James Boswell - Anecdotes of the Learned Pig

There is , ſays a remarker on the life of Milton, a high degree of prepollent probability that the letter in the Gentleman’s Magazine for the month of Auguſt 1747, page 363 and 364, ſigned William Lauder, came from the amicable hand of the writer of that life . I do not, however, believe that the writer of Milton’s life was in the ſecret of Lauder’s forgeries, the fact itſelf being of ſo extraordinary a nature, that it is not probable that any two perſons, ſeparately capable of committing it, ſhould ſo fortuitouſly meet together; yet ſuch was his malevolence towards Milton, that we muſt admit it to have greatly clouded his underſtanding. He undoubtedly wrote the preface and the poſtſcript to Lauder’s publication: in alluſion to which, Doctor Douglas ſays, that ’tis hoped, nay ’tis expected, that the the elegant and nervous writer, whoſe judicious ſentiments and inimitable ſtyle point out author of Lauder’s preface and poſtſcript, will no longer allow one to plume himſelf with his feathers, who appears ſo little to have deſerved his aſſiſtance . Lauder confeſſes his guilt in a letter to Doctor Douglas, and takes all the obloquy on himſelf; but in a ſubſequent letter he declares, that the penitential one was written for him by that very gentleman, who has ſince written the life of Milton, and makes ſome complaints of a breach of friendſhip, in which he had placed the moſt implicit and unlimited confidence ; but as he never charged, that I know of, the writer of Milton’s life with any participation in the forgery, we impute to him nothing but a ſtrange malignity which darkened his underſtanding. It muſt be owned, however, that he cut off the wreck of Lauder with great management, as well as competent ſucceſs. I remember that he boaſts in his life of Milton of his having written a prologue to the Comus of Milton, for the benefit of one of his grand daughters. This, I ſuppoſe, he would paſs for his benevolence; but he muſt excuſe me; I am not ſo much the dupe of charity as to believe, that he who ſo brutally calumniates Milton, his father, mother, uncles, wives, and children, and all unfortunate ſouls that trace him in his line , would be moved by any charitable diſpoſition towards any deſcendant of Milton’s, as being ſuch. The fact, I believe, is, that, finding Milton reduced by the labours of his friend Lauder to a level with his wiſhes, he practiſed, in concurrence with Mr. Lauder, one further act of malice, and endeavoured to fix an obligation on Milton in the perſon of his granddaughter, conferred by his moſt inveterate foes as the effect of ſatiated vengeance, converted into mingled pity and contempt. If there is any harſhneſs in this note, let it be remembered, that it ſpeaks of a man who, in the inſtance mentioned, let looſe the moſt outrageous malignity againſt one, who, whatever political errors he might have imbibed in common with a great majority of the nation, was, however, as a private man, of ſo exemplary a virtue, as to do the higheſt honour to literary purſuit, and whoſe genius, as a poet, conferred celebrity on the nation itſelf, and in whoſe protection therefore we ought to have taken a greater ſhare.

The hiſtory of this knocking is curious; it forms ſuch a drama of comedy, tragedy, and farce, from its firſt commencement in Cock Lane, paſſing through the ſolemn vaults of Clerkenwell, and then to Weſtminſter Hall, as, I believe, never was exhibited in any other country; a drama wherein childiſhneſs and age, gravity, dignities, folly, fraud, ſuperſtition, and credulity, were all largely and confuſedly thrown in to thicken the plot. That the perſon here deſignated ſhould carry out of this ſcene any reſpectability of character, is a proof that either he muſt have poſſeſſed great intrinſic worth, who could bear ſuch large deductions, or that public opinion has ceaſed to be the teſt of merit, if any baſe metal can in this manner paſs current for gold.

Our biographer ſhould have told us alſo, that once he joined the train of fancy, and paſſing the limits of fact, entered by the Shakeſpearean gate into fairy land. But in an evil hour, “No favouring Sybil marked the devious way.” Never was man or pig ſo aſtounded! and no wonder. He had ſtumbled unaccountably on the creations of ſenſibility, and found no correſponding emotions within; yet, unconſcious of defect, he pretended a knowledge of the country, and even offered himſelf as an unerring guide; but not long; for, tired with the maze, he gave way, at length, to new adventurers, and fled as another Gulliver out of Lilliput, where he had only encumbered the land.

“No man, however, was more jealouſly attached to his party; he not only loved a man the better, if he hated a Whig . Dear Bathurſt, ſaid he to me one day, was a man to my very heart’s content; he hated a fool, and he hated a rogue, and he hated a Whig ; he was a very good hater.” – Piozzi’s Memoirs, p. 83.

“ Pulteney was as paltry a fellow as could be. He was a Whig , who pretended to be honeſt; and you know it is ridiculous for a Whig to pretend to be honeſt.” Boſwell’s Journal, p. 424.

Talking of Granger – “The dog is a Whig : I do not like much to ſee a Whig in any dreſs; but I hate to ſee a Whig in a parſon’s gown.” — Ibid. p. 312.

Our author daſhes away from thing to thing with very little method or order. He might, however, have touched on the occupation of a ſchoolmaſter, ſo honourable for a pig ; in proof of which, we could have furniſhed him with the following document:

“At Edial, near Litchfield, in Staffordſhire, young gentlemen are boarded and taught the Latin and Greek languages by Samuel Johnſon.”

ADVERTISEMENT IN THE GENT. MAG. 1736, p. 428.