Chapter IV

A biography of Boswell, though it might profess to be complete, could say little about his domestic life. If he has told us very little about it, there is, however, no reason that we should seek to know more. It was a very essential part of Boswell that he should have a wife and family: a wife, because she adds a certain flavour of respectability and is a definite asset to the social position of a man, still more perhaps because she increases responsibility and so intensifies the sensation of importance; a family, because to the man of estate there must be born an heir. But the mere fact of his being married was, in a sense, of far less consequence to him than to most men.

There were two aspects of his life which were dissociated in a peculiar degree from each other—the life in Scotland, where he laboured at the Law and was eventually to be Laird of Auchinleck, and where his home was the basis of operations; and the life in London, which he visited as often as he was able, to live the gay life he loved, and to talk to his literary friends, especially to Dr. Johnson. The pleasure he had in the society of his English friends was far more to him than another man's recreation or hobby. It occupied more time, and it was time spent away from his domestic circle and, for the most part, away from his work. He is never tired of telling of his love of London.

I had long complained to him [Johnson] that I felt myself discontented in Scotland, as too narrow a sphere, and that I wished to make my chief residence in London, the great scene of ambition, instruction, amusement: a scene which was to me, comparatively speaking, a heaven upon earth! Johnson: 'Why, Sir, I never knew anyone who had such a gust for London as you have.'

It must be our business then to follow for a little the life of Boswell among his London friends, to see the relations in which he stood to them and the progress of his intimacy with Dr. Johnson.

In the 'Life' there are recorded the consecutive visits of Boswell to England with relation always to Dr. Johnson in particular, but referring also to other celebrities whom he met, and to his own pleasures and amusements. The group of men who were in the first place the friends and admirers of Dr. Johnson, and with whom Boswell naturally associated so far as he was able, were for the most part distinguished men in the best literary society, and members of that club which was started by Johnson and Reynolds in 1762 or 1763. Burke, Beauclerk, Langton, Goldsmith, THE LITERARY CLUB Hawkins, were original members; Garrick was elected in 1773, as was Boswell himself. Malone, whose wise help was invaluable to Boswell in preparing for the press his magnum opus, and who was its first editor, became a member later.

The pleasure which it gave Boswell to belong to this club of distinguished men is revealed in his own account of his election. 'The gentlemen went away to their club, and I was left at Beauclerk's till the fate of my election should be announced to me. I sat in a state of anxiety which even the charming conversation of Lady Di Beauclerk could not entirely dissipate. In a short time I received the agreeable intelligence that I was chosen. I hastened to the place of meeting, and was introduced to such a society as can seldom be found.'

From a conversation reported in the 'Tour to the Hebrides' it would appear that Boswell was not elected without some difficulty. 'He [Johnson] told me, "Sir, you got into our club by doing what a man can do."'

(Boswell's note on this is: 'This I find is considered as obscure. I suppose Dr. Johnson meant that I assiduously and earnestly recommended myself to some of the members, as in a canvass for an election into Parliament.')

'Several of the members wished to keep you out. Burke told me he doubted if you were fit for it....' Boswell: 'They were afraid of you, Sir, as it was you who proposed me.' Johnson: 'Sir, they knew that if they refused you, they'd probably have never got in another. I'd have kept them all out.'

The man who could do this was clearly of importance to those who were interested, even though in a less degree than himself, in Dr. Johnson. We may suppose that the circle of Johnson's literary friends welcomed Boswell as much for his peculiar homage to the Doctor as for his own social talents.

.....

We must now more nearly examine that friendship, which is as much the concern of our own age as it was of Boswell's. We have considered already what it was that caused these two men to be friends; but the meanest picture of Boswell must include some account of his behaviour towards Johnson; we must review the progress of their friendship and remark the more characteristic attitudes of the biographer.

THE COURSE OF FRIENDSHIPIn the pages of the 'Life of Johnson' is recorded in detail, and almost without reserve, the story of the relations between these two friends. It is a story full of humour, telling of all the little peculiarities of a great man, of all the whims and foibles which we are accustomed to observe in old age and which we both like and laugh at; but it is the story also of a deep and anxious affection.

If the course of friendship ran smoothly on the whole for Johnson and Boswell, as might be expected when one of the two was so well balanced and so practically wise as the older man, yet, as must always be the case with people who are not either quite perfect or quite colourless, there were rough places here and there; and these, if responsible for no great misery, were, however, the cause of some unhappiness to both. Boswell, at all events, realised very keenly the great gulf between them; between his own sensitive, uncertain nature and Johnson's rude strength. He, probably more than most men, wanted sympathy, wanted to be understood. With what relief he speaks from his heart to Temple: 'I have not had such a relief as this for I don't know how long. I have broke the trammels of business, and am roving unconfined with my Temple.' It is unfortunate for Boswell that he expressed himself so extravagantly. We sympathise with those who are self-contained about sentiment and particularly about their own sorrows, but we have few kind feelings for those who exaggerate. And Boswell, because he was difficult to understand, was more than usually isolated: to Johnson, at all events, there must have been many matters about which he could not talk, and he was nettled sometimes by the other's blunt advice. It was unpleasant to be told by one whom he so much respected, at the moment of his first serious publication, 'The Corsican Journal,' to 'empty his head of Corsica which had filled it too long.' It must have been more than annoying when he had written to Johnson in a despondent mood (there is no reason to doubt that he was genuine in despondency) to receive his answer: 'I had hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery. What have you to do with Liberty and Necessity? Or what more than to hold your tongue about it? Do not doubt that I shall be most heartily glad to see you here again, for I love every part about you but your affectation of distress.'

Much as we must admire the honest wrath of Johnson, and the desire which he had to cure the affectation of Boswell, we cannot but regret sometimes that he was not more discriminating. It was much, no doubt, to be assured of affection, but affection alone could not take the place of an understanding sympathy; and if this had come from one whom he so much respected, it would have been invaluable to Boswell. As it was, he realised that Johnson must partially disapprove of him, and it was because he knew, and felt PROOFS OF AFFECTION this disapproval, as much as from any inherent quality of his temperament, that he so often wanted a proof of affection.

Whatever may have been their cause—it may have been no more than the mere need for friendship coupled with the peculiar unreserve of Boswell's character—the result of these demands was sometimes to irritate Johnson.

I said to him: 'My dear Sir, we must meet every year, if you don't quarrel with me.' Johnson: 'Nay, Sir, you are more likely to quarrel with me than I with you. My regard for you is greater almost than I have words to express; but I do not choose to be always repeating it; write it down in the first leaf of your pocket-book, and never doubt of it again.'

On one occasion Johnson was really angry. Boswell conceived the idea of making an experiment to test his affection. It was apparently his custom to write to Johnson upon his return to his family. He wanted to see what the Doctor would do if he neglected the usual civility. Johnson, of course, was eventually the first to write; and Boswell, thus gratified, answered him by a letter which frankly explained his motives:

I was willing ... to try whether your affection for me would, after an unusual silence on my part, make you write first. This afternoon I have had very high satisfaction by receiving your kind letter of inquiry, for which I most gratefully thank you. I am doubtful if it was right to make the experiment, though I have gained by it.

We may forgive Johnson for being annoyed by this letter.

Those who make very large demands upon their friends for a display of affection are, as a rule, rather tiresome companions; it may possibly be good to be sensitive, but it is bad to be easily offended, which is often the case with such people. But if Boswell, like many who take a decided lead in friendship, required many proofs to make him believe that it was more than a one-sided affair, he of all men was the most difficult to offend. We cannot do better than read his own accounts of his quarrels with Johnson. There is that famous one, in the first place, of the dinner at Sir Joshua's.

On Saturday, May 2, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds', where there was a very large company, and a great deal of conversation; but owing to some circumstance which I cannot now recollect, I have no record of any part of it, except that there were several people there by no means of the Johnsonian school; so that less attention was paid to him than usual, which put him out of humour; and upon some imaginary offence from me he attacked me with such rudeness, that I was vexed and angry, because it gave those persons an opportunity of enlarging upon his supposed ferocity and ill-treatment of his friends.

We may doubt whether Boswell gives the true reason BOSWELL BUFFETTED for his vexation. He was able to stand a great deal of 'buffeting' at Dr. Johnson's hands; but it was probably necessary for him to feel that the company were good-natured in their merriment. We do not resent that men should laugh at us if they laugh with us at the same time. It was no doubt the contemptuous and half-concealed mirth of strangers which Boswell felt to be unbearable. And if he felt like this we may sympathise with a short period of sulking. 'I was so much hurt, and had my pride so much roused, that I kept away from him for a week; and, perhaps, might have kept away much longer, nay, gone to Scotland without seeing him again, had not we fortunately met and been reconciled. To such unhappy chances are human friendships liable.'

The oddest thing of all about Boswell, when we reflect upon the scenes of his humiliation, is his pride. It is not the least unlikely that, as he suggests, if circumstances had not ordained otherwise he would have waited, and waited for a long time, for Johnson to make advances. It was not merely the pride of the worm in the proverb which may be roused at the last. The worm would not consciously go out of his way to incur insulting anger as Boswell did when he arranged the dinner with Wilkes and on many other occasions. Boswell's was a pride which was constantly giving him pain and was capable, when goaded to obstinacy, of going to considerable lengths.

At Sir Joshua Reynolds' dinner he must have suffered acutely. Croker tells the story of Boswell's discomfiture as it was told to him at fourth-hand by the Marquess of Wellesley. 'The wits of Queen Anne's reign were talked of, when Boswell exclaimed, "How delightful it must have been to have lived in the society of Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, Gay, and Bolingbroke! We have no such society in our days." Sir Joshua answered, "I think, Mr. Boswell, you might be satisfied with your great friend's conversation." "Nay, Sir, Mr. Boswell is right," said Johnson, "every man wishes for preferment, and if Boswell had lived in those days, he would have obtained promotion." "How so, Sir?" asked Sir Joshua. "Why, Sir," said Johnson, "he would have had a high place in the Dunciad."' It was a hard blow. How deep was the wound we cannot tell, because we do not know how it was said or how received. It is curious at first sight that Boswell should have been more sulky about this than about many a rough retort recorded in the 'Life.' It is even more remarkable that he should have concealed this story of his humiliation while he told others with perfect frankness. To do so was entirely contrary to his principle and practice. The idea that 'the several people there by no means of the Johnsonian school' should read the story, recall the circumstances and laugh, not good-naturedly but with contempt and malice, must have overcome for once the biographer's 'sacred love of truth.' From QUARREL AND RECONCILIATION these facts, in any case, we may fairly argue that Boswell suffered from his pride as a proud man must have suffered from the Doctor's rude snubs. It is to Boswell's credit that he was willing to run the gauntlet and even to bare his breast for the wound, not only because if he was to have the honour he must endure the pain, but at least as much because he knew that it was his vocation to goad the giant into action, to strike and fan the spark that would ignite the powder. It is to Boswell's credit that he had a part in the fray: he bled from honourable wounds. But since men had been so ill-natured as to despise them it was difficult to display the gashes and the scars; and because from a noble motive he did what was most difficult and most valuable we must praise Boswell exceedingly.

It is further to Boswell's credit that, if he winced for a moment under the sledge-hammer and pouted at the executioner, his natural good-humour and generosity made reconciliation easy.

On Friday, May 8, I dined with him at Mr. Langton's. I was reserved and silent, which I suppose he perceived and might recollect the cause. After dinner, while Mr. Langton was called out of the room, and we were by ourselves, he drew his chair near to mine, and said, in a tone of conciliating courtesy, 'Well, how have you done?' Boswell: 'Sir, you have made me very uneasy by your behaviour to me when we were last at Sir Joshua Reynolds'. You know, my dear Sir, no man has a greater respect and affection for you, or would sooner go to the end of the world to serve you. Now to treat me so——.' He insisted that I had interrupted him, which I assured him was not the case and proceeded—'But why treat me so before people who neither love you nor me?' Johnson: 'Well, I am sorry for it. I'll make it up to you i' twenty different ways as you please.'

Johnson certainly seems to have made himself most agreeable on this occasion, and it would have been churlish of Boswell to have resisted these advances; but nothing could be more truly generous than the way in which he reminded Johnson of his affection and respect. Boswell now proceeds to appease his pride by using the occasion to make a bon mot. 'I said to-day to Sir Joshua, when he observed that you tossed me sometimes—"I don't care how often or how high he tosses me, when only friends are present, for then I fall upon soft ground: but I do not like falling on stones, which is the case when enemies are present." I think this is a pretty good image, Sir.' Johnson assents, with unusual courtesy, 'Sir it is one of the happiest I have ever heard.' And Boswell is now completely satisfied. The account proceeds by giving Johnson a testimonial for good-nature and assuring its readers that the best of relations were at once re-established. 'The truth is, there was no venom in the wounds he inflicted at any time, unless they were irritated by some malignant infusion from other hands. We were instantly as cordial again as ever, and joined HUMILIATION AND ITS REWARD in hearty laugh at some ludicrous but innocent peculiarities of one of our friends.'

The story of this quarrel, if there were no other evidence, would show that Boswell endured not a few rebuffs. The fact indeed has never been challenged. Johnson's method of talking for victory often took the form of mere rudeness, and Boswell was frequently the subject of his rough wit. For Boswell it was a question whether the fun and the interest of making Johnson angry were worth the sacrifice of dignity involved. In retrospect it always was so, and, at the moment too, very often. He tells us how, on one occasion, he had quoted Shakespeare in the course of discussion, and Johnson, who was angry, had made the characteristic reply, 'Nay, if you are to bring in gabble I'll talk no more'; it is evident that this was regarded by him as a successful issue to the argument. Johnson had become angrier and angrier, and Boswell, far from trying to appease him, was glad to bring him to a state of entire unreasonableness. He was conscious of this when he commented with evident pleasure, 'My readers will decide upon this dispute.'

There is something of the same spirit in the tale which Boswell tells of the quarrel on the moor during the Tour in the Hebrides. Boswell towards the end of a day had the not unnatural intention of going on ahead to make preparations at the inn.

It grew dusky; and we had a very tedious ride for what was called five miles; but I am sure would measure ten. We had no conversation. I was riding forward to the inn at Glenelg, on the opposite shore to Skye, that I might take proper measures, before Dr. Johnson, who was now advancing in dreary silence, Hay leading his horse, should arrive. Vass also walked by the side of his horse, and Joseph followed behind: as therefore he was thus attended, and seemed to be in deep meditation, I thought there could be no harm in leaving him for a little while.

Boswell indeed seems to have been particularly thoughtful and even shows some delicacy in not interrupting Johnson's meditations to tell him his plan. The sequel must have surprised him very much. 'He called me back with a tremendous shout, and was really in a passion with me for leaving him. I told him my intentions, but he was not satisfied, and said, "Do you know I should as soon have thought of picking a pocket as doing so?"' This did not annoy Boswell in the least, though it took place in the presence of their servants; he was accustomed by this time to the Doctor's moods, and could only be amused. He replied with a composure which he must have known would irritate Johnson exceedingly; 'I am diverted with you, Sir.' The force of the desired explosion may have been underestimated. 'Johnson: "Sir, I could never be diverted with incivility...." His extraordinary warmth confounded me so much, that I justified myself but lamely to him. Matters in fact were QUARREL IN THE HEBRIDES rather more serious than Boswell had supposed, and he must now make an effort to pacify his companion—but without effect. 'I resumed the subject of my leaving him on the road, and endeavoured to defend it better. He still was violent on that head, and said, "Sir, had you gone on, I was thinking that I should have returned with you to Edinburgh, and then have parted from you, and never spoken to you more."' The storm was indeed a bad one that did not clear up entirely by bedtime. Boswell felt distinctly uneasy in the volcanic atmosphere; but he easily effected a complete reconciliation.

Thursday, September 2. I had slept ill. Dr. Johnson's anger had affected me much. I considered that, without any bad intention, I might suddenly forfeit his friendship; and was impatient to see him this morning. I told him how uneasy he had made me by what he had said, and reminded him of his own remark at Aberdeen upon old friendships being hastily broken off. He owned he had spoken in a passion ...; and he added, 'Let's think no more on't.' Boswell: 'Well then, Sir, I shall be easy. Remember I am to have fair warning in case of any quarrel. You are never to spring a mine upon me. It was absurd in me to believe you.' Johnson: 'You deserved about as much as to believe me from night to morning.'

The mixture of amusement and anxiety in Boswell's conduct and the affectionate and good-humoured reconciliation are all extremely typical of the relations between these two friends. Johnson indeed had far too much sense of Boswell's good qualities and value ever to fall out with him seriously, and it would have been hard to do so. There was never one real misunderstanding between them up to the end. Their intercourse, consisting of the visits of Boswell to London and a number of letters on both sides, had but one break, from November 1769 to April 1771. Boswell had just been married, and omitted in 1770 to pay his usual visit to London; he tells us that there was no coldness on either side, no reason for not writing beyond the common one of procrastination.

The correspondence of Boswell and Johnson is on the whole of an irregular nature; there is more than one interval, longer than we might expect, between two men who were such active friends as they, in an age when letter-writing was cultivated for its own sake. Arguing from this fact and considering that he was not present at Johnson's death-bed, Boswell has been accused of neglecting his friend at the end of his life. But from the state of mind which he described much earlier in the London Magazine, we can otherwise account for these lapses:

We may suppose that whenever Boswell for a short time failed in his careful attention it was through no lack of affection, but rather through a kind of indolence and want of purpose in the manner of it, which is far from being uncommon.

The greatest event in this long friendship, and the time which has left us the fullest record, is the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' in 1773. In Boswell's journal we see more nearly than elsewhere the relations between the two friends and the nature of their companionship. In the foreground is the extreme amiability of Boswell—it was by this that he was fitted to perform that most difficult office of friendship, to travel with Dr. Johnson. We may read his own account of himself at this time:

Think then, of a gentleman of ancient blood, the pride of which was his predominant passion. He was then in his thirty-third year, and had been about four years happily married. His inclination was to be a soldier; but his father, a respectable judge, had pressed him into the profession of the law. He had travelled a good deal, and seen many varieties of human life. He had thought more than anybody supposed, and had a pretty good stock of general learning and knowledge. He had all Dr. Johnson's principles, with some degree of relaxation. He had rather too little, than too much prudence; and, his imagination being lively, he often said things of which the effect was very different from the intention. He resembled sometimes

No one certainly could have been more attentive than Boswell was: he had a sense of responsibility in being in charge of the great writer, which made him anxious not only that Johnson should be welcomed in a fitting manner, but that he himself should appear as a worthy companion. His deep sense of respect, his desire for approval and dread of reproof are constantly TRAVELLING COMPANIONS obvious. This attitude is well illustrated by the account of his carouse in Corrichatachin:

We were cordial and merry to a high degree, but of what passed I have no recollection, with any accuracy....

Sunday, September 26. I awaked at noon with a severe headache. I was much vexed that I should have been guilty of such a riot, and afraid of a reproof from Dr. Johnson. I thought it very inconsistent with that conduct which I ought to maintain as the companion of the Rambler.

The interview, however, was a very pleasant one. Boswell found 'the Rambler' in his most agreeable mood and was glad to escape the reproof he had anticipated. 'About one he came into my room and accosted me, "What, drunk yet?"' His tone of voice was not that of severe upbraiding; so I was relieved a little. 'Sir,' said I, 'they kept me up.' He answered, 'No, you kept them up, you drunken dog:' This he said with a good-humoured English pleasantry.

Boswell, it need hardly be said, was very proud of introducing Johnson to the men of Scotland: it raised him, as he no doubt understood, in their esteem, and he took trouble that Johnson should appear to them in the most favourable light. He had also a further gratification. He was more than a mere showman. He came to have proprietary rights in Dr. Johnson. Boswell's joy was the joy of possession: and he even became jealous. There is a story told by Miss Burney, of a later date, when Boswell, it must be admitted, behaved rather badly. A party gathered at Streatham where Johnson was staying. Boswell arrived to spend the morning. The Doctor's intimacy with Miss Burney was new to Boswell and the latter now found that his rights were being infringed. 'A collation was ordered.'

Mr. Boswell [it is related] was preparing to take a seat that he seemed, by prescription, to consider as his own, next to Dr. Johnson; but Mr. Seward, who was present, waved his hand for Mr. Boswell to move farther on, saying, with a smile, 'Mr. Boswell, that seat is Miss Burney's.'

He stared, amazed: the asserted claimant was new and unknown to him, and he appeared by no means pleased to resign his prior rights. But, after looking round for a minute or two with an important air of demanding the meaning of this innovation, and receiving no satisfaction, he reluctantly, also resentfully, got another chair, and placed it at the back of the shoulder of Dr. Johnson, while this new and unheard-of rival quietly seated herself as if not hearing what was passing, for she shrunk from the explanation that she feared might ensue, as she saw a smile stealing over every countenance, that of Dr. Johnson himself not excepted, at the discomfiture and surprise of Mr. Boswell.

We must not forget that Boswell, before everything else, was the biographer, looking ever with inquisitive eye upon the great man's movements, marking with BOSWELL OBSERVING zealous care any detail that might be significant, and appreciating very keenly the humour of every scene. The furthest point one may suppose that his curiosity reached, or indeed was able to reach, is recorded in an account of breakfast at Lochbuy. The comedy arose from an unusual proposal on the part of Lady Lochbuy as to the provision to be made for Johnson's entertainment; Boswell encouraged it to see what the Doctor would do, deriving at the same time much pleasure from the dispute between the lady and her brother.

She proposed that he should have some cold sheep's head for breakfast. Sir Allan seemed displeased at his sister's vulgarity, and wondered how such a thought should come into her head. From a mischievous love of sport, I took the lady's part; and very gravely said, 'I think it is but fair to give him an offer of it. If he does not choose it, he may let it alone.' 'I think so,' said the lady, looking at her brother with an air of victory. Sir Allan, finding the matter desperate, strutted about the room and took snuff. When Dr. Johnson came in she called to him, 'Do you choose any cold sheep's head, Sir?' 'No, Madam,' said he, with a tone of surprise and anger. 'It is here, Sir,' said she, supposing he had refused it to save the trouble of bringing it in. They thus went on at cross purposes till he confirmed his refusal in a manner not to be misunderstood.

The malicious experiment of Boswell had the desired conclusion. 'I,' he says, 'sat quietly by, and enjoyed my success.'

Dr. Burney thought that Dr. Johnson, who generally treated Mr. Boswell like a schoolboy, whom, without the smallest ceremony, he pardoned or rebuked alternately, would so indignantly have been provoked as to have instantaneously inflicted upon him some mark of his displeasure. And equally he was persuaded that Mr. Boswell, however shocked and even inflamed in receiving it, would soon, from his deep veneration, have thought it justly incurred, and after a day or two of pouting and sullenness would have compromised the matter by one of his customary simple apologies of 'Pray, Sir, forgive me.' Dr. Johnson though often irritated by the officious importunity of Mr. Boswell, was really touched by his attachment.

It was presumably in some degree because he realised that Johnson was fond of him that Boswell was able to endure his rudeness. It must be remembered, however, that it was deliberately in most cases brought upon himself, and there was then no real cause to take offence. You cannot complain if JOHNSON'S REPROOFS by your own fault you have made a man angry, whatever he may say—especially if he is thirty years older than yourself. It is one of Boswell's chief merits that he was able to see this. He may have been often annoyed, but he came afterwards to see that it was but the natural result of his method of treating Johnson—the method which enabled him to write in the end the immortal 'Life.'

Boswell in the rôle of biographer will claim a more detailed attention later in this book. It will suffice to say here that the attitude which he presented in the scene at Lochbuy, and on all those occasions when he led Johnson to talk or arranged some situation for the sake of observing his behaviour, is that which is most typical of Boswell, that by which he was famous, or, as some might have said, notorious among his contemporaries.

The relations between these two friends which we see so pleasantly revealed in Boswell's journal of the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' in 1773, containing as they did all that is best between the old and the young, remained unimpaired to the death of Johnson in 1784: Boswell never neglected to pay at least one visit in the year to England, and preserved to the end his affection, his careful and kind attention, his pride and respect, and above all his humour and curiosity. It would be idle to suggest, though it may be difficult to understand or explain the fact, that his absence from Johnson's death-bed is significant in any way of a declining interest and affection.

Johnson in one of his last letters said: 'I consider your fidelity and tenderness as a great part of the comforts which are yet left me'; and Boswell, JOHNSON'S DEATH speaking of his death, says enough when he says no more than this: 'I trust I shall not be accused of affectation when I declare that I find myself unable to express all that I felt upon the loss of such a Guide, Philosopher, and Friend.'

The loss was indeed a severe one for Boswell. He made a friend of Johnson at the age of twenty-two and was forty-four at the date of Johnson's death. For more than twenty years he had been accustomed implicitly to trust the judgment of the older man.

Its mere duration in time is some testimony to the value of the friendship, the more so when we remember that Boswell when he died himself was but fifty-five years old. The friend who was the hero of Boswell's youth, and his constant adviser, saw within the space of a few years the beginning of his professional life at the Scotch Bar, the publication of his first serious book, his marriage to an admirable lady, and his election to the Literary Club; he died but two years after Boswell had become the Laird of Auchinleck, at a time when he was showing an increased activity, and before the political and legal hopes that he indulged had brought about by their failure the disappointment of his later life.

From the few facts which have been related here something may be gleaned, if not a complete conception of the part which Johnson played in Boswell's life. Boswell has revealed himself as a friend and in particular as the friend of Johnson. So great a devotion is a real asset in life. Whatever its definite value may be as regards events, and it is often small, it serves to fix more clearly and fuse together the intricate moving forms of a land of dreams into a simple mundane shape. It may be an end in itself. And devotion in Boswell's case belonged to the essence of his genius. It was an important part of that abnormal ingredient in him which was to blaze forth in an imperishable flame.

What Johnson accomplished for Boswell was primarily in the realm of ideals. The aspirations of Boswell were concentrated by his admiration. But what was the final result? When Johnson died, the ship that carried that heavy load of Boswell's hopes was sailing steadily towards a definite harbour, though not the harbour he intended to reach: what had Johnson to do with this? Was his the hand at the helm?—the breath in the sails?