Mr. Jones would doubtless have made these reflections to himself had he not, while Partridge was still speaking, been distracted by the sudden appearance in an opposite box of Lady Bellaston and Sophia. As he had only left her ladyship that very afternoon, after a conversation of so private a nature that it must on no account be communicated to the reader, he would have disregarded the imperious signals which she forthwith began making to him with her fan; but the truth is, whatever reluctance he may have felt to rejoin her ladyship at that moment was overborne by his eagerness to approach the amiable Sophia, though he turned pale and his knees trembled at the risk of that approach in circumstances so dangerous. As soon as he had recovered his composure he hastened to obey her ladyship’s commands, but on his entry into the box his spirits were again confounded by the evident agitation of Sophia, and, seizing her hand, he stammered, “Madam, I——.” “Hoity, toity! Mr. Jones,” cried Lady Bellaston; “do you salute a chit of a girl before you take notice of a dowager? Are these the new manners among people of fashion? It is lucky for my heart that I can call myself a dowager, for I vow to-night you look like a veritable Adonis, and,” she added in a whisper too low to be heard by Sophia, “your Venus adores you more madly than ever, you wicked wretch.”
Jones was ready to sink with fear. He sat kicking his heels, playing with his fingers, and looking more like a fool, if it be possible, than a young booby squire when he is at first introduced into a polite assembly. He began, however, now to recover himself; and taking a hint from the behaviour of Lady Bellaston, who, he saw, did not intend openly to claim any close acquaintance with him, he resolved as entirely to affect the stranger on his part. Accordingly, he leaned over to Sophia, who was staring hard at the stage, and asked her if she enjoyed the performance. “Pray, don’t tease Miss Western with your civilities,” interrupted Lady Bellaston, “for you must know the child hath lost her heart this night to that ravishing fellow Ainley, though I tell her to my certain knowledge he is a husband already, and, what is more, a father. These country girls have nothing but sweethearts in their heads.” “Upon my honour, madam,” cried Sophia, “your ladyship injures me.” “Not I, miss, indeed,” replied her ladyship tartly, “and if you want a sweetheart, have you not one of the most gallant young fellows about town ready to your hand in Lord Fellamar? You must be an arrant mad woman to refuse him.” Sophia was visibly too much confounded to make any observations, and again turned towards the stage, Lady Bellaston taking the opportunity to dart languishing glances at Jones behind her back and to squeeze his hand; in short, to practise the behaviour customary with women of fashion who desire to signify their sentiments for a gentleman without expressing them in actual speech; when Jones, who saw the agitation of Sophia’s mind, resolved to take the only method of relieving her, which was by retiring. This he did, as Brutus was rushing upon his own sword; and poor Jones almost wished the sword might spit him, too, in his rage and despair at what her ladyship had maliciously insinuated about Sophia and Mr. Ainley.
DR. JOHNSON AT THE STADIUM
I am now to record a curious incident in Dr. Johnson’s life, which fell under my own observation; of which pars magna fui, and which I am persuaded will, with the liberal-minded, be in no way to his discredit.
When I was a boy in the year 1745 I wore a white cockade and prayed for King James, till one of my uncles gave me a shilling on condition that I should pray for King George, which I accordingly did. This uncle was General Cochran; and it was with natural gratification that I received from another member of that family, Mr. Charles Cochran, a more valuable present than a shilling, that is to say, an invitation to witness the Great Fight at the Stadium and to bring with me a friend. “Pray,” said I, “let us have Dr. Johnson.” Mr. Cochran, who is much more modest than our other great theatre-manager, Mr. Garrick, feared that Dr. Johnson could hardly be prevailed upon to condescend. “Come,” said I, “if you’ll let me negotiate for you, I will be answerable that all shall go well.”
I had not forgotten Mrs. Thrale’s relation (which she afterwards printed in her “Anecdotes”) that “Mr. Johnson was very conversant in the art of attack and defence by boxing, which science he had learned from his uncle Andrew, I believe; and I have heard him discourse upon the age when people were received, and when rejected, in the schools once held for that brutal amusement, much to the admiration of those who had no expectation of his skill in such matters, from the sight of a figure which precluded all possibility of personal prowess.” This lively lady was, however, too ready to deviate from exact authenticity of narration; and, further, I reflected that, whatever the propensities of his youth, he who had now risen to be called by Dr. Smollett the Great Cham of literature might well be affronted if asked to countenance a prize-fight.
Notwithstanding the high veneration which I entertained for him, I was sensible that he was sometimes a little actuated by the spirit of contradiction, and by means of that I hoped I should gain my point. I therefore, while we were sitting quietly by ourselves at his house in an evening, took occasion to open my plan thus:—“Mr. Cochran, sir, sends his respectful compliments to you, and would be happy if you would do him the honour to visit his entertainment at the Stadium on Thursday next?” Johnson.—“Sir, I am obliged to Mr. Cochran. I will go——” Boswell.—“Provided, sir, I suppose, that the entertainment is of a kind agreeable to you?” Johnson.—“What do you mean, sir? What do you take me for? Do you think I am so ignorant of the world as to imagine that I am to prescribe to a gentleman what kind of entertainment he is to offer his friends?” Boswell.—“But if it were a prize-fight?” Johnson.—“Well, sir, and what then?” Boswell.—“It might bring queer company.” Johnson.—“My dear friend, let us have no more of this. I am sorry to be angry with you; but really it is treating me strangely to talk to me as if I could not meet any company whatever occasionally.” Thus I secured him.
As it proved, however, whether by good luck or by the forethought of the ingenious Mr. Cochran, Dr. Johnson could not have found himself in better company than that gathered round him in Block H at the Stadium. There were many members of the Literary Club, among them Mr. Beauclerk, Mr. Burke, Mr. Garrick, Mr. Gibbon, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Mr. R. B. Sheridan. A gentleman present, who had been dining at the Duke of Montrose’s, where the bottle had been circulated pretty freely, was rash enough to rally Dr. Johnson about his Uncle Andrew, suggesting that his uncle’s nephew might now take the opportunity of exhibiting his prowess in the ring. Johnson.—“Sir, to be facetious, it is not necessary to be indecent. I am not for tapping any man’s claret, but we see that thou hast already tapped his Grace’s.” Burke.—“It is remarkable how little gore is ever shed in these contests. Here have we been for half an hour watching—let me see, what are their names?—Eddie Feathers and Gus Platts—and not even a bleeding nose between them.” Reynolds.—“In a previous contest one boxer knocked the other’s teeth out.” Sheridan.—“Yes, but they were false teeth.”
At this moment the talk was interrupted by the arrival of the Prince. As His Highness passed Dr. Johnson, my revered friend made an obeisance which was an even more studied act of homage than his famous bow to the Archbishop of York; and he subsequently joined in singing “For he’s a jolly good fellow” with the most loyal enthusiasm, repeating the word “fe-ellow” over and over again, doubtless because it was the only one he knew. (“Like a word in a catch,” Beauclerk whispered.) I am sorry that I did not take note of an eloquent argument in which he proceeded to maintain that the situation of Prince of Wales was the happiest of any person’s in the kingdom, even beyond that of the Sovereign.