Another odd whim of Johnson’s was, that he would never pass a lamp-post without touching it, and would go back miles upon his way to repair an omission.  Surely great wit to madness is near allied.

This most strange young man was a boarder in the home of Mrs. Porter, when her husband was alive, and the husband and boarder had been fast friends—­drawn together by a bookish bias.

Very naturally, when the husband passed away, the boarder sought to console the bereaved landlady, and the result was as usual.  And when, long years after, Johnson would solemnly explain that it was a pure love-match on both sides, the statement never failed to excite much needless and ill-suppressed merriment on the part of the listeners.  In mimicking the endearments of Johnson and his “pretty creature”—­so the admiring husband called her—­Garrick many years later added to his artistic reputation.

Unlike most literary men, Johnson was domestic, and his marriage was one of the most happy events of his career.  But to show that the philosophy of Montaigne is not infallible, and that all signs fail in dry weather, it may be stated that the bride proved by her conduct on her wedding-day that she had some relish of the saltness of time in her cosmos, despite her fifty summers and as many hard winters.

Said Johnson to Boswell, referring to the horseback-ride home after the wedding-ceremony:  “Sir, she had read the old romances, and had got into her head the fantastical notion that a woman of spirit should use her lover like a dog.  So, sir, at first she told me that I rode too fast, and she could not keep up with me; and when I rode a little slower, she passed me, and complained that I lagged behind.  I was not to be made the slave of caprice; and I resolved to begin as I meant to end.  I therefore pushed on briskly, till I was fairly out of sight.  The road lay between two hedges, so I was sure she could not miss it; and I contrived that she should soon come up with me.  When she did I observed her to be in tears.”

* * * * *

Shortly after his marriage, Johnson opened a private school for boys.  To operate a private school successfully implies a certain amount of skill in the management of parents; but Johnson’s uncouth manners and needlessly blunt speech were appalling to those who had children who might possibly be given to imitation.

Only three pupils were secured, and but one of these received any benefit from the tutor; and this benefit came, according to the scholar, from the master’s supplying an excellent object for ridicule.

This pupil’s name was David Garrick.

The meeting with David Garrick was a pivotal point in the life of Johnson.  Johnson’s mental and spiritual existence flowed on, separate and apart from that of his wife.  There was no meeting of the waters.  His affection for her was most tender and constant, but in quality it seemed to differ but slightly from the sentiment he entertained toward “Hodge,” his cat.