―99―For the Literary Magazine.
boswell parodied.
MANY of my readers have proba-
bly laughed more than once over the
―100―
following exquisite specimen of witty
satire. Is an apology necessary for
presenting it once more to the view
of such readers? Will they not
consent to read it once more, and
read it with nearly as much satis-
faction as at first? True wit, like
pure gold, never loses its intrinsic
value by any lapse of time or fre-
quency of circulation. As long as
it is intelligible, it is precious; and,
with respect to the following effusion,
the reference tacitly made to Bos-
wells memorable Life of Johnson
can escape but few readers.
They that smile at this parody
afford no proof that they set not a
high value on the work intended to
be parodied. All allow Boswell's
books, especially the Hebridian
Tour, to contain occasional absurdi-
ties and puerilities, and the same en-
lightened taste that rejects what is
ridiculous or frivolous, will clearly
discern and justly estimate the use-
ful and solidwith which it may chance
to be allied. I reckon, therefore,
with confidence on the forgiveness
of those who have seen this before,
and on the gratitude of those who
have chanced never to have seen it.
An Extract from the Life of Dr.
Pozz, in ten volumes folio, writ-
ten by James Bozz, Esq., who
flourished with him near fifty
years.
——We dined at the chop-house.
Dr. Pozz was this day very instruc-
tive. We talked of books; I men-
tioned the History of Tommy Trip:
I said it was a great work. Pozz.
“Yes, sir, it is a great work; but,
sir, it is a great work relatively;
it was a great work to you when you
was a little boy; but now, sir, you
are a great man, and Tommy Trip
is a little boy.” I felt somewhat
hurt at this comparison, and I be-
lieved he perceived it; for, as he
was squeezing a lemon, he said,
“Never be affronted at a compari-
son. I have been compared to
many things, but I never was af-
fronted. No, sir, if they would call
me a dog, and you a canister tied to
my tail, I would not be affronted,”
Cheered by this kind mention of
me, though in such a situation, I
asked him what he thought of a
friend of our's, who was always
making comparisons? Pozz. “Sir,
that fellow has a simile for every
thing but himself; I knew him
when he kept a shop; he then made
money, sir, and now he makes com-
parisons: sir, he would say, that
you and were two figs stuck
together two figs in adhesion, sir,
and then he would laugh.” Bozz.
“But have not some great writers
determined that comparisons are
now and then odious?” Pozz.
“No, sir, not odious in themselves,
not odious as comparisons; the fel-
lows who make them are odious.
The whigs make comparisons.”
We supped that evening at his
house. I showed him some lines I
had made upon a pair of breeches:
Pozz. “Sir, the lines are good;
but where could you find such a
subject in your country?” Bozz.
“Therefore it is a proof of inven-
tion, which is characteristic of poe-
try.” Pozz. “Yes, sir, but an in-
vention which few of your country-
men can enjoy.” I reflected after-
wards on the depth of this remark;
it affords a proof of that acuteness
which he displays in every branch
of literature. I asked him, if he
approved of green spectacles?
Pozz. “As to green spectacles, sir,
the question seems to be this: if I
wore green spectacles, it would be
because they assisted vision, or be-
cause I liked them. Now, sir, if a
man tells me he does not like green
spectacles, and that they hurt his
eyes, I would not compel him to
wear them. No, sir, I would dis-
suade him.” A few months after I
consulted him again on this subject
and he honoured me with a letter,
in which he gives the same opinion.
It will be found in its proper place,
vol. vi, page 2789. I have thought
much on this subject, and must con-
fess, that in such matters a man
ought to be a free moral agent.
Next day I left town, and was
absent for six weeks, three days, and
seven hours, as I find by a memo-
―101―
randum in my journal, in this time
I had only one letter from him,
which is as follows:
To James Bozz, Esq.
“Dear Sir,“My bowels have been very bad.
Pray buy for me some Turkey rhu-
barb, and bring with you a copy of
your Tour.
“Write me soon, and write me
often.
Your's affectionately, “sam. pozz.”
It would have been unpardonable
to have omitted a letter like this, in
which we see so much of his great
and illuminated mind. On my re-
turn to town, we met again at the
chop-house. We had much conver-
sation to day: his wit flashed like
lightning; indeed, there is not one
hour of my present life in which I
do not profit by some of his valuable
communications.
We talked of wind. I said I knew
many persons much distressed with
that complaint. Pozz. “Yes, sir,
when confined, when pent up.” I
said I did not know that, and I
questioned if the Romans ever knew
it. Pozz. “Yes, sir, the Romans
knew it.” Bozz. “Livy does not
mention it.” Pozz. “No, sir, Livy
wrote history. Livy was not writing
the life of a friend.”
On medical subjects his know-
ledge was immense. He told me
of a friend of our's who had just
been attacked by a most dreadful
complaint; he had entirely lost the
use of his limbs, so that he could
neither stand nor walk, unless sup-
ported: his speech was quite gone;
his eyes were much swollen, and
every vein distended, yet his face
was rather pale, and his extremi-
ties cold; his pulse beat 160 in a
minute. I said with tenderness,
that I would go and see him; and,
said I, “Sir, I will take Dr. Bolus
with me.” Pozz. “No, sir, don't
go.” I was startled, for I knew his
compassionate heart, and earnestly
asked why? Pozz. “Sir, you don't
know his disorder.” Bozz. “Pray
what is it?” Pozz. “Sir, the man
is dead drunk!” This explanation
threw me into a violent fit of laugh-
ter, in which he joined me, rolling
about as he used to do when he en-
joyed a joke; but he afterwards
checked me. Pozz. “Sir you ought
not to laugh at what I said. Sir, he
who laughs at what another man
says, will soon learn to laugh at
that other man. Sir, you should
laugh only at your own jokes; ergo,
you should laugh seldom.”
We talked of a friend of our's
who was a very violent politician.
I said I did not like his company.
Pozz. “No, sir, he is not healthy;
he is sore, sir, his mind is ulcerat-
ed; he has a political whitlow;
sir, you cannot touch him but he
winces. Sir, I would not talk poli-
tics with that man; I would talk of
cabbage and pease; sir, I would ask
him how he got his corn in, and
whether his wife was with child;
but I would not talk politics. Bozz.
“But, perhaps, sir, he would talk
of nothing else.” Pozz. “Then,
sir, it is plain what he would do.”
On my very earnestly enquiring
what that was, Dr. Pozz answered,
“Sir, he would let it alone.”
I mentioned a tradesman, who
had lately set up his coach. Pozz.
“He is right, sir; a man who would
go on swimmingly cannot get too
soon off his legs. That man keeps
his coach; now, sir, a coach is better
than a chaise; sir, it is better than a
chariot.” Bozz. “Why, sir?” Pozz.
“Sir, it will hold more.” I begged
he would repeat this, that I might re-
member it, and he complied with
great good humour. “Dr. Pozz,”
said I, “you ought to keep a coach.”
Pozz. “Yes, sir, I ought.” Bozz. “But
you do not, and that has often sur-
prised me.” Pozz. “Surprised you!
There, sir, is another prejudice of
absurdity. Sir, you ought to be sur-
prised at nothing. A man that has liv-
ed half your days ought to be above
all surprise. Sir, it is a rule with me
never to be surprised. It is through
mere ignorance, that you cannot
―102―
guess why I do not keep a coach,
and you are surprised. Now, sir, if
you did know, you would not be sur-
prised” I said, tenderly, “I hope,
my dear sir, you will let me know
before I leave town.” Pozz. ” Yes,
sir, you shall know now. You shall
not go to Mr. Winkins and to Mr.
Jenkins, and to Mr. Stubbs, and say,
why does not Pozz keep a coach?
I will tell you myself: sir, I can't
afford it.”
We talked of drinking. I asked
him whether, in the course of his
long and valuable life, he had not
known some men who drank more
than they could bear? Pozz. “Yes,
sir; and then, sir, nobody could bear
them. A man who is drunk, sir, is
a very foolish fellow.” Bozz. “But,
sir, as the poet says, 'he is devoid
of all care.” Pozz. “Yes, sir, he
cares for nobody; he has none of the
cares of life; he cannot be a mer-
chant, sir, for he cannot write
his name; he cannot be a poli-
tician, sir, for he cannot talk; he
cannot be an artist, sir, for he can-
not see; and yet, sir, there is science
in drinking.” Bozz. “I suppose you
mean that a man ought to know
what he drinks.” Pozz. “No, sir,
to know what one drinks is nothing;
but the science consists of three parts.
Now, sir, were I to drink wine, I
should wish to know them all; I
should wish to know when I had too
little, when I had enough, and when
I had too much. There is our friend
*****, (mentioning a gentleman of
our acquaintance) he knows when
he has too little, and when he has
too much, but he knows not when he
has enough. Now, sir, that is the
science of drinking, to know when
one has enough.”
We talked this day on a variety
of topics, but I find very few me-
morandums in my journal. On
small beer, he said it was flatulent
liquor. He disapproved of those
who deny the utility of absolute pow-
er, and seemed to be offended with
a friend of our's, who would always
have his eggs poached. Sign-posts,
he observed, had degenerated within
his memory; and he particularly
found fault with the moral of the
Beggar's Opera. I endeavoured to
defend a work which had afforded
me so much pleasure, but could not
master that strength of mind with
which he argued; and it was with
great satisfaction that he communi-
cated to me afterwards a method
of curing corns by applying a piece
of oiled silk. In the early history of
the world he preferred sir Isaac
Newton's Chronology; but as they
gave employment to useful artisans,
he did not dislike the large buckles
then coming into use.
Next day we dined at the Mitre.
I mentioned spirits. Pozz. “Sir,
there is as much evidence for the
existence of spirits as against it.
You may not believe it, but you
cannot deny it.” I told him that my
great-grand-mother once saw a
spirit. He asked me to relate it,
which I did very minutely, while
he listened with profound attention.
When I mentioned that the spirit
once appeared in the shape of a
shoulder of mutton, and another
time in that of a tea-pot, he inter-
rupted me: Pozz. “There, sir, is
the point; the evidence is good,
but the scheme is defective in con-
sistency. We cannot deny that the
spirit appeared in these shapes;
but then we cannot reconcile them.
What has a tea-pot to do with a
shoulder of mutton? Neither is it
a terrific object. There is nothing
contemporaneous. Sir, these are
objects which are not seen at the
same time, nor in the same place.”
Bozz. “I think, sir, that old wo-
men in general are used to see
ghosts.” Pozz. “Yes, sir, and
their conversation is full of the sub-
ject; I would have an old woman to
record such conversations; their
loquacity tends to minuteness.”
We talked of a person who had
a very bad character. Pozz. “Sir,
he is a scoundrel.” Bozz. “I hate
a scoundrel.” Pozz. “There you
are wrong; don't hate scoundrels.
Scoundrels, sir, are useful; there
are many things we cannot do with-
out scoundrels. I would not chuse
to keep company with scoundrels,
―103―
but something may be got from
them.” Bozz. “Are not scoundrels
generally tools?” Pozz. “No, sir,
they are not. A scoundrel must
be a clever fellow; he must know
many things of which a fool is igno-
rant. Any man may be a fool. I
think a good book might be made
out of scoundrels. I would have a
Biographia Flagitiosa, the lives of
eminent scoundrels, from the earli-
est accounts to the present day.” I
mentioned hanging; I thought it a
very aukward situation. Pozz.
“No, sir, hanging is not an auk-
ward situation; it is proper, sir,
that a man whose actions tend to-
wards flagitious obliquity, should ap-
pear perpendicular at last.” I told
him that I had lately been in com-
pany with some gentlemen, every
one of whom could recollect some-
friend or other who had been hang-
ed. Pozz. “Yes, sir, that is the
easiest way. We know those who
have been hanged; we can recollect
that; but we cannot number those
who deserve it; it would not be de-
corous, sir, in a mixed company.
No, sir, that is one of the few things
which we are compelled to think.”