"Such is the appearance of the world about me; I hope your scenes are more cheerful. But whatever befalls us, though it is wise to be serious, it is useless and foolish, and perhaps sinful, to be gloomy. Let us, therefore, keep ourselves as easy as we can; though the loss of friends will be felt, and poor Levett had been a faithful adherent for thirty years.
"Forgive me, my dear love, the omission of writing; I hope to mend that and my other faults. Let me have your prayers.
"Make my compliments to Mrs. Cobb, and Miss Adey, and Mr. Pearson, and the whole company of my friends.
I am, my dear,
"Your most humble servant,
"SAM. JOHNSON."
"London, March 2, 1782."
TO THE SAME.
"DEAR MADAM,
"My last was but a dull letter, and I know not that this will be much more cheerful; I am, however, willing to write, because you are desirous to hear from me.
"My disorder has now begun its ninth week, for it is not yet over. I was last Thursday blooded for the fourth time, and have since found myself much relieved, but I am very tender and easily hurt; so that since we parted I have had but little comfort, but I hope that the spring will recover me; and that in the summer I shall see Lichfield again, for I will not delay my visit another year to the end of autumn.
"I have, by advertising, found poor Mr. Levett"s brothers in Yorkshire, who will take the little he has left: it is but little, yet it will be welcome, for I believe they are of very low condition.
"To be sick, and to see nothing but sickness and death, is but a gloomy state; but I hope better times, even in this world, will come, and whatever this world may withhold or give, we shall be happy in a better state. Pray for me, my dear Lucy.
"Make my compliments to Mrs. Cobb, and Miss Adey, and my old friend Hetty Baily, and to all the Lichfield ladies.
"I am, dear Madam,
"Yours, affectionately,
"SAM. JOHNSON."
"Bolt-court, Fleet-street,
March 19, 1782."
On the day on which this letter was written, he thus feelingly mentions his respected friend and physician, Dr. Lawrence:--
"Poor Lawrence has almost lost the sense of hearing; and I have lost the conversation of a learned, intelligent, and communicative companion, and a friend whom long familiarity has much endeared. Lawrence is one of the best men whom I have known.--_Nostrum omnium miserere Deus_[448]."
It was Dr. Johnson"s custom when he wrote to Dr. Lawrence concerning his own health, to use the Latin language[449]. I have been favoured by Miss Lawrence with one of these letters as a specimen:--
"T. LAWRENCIO, _Medico, S_.
"NOVUM _frigus, nova tussis, nova spirandi difficultas, novam sanguinis missionem suadent, quam tamen te inconsulto nolim fieri. Ad te venire vix possum, nec est cur ad me venias. Licere vel non licere uno verbo dicendum est; catera mihi et Holdero[450] reliqueris. Si per te licet, imperatur[451] nuncio Holderum ad me deducere.
"Maiis Calendis, 1782.
"Postquam tu discesseris, qu me vertam[452]?"_
TO CAPTAIN LANGTON[453], IN ROCHESTER.
"DEAR SIR,
"It is now long since we saw one another; and whatever has been the reason neither you have written to me, nor I to you. To let friendship die away by negligence and silence, is certainly not wise. It is voluntarily to throw away one of the greatest comforts of this weary pilgrimage, of which when it is, as it must be, taken finally away, he that travels on alone, will wonder how his esteem could be so little. Do not forget me; you see that I do not forget you. It is pleasing in the silence of solitude to think, that there is one at least, however distant, of whose benevolence there is little doubt, and whom there is yet hope of seeing again[454].
"Of my life, from the time we parted, the history is mournful. The spring of last year deprived me of Thrale, a man whose eye for fifteen years had scarcely been turned upon me but with respect or tenderness[455]; for such another friend, the general course of human things will not suffer man to hope. I pa.s.sed the summer at Streatham, but there was no Thrale; and having idled away the summer with a weakly body and neglected mind, I made a journey to Staffordshire on the edge of winter. The season was dreary, I was sickly, and found the friends sickly whom I went to see. After a sorrowful sojourn, I returned to a habitation possessed for the present by two sick women, where my dear old friend, Mr. Levett, to whom as he used to tell me, I owe your acquaintance[456], died a few weeks ago, suddenly in his bed; there pa.s.sed not, I believe, a minute between health and death. At night, as at Mrs. Thrale"s I was musing in my chamber, I thought with uncommon earnestness, that however I might alter my mode of life, or whithersoever I might remove[457], I would endeavour to retain Levett about me; in the morning my servant brought me word that Levett was called to another state, a state for which, I think, he was not unprepared, for he was very useful to the poor. How much soever I valued him, I now wish that I had valued him more[458].
"I have myself been ill more than eight weeks of a disorder, from which at the expence of about fifty ounces of blood, I hope I am now recovering.
"You, dear Sir, have, I hope, a more cheerful scene; you see George fond of his book, and the pretty misses airy and lively, with my own little Jenny[459] equal to the best[460]: and in whatever can contribute to your quiet or pleasure, you have Lady Rothes ready to concur. May whatever you enjoy of good be encreased, and whatever you suffer of evil be diminished.
I am, dear Sir, Your humble servant, "SAM. JOHNSON."
"Bolt-court, Fleet-street, March 20, 1782."
"To MR. HECTOR, IN BIRMINGHAM[461].
"DEAR SIR,
"I hope I do not very grossly flatter myself to imagine that you and dear Mrs. Careless[462] will be glad to hear some account of me. I performed the journey to London with very little inconvenience, and came safe to my habitation, where I found nothing but ill health, and, of consequence, very little cheerfulness. I then went to visit a little way into the country, where I got a complaint by a cold which has hung eight weeks upon me, and from which I am, at the expence of fifty ounces of blood, not yet free. I am afraid I must once more owe my recovery to warm weather, which seems to make no advances towards us.
"Such is my health, which will, I hope, soon grow better. In other respects I have no reason to complain. I know not that I have written any thing more generally commended than the _Lives of the Poets_; and have found the world willing enough to caress me, if my health had invited me to be in much company; but this season I have been almost wholly employed in nursing myself.
"When summer comes I hope to see you again, and will not put off my visit to the end of the year. I have lived so long in London, that I did not remember the difference of seasons.
"Your health, when I saw you, was much improved. You will be prudent enough not to put it in danger. I hope, when we meet again, we shall all congratulate each other upon fair prospects of longer life; though what are the pleasures of the longest life, when placed in comparison with a happy death?
"I am, dear Sir,
"Yours most affectionately,
"SAM. JOHNSON."
"London, March 21, 1782."
To THE SAME.
[Without a date, but supposed to be about this time.][463]
"DEAR SIR,
"That you and dear Mrs. Careless should have care or curiosity about my health, gives me that pleasure which every man feels from finding himself not forgotten. In age we feel again that love of our native place and our early friends, which in the bustle or amus.e.m.e.nts of middle life were overborne and suspended. You and I should now naturally cling to one another: we have outlived most of those who could pretend to rival us in each other"s kindness. In our walk through life we have dropped our companions, and are now to pick up such as chance may offer us, or to travel on alone[464]. You, indeed, have a sister, with whom you can divide the day: I have no natural friend left; but Providence has been pleased to preserve me from neglect; I have not wanted such alleviations of life as friendship could supply. My health has been, from my twentieth year, such as has seldom afforded me a single day of ease[465]; but it is at least not worse: and I sometimes make myself believe that it is better. My disorders are, however, still sufficiently oppressive.
"I think of seeing Staffordshire again this autumn, and intend to find my way through Birmingham, where I hope to see you and dear Mrs.
Careless well. I am Sir,
"Your affectionate friend,