talking together about him one day, "That man," says Hogarth, "is not
contented with believing the Bible, but he fairly resolves, I think, to
believe nothing _but_ the Bible. Johnson," added he, "though so wise a
fellow, is more like King David than King Solomon; for he says in his
haste that 'all men are liars.'" This charge, as I afterwards came to
know, was but too well founded. Mr. Johnson's incredulity amounted
almost to disease, and I have seen it mortify his companions exceedingly.
But the truth is, Mr. Thrale had a very powerful influence over the
Doctor, and could make him suppress many rough answers. He could
likewise prevail on him to change his shirt, his coat, or his plate,
almost before it came indispensably necessary to the comfort of his
friends. But as I never had any ascendency at all over Mr. Johnson,
except just in the things that concerned his health, it grew extremely
perplexing and difficult to live in the house with him when the master of
it was no more; the worse, indeed, because his dislikes grew capricious;
and he could scarce bear to have anybody come to the house whom it was
absolutely necessary for me to see. Two gentlemen, I perfectly well
remember, dining with us at Streatham in the summer, 1782, when Elliot's
brave defence of Gibraltar was a subject of common discourse, one of
these men naturally enough began some talk about red-hot balls thrown
with surprising dexterity and effect, which Dr. Johnson having listened
some time to, "I would advise you, sir," said he, with a cold sneer,
"never to relate this story again; you really can scarce imagine how
_very poor_ a figure you make in the telling of it." Our guest being
bred a Quaker, and, I believe, a man of an extremely gentle disposition,
needed no more reproofs for the same folly; so if he ever did speak
again, it was in a low voice to the friend who came with him. The check
was given before dinner, and after coffee I left the room. When in the
evening, however, our companions were returned to London, and Mr. Johnson
and myself were left alone, with only our usual family about us, "I did
not quarrel with those Quaker fellows," said he, very seriously. "You
did perfectly right," replied I, "for they gave you no cause of offence."
"No offence!" returned he, with an altered voice; "and is it nothing,
then, to sit whispering together when _I_ am present, without ever
directing their discourse towards me, or offering me a share in