The Works of Samuel Johnson, Vol. 6 - Samuel Johnson
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It cannot be doubted but, thus caressed and honoured with the highest
and most publick marks of esteem by other nations, he became more
celebrated in the university; for Boerhaave was not one of those
learned men, of whom the world has seen too many, that disgrace their
studies by their vices, and, by unaccountable weaknesses, make
themselves ridiculous at home, while their writings procure them the
veneration of distant countries, where their learning is known, but
not their follies.
Not that his countrymen can be charged with being insensible of his
excellencies, till other nations taught them to admire him; for, in
1718, he was chosen to succeed Le Mort in the professorship of
chymistry; on which occasion he pronounced an oration, "De chemia
errores suos expurgante," in which he treated that science with an
elegance of style not often to be found in chymical writers, who seem
generally to have affected, not only a barbarous, but unintelligible
phrase, and to have, like the Pythagoreans of old, wrapt up their
secrets in symbols and enigmatical expressions, either because they
believed that mankind would reverence most what they least understood,
or because they wrote not from benevolence, but vanity, and were
desirous to be praised for their knowledge, though they could not
prevail upon themselves to communicate it.
In 1722, his course, both of lectures and practice, was interrupted by
the gout, which, as he relates it in his speech after his recovery, he
brought upon himself, by an imprudent confidence in the strength of
his own constitution, and by transgressing those rules which he had a
thousand times inculcated to his pupils and acquaintance. Rising in
the morning before day, he went immediately, hot and sweating, from
his bed into the open air, and exposed himself to the cold dews.
The history of his illness can hardly be read without horrour: he was
for five months confined to his bed, where he lay upon his back
without daring to attempt the least motion, because any effort renewed
his torments, which were so exquisite, that he was, at length, not
only deprived of motion but of sense. Here art was at a stand; nothing
could be attempted, because nothing-could be proposed with the least
prospect of success. At length, having, in the sixth month of his
illness, obtained some remission, he took simple medicines [37] in
large quantities, and, at length, wonderfully recovered.
His recovery, so much desired, and so unexpected, was celebrated on
Jan. 11, 1723, when he opened his school again, with general joy and
publick illuminations.
It would be an injury to the memory of Boerhaave, not to mention what
was related by himself to one of his friends, that when he lay whole
days and nights without sleep, he found no method of diverting his
thoughts so effectual, as meditation upon his studies, and that he
often relieved and mitigated the sense of his torments, by the
recollection of what he had read, and by reviewing those stores of
knowledge, which he had reposited in his memory.
This is, perhaps, an instance of fortitude and steady composure of
mind, which would have been for ever the boast of the stoick schools,
and increased the reputation of Seneca or Cato. The patience of
Boerhaave, as it was more rational, was more lasting than theirs; it
was that "patientia Christiana," which Lipsius, the great master of
the stoical philosophy, begged of God in his last hours; it was
founded on religion, not vanity, not on vain reasonings, but on
confidence in God.
In 1727, he was seized with a violent burning fever, which continued
so long, that he was once more given up by his friends.
From this time he was frequently afflicted with returns of his
distemper, which yet did not so far subdue him, as to make him lay
aside his studies or his lectures, till, in 1726, he found himself so
worn out, that it was improper for him to continue any longer the
professorships of botany or chymistry, which he, therefore, resigned,
April 28, and, upon his resignation, spoke a "Sermo academicus," or
oration, in which he asserts the power and wisdom of the creator from
the wonderful fabrick of the human body; and confutes all those idle
reasoners, who pretend to explain the formation of parts, or the
animal operations, to which he proves, that art can produce nothing
equal, nor any thing parallel. One instance I shall mention, which is
produced by him, of the vanity of any attempt to rival the work of
God. Nothing is more boasted by the admirers of chymistry, than that
they can, by artificial heats and digestion, imitate the productions
of nature. "Let all these heroes of science meet together," says
Boerhaave; "let them take bread and wine, the food that forms the
blood of man, and, by assimilation, contributes to the growth of the
body: let them try all their arts, they shall not be able, from these
materials, to produce a single drop of blood. So much is the most
common act of nature beyond the utmost efforts of the most extended
science!"
From this time Boerhaave lived with less publick employment, indeed,
but not an idle or an useless life; for, besides his hours spent in
instructing his scholars, a great part of his time was taken up by
patients, which came, when the distemper would admit it, from all
parts of Europe to consult him, or by letters which, in more urgent
cases, were continually sent to inquire his opinion and ask his
advice.
Of his sagacity, and the wonderful penetration with which he often
discovered and described, at first sight of a patient, such distempers
as betray themselves by no symptoms to common eyes, such wonderful
relations have been spread over the world, as, though attested beyond
doubt, can scarcely be credited. I mention none of them, because I
have no opportunity of collecting testimonies, or distinguishing
between those accounts which are well proved, and those which owe
their rise to fiction and credulity.
Yet I cannot but implore, with the greatest earnestness, such as have
been conversant with this great man, that they will not so far neglect
the common interest of mankind, as to suffer any of these
circumstances to be lost to posterity. Men are generally idle, and
ready to satisfy themselves, and intimidate the industry of others, by
calling that impossible which is only difficult. The skill to which
Boerhaave attained, by a long and unwearied observation of nature,
ought, therefore, to be transmitted, in all its particulars, to future
ages, that his successors may be ashamed to fall below him, and that
none may hereafter excuse his ignorance, by pleading the impossibility
of clearer knowledge.
Yet so far was this great master from presumptuous confidence in his
abilities, that, in his examinations of the sick, he was remarkably
circumstantial and particular. He well knew that the originals of
distempers are often at a distance from their visible effects; that to
conjecture, where certainty may be obtained, is either vanity or
negligence; and that life is not to be sacrificed, either to an
affectation of quick discernment, or of crowded practice, but may be
required, if trifled away, at the hand of the physician.
About the middle of the year 1737, he felt the first approaches of
that fatal illness that brought him to the grave, of which we have
inserted an account, written by himself, Sept. 8, 1738, to a friend at
London [38]; which deserves not only to be preserved, as an historical
relation of the disease which deprived us of so great a man, but as a
proof of his piety and resignation to the divine will.
In this last illness, which was, to the last degree, lingering,
painful, and afflictive, his constancy and firmness did not forsake
him. He neither intermitted the necessary cares of life, nor forgot
the proper preparations for death. Though dejection and lowness of
spirits was, as he himself tells us, part of his distemper, yet even
this, in some measure, gave way to that vigour, which the soul
receives from a consciousness of innocence.
About three weeks before his death he received a visit, at his country
house, from the reverend Mr. Schultens, his intimate friend, who found
him sitting without-door, with his wife, sister, and daughter: after
the compliments of form, the ladies withdrew, and left them to private
conversation; when Boerhaave took occasion to tell him what had been,
during his illness, the chief subject of his thoughts. He had never
doubted of the spiritual and immaterial nature of the soul; but
declared that he had lately had a kind of experimental certainty of
the distinction between corporeal and thinking substances, which mere
reason and philosophy cannot afford, and opportunities of
contemplating the wonderful and inexplicable union of soul and body,
which nothing but long sickness can give. This he illustrated by a
description of the effects which the infirmities of his body had upon
his faculties, which yet they did not so oppress or vanquish, but his
soul was always master of itself, and always resigned to the pleasure
of its maker.
He related, with great concern, that once his patience so far gave way
to extremity of pain, that, after having lain fifteen hours in
exquisite tortures, he prayed to God that he might be set free by
death.
Mr. Schultens, by way of consolation, answered, that he thought such
wishes, when forced by continued and excessive torments, unavoidable
in the present state of human nature; that the best men, even Job
himself, were not able to refrain from such starts of impatience. This
he did not deny; but said, "he that loves God, ought to think nothing
desirable, but what is most pleasing to the supreme goodness."
Such were his sentiments, and such his conduct, in this state of
weakness and pain: as death approached nearer, he was so far from
terrour or confusion, that he seemed even less sensible of pain, and
more cheerful under his torments, which continued till the 23rd day of
September, 1738, on which he died, between four and five in the
morning, in the 70th year of his age.
Thus died Boerhaave, a man formed by nature for great designs, and
guided by religion in the exertion of his abilities. He was of a
robust and athletick constitution of body, so hardened by early
severities, and wholesome fatigue, that he was insensible of any
sharpness of air, or inclemency of weather. He was tall, and
remarkable for extraordinary strength. There was, in his air and
motion, something rough and artless, but so majestick and great, at
the same time, that no man ever looked upon him without veneration,
and a kind of tacit submission to the superiority of his genius.
The vigour and activity of his mind sparkled visibly in his eyes; nor
was it ever observed, that any change of his fortune, or alteration in
his affairs, whether happy or unfortunate, affected his countenance.
He was always cheerful, and desirous of promoting mirth by a facetious
and humorous conversation; he was never soured by calumny and
detraction, nor ever thought it necessary to confute them; "for they
are sparks," said he, "which, if you do not blow them, will go out of
themselves."
Yet he took care never to provoke enemies by severity of censure, for
he never dwelt on the faults or defects of others, and was so far from
inflaming the envy of his rivals, by dwelling on his own excellencies,
that he rarely mentioned himself or his writings.
He was not to be overawed or depressed by the presence, frowns, or
insolence of great men, but persisted, on all occasions, in the right,
with a resolution always present and always calm. He was modest, but
not timorous, and firm without rudeness.
He could, with uncommon readiness and certainty, make a conjecture of
men's inclinations and capacity by their aspect.
His method of life was to study in the morning and evening, and to
allot the middle of the day to his publick business. His usual
exercise was riding, till, in his latter years, his distempers made it
more proper for him to walk: when he was weary, he amused himself with
playing on the violin.
His greatest pleasure was to retire to his house in the country, where
he had a garden stored with all the herbs and trees which the climate
would bear; here he used to enjoy his hours unmolested, and prosecute
his studies without interruption.
The diligence with which he pursued his studies, is sufficiently
evident from his success. Statesmen and generals may grow great by
unexpected accidents, and a fortunate concurrence of circumstances,
neither procured nor foreseen by themselves; but reputation in the
learned world must be the effect of industry and capacity. Boerhaave
lost none of his hours, but, when he had attained one science,
attempted another; he added physick to divinity, chymistry to the
mathematicks, and anatomy to botany. He examined systems by
experiments, and formed experiments into systems. He neither neglected
the observations of others, nor blindly submitted to celebrated names.
He neither thought so highly of himself, as to imagine he could
receive no light from books, nor so meanly, as to believe he could
discover nothing but what was to be learned from them. He examined the
observations of other men, but trusted only to his own.
Nor was he unacquainted with the art of recommending truth by
elegance, and embellishing the philosopher with polite literature: he
knew that but a small part of mankind will sacrifice their pleasure to
their improvement, and those authors who would find many readers, must
endeavour to please while they instruct.
He knew the importance of his own writings to mankind, and lest he
might, by a roughness and barbarity of style, too frequent among men
of great learning, disappoint his own intentions, and make his labours
less useful, he did not neglect the politer arts of eloquence and
poetry. Thus was his learning, at once, various and exact, profound
and agreeable.
But his knowledge, however uncommon, holds, in his character, but the
second place; his virtue was yet much more uncommon than his learning.
He was an admirable example of temperance, fortitude, humility, and
devotion. His piety, and a religious sense of his dependance on God,
was the basis of all his virtues, and the principle of his whole
conduct. He was too sensible of his weakness to ascribe any thing to
himself, or to conceive that he could subdue passion, or withstand
temptation, by his own natural power; he attributed every good
thought, and every laudable action, to the father of goodness. Being
once asked by a friend, who had often admired his patience under great
provocations, whether he knew what it was to be angry, and by what
means he had so entirely suppressed that impetuous and ungovernable
passion, he answered, with the utmost frankness and sincerity, that he
was naturally quick of resentment, but that he had, by daily prayer
and meditation, at length attained to this mastery over himself.
As soon as he arose in the morning, it was, throughout his whole life,
his daily practice to retire for an hour to private prayer and
meditation; this, he often told his friends, gave him spirit and
vigour in the business of the day, and this he, therefore, commended,
as the best rule of life; for nothing, he knew, could support the
soul, in all distresses, but a confidence in the supreme being; nor
can a steady and rational magnanimity flow from any other source than
a consciousness of the divine favour.
He asserted, on all occasions, the divine authority and sacred
efficacy of the holy scriptures; and maintained that they alone taught
the way of salvation, and that they only could give peace of mind. The
excellency of the Christian religion was the frequent subject of his
conversation. A strict obedience to the doctrine, and a diligent
imitation of the example of our blessed saviour, he often declared to
be the foundation of true tranquillity. He recommended to his friends
a careful observation of the precept of Moses, concerning the love of
God and man. He worshipped God as he is in himself, without attempting
to inquire into his nature. He desired only to think of God, what God
knows of himself. There he stopped, lest, by indulging his own ideas,
he should form a deity from his own imagination, and sin by falling
down before him. To the will of God he paid an absolute submission,
without endeavouring to discover the reason of his determinations; and
this he accounted the first and most inviolable duty of a Christian.
When he heard of a criminal condemned to die, he used to think: Who
can tell whether this man is not better than I? or, if I am better, it
is not to be ascribed to myself, but to the goodness of God.
Such were the sentiments of Boerhaave, whose words we have added in
the note [39]. So far was this man from being made impious by
philosophy, or vain by knowledge, or by virtue, that he ascribed all
his abilities to the bounty, and all his goodness to the grace of God.
May his example extend its influence to his admirers and followers!
May those who study his writings imitate his life! and those who
endeavour after his knowledge, aspire likewise to his piety!
He married, September 17, 1710, Mary Drolenveaux, the only daughter of
a burgomaster of Leyden, by whom he had Joanna Maria, who survived her
father, and three other children, who died in their infancy. The works
of this great writer are so generally known, and so highly esteemed,
that, though it may not be improper to enumerate them in the order of
time, in which they were published, it is wholly unnecessary to give
any other account of them.
He published, in 1707, Institutiones medicae; to which he added, in
1708, Aphorismi de cognoscendis et curandis morbis.
1710, Index stirpium in horto academico.
1719, De materia medica, et remediorum formulis liber; and, in 1727, a
second edition.
1720, Alter index stirpium, &c. adorned with plates, and containing
twice the number of plants as the former.
1722, Epistola ad cl. Ruischium, qua sententiam Malpighianam de
glandulis defendit.
1724, Atrocis nee prius descripti morbi historia illustrissimi baronis
Wassenariae.
1725, Opera anatomica et chirurgica Andreae Vesalii; with the life of
Vesalius.
1728, Altera atrocis rarissimique morbi marchionis de Sancto Albano
historia.
Auctores de lue Aphrodisiaca, cum tractatu praefixo.
1731, Aretaei Cappadocis nova editio.
1732, Elementa Chemiae.
1734, Observata de argento vivo, ad Reg. Soc. et Acad. Scient.
These are the writings of the great Boerhaave, which have made all
encomiums useless and vain, since no man can attentively peruse them,
without admiring the abilities, and reverencing the virtue of the
author. [40]
BLAKE.
At a time when a nation is engaged in a war with an enemy, whose
insults, ravages, and barbarities have long called for vengeance, an
account of such English commanders as have merited the acknowledgments
of posterity, by extending the powers, and raising the honour of their
country, seems to be no improper entertainment for our readers [41].
We shall, therefore, attempt a succinct narration of the life and
actions of admiral Blake, in which we have nothing further in view,
than to do justice to his bravery and conduct, without intending any
parallel between his achievements, and those of our present admirals.
Robert Blake was born at Bridgewater, in Somersetshire, in August,
1598; his father being a merchant of that place, who had acquired a
considerable fortune by the Spanish trade. Of his earliest years we
have no account, and, therefore, can amuse the reader with none of
those prognosticks of his future actions, so often met with in
memoirs.
In 1615, he entered into the university of Oxford, where he continued
till 1623, though without being much countenanced or caressed by his
superiours, for he was more than once disappointed in his endeavours
after academical preferments. It is observable, that Mr. Wood, in his
Athenae Oxonieuses, ascribes the repulse he met with at Wadham college,
where he was competitor for a fellowship, either to want of learning,
or of stature. With regard to the first objection, the same writer had
before informed us, that he was an early riser and studious, though he
sometimes relieved his attention by the amusements of fowling and
fishing. As it is highly probable that he did not want capacity, we
may, therefore, conclude, upon this confession of his diligence, that
he could not fail of being learned, at least, in the degree requisite
to the enjoyment of a fellowship; and may safely ascribe his
disappointment to his want of stature, it being the custom of sir
Henry Savil [42], then warden of that college, to pay much regard to
the outward appearance of those who solicited preferment in that
society. So much do the greatest events owe sometimes to accident or
folly!
He afterwards retired to his native place, where "he lived," says
Clarendon, "without any appearance of ambition to be a greater man
than he was, but inveighed with great freedom against the license of
the times, and power of the court."
In 1640, he was chosen burgess for Bridgewater by the puritan party,
to whom he had recommended himself by the disapprobation of bishop
Laud's violence and severity, and his non-compliance with those new
ceremonies, which he was then endeavouring to introduce.
When the civil war broke out, Blake, in conformity with his avowed
principles, declared for the parliament; and, thinking a bare
declaration for right not all the duty of a good man, raised a troop
of dragoons for his party, and appeared in the field with so much
bravery, that he was, in a short time, advanced, without meeting any
of those obstructions which he had encountered in the university.
In 1645, he was governour of Tauntou, when the lord Goring came before
it with an army of ten thousand men. The town was ill fortified, and
unsupplied with almost every thing necessary for supporting a siege.
The state of this garrison encouraged colonel Windham, who was
acquainted with Blake, to propose a capitulation, which was rejected
by Blake, with indignation and contempt; nor were either menaces or
persuasions of any effect, for he maintained the place, under all its
disadvantages, till the siege was raised by the parliament's army.
He continued, on many other occasions, to give proofs of an
insuperable courage, and a steadiness of resolution not to be shaken;
and, as a proof of his firm adherence to the parliament, joined with
the borough of Taunton, in returning thanks for their resolution to
make no more addresses to the king. Yet was he so far from approving
the death of Charles the first, that he made no scruple of declaring,
that he would venture his life to save him, as willingly as he had
done to serve the parliament.
In February, 1648-9, he was made a commissioner of the navy, and
appointed to serve on that element, for which he seems by nature to
have been designed. He was soon afterwards sent in pursuit of prince
Rupert, whom he shut up in the harbour of Kinsale, in Ireland, for
several months, till want of provisions, and despair of relief,
excited the prince to make a daring effort for his escape, by forcing
through the parliament's fleet: this design he executed with his usual
intrepidity, and succeeded in it, though with the loss of three ships.
He was pursued by Blake to the coast of Portugal, where he was
received into the Tagus, and treated with great distinction by the
Portuguese.
Blake, coming to the mouth of that river, sent to the king a
messenger, to inform him, that the fleet, in his port, belonging to
the publick enemies of the commonwealth of England, he demanded leave
to fall upon it. This being refused, though the refusal was in very
soft terms, and accompanied with declarations of esteem, and a present
of provisions, so exasperated the admiral, that, without any
hesitation, he fell upon the Portuguese fleet, then returning from
Brasil, of which he took seventeen ships, and burnt three. It was to
no purpose that the king of Portugal, alarmed at so unexpected a
destruction, ordered prince Rupert to attack him, and retake the
Brasil ships. Blake carried home his prizes without molestation, the
prince not having force enough to pursue him, and well pleased with
the opportunity of quitting a port, where he could no longer be
protected.
Blake soon supplied his fleet with provision, and received orders to
make reprisals upon the French, who had suffered their privateers to
molest the English trade; an injury which, in those days, was always
immediately resented, and if not repaired, certainly punished. Sailing
with this commission, he took in his way a French man of war, valued
at a million. How this ship happened to be so rich, we are not
informed; but as it was a cruiser, it is probable the rich lading was
the accumulated plunder of many prizes. Then following the unfortunate
Rupert, whose fleet, by storms and battles, was now reduced to five
ships, into Carthagena, he demanded leave of the Spanish governour to
attack him in the harbour, but received the same answer which had been
returned before by the Portuguese: "That they had a right to protect
all ships that came into their dominions; that, if the admiral were
forced in thither, he should find the same security; and that he
required him not to violate the peace of a neutral port." Blake
withdrew, upon this answer, into the Mediterranean; and Rupert, then
leaving Carthagena, entered the port of Malaga, where he burnt and
sunk several English merchant ships. Blake, judging this to be an
infringement of the neutrality professed by the Spaniards, now made no
scruple to fall upon Rupert's fleet in the harbour of Malaga, and,
having destroyed three of his ships, obliged him to quit the sea, and
take sanctuary at the Spanish court.