We dined at our inn, and had with us a Mr. Jackson, one of Johnson’s schoolfellows, whom he treated with much kindness, though he seemed to be a low man, dull and untaught.  He had a coarse grey coat, black waistcoat, greasy leather breeches, and a yellow uncurled wig; and his countenance had the ruddiness which betokens one who is in no haste to ‘leave his can.’  He drank only ale.  He had tried to be a cutler at Birmingham, but had not succeeded; and now he lived poorly at home, and had some scheme of dressing leather in a better manner than common; to his indistinct account of which, Dr. Johnson listened with patient attention, that he might assist him with his advice.  Here was an instance of genuine humanity and real kindness in this great man, who has been most unjustly represented as altogether harsh and destitute of tenderness.  A thousand such instances might have been recorded in the course of his long life; though that his temper was warm and hasty, and his manner often rough, cannot be denied.

I saw here, for the first time, oat ale; and oat cakes not hard as in Scotland, but soft like a Yorkshire cake, were served at breakfast.  It was pleasant to me to find, that Oats, the food of horses, were so much used as the food of the people in Dr. Johnson’s own town.  He expatiated in praise of Lichfield and its inhabitants, who, he said, were ’the most sober, decent people in England, the genteelest in proportion to their wealth, and spoke the purest English.’  I doubted as to the last article of this eulogy:  for they had several provincial sounds; as there, pronounced like fear, instead of like fair; once pronounced WOONSE, instead of WUNSE, or WONSE.  Johnson himself never got entirely free of those provincial accents.  Garrick sometimes used to take him off, squeezing a lemon into a punch-bowl, with uncouth gesticulations, looking round the company, and calling out, ‘Who’s for POONSH?’

Very little business appeared to be going forward in Lichfield.  I found however two strange manufactures for so inland a place, sail-cloth and streamers for ships; and I observed them making some saddle-cloths, and dressing sheepskins:  but upon the whole, the busy hand of industry seemed to be quite slackened.  ’Surely, Sir, (said I,) you are an idle set of people.’  ’Sir, (said Johnson,) we are a city of philosophers, we work with our heads, and make the boobies of Birmingham work for us with their hands.’

There was at this time a company of players performing at Lichfield, The manager, Mr. Stanton, sent his compliments, and begged leave to wait on Dr. Johnson.  Johnson received him very courteously, and he drank a glass of wine with us.  He was a plain decent well-behaved man, and expressed his gratitude to Dr. Johnson for having once got him permission from Dr. Taylor at Ashbourne to play there upon moderate terms.  Garrick’s name was soon introduced.  Johnson.  ’Garrick’s conversation is gay and grotesque.  It is a dish of all sorts, but all good things.  There is no solid meat in it:  there is a want of sentiment in it.  Not but that he has sentiment sometimes, and sentiment, too, very powerful and very pleasing:  but it has not its full proportion in his conversation.’