It was not for me to bandy civilities with my sovereign." Johnson was not the less delighted. "Sir," he said to the librarian, "they may talk of the King as they will, but he is the finest gentleman I have ever seen." And he afterwards compared his manners to those of Louis XIV., and his favourite, Charles II. Goldsmith, says Boswell, was silent during the narrative, because (so his kind friend supposed) he was jealous of the honour paid to the dictator. But his natural simplicity102 prevailed. He ran to Johnson, and exclaimed in 'a kind of flutter,' "Well, you acquitted103 yourself in this conversation better than I should have done, for I should have bowed and stammered104 through the whole of it."
The years 1768 and 1769 were a period of great excitement for Boswell. He was carrying on various love affairs, which ended with his marriage in the end of 1769. He was publishing his book upon Corsica and paying homage105 to Paoli, who arrived in England in the autumn of the same year. The book appeared in the beginning of 1768, and he begs his friend Temple to report all that is said about it, but with the restriction106 that he is to conceal107 all censure108. He particularly wanted Gray's opinion, as Gray was a friend of Temple's. Gray's opinion, not conveyed to Boswell, was expressed by his calling it "a dialogue between a green goose and a hero." Boswell, who was cultivating the society of various eminent109 people, exclaims triumphantly110 in a letter to Temple (April 26, 1768), "I am really the great man now." Johnson and Hume had called upon him on the same day, and Garrick, Franklin, and Oglethorpe also partook of his "admirable dinners and good claret." "This," he says, with the sense that he deserved his honours, "is enjoying the fruit of my labours, and appearing like the friend of Paoli." Johnson in vain expressed a wish that he would "empty his head of Corsica, which had filled it too long." "Empty my head of Corsica! Empty it of honour, empty it of friendship, empty it of piety111!" exclaims the ardent23 youth. The next year accordingly saw Boswell's appearance at the Stratford Jubilee112, where he paraded to the admiration of all beholders in a costume described by himself (apparently113) in a glowing article in the London Magazine. "Is it wrong, sir," he took speedy opportunity of inquiring from the oracle, "to affect singularity in order to make people stare?" "Yes," replied Johnson, "if you do it by propagating error, and indeed it is wrong in any way. There is in human nature a general inclination114 to make people stare, and every wise man has himself to cure of it, and does cure himself. If you wish to make people stare by doing better than others, why make them stare till they stare their eyes out. But consider how easy it is to make people stare by being absurd"—a proposition which he proceeds to illustrate63 by examples perhaps less telling than Boswell's recent performance.
The sage was less communicative on the question of marriage, though Boswell had anticipated some "instructive conversation" upon that topic.
His sole remark was one from which Boswell "humbly115 differed." Johnson maintained that a wife was not the worse for being learned. Boswell, on the other hand, defined the proper degree of intelligence to be desired in a female companion by some verses in which Sir Thomas Overbury says that a wife should have some knowledge, and be "by nature wise, not learned much by art." Johnson said afterwards that Mrs. Boswell was in a proper degree inferior to her husband. So far as we can tell, she seems to have been a really sensible, and good woman, who kept her husband's absurdities in check, and was, in her way, a better wife than he deserved. So, happily, are most wives.
Johnson and Boswell had several meetings in 1769. Boswell had the honour of introducing the two objects of his idolatry, Johnson and Paoli, and on another occasion entertained a party including Goldsmith and Garrick and Reynolds, at his lodgings116 in Old Bond Street. We can still see the meeting more distinctly than many that have been swallowed by a few days of oblivion. They waited for one of the party, Johnson kindly maintaining that six ought to be kept waiting for one, if the one would suffer more by the others sitting down than the six by waiting. Meanwhile Garrick "played round Johnson with a fond vivacity117, taking hold of the breasts of his coat, looking up in his face with a lively archness," and complimenting him on his good health. Goldsmith strutted118 about bragging119 of his dress, of which Boswell, in the serene120 consciousness of superiority to such weakness, thought him seriously vain. "Let me tell you," said Goldsmith, "when my tailor brought home my bloom-coloured coat, he said, 'Sir, I have a favour to beg of you; when anybody asks you who made your clothes, be pleased to mention John Filby, at the Harrow, Water Lane.'" "Why, sir," said Johnson, "that was because he knew that the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could make a coat even of so absurd a colour." Mr. Filby has gone the way of all tailors and bloomcoloured coats, but some of his bills are preserved. On the day of this dinner he had delivered to Goldsmith a half-dress suit of ratteen lined with satin, costing twelve guineas, a pair of silk stocking-breeches for ￡2 5s. and a pair of bloom-coloured ditto for ￡1 4s. 6d. The bill, including other items, was paid, it is satisfactory to add, in February, 1771.
The conversation was chiefly literary. Johnson repeated the concluding lines of the Dunciad; upon which some one (probably Boswell) ventured to say that they were "too fine for such a poem—a poem on what?"
"Why," said Johnson, "on dunces! It was worth while being a dunce then.
Ah, sir, hadst thou lived in those days!" Johnson previously121 uttered a criticism which has led some people to think that he had a touch of the dunce in him. He declared that a description of a temple in Congreve's Mourning Bride was the finest he knew—finer than anything in Shakspeare. Garrick vainly protested; but Johnson was inexorable. He compared Congreve to a man who had only ten guineas in the world, but all in one coin; whereas Shakspeare might have ten thousand separate guineas. The principle of the criticism is rather curious. "What I mean is," said Johnson, "that you can show me no passage where there is simply a description of material objects, without any admixture of moral notions, which produces such an effect." The description of the night before Agincourt was rejected because there were men in it; and the description of Dover Cliff because the boats and the crows "impede122 yon fall." They do "not impress your mind at once with the horrible idea of immense height. The impression is divided; you pass on by computation from one
stage of the tremendous space to another."
Probably most people will think that the passage in question deserves a very slight fraction of the praise bestowed upon it; but the criticism, like most of Johnson's, has a meaning which might be worth examining abstractedly from the special application which shocks the idolaters of Shakspeare. Presently the party discussed Mrs. Montagu, whose Essay upon Shakspeare had made some noise. Johnson had a respect for her, caused in great measure by a sense of her liberality to his friend Miss Williams, of whom more must be said hereafter. He paid her some tremendous compliments, observing that some China plates which had belonged to Queen Elizabeth and to her, had no reason to be ashamed of a possessor so little inferior to the first. But he had his usual professional contempt for her amateur performances in literature. Her defence of Shakspeare against Voltaire did her honour, he admitted, but it would do nobody else honour. "No, sir, there is no real criticism in it: none showing the beauty of thought, as formed on the workings of the human
heart." Mrs. Montagu was reported once to have complimented a modern tragedian, probably Jephson, by saying, "I tremble for Shakspeare."
"When Shakspeare," said Johnson, "has got Jephson for his rival and Mrs. Montagu for his defender123, he is in a poor state indeed." The conversation went on to a recently published book, Kames's Elements of Criticism, which Johnson praised, whilst Goldsmith said more truly, "It is easier to write that book than to read it." Johnson went on to speak of other critics. "There is no great merit," he said, "in telling how many plays have ghosts in them, and how this ghost is better than that. You must show how terror is impressed on the human heart. In the description of night in Macbeth the beetle124 and the bat detract from the general idea of darkness—inspissated gloom."
After Boswell's marriage he disappeared for some time from London, and his correspondence with Johnson dropped, as he says, without coldness, from pure procrastination125. He did not return to London till 1772. In the spring of that and the following year he renewed his old habits of intimacy126, and inquired into Johnson's opinion upon various subjects ranging from ghosts to literary criticism. The height to which he had risen in the doctor's good opinion was marked by several symptoms. He was asked to dine at Johnson's house upon Easter day, 1773; and observes that his curiosity was as much gratified as by a previous dinner with Rousseau in the "wilds of Neufchatel." He was now able to report, to the amazement127 of many inquirers, that Johnson's establishment was quite orderly. The meal consisted of very good soup, a boiled leg of lamb with spinach128, a veal14 pie, and a rice pudding. A stronger testimony129 of goodwill130 was his election, by Johnson's influence, into the Club. It ought apparently to be said that Johnson forced him upon the Club by letting it be understood that, till Boswell was admitted, no other candidate would have a chance. Boswell, however, was, as his proposer said, a thoroughly131 "clubable" man, and once a member, his good humour secured his popularity. On the important evening Boswell dined at Beauclerk's with his
proposer and some other members. The talk turned upon Goldsmith's merits; and Johnson not only defended his poetry, but preferred him as a
historian to Robertson. Such a judgment132 could be explained in Boswell's opinion by nothing but Johnson's dislike to the Scotch. Once before,
when Boswell had mentioned Robertson in order to meet Johnson's condemnation133 of Scotch literature in general, Johnson had evaded134 him; "Sir,
I love Robertson, and I won't talk of his book." On the present occasion he said that he would give to Robertson the advice offered by an old college tutor to a pupil; "read over your compositions, and whenever you meet with a passage which you think particularly fine, strike it out." A good anecdote2 of Goldsmith followed. Johnson had said to him once in the Poet's Corner at Westminster,— Forsitan et nostrum135 nomen miscebitur istis.
When they got to Temple Bar Goldsmith pointed136 to the heads of the Jacobites upon it and slily suggested,— Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis.
Johnson next pronounced a critical judgment which should be set against many sins of that kind. He praised the Pilgrim's Progress very warmly, and suggested that Bunyan had probably read Spenser.
After more talk the gentlemen went to the Club; and poor Boswell remained trembling with an anxiety which even the claims of Lady Di Beauclerk's conversation could not dissipate. The welcome news of his election was brought; and Boswell went to see Burke for the first time, and to receive a humorous charge from Johnson, pointing out the conduct expected from him as a good member. Perhaps some hints were given as to betrayal of confidence. Boswell seems at any rate to have had a certain reserve in repeating Club talk.
This intimacy with Johnson was about to receive a more public and even more impressive stamp. The antipathy137 to Scotland and the Scotch already noticed was one of Johnson's most notorious crotchets. The origin of the prejudice was forgotten by Johnson himself, though he was willing to accept a theory started by old Sheridan that it was resentment138 for the betrayal of Charles I. There is, however, nothing surprising in Johnson's partaking a prejudice common enough from the days of his youth, when each people supposed itself to have been cheated by the Union, and Englishmen resented the advent139 of swarms140 of needy141 adventurers, talking with a strange accent and hanging together with honourable142 but vexatious persistence143. Johnson was irritated by what was, after all, a natural defence against English prejudice. He declared that the Scotch were always ready to lie on each other's behalf. "The Irish," he said, "are not in a conspiracy144 to cheat the world by false representations of the merits of their countrymen. No, sir, the Irish are a fair people; they never speak well of one another." There was another difference. He always expressed a generous resentment against the tyranny exercised by English rulers over the Irish people. To some one who defended the restriction of Irish trade for the good of English merchants, he said, "Sir, you talk the language of a savage145. What! sir, would you prevent any people from feeding themselves, if by any honest means they can do it?"
It was "better to hang or drown people at once," than weaken them by unrelenting persecution146. He felt some tenderness for Catholics, especially when oppressed, and a hearty antipathy towards prosperous Presbyterians. The Lowland Scotch were typified by John Knox, in regard to whom he expressed a hope, after viewing the ruins of St. Andrew's, that he was buried "in the highway."
This sturdy British and High Church prejudice did not prevent the worthy doctor from having many warm friendships with Scotchmen, and helping147 many distressed148 Scotchmen in London. Most of the amanuenses employed for his Dictionary were Scotch. But he nourished the prejudice the more as giving an excellent pretext149 for many keen gibes150.
"Scotch learning," he said, for example, "is like bread in a besieged151 town.
Every man gets a mouthful, but no man a bellyful." Once Strahan said in answer to some abusive remarks, "Well, sir, God made Scotland." "Certainly," replied Johnson, "but we must always remember that He made it for Scotchmen; and comparisons are odious152, Mr. Strahan, but God made hell."
Boswell, therefore, had reason to feel both triumph and alarm when he induced the great man to accompany him in a Scotch tour. Boswell's journal of the tour appeared soon after Johnson's death. Johnson himself wrote an account of it, which is not without interest, though it is in his dignified153 style, which does not condescend154 to Boswellian touches of character. In 1773 the Scotch Highlands were still a little known region, justifying156 a book descriptive of manners and customs, and touching157 upon antiquities158 now the commonplaces of innumerable guide books. Scott was still an infant, and the day of enthusiasm, real or affected159, for mountain scenery had not yet dawned. Neither of the travellers, as Boswell remarks, cared much for "rural beauties." Johnson says quaintly160 on the shores of Loch Ness, "It will very readily occur that this uniformity of barrenness can afford very little amusement to the traveller; that it is easy to sit at home and conceive rocks and heath and waterfalls; and that these journeys are useless labours, which neither impregnate the imagination nor enlarge the understanding." And though he shortly afterwards sits down on a bank "such as a writer of romance might have
delighted to feign," and there conceived the thought of his book, he does not seem to have felt much enthusiasm. He checked Boswell for describing a hill as "immense," and told him that it was only a "considerable protuberance." Indeed it is not surprising if he sometimes grew weary in long rides upon Highland155 ponies161, or if, when weatherbound in a remote village in Skye, he declared that this was a "waste of life."
On the whole, however, Johnson bore his fatigues162 well, preserved his temper, and made sensible remarks upon men and things. The pair started from Edinburgh in the middle of August, 1773; they went north along the eastern coast, through St. Andrew's, Aberdeen, Banff, Fort George, and Inverness. There they took to horses, rode to Glenelg, and took boat for Skye, where they landed on the 2nd of September. They visited Rothsay, Col, Mull, and Iona, and after some dangerous sailing got to the mainland at Oban on October 2nd. Thence they proceeded by Inverary and Loch Lomond to Glasgow; and after paying a visit to Boswell's paternal163 mansion164 at Auchinleck in Ayrshire, returned to Edinburgh in November. It were too long to narrate165 their adventures at length, or to describe in detail how Johnson grieved over traces of the iconoclastic166 zeal167 of Knox's disciples, seriously investigated stories of second-sight, cross-examined and brow-beat credulous168 believers in the authenticity169 of Ossian, and felt his piety grow warm among the ruins of Iona. Once or twice, when the temper of the travellers was tried by the various worries incident to their position, poor Boswell came in for some severe blows.
But he was happy, feeling, as he remarks, like a dog who has run away with a large piece of meat, and is devouring170 it peacefully in a corner by himself. Boswell's spirits were irrepressible. On hearing a drum beat for dinner at Fort George, he says, with a Pepys-like touch, "I for a little while fancied myself a military man, and it pleased me." He got scandalously drunk on one occasion, and showed reprehensible171 levity172 on others.
He bored Johnson by inquiring too curiously173 into his reasons for not wearing a nightcap—a subject which seems to have interested him profoundly; he permitted himself to say in his journal that he was so much pleased with some pretty ladies' maids at the Duke of Argyll's, that he felt he could "have been a knight-errant for them," and his "venerable fellow-traveller" read the passage without censuring174 his levity. The great man himself could be equally volatile175. "I have often thought," he observed one day, to Boswell's amusement, "that if I kept a seraglio, the ladies should all wear linen176 gowns"—as more cleanly. The pair agreed in trying to stimulate177 the feudal178 zeal of various Highland chiefs with whom they came in contact, and who were unreasonable179 enough to show a hankering after the luxuries of civilization.
Though Johnson seems to have been generally on his best behaviour, he had a rough encounter or two with some of the more civilized180 natives.
Boswell piloted him safely through a visit to Lord Monboddo, a man of real ability, though the proprietor181 of crochets182 as eccentric as Johnson's, and consequently divided from him by strong mutual183 prejudices. At Auchinleck he was less fortunate. The old laird, who was the staunchest of Whigs, had not relished184 his son's hero-worship. "There is nae hope for Jamie, mon; Jamie is gaen clean gyte. What do you think, mon? He's done wi' Paoli—he's off wi' the land-louping scoundrel of a Corsican, and who's tail do you think he's pinned himself to now, mon?" "Here," says Sir Walter Scott, the authority for the story, "the old judge summoned up a sneer185 of most sovereign contempt. 'A dominie, mon—an auld186 dominie—he keeped a schule and caauld it an aademy.'" The two managed to keep the peace till, one day during Johnson's visit, they got upon Oliver Cromwell. Boswell suppresses the scene with obvious reluctance187, his openness being checked for once by filial respect. Scott has fortunately preserved the climax188 of Old Boswell's argument. "What had Cromwell done for his country?" asked Johnson.
"God, doctor, he gart Kings ken7 that they had a lith in their necks" retorted the laird, in a phrase worthy of Mr. Carlyle himself. Scott reports one other scene, at which respectable commentators189, like Croker, hold up their hands in horror. Should we regret or rejoice to say that it involves an obvious inaccuracy? The authority, however, is too good to allow us to suppose that it was without some foundation. Adam Smith, it is said, met Johnson at Glasgow and had an altercation190 with him about the well-known account of Hume's death. As Hume did not die till three years later, there must be some error in this. The dispute, however, whatever its date or subject, ended by Johnson saying to Smith, "You lie." "And what did you reply?" was asked of Smith. "I said, 'you are a son of a ——-.'" "On such terms," says Scott, "did these two great moralists meet and part, and such was the classical dialogue between these two great teachers of morality."
In the year 1774 Boswell found it expedient191 to atone192 for his long absence in the previous year by staying at home. Johnson managed to complete his account of the Scotch Tour, which was published at the end of the year. Among other consequences was a violent controversy193 with the lovers of Ossian. Johnson was a thorough sceptic as to the authenticity of the book. His scepticism did not repose86 upon the philological194 or antiquarian reasonings, which would be applicable in the controversy from internal evidence. It was to some extent the expression of a general incredulity which astonished his friends, especially when contrasted with his tenderness for many puerile195 superstitions196. He could scarcely be induced to admit the truth of any narrative which struck him as odd, and it was long, for example, before he would believe even in the Lisbon earthquake. Yet he seriously discussed the truth of second-sight; he carefully investigated the Cock-lane ghost—a goblin who anticipated some of the modern phenomena197 of so-called "spiritualism," and with almost equal absurdity198; he told stories to Boswell about a "shadowy being" which had once been seen by Cave, and declared that he had once heard his mother call "Sam" when he was at Oxford and she at Lichfield. The apparent inconsistency was in truth natural enough. Any man who clings with unreasonable pertinacity199 to the prejudices of his childhood, must be alternately credulous and sceptical in excess. In both cases, he judges by his fancies in defiance200 of evidence; and accepts and rejects according to his likes and dislikes, instead of his estimates of logical proof. Ossian would be naturally offensive to Johnson, as one of the earliest and most remarkable manifestations201 of that growing taste for what was called "Nature," as opposed to civilization, of which Rousseau was the great mouthpiece.
Nobody more heartily202 despised this form of "cant203" than Johnson. A man who utterly204 despised the scenery of the Hebrides as compared with Greenwich Park or Charing205 Cross, would hardly take kindly to the Ossianesque version of the mountain passion. The book struck him as sheer rubbish. I have already quoted the retort about "many men, many women, and many children." "A man," he said, on another occasion, "might write such stuff for ever, if he would abandon his mind to it."
The precise point, however, upon which he rested his case, was the tangible206 one of the inability of Macpherson to produce the manuscripts of which he had affirmed the existence. MacPherson wrote a furious letter to Johnson, of which the purport207 can only be inferred from Johnson's smashing retort,— "Mr. James MacPherson, I have received your foolish and impudent208 letter. Any violence offered me I shall do my best to repel209; and what I cannot do for myself, the law shall do for me. I hope I shall never be deterred210 from detecting what I think a cheat by the menaces of a ruffian.
"What would you have me retract211? I thought your book an imposture212: I think it an imposture still. For this opinion I have given my reasons to the public, which I here dare you to refute. Your rage I defy. Your abilities, since your Homer, are not so formidable; and what I hear of your morals inclines me to pay regard not to what you shall say, but to what you shall prove. You may print this if you will.
"SAM. JOHNSON."
And so laying in a tremendous cudgel, the old gentleman (he was now sixty-six) awaited the assault, which, however, was not delivered.
In 1775 Boswell again came to London, and renewed some of the Scotch discussions. He attended a meeting of the Literary Club, and found the members disposed to laugh at Johnson's tenderness to the stories about second-sight. Boswell heroically avowed213 his own belief. "The evidence," he said, "is enough for me, though not for his great mind. What will not fill a quart bottle, will fill a pint214 bottle. I am filled with belief." "Are you?" said Colman; "then cork215 it p."
It was during this and the next few years that Boswell laboured most successfully in gathering216 materials for his book. In 1777 he only met Johnson in the country. In 1779, for some unexplained reason, he was lazy in making notes; in 1780 and 1781 he was absent from London; and in the following year, Johnson was visibly declining. The tenour of Johnson's life was interrupted during this period by no remarkable incidents, and his literary activity was not great, although the composition of the Lives of the Poets falls between 1777 and 1780. His mind, however, as represented by his talk, was in full vigour217. I will take in order of time a few of the passages recorded by Boswell, which may serve for various reasons to afford the best illustration of his character. Yet it may be worth while once more to repeat the warning that such fragments moved from their context must lose most of their charm.
On March 26th (1775), Boswell met Johnson at the house of the publisher, Strahan. Strahan reminded Johnson of a characteristic remark which he had formerly218 made, that there are "few ways in which a man can be more innocently employed than in getting money." On another occasion Johnson observed with equal truth, if less originality219, that cultivating kindness was an important part of life, as well as money-making. Johnson then asked to see a country lad whom he had recommended to Strahan as an apprentice220. He asked for five guineas on account, that he might give one to the boy. "Nay221, if a man recommends a boy and does nothing for him, it is sad work." A "little, thick short-legged boy" was accordingly brought into the courtyard, whither Johnson and Boswell descended222, and the lexicographer223 bending himself down administered some good advice to the awestruck lad with "slow and sonorous solemnity," ending by the presentation of the guinea.
In the evening the pair formed part of a corps224 of party "wits," led by Sir Joshua Reynolds, to the benefit of Mrs. Abingdon, who had been a frequent model of the painter. Johnson praised Garrick's prologues225, and Boswell kindly reported the eulogy226 to Garrick, with whom he supped at Beauclerk's. Garrick treated him to a mimicry227 of Johnson, repeating, "with pauses and half-whistling," the lines,— Os homini sublime228 dedit—coelumque tueri Jussit—et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus:
looking downwards230, and at the end touching the ground with a contorted gesticulation. Garrick was generally jealous of Johnson's light opinion of him, and used to take off his old master, saying, "Davy has some convivial231 pleasantry about him, but 'tis a futile fellow."
Next day, at Thrales', Johnson fell foul232 of Gray, one of his pet aversions. Boswell denied that Gray was dull in poetry. "Sir," replied Johnson, "he was dull in company, dull in his closet, dull everywhere. He was dull in a new way, and that made people think him great. He was a mechanical poet." He proceeded to say that there were only two good stanzas233 in the Elegy234. Johnson's criticism was perverse235; but if we were to collect a few of the judgments236 passed by contemporaries upon each other, it would be scarcely exceptional in its want of appreciation237. It is rather odd to remark that Gray was generally condemned238 for obscurity—a charge which seems strangely out of place when he is measured by more recent standards.
A day or two afterwards some one rallied Johnson on his appearance at Mrs. Abingdon's benefit. "Why did you go?" he asked. "Did you see?"
"No, sir." "Did you hear?" "No, sir." "Why, then, sir, did you go?" "Because, sir, she is a favourite of the public; and when the public cares the thousandth part for you that it does for her, I will go to your benefit too."
The day after, Boswell won a bet from Lady Di Beauclerk by venturing to ask Johnson what he did with the orange-peel which he used to pocket. Johnson received the question amicably239, but did not clear the mystery. "Then," said Boswell, "the world must be left in the dark. It must be said, he scraped them, and he let them dry, but what he did with them next he never could be prevailed upon to tell." "Nay, sir," replied Johnson, "you should say it more imphatically—he could not be prevailed upon, even by his dearest friends to tell."
This year Johnson received the degree of LL.D. from Oxford. He had previously (in 1765) received the same honour from Dublin. It is remarkable, however, that familiar as the title has become, Johnson called himself plain Mr. to the end of his days, and was generally so called by his
intimates. On April 2nd, at a dinner at Hoole's, Johnson made another assault upon Gray and Mason. When Boswell said that there were good
passages in Mason's Elfrida, he conceded that there were "now and then some good imitations of Milton's bad manner." After some more talk, Boswell spoke of the cheerfulness of Fleet Street. "Why, sir," said Johnson, "Fleet Street has a very animated240 appearance, but I think that the full tide of human existence is at Charing Cross." He added a story of an eminent tallow-chandler who had made a fortune in London, and was foolish enough to retire to the country. He grew so tired of his retreat, that he begged to know the melting-days of his successor, that he might be present at the operation.
On April 7th, they dined at a tavern, where the talk turned upon Ossian. Some one mentioned as an objection to its authenticity that no mention of wolves occurred in it. Johnson fell into a reverie upon wild beasts, and, whilst Reynolds and Langton were discussing something, he broke out, "Pennant241 tells of bears." What Pennant told is unknown. The company continued to talk, whilst Johnson continued his monologue242, the word "bear" occurring at intervals243, like a word in a catch. At last, when a pause came, he was going on: "We are told that the black bear is innocent, but I should not like to trust myself with him." Gibbon muttered in a low tone, "I should not like to trust myself with you"—a prudent244 resolution, says honest Boswell who hated Gibbon, if it referred to a competition of abilities.
The talk went on to patriotism245, and Johnson laid down an apophthegm, at "which many will start," many people, in fact, having little sense of humour. Such persons may be reminded for their comfort that at this period patriot54 had a technical meaning. "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel." On the 10th of April, he laid down another dogma, calculated to offend the weaker brethren. He defended Pope's line— Man never is but always to be blest.
And being asked if man did not sometimes enjoy a momentary246 happiness, replied, "Never, but when he is drunk." It would be useless to defend these and other such utterances to any one who cannot enjoy them without defence.
On April 11th, the pair went in Reynolds's coach to dine with Cambridge, at Twickenham. Johnson was in high spirits. He remarked as they drove down, upon the rarity of good humour in life. One friend mentioned by Boswell was, he said, acid, and another muddy. At last, stretching himself and turning with complacency, he observed, "I look upon myself as a good-humoured fellow"—a bit of self-esteem against which Boswell protested. Johnson, he admitted, was good-natured; but was too irascible and impatient to be good-humoured. On reaching Cambridge's house, Johnson ran to look at the books. "Mr. Johnson," said Cambridge politely, "I am going with your pardon to accuse myself, for I have the same custom which I perceive you have. But it seems odd that one should have such a desire to look at the backs of books." "Sir," replied Johnson, wheeling about at the words, "the reason is very plain. Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can find information upon it. When we inquire into any subject, the first thing we have to do is to know what books have treated of it. This leads us to look at catalogues, and the backs of books in libraries."
A pleasant talk followed. Johnson denied the value attributed to historical reading, on the ground that we know very little except a few facts and dates. All the colouring, he said, was conjectural247. Boswell chuckles248 over the reflection that Gibbon, who was present, did not take up the cudgels for his favourite study, though the first-fruits of his labours were to appear in the following year. "Probably he did not like to trust himself with Johnson."
The conversation presently turned upon the Beggar's Opera, and Johnson sensibly refused to believe that any man had been made a rogue249 by seeing it. Yet the moralist felt bound to utter some condemnation of such a performance, and at last, amidst the smothered250 amusement of the company, collected himself to give a heavy stroke: "there is in it," he said, "such a labefactation of all principles as may he dangerous to morality."
A discussion followed as to whether Sheridan was right for refusing to allow his wife to continue as a public singer. Johnson defended him "with all the high spirit of a Roman senator." "He resolved wisely and nobly, to be sure. He is a brave man. Would not a gentleman be disgraced by having his wife sing publicly for hire? No, sir, there can be no doubt here. I know not if I should not prepare myself for a public singer as readily as let my wife be one."
The stout251 old supporter of social authority went on to denounce the politics of the day. He asserted that politics had come to mean nothing but the art of rising in the world. He contrasted the absence of any principles with the state of the national mind during the stormy days of the seventeenth century. This gives the pith of Johnston's political prejudices. He hated Whigs blindly from his cradle; but he justified252 his hatred253 on the ground that they were now all "bottomless Whigs," that is to say, that pierce where you would, you came upon no definite creed254, but only upon hollow formulae, intended as a cloak for private interest. If Burke and one or two of his friends be excepted, the remark had but too much justice.
In 1776, Boswell found Johnson rejoicing in the prospect of a journey to Italy with the Thrales. Before starting he was to take a trip to the country, in which Boswell agreed to join. Boswell gathered up various bits of advice before their departure. One seems to have commended itself to him as specially30 available for practice. "A man who had been drinking freely," said the moralist, "should never go into a new company. He would probably strike them as ridiculous, though he might be in unison255 with those who had been drinking with him." Johnson propounded256 another favourite theory. "A ship," he said, "was worse than a gaol257. There is in a gaol better air, better company, better conveniency of every kind; and a ship has the additional disadvantage of being in danger."
On March 19th, they went by coach to the Angel at Oxford; and next morning visited the Master of University College, who chose with Boswell to act in opposition258 to a very sound bit of advice given by Johnson soon afterwards—perhaps with some reference to the proceeding259.
"Never speak of a man in his own presence; it is always indelicate and may be offensive." The two, however, discussed Johnson without reserve. The Master said that he would have given Johnson a hundred pounds for a discourse260 on the British Constitution; and Boswell suggested that Johnson should write two volumes of no great bulk upon Church and State, which should comprise the whole substance of the argument. "He should erect229 a fort on the confines of each." Johnson was not unnaturally261 displeased262 with the dialogue, and growled263 out, "Why should I be always writing?"
Presently, they went to see Dr. Adams, the doctor's old friend, who had been answering Hume. Boswell, who had done his best to court the acquaintance of Voltaire, Rousseau, Wilkes, and Hume himself, felt it desirable to reprove Adams for having met Hume with civility. He aired his admirable sentiments in a long speech, observing upon the connexion between theory and practice, and remarking, by way of practical application, that, if an infidel were at once vain and ugly, he might be compared to "Cicero's beautiful image of Virtue"—which would, as he seems to think, be a crushing retort. Boswell always delighted in fighting with his gigantic backer close behind him. Johnson, as he had doubtless expected, chimed in with the argument. "You should do your best," said Johnson, "to diminish the authority, as well as dispute the arguments of your adversary264, because most people are biased265 more by personal respect than by reasoning." "You would not jostle a chimney-sweeper," said Adams.
"Yes," replied Johnson, "if it were necessary to jostle him down."
The pair proceeded by post-chaise past Blenheim, and dined at a good inn at Chapelhouse. Johnston boasted of the superiority, long since vanished if it ever existed, of English to French inns, and quoted with great emotion Shenstone's lines— Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, Must sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.
As they drove along rapidly in the post-chaise, he exclaimed, "Life has not many better things than this." On another occasion he said that he should like to spend his life driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman, clever enough to add to the conversation. The pleasure was partly owing to the fact that his deafness was less troublesome in a carriage. But he admitted that there were drawbacks even to this pleasure.
Boswell asked him whether he would not add a post-chaise journey to the other sole cause of happiness—namely, drunkenness. "No, sir," said Johnson, "you are driving rapidly from something or to something."
They went to Birmingham, where Boswell pumped Hector about Johnson's early days, and saw the works of Boulton, Watt's partner, who said to him, "I sell here, sir, what all the world desires to have—power." Thence they went to Lichfield, and met more of the rapidly thinning circle of Johnson's oldest friends. Here Boswell was a little scandalized by Johnson's warm exclamation266 on opening a letter—"One of the most dreadful things that has happened in my time!" This turned out to be the death of Thrale's only son. Boswell thought the phrase too big for the event, and was some time before he could feel a proper concern. He was, however, "curious to observe how Dr. Johnson would be affected," and was again a little scandalized by the reply to his consolatory267 remark that the Thrales still had daughters. "Sir," said Johnson, "don't you know how you yourself think? Sir, he wishes to propagate his name." The great man was actually putting the family sentiment of a brewer268 in the same category with the sentiments of the heir of Auchinleck. Johnson, however, calmed down, but resolved to hurry back to London. They stayed a night at Taylor's, who remarked that he had fought a good many battles for a physician, one of their common friends. "But you should consider, sir," said Johnson, "that by every one of your victories he is a loser; for every man of whom you get the better will be very angry, and resolve not to employ him, whereas if people get the better of you in argument about him, they will think 'We'll send for Dr. —— nevertheless!'"
It was after their return to London that Boswell won the greatest triumph of his friendship. He carried through a negotiation269, to which, as Burke pleasantly said, there was nothing equal in the whole history of the corps diplomatique. At some moment of enthusiasm it had occurred to him to bring Johnson into company with Wilkes. The infidel demagogue was probably in the mind of the Tory High Churchman, when he threw out that pleasant little apophthegm about patriotism. To bring together two such opposites without provoking a collision would be the crowning triumph of Boswell's curiosity. He was ready to run all hazards as a chemist might try some new experiment at the risk of a destructive explosion; but being resolved, he took every precaution with admirable foresight270.
Boswell had been invited by the Dillys, well-known booksellers of the day, to meet Wilkes. "Let us have Johnson," suggested the gallant271 Boswell. "Not for the world!" exclaimed Dilly. But, on Boswell's undertaking272 the negotiation, he consented to the experiment. Boswell went off to Johnson and politely invited him in Dilly's name. "I will wait upon him," said Johnson. "Provided, sir, I suppose," said the diplomatic Boswell, "that the company which he is to have is agreeable to you." "What do you mean, sir?" exclaimed Johnson. "What do you take me for? Do you think I am so ignorant of the world as to prescribe to a gentleman what company he is to have at his table?" Boswell worked the point a little farther, till, by judicious69 manipulation, he had got Johnson to commit himself to meeting anybody—even Jack273 Wilkes, to make a wild hypothesis—at the Dillys' table. Boswell retired, hoping to think that he had fixed274 the discussion in Johnson's mind.
The great day arrived, and Boswell, like a consummate275 general who leaves nothing to chance, went himself to fetch Johnson to the dinner. The great man had forgotten the engagement, and was "buffeting276 his books" in a dirty shirt and amidst clouds of dust. When reminded of his promise, he said that he had ordered dinner at home with Mrs. Williams. Entreaties277 of the warmest kind from Boswell softened278 the peevish279 old lady, to whose pleasure Johnson had referred him. Boswell flew back, announced Mrs. Williams's consent, and Johnson roared, "Frank, a clean shirt!" and was soon in a hackney-coach. Boswell rejoiced like a "fortunehunter who has got an heiress into a post-chaise with him to set out for Gretna Green." Yet the joy was with trembling. Arrived at Dillys', Johnson found himself amongst strangers, and Boswell watched anxiously from a corner. "Who is that gentleman?" whispered Johnson to Dilly. "Mr. Arthur Lee." Johnson whistled "too-too-too" doubtfully, for Lee was a patriot and an American. "And who is the gentleman in lace?" "Mr.
Wilkes, sir." Johnson subsided280 into a window-seat and fixed his eye on a book. He was fairly in the toils281. His reproof282 of Boswell was recent enough to prevent him from exhibiting his displeasure, and he resolved to restrain himself.
At dinner Wilkes, placed next to Johnson, took up his part in the performance. He pacified283 the sturdy moralist by delicate attentions to his needs. He helped him carefully to some fine veal. "Pray give me leave, sir; it is better here—a little of the brown—some fat, sir—a little of the stuffing—some gravy—let me have the pleasure of giving you some butter. Allow me to recommend a squeeze of this orange; or the lemon, perhaps, may have more zest284." "Sir, sir," cried Johnson, "I am obliged to you, sir," bowing and turning to him, with a look for some time of "surly virtue," and soon of complacency.
Gradually the conversation became cordial. Johnson told of the fascination285 exercised by Foote, who, like Wilkes, had succeeded in pleasing him against his will. Foote once took to selling beer, and it was so bad that the servants of Fitzherbert, one of his customers, resolved to protest. They chose a little black boy to carry their remonstrance; but the boy waited at table one day when Foote was present, and returning to his companions, said, "This is the finest man I have ever seen. I will not deliver your message; I will drink his beer." From Foote the transition was easy to Garrick, whom Johnson, as usual, defended against the attacks of others. He maintained that Garrick's reputation for avarice286, though unfounded, had been rather useful than otherwise. "You despise a man for avarice, but you do not hate him." The clamour would have been more effectual, had it been directed against his living with splendour too great for a player. Johnson went on to speak of the difficulty of getting biographical information. When he had wished to write a life of Dryden, he applied287 to two living men who remembered him. One could only tell him that Dryden had a chair by the fire at Will's Coffee-house in winter,
which was moved to the balcony in summer. The other (Cibber) could only report that he remembered Dryden as a "decent old man, arbiter288 of critical disputes at Will's."
Johnson and Wilkes had one point in common—a vigorous prejudice against the Scotch, and upon this topic they cracked their jokes in friendly emulation289. When they met upon a later occasion (1781), they still pursued this inexhaustible subject. Wilkes told how a privateer had completely plundered290 seven Scotch islands, and re-embarked with three and epixpence. Johnson now remarked in answer to somebody who said "Poor old England is lost!" "Sir, it is not so much to be lamented291 that old England is lost, as that the Scotch have found it." "You must know, sir," he said to Wilkes, "that I lately took my friend Boswell and showed him genuine civilized life in an English provincial292 town. I turned him loose at Lichfield, that he might see for once real civility, for you know he lives among savages293 in Scotland and among rakes in London." "Except," said Wilkes, "when he is with grave, sober, decent people like you and me." "And we ashamed of him," added Johnson, smiling.
Boswell had to bear some jokes against himself and his countrymen from the pair; but he had triumphed, and rejoiced greatly when he went home with Johnson, and heard the great man speak of his pleasant dinner to Mrs. Williams. Johnson seems to have been permanently294 reconciled to his foe295. "Did we not hear so much said of Jack Wilkes," he remarked next year, "we should think more highly of his conversation.
Jack has a great variety of talk, Jack is a scholar, and Jack has the manners of a gentleman. But, after hearing his name sounded from pole to pole as the phoenix296 of convivial felicity, we are disappointed in his company. He has always been at me, but I would do Jack a kindness rather than not. The contest is now over."
In fact, Wilkes had ceased to play any part in public life. When Johnson met him next (in 1781) they joked about such dangerous topics as some of Wilkes's political performances. Johnson sent him a copy of the Lives, and they were seen conversing297 tête-à-tête in confidential298 whispers about George II. and the King of Prussia. To Boswell's mind it suggested the happy days when the lion should lie down with the kid, or, as Dr. Barnard suggested, the goat.
In the year 1777 Johnson began the Lives of the Poets, in compliance299 with a request from the booksellers, who wished for prefaces to a large collection of English poetry. Johnson asked for this work the extremely modest sum of 200 guineas, when he might easily, according to Malone, have received 1000 or 1500. He did not meet Boswell till September, when they spent ten days together at Dr. Taylor's. The subject which specially interested Boswell at this time was the fate of the unlucky Dr. Dodd, hanged for forgery300 in the previous June. Dodd seems to have been a worthless charlatan301 of the popular preacher variety. His crime would not in our days have been thought worthy of so severe a punishment; but his contemporaries were less shocked by the fact of death being inflicted302 for such a fault, than by the fact of its being inflicted on a clergyman. Johnson exerted himself to procure303 a remission of the sentence by writing various letters and petitions on Dodd's behalf. He seems to have been deeply moved by the man's appeal, and could "not bear the thought" that any negligence304 of his should lead to the death of a fellow-creature; but he said that if he had himself been in authority he would have signed the death-warrant, and for the man himself, he had as little respect as might be. He said, indeed, that Dodd was right in not joining in the "cant" about leaving a wretched world. "No, no," said the poor rogue, "it has been a very agreeable world to me." Dodd had allowed to pass for his own one of the papers composed for him by Johnson, and the Doctor was not quite pleased. When, however, Seward expressed a doubt as to Dodd's power of writing so forcibly, Johnson felt bound not to expose him. "Why should you think so? Depend upon it, sir, when any man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully." On another occasion, Johnson expressed a doubt himself as to whether Dodd had really composed a certain prayer on the
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remains
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anecdote
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anecdotes
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gems
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narrative
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inevitable
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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13
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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14
veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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15
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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16
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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17
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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18
amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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19
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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20
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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21
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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22
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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23
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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24
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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25
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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26
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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27
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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28
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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29
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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30
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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31
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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32
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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33
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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34
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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35
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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36
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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37
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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38
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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40
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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41
declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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42
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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43
scotch
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|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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44
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45
intruded
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|
| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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46
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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47
intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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48
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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49
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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50
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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51
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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52
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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53
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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54
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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55
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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56
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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57
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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58
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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59
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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60
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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61
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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62
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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63
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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64
illustrates
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|
| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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65
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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66
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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67
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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68
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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69
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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70
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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71
hind
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|
| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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72
stagecoach
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| n.公共马车 | |
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73
voracity
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|
| n.贪食，贪婪 | |
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74
moth
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|
| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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75
tormentor
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|
| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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76
mighty
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|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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77
rebounded
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|
| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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78
majestic
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|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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79
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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80
uncouth
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|
| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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81
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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83
loyalty
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|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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84
worthy
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|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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85
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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86
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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87
reposes
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88
authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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89
taint
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|
| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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90
snobbishness
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| 势利； 势利眼 | |
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91
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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92
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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94
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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95
manly
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|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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96
sonorous
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|
| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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97
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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98
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
controversies
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| 争论 | |
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100
quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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101
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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102
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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103
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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104
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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106
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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107
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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108
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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109
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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110
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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111
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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112
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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113
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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114
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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115
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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116
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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117
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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118
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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120
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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121
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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122
impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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123
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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124
beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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125
procrastination
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| n.拖延，耽搁 | |
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126
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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127
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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128
spinach
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| n.菠菜 | |
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129
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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130
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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131
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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132
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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133
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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134
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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135
nostrum
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| n.秘方；妙策 | |
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136
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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137
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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138
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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139
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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140
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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141
needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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142
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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143
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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144
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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145
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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146
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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147
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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148
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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149
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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150
gibes
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| vi.嘲笑，嘲弄（gibe的第三人称单数形式） | |
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151
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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153
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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154
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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155
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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156
justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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157
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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158
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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159
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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160
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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161
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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162
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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163
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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164
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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165
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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166
iconoclastic
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| adj.偶像破坏的，打破旧习的 | |
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167
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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168
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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169
authenticity
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| n.真实性 | |
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170
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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171
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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172
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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173
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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174
censuring
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的现在分词 ) | |
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175
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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176
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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177
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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178
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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179
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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180
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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181
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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182
crochets
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| v.用钩针编织( crochet的第三人称单数 )；趾钩 | |
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183
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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184
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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185
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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186
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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187
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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188
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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189
commentators
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| n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 )；时事评论员；注释者；实况广播员 | |
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190
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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191
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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192
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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193
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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194
philological
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| adj.语言学的，文献学的 | |
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195
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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196
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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197
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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198
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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199
pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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200
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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201
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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202
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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203
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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204
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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205
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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206
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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207
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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208
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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209
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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210
deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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212
imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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213
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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214
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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215
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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216
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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217
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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218
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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219
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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220
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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221
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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222
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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223
lexicographer
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| n.辞典编纂人 | |
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224
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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225
prologues
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| n.序言，开场白( prologue的名词复数 ) | |
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226
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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227
mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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228
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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229
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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230
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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231
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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232
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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233
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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234
elegy
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| n.哀歌，挽歌 | |
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235
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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236
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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237
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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238
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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239
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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240
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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241
pennant
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| n.三角旗；锦标旗 | |
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242
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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243
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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244
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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245
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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246
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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247
conjectural
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| adj.推测的 | |
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248
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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249
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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250
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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252
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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253
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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254
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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255
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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256
propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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257
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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258
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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259
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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260
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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261
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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262
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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263
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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264
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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265
biased
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| a.有偏见的 | |
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266
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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267
consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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268
brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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269
negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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270
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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271
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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272
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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273
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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274
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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275
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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276
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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277
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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278
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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279
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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280
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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281
toils
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| 网 | |
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282
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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283
pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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284
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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285
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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286
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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287
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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288
arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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289
emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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290
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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291
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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292
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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293
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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295
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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296
phoenix
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| n.凤凰，长生(不死)鸟；引申为重生 | |
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297
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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298
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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299
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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300
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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301
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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302
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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303
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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304
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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