AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.

WHEN the works of a great Writer, who has bequeathed to poſterity a laſting legacy, are preſented to the world, it is naturally expected, that ſome account of his life ſhould accompany the edition. The Reader wiſhes to know as much as poſſible of the Author. The circumſtances that at⯑tended him, the features of his private cha⯑racter, his converſation, and the means by which he roſe to eminence, become the fa⯑vourite [2] objects of enquiry. Curioſity is excited; and the admirer of his works is eager to know his private opinions, his courſe of ſtudy, the particularities of his conduct, and, above all, whether he purſued the wiſdom which he re⯑commends, and practiſed the virtue which his writings inſpire. A principle of gratitude is awakened in every generous mind. For the entertainment and inſtruction which genius and diligence have provided for the world, men of refined and ſenſible tempers are ready to pay their tribute of praiſe, and even to form a poſthumous friendſhip with the author.

In reviewing the life of ſuch a writer, there is, beſides, a rule of juſtice to which the publick have an undoubted claim. Fond ad⯑miration and partial friendſhip ſhould not be ſuffered to repreſent his virtues with exaggera⯑tion; nor ſhould malignity be allowed, under a ſpecious diſguiſe, to magnify mere defects, the uſual failings of human nature, into vice or groſs deformity. The lights and ſhades of the character ſhould be given; and, if this be done with a ſtrict regard to truth, a juſt eſti⯑mate of Dr. Johnſon will afford a leſſon per⯑haps [3] as valuable as the moral doctrine that ſpeaks with energy in every page of his works.

The preſent writer enjoyed the converſation and friendſhip of that excellent man more than thirty years. He thought it an honour to be ſo connected, and to this hour he reflects on his loſs with regret: but regret, he knows, has ſecret bribes, by which the judgement may be influenced, and partial affection may be carried beyond the bounds of truth. In the preſent caſe, however, nothing needs to be diſguiſed, and exaggerated praiſe is unneceſſary. It is an obſervation of the younger Pliny, in his Epiſtle to his Friend of Tacitus, that hiſtory ought never to magnify matters of fact, becauſe worthy actions require nothing but the truth. Nam nec hiſtoria debet egredi veritatem, et honeſte factis veritas ſufficit. This rule the preſent biographer promiſes ſhall guide his pen throughout the following narrative.

It may be ſaid, the death of Dr. Johnſon kept the public mind in agitation beyond all former example. No literary character ever [4] excited ſo much attention; and, when the preſs has teemed with anecdotes, apophthegms, eſſays, and publications of every kind, what occaſion now for a new tract on the ſame threadbare ſubject? The plain truth ſhall be the anſwer. The proprietors of Johnſon's Works thought the life, which they prefixed to their former edition, too unwieldy for re⯑publication. The prodigious variety of foreign matter, introduced into that performance, ſeemed to overload the memory of Dr. John⯑ſon, and in the account of his own life to leave him hardly viſible. They wiſhed to have a more conciſe, and, for that reaſon, perhaps a more ſatisfactory account, ſuch as may exhibit a juſt picture of the man, and keep him the principal figure in the fore ground of his own picture. To comply with that requeſt is the deſign of this eſſay, which the writer under⯑takes with a trembling hand. He has no diſ⯑coveries, no ſecret anecdotes, no occaſional controverſy, no ſudden flaſhes of wit and humour, no private converſation, and no new facts to embelliſh his work. Every thing has been gleaned. Dr. Johnſon ſaid of himſelf, ‘I am not uncandid, nor ſevere: I ſome⯑times [5] ſay more than I mean, in jeſt, and people are apt to think me ſerious ^*.’ The exerciſe of that privilege, which is enjoyed by every man in ſociety, has not been allowed to him. His fame has given importance even to trifles, and the zeal of his friends has brought every thing to light. What ſhould be related, and what ſhould not, has been publiſhed with⯑out diſtinction. Dicenda tacenda locuti! Every thing that fell from him has been caught with eagerneſs by his admirers, who, as he ſays in one of his letters, have acted with the dili⯑gence of ſpies upon his conduct. To ſome of them the following lines, in Mallet's Poem on Verbal Criticiſm, are not inapplicable:

[6]After ſo many eſſays and volumes of Johnſoni⯑ana, what remains for the preſent writer? Perhaps, what has not been attempted; a ſhort, yet full, a faithful, yet temperate hiſ⯑tory of Dr. Johnſon.

SAMUEL JOHNSON was born at Lichfield, September 7, 1709, O. S ^*. His father, Michael Johnſon, was a bookſeller in that city; a man of large athletic make, and violent paſſions; wrong-headed, poſitive, and at times afflicted with a degree of melancholy, little ſhort of madneſs. His mother was ſiſter to Dr. Ford, a practiſing phyſician, and father or Cornellus Ford, generally known by the name of PARSON FORD, the ſame who is re⯑preſented near the punch-bowl in Hogarth's Midnight Modern Converſation. In the Life of Fanton, Johnſon ſays, that ‘his abilities, inſtead or furniſhing convivial merriment to the voluptuous and diſſolute, might have ena⯑bled him to excel among the virtuous and the [7] wife.’ Being chaplain to the Earl of Cheſ⯑terfield, he wiſhed to attend that nobleman on his embaſſy to the Hague. Colley Cibber has recorded the anecdote. "You ſhould go," ſaid the witty peer, ‘if to your many vices you would add one more.’ ‘Pray, my Lord, what is that?’ ‘Hypocriſy, my dear Doc⯑tor.’ Johnſon had a younger brother named Nathaniel, who died at the age of twenty-ſeven or twenty-eight. Michael Johnſon, the father, was choſen in the year 1718 Under Bailiff of Lichfield, and in the year 1725 he ſerved the office of the Senior Bailiff. He had a brother of the name of Andrew, who, for ſome years, kept the ring at Smithfield, ap⯑propriated to wreſtlers and boxers. Our author uſed to ſay, that he was never thrown or con⯑quered. Michael, the father, died December 1731, at the age of ſeventy-ſix; his mother at eighty-nine, of a gradual decay, in the year 1759. Of the family nothing more can be related worthy of notice. Johnſon did not delight in talking of his relations. ‘There is little pleaſure,’ he ſaid to Mrs. Piozzi, ‘in relating the anecdotes of beggary.’

[8]Johnſon derived from his parents, or from an unwholeſome nurſe, the diſtemper called the King's Evil. The Jacobites at that time believed in the efficacy of the royal touch; and accordingly Mrs. Johnſon preſented her ſon, when two years old, before Queen Anne, who, for the firſt time, performed that office, and communicated to her young patient all the healing virtue in her power. He was after⯑wards cut for that ſcrophulous humour, and the under part of his face was ſeamed and diſ⯑figured by the operation. It is ſuppoſed, that this diſeaſe deprived him of the ſight of his left eye, and alſo impaired his hearing. At eight years old, he was placed under Mr. Hawkins, at the Free-ſchool at Lichfield, where he was not remarkable for diligence or regular application. Whatever he read, his tenacious memory made his own. In the fields with his ſchool-fellows he talked more to him⯑ſelf than with his companions. In 1725, when he was about ſixteen years old, he went on a viſit to his couſin Cornelius Ford, who detained him for ſome months, and in the mean time aſſiſted him in the claſſics. The [9] general direction for his ſtudies, which he then received, he related to Mrs. Piozzi. "Ob⯑tain," ſays Ford, ‘ſome general principles of every ſcience: he who can talk only on one ſubject, or act only in one department, is ſeldom wanted, and, perhaps, never wiſhed for; while the man of general knowledge can often benefit, and always pleaſe.’ This advice Johnſon ſeems to have purſued with a good inclination. His reading was always deſul⯑tory, ſeldom reſting on any particular author, but rambling from one book to another, and, by haſty ſnatches, hoarding up a variety of know⯑ledge. It may be proper in this place to men⯑tion another general rule laid down by Ford for Johnſon's future conduct: ‘You will make your way the more eaſily in the world, as you are contented to diſpute no man's claim to converſation-excellence: they will, therefore, more willingly allow your preten⯑ſions as a writer.’ "But," ſays Mrs. Pi⯑ozzi, ‘the features of peculiarity, which mark a character to all ſucceeding generations, are ſlow in coming to their growth.’ That ingenious lady adds, with her uſual vivacity, ‘Can one, on ſuch an occaſion, forbear recol⯑lecting [10] the predictions of Boileau's father, who ſaid, ſtroking the head of the young ſatiriſt, 'this little man has too much wit, but he will never ſpeak ill of any one'?’

On Johnſon's return from Cornelius Ford, Mr. Hunter, then Maſter of the Free-ſchool at Lichfield, refuſed to receive him again on that foundation. At this diſtance of time, what his reaſons were, it is vain to enquire; but to refuſe aſſiſtance to a lad of promiſing genius muſt be pronounced harſh and illiberal. It did not, however, ſtop the progreſs of the young ſtudent's education. He was placed at another ſchool, at Stourbridge in Worceſter⯑ſhire, under the care of Mr. Wentworth. Having gone through the rudiments of claſſic literature▪ he returned to his father's houſe, and was probably intended for the trade of a bookſeller. He has been heard to ſay that he could [...]ind a book. At the end of two years, being than about nineteen, he went to aſſiſt the ſtudies of a young gentleman, of the name of Corbet, to the Univerſity of Oxford; and on the 31ſt of October, 1728, both were entered of Pembroke College; Corbet as a gentleman-commoner, [11] and Johnſon as a commoner. The college tutor, Mr. Jordan, was a man of no genius; and Johnſon, it ſeems, ſhewed an early contempt of mean abilities, in one or two inſtances behaving with inſolence to that gentleman. Of his general conduct at the univerſity there are no particulars that merit attention, except the tranſlation of Pope's Meſſiah, which was a college exerciſe impoſed upon him as a talk by Mr. Jordan. Corbet left the univerſity in about two years, and Johnſon's ſalary ceaſed. He was, by conſe⯑quence, ſtraitened in his circumſtances; but he ſtill remained at college. Mr. Jordan, the tutor, went off to a living; and was ſucceeded by Dr. Adams, who afterwards became head of the college, and was eſteemed through life for his learning, his talents, and his amiable cha⯑racter. Johnſon grew more regular in his attendance. Ethics, theology, and claſſic lite⯑rature, were his favourite ſtudies. He diſco⯑vered, notwithſtanding, early ſymptoms of that wandering diſpoſtion of mind which ad⯑hered to him to the end of his life. His read⯑ing was by ſits and ſtarts, undirected to any particular ſcience. General philology, agree⯑ably [12] to his couſin Ford's advice, was the object of his ambition. He received, at that time, an early impreſſion of piety, and a taſte for the beſt authors ancient and modern. It may, notwithſtanding, be queſtioned whether, ex⯑cept his Bible, he ever read a book entirely through. Late in life, if any man praiſed a book in his preſence, he was ſure to aſk, "Did you read it through?" If the anſwer was in the affirmative, he did not ſeem willing to believe it. He continued at the univerſity till the want of pecuniary ſupplies obliged him to quit the place. He obtained, however, the aſſiſtance of a friend, and returning in a ſhort time was able to complete a reſidence of three years. The hiſtory of his exploits at Oxford, he uſed to ſay, was beſt known to Dr. Taylor and Dr. Adams. Wonders are told of his memory, and, indeed, all who knew him late in life can witneſs that he retained that fa⯑culty in the greateſt vigour.

From the univerſity Johnſon returned to Lichfield. His father died ſoon after, De⯑cember 1731; and the whole receipt out of his effects, as appeared by a memorandum in the [13] ſon's hand-writing, dated 15th June, 1732, was no more than twenty pounds ^*. In this exigence, determined that poverty ſhould nei⯑ther depreſs his ſpirit nor warp his integrity, he became under-maſter of a Grammar-ſchool at Market Boſworth in Leiceſterſhire. That reſource, however, did not laſt long. Diſ⯑guſted by the pride of Sir Wolſtan Dixie, the patron of that, little ſeminary, he left the place in diſcontent, and ever after ſpoke of it with abhorrence. In 1733 he went on a viſit to Mr. Hector, who had been his ſchool⯑fellow, and was then a ſurgeon at Birming⯑ham, lodging at the houſe of Warren, a bookſeller. At that place Johnſon tranſlated a Voyage to Abyſſinia, written by Jerome Lobo, a Portugueze miſſionary. This was the firſt literary work from the pen of Dr. John⯑ſon. His friend Hector was occaſionally his [14] amanuenſis. The work was, probably, un⯑dertaken at the deſire of Warren, the book⯑ſeller, and was printed at Birmingham; but it appears in the Literary Magazine, or Hiſtory of the Works of the Learned, for March, 1735. that it was published by Betteſworth and Hitch, Pater-noſter-row. It contains a narrative of the endeavours of a company of miſſionaries to convert the people of Abyſſi⯑nia to the Church of Rome. In the preface to this work Johnſon obſerves, ‘that the Por⯑togueſe traveller, contrary to the general view of his countrymen, has amuſed his readers with no romantic abſurdities, or incredible fictions. He appears, by his modeſt and unaffected narration, to have deſcribed things as he ſaw them; to have copied nature from the life; and to have consulted his ſenſes, not his imagination. He meets with no baſi⯑liſles, that deſtroy with their eyes; his cro⯑codiles devour their prey, without tears; and his cataracts fall from the rock, without deafening the neighbouring inhabitants. The reader will here find no regions curſed with irremediable barrenneſs, or bleſſed with ſpon⯑taneous fecundity; no perpetual gloom, or [15] unceaſing ſun-ſhine; nor are the nations, here deſcribed, either void of all ſenſe of huma⯑nity, or conſummate in all private and ſocial virtues: here are no Hottentots without reli⯑gion, polity, or articulate language; no Chi⯑neſe perfectly polite, and completely ſkilled in all ſciences: he will diſcover, what will always be diſcovered by a diligent and impartial en⯑quirer, that wherever human nature is to be found, there is a mixture of vice and virtue, a conteſt of paſſion and reaſon; and that the Creator doth not appear partial in his diſtri⯑butions, but has balanced, in moſt countries, their particular inconveniences by particular favours.’ We have here an early ſpecimen of Johnſon's manner: the vein of thinking and the frame of the ſentences are manifeſtly his: we ſee the infant Hercules. The tranſ⯑lation of Lobo's Narrative has been reprinted lately in a ſeparate volume, with ſome other tracts of Dr. Johnſon's, and therefore forms no part of this edition; but a compendious account of ſo intereſting a work as Father Lobo's diſcovery of the head of the Nile, will not, it is imagined, be unacceptable to the reader.

[16]Father Lobo, the Portugueſe Miſſionary, embarked in 1622, in the ſame fleet with the Count Vidigueira, who was appointed, by the king of Portugal, Viceroy of the Indies. They arrived at Goa; and in January 1624, Father Lobo ſet out on the miſſion to Abyſſinia. Two of the Jeſuits, ſent on the ſame commiſſion, were murdered in their attempt to penetrate into that empire. Lobo had better ſucceſs: he ſurmounted all difficulties, and made his way into the heart of the country. Then fol⯑lows a deſcription of Abyſſinia, formerly the largeſt empire of which we have an account in hiſtory. It extended from the Red Sea to the kingdom of Congo, and from Aegypt to the Indian Sea, containing no leſs than forty provinces. At the time of Lobo's miſſion, it was not much larger than Spain, conſiſting then but of five kingdoms, of which part was entirely ſubject to the Emperor, and part paid him a tribute, as an acknowledgement. The provinces were inhabited by Moors, Pagans, Jews, and Chriſtians. The laſt was in Lobo's time the eſtabliſhed and reigning religion. The diverſity of people and religion is the reaſon [17] why the kingdom was under different forms of government, with laws and cuſtoms extremely various. Some of the people neither ſowed their lands, nor improved them by any kind of culture, living upon milk and fleſh, and, like the Arabs, encamping without any fettled ha⯑bitation. In ſome places they practiſed no rites of worſhip, though they believed that, in the regions above, there dwells a Being that governs the world. This Deity they call in their language Oul. The Christianity, pro⯑feſſed by the people in ſome parts, is ſo cor⯑rupted with ſuperſtitions, errors, and hereſies, and ſo mingled with ceremonies borrowed from the Jews, that little, beſides the name of Chriſtianity, is to be found among them. The Abyſſins cannot properly be ſaid to have either cities or houſes; they live in tents or cottages made of ſtraw or clay, very rarely building with ſtone. Their villages or towns conſiſt of theſe huts; yet even of ſuch villages they have but few, becauſe the grandees, the vice⯑roys, and the emperor himſelf, are always in camp, that they may be prepared, upon the moſt ſudden alarm, to meet every emergence in a country which is engaged every year either [18] in foreign wars or inteſtine commotions. Ethi⯑opia produces very near the ſame kinds of pro⯑viſion as Portugal, though, by the extreme lazineſs of the inhabitants, in a much leſs quantity. What the ancients imagined of the torrid zone being a part of the world unin⯑habitable, is ſo far from being true, that the climate is very temperate. The blacks have better features than in other countries, and are not without wit and ingenuity. Their appre⯑henſion is quick, and their judgement ſound. There are in this climate two harveſts in the year; one in winter, which laſts through the months of July, Auguſt, and September; the other in the ſpring. They have, in the greateſt plenty, raiſins, peaches, pomegranates, ſugar⯑canes, and ſome figs. Moſt of theſe are ripe about Lent, which the Abyſſins keep with great ſtrictneſs. The animals of the country are the lion, the elephant, the rhinoceros, the unicorn, horſes, mules, oxen, and cows with⯑out number. They have a very particular cuſtom, which obliges every man, that has a thouſand cows, to ſave every year one day's milk of all his herd, and make a bath with it for his relations. This they do ſo many days [19] in each year, as they have thouſands of cattle; ſo that, to expreſs how rich a man is, they tell you, he bathes ſo many times.

Of the river Nile, which has furniſhed ſo much controverſy, we have a full and clear deſcription. It is called by the natives, ABAVI, the Father of Water. It riſes in SACALA, a province of the kingdom of GOIAMA, the moſt fertile and agreeable part of the Abyſſinian dominions. On the Eaſtern ſide of the coun⯑try, on the declivity of a mountain, whoſe deſcent is ſo eaſy, that it ſeems a beautiful plain, is that ſource of the Nile, which has been ſought after at ſo much expence and la⯑bour. This ſpring, or rather theſe two ſprings, are two holes, each about two feet diameter, a ſtone's caſt diſtant from each other. One of them is about five feet and a half in depth. Lobo was not able to ſink his plum⯑met lower, perhaps, becauſe it was ſtopped by roots, the whole place being full of trees. A line of ten feet did not reach the bottom of the other. Theſe ſprings are ſuppoſed by the Abyſſins to be the vents of a great ſubterraneous lake. At a ſmall diſtance [20] to the South, is a village called Guix, through which you aſcend to the top of the mountain, where there is a little hill, which the idola⯑trous Agaci hold in great veneration. Their prieſt calls them together to this place once a year; and every one ſacrifices a cow, or more, according to the different degrees of wealth and devotion. Hence we have ſufficient proof, that theſe nations always paid adoration to the Deity of this famous river.

"As to the courſe of the Nile, its waters, after their firſt riſe, run towards the Eaſt, about the length of a muſket-ſhot; then, turning Northward, continue hidden in the graſs and weeds for about a quarter of a league, when they re-appear amongſt a quantity of rocks. The Nile from its ſource proceeds with ſo inconſiderable a current, that it is in danger of being dried up by the hot ſeaſon; but ſoon receiving an increaſe from the GEMMA, the KELTU, the BRANSA, and the other ſmaller rivers, it expands to ſuch a breadth in the plains of BOAD, which is not above three days journey from its ſource, that a muſket-ball will ſcarcely fly from one bank to the other. [21] Here it begins to run northward, winding, however, a little to the Eaſt, for the ſpace of nine or ten leagues, and then enters the ſo⯑much-talked-of Lake of DAMBIA, flowing with ſuch violent rapidity, that its waters may be diſtinguiſhed through the whole paſ⯑ſage, which is no leſs than ſix leagues. Here begins the greatneſs of the Nile. Fifteen miles further, in the land of ALATA, it ruſhes precipitately from the top of a high rock, and forms one of the moſt beautiful water-falls in the world. Lobo ſays, he paſſed under it without being wet, and reſting himſelf, for the ſake of the coolneſs, was charmed with a thouſand delightful rainbows, which the ſun-beams painted on the water, in all their ſhining and lively colours^*. The [22] fall of this mighty ſtream, from ſo great a height, makes a noiſe that may be heard at a conſiderable diſtance; but it was not found, that the neighbouring inhabitants were deaf. After the cataract, the Nile collects its ſcattered ſtream among the rocks, which are ſo near each other, that, in Lobo's time, a bridge of beams, on which the whole imperial army paſſed, was laid over them. Sultan SEQUED has ſince built a ſtone bridge of one arch, in the ſame place, for which purpoſe he procured maſons from India. Here the river alters its courſe, and paſſes through various kingdoms, ſuch as AMHARA, OLACA, CHOAA, DA⯑MOT, and the kingdom of GOIAMA, and, after various windings, returns within a ſhort day's journey of its ſpring. To purſue it through all its mazes, and accompany it round the kingdom of GOIAMA, is a journey of twenty-nine days. From Abyſſinia the river paſſes into the countries of FAZULO and OM⯑BARCA. two vaſt regions little known, inha⯑bited by nations entirely different from the Abyſſins. Their hair, like that of the other blacks in thoſe regions, is ſhort and curled. In the year 1615, RASSELA CHRISTOS, Lieu⯑tenant-general [23] to Sultan SEQUED, entered thoſe kingdoms in a hoſtile manner; but, not being able to get intelligence, returned without at⯑tempting any thing. As the empire of Abyſſinia terminates at theſe deſcents, Lobo followed the courſe of the Nile no farther, leaving it to range over barbarous kingdoms, and convey wealth and plenty into Aegypt, which owes to the annual inundations of this river its envied fertility ^*. Lobo knows no⯑thing of the Nile in the reſt of its paſſage, except that it receives great increaſe from many other rivers, has ſeveral cataracts like that already deſcribed; and that few fiſh are to be found in it. That ſcarcity is to be attributed to the river-horſe and the crocodile, which de⯑ſtroy the weaker inhabitants of the river. Something, likewiſe, muſt be imputed to the cataracts, where fiſh cannot fall without being killed. Lobo adds, that neither he, nor any with whom he converſed about the crocodile, ever ſaw him weep; and therefore all that [24] hath been ſaid about his tears muſt be ranked among the fables invented for the amuſement of children.

"As to the cauſes of the inundations of the Nile, Lobo obſerves, that many an idle hypo⯑theſis has been framed. Some theoriſts aſcribe it to the high winds, that ſtop the current, and force the water above its banks. Others pretend a ſubterraneous communication be⯑tween the Ocean and the Nile, and that the ſea, when violently agitated, ſwells the river. Many are of opinion, that this mighty flood proceeds from the melting of the ſnow on the mountains of Aethiopia; but ſo much ſnow and ſuch prodigious heat are never met with in the ſame region. Lobo never ſaw ſnow in Abyſſinia, except on Mount SEMEN in the kingdom of TIGRE, very remote from the Nile; and on NAMARA, which is, indeed, not far diſtant, but where there never falls ſnow enough to wet, when diſſolved, the foot of the mountain. To the immenſe labours of the Por⯑tugueſe mankind is indebted for the knowledge of the real cauſe of theſe inundations, ſo great and ſo regular. By them we are informed, that [25] Abyſſinia, where the Nile riſes, is full of mountains, and, in its natural ſituation, is much higher than Aegypt; that in the winter, from June to September, no day is without rain; that the Nile receives, in its courſe, all the rivers, brooks, and torrents, that fall from thoſe mountains, and, by neceſſary conſe⯑quence, ſwelling above its banks, fills the plains of Aegypt with inundations, which come regularly about the month of July, or three weeks after the beginning of the rainy ſeaſon in Aethiopia. The different degrees of this flood are ſuch certain indications of the fruit⯑fulneſs or ſterility of the enſuing year, that it is publickly proclaimed at Cairo how much the water hath gained during the night."

Such is the account of the Nile and its in⯑undations, which, it is hoped, will not be deemed an improper or tedious digreſſion, eſpe⯑cially as the whole is an extract from Johnſon's tranſlation. He is all the time the actor in the ſcene, and in his own words relates the ſtory. Having finiſhed this work, he returned in Fe⯑bruary, 1734, to his native city, and, in the month of Auguſt following, publiſhed Pro⯑poſals [26] for printing by ſubſcription, the Latin Poems of Politian, with the Hiſtory of Latin Poetry, from the Aera of Petrarch to the time of Politian; and alſo the Life of Politian, to be added by the Editor, Samuel Johnſon. The book to be printed in thirty octavo ſheets, price five ſhillings. It is to be regretted that this project failed for want of encouragement. Johnſon, it ſeems, differed from Boileau, Vol⯑taire, and D'Alembert, who have taken upon them to proſcribe all modern efforts to write with elegance in a dead language. For a deci⯑ſion, pronounced in ſo high a tone, no good reaſon can be aſſigned. The intereſts of learn⯑ing require, that the diction of Greece and Rome ſhould be cultivated with care; and he who can write a language with correctneſs, will be moſt likely to underſtand its idiom, its grammar, and its peculiar graces of ſtyle. What man of taſte would willingly forego the pleaſure of reading Vida, Fracaſtorius, Sannazaro, Sirada, and others, down to the late elegant productions of Biſhop Lowth? The hiſtory which Johnſon propoſed to him⯑ſelf would, beyond all queſtion, have been a valuable addition to the hiſtory of letters; but [27] his project failed. His next expedient was to offer his aſſiſtance to Cave, the original pro⯑jector of the Gentleman's Magazine. For this purpoſe he ſent his propoſals in a letter, offering, on reaſonable terms, occaſionally to fill ſome pages with poems and inſcriptions never printed before; with fugitive pieces that deſerved to be revived, and critical remarks on authors ancient and modern. Cave agreed to retain him as a correſpondent and contributor to the Magazine. What the conditions were cannot now be known; but, certainly, they were not ſufficient to hinder Johnſon from caſt⯑ing his eyes about him in queſt of other em⯑ployment. Accordingly, in 1735, he made over⯑tures to the reverend Mr. Budworth, Maſter of a Grammar-ſchool at Brerewood, in Stafford⯑ſhire, to become his aſſiſtant. This propos;i⯑tion did not ſucceed. Mr. Budworth appre⯑hended, that the involuntary motions, to which Johnſon's nerves were ſubject, might make him an object of ridicule with his ſcho⯑lars, and, by conſequence, leſſen their reſpect for their maſter. Another mode of advancing himſelf preſented itſelf about this time. Mrs. Porter, the widow of a mercer in Birmingham, [28] admired his talents. It is ſaid that ſhe had about eight hundred pounds; and that ſum to a perſon in Johnſon's circumſtances was an affluent fortune. A marriage took place; and, to turn his wife's money to the beſt advantage, he projected the ſcheme of an academy for education. Gilbert Walmſley, at that time Regiſter of the Eccleſiaſtical Court of the Biſhop of Lichfield, was diſtinguiſhed by his erudition and the politeneſs of his manners. He was the friend of Johnſon, and, by his weight and influence, endeavoured to promote his intereſt. The celebrated Garrick, whoſe father, Captain Garrick, lived at Lichfield, was placed in the new ſeminary of education by that gentleman's advice. Garrick was then about eighteen years old. An acceſſion of ſe⯑ven or eight pupils was the moſt that could be obtained, though notice was given by a public advertiſement ^*, that at Edial, near Lich⯑field, in Staffordſhire, young Gentlemen are boarded and taught the Latin and Greek Lan⯑guages, by Samuel Johnſon.

[29]The undertaking proved abortive. John⯑ſon, having now abandoned all hopes of pro⯑moting his fortune in the country, determined to become an adventurer in the world at large. His young pupil, Garrick, had formed the ſame reſolution; and, accordingly, in March, 1737, they arrived in London together. Two ſuch candidates for ſame perhaps never, before that day, entered the metropolis together. Their ſtock of money was ſoon exhausſted. In his viſionary project of an academy Johnſon had probably waſted his wife's ſubſtance; and Garrick's father had little more than his half-pay. The two fellow-travellers had the world before them, and each was to chuſe his road to fortune and to fame. They brought with them genius, and powers of mind, peculiarly formed by nature for the different vocations to which each of them felt himſelf inclined. They acted from the impulſe of young minds, even then meditating great things, and with courage anticipating ſucceſs. Their friend Mr. Walmſley, by a letter to the Rev. Mr. Colſon, who, it ſeems, was a great mathematician, exerted his good offices in their favour. He [30] gave notice of their intended journey. ‘Davy Garrick,’ he ſaid, ‘will be with you next week; and Johnſon, to try his fate with a tragedy, and to get himſelf employed in ſome tranſlation either from the Latin or French. Johnſon is a very good ſcholar and a poet, and, I have great hopes, will turn out a fine tragedy-writer. If it ſhould be in your way, I doubt not but you will be ready to recommend and aſſiſt your countrymen.’ Of Mr. Walmſley's merit, and the excellence of his character, Johnſon has left a beautiful teſtimonial at the end of the Life of Edward Smith. It is reaſonable to conclude, that a mathematician, abſorbed in abſtract ſpecula⯑tions, was not able to find a ſphere of action for two men who were to be the architects of their own fortune. In three or four years after⯑wards Garrick came forth with talents that aſtoniſhed the publick. He began his career at Goodman's-fields, and there, monſtratus fatis Veſpaſianus! he choſe a lucrative profeſſion, and conſequently ſoon emerged from all his difficulties. Johnſon was left to toil in the humble walks of literature. A tragedy, as appears by Walmſley's letter, was the whole [31] of his ſtock. This, moſt probably, was IRENE; but, if then finiſhed, it was doomed to wait for a more happy period. It was of⯑fered to Fleetwood, and rejected. Johnſon looked round him for employment. Having, while he remained in the country, correſponded with Cave under a feigned name, he now thought it time to make himſelf known to a man whom he conſidered as a patron of lite⯑rature. Cave had announced, by public adver⯑tiſement, a prize of fifty pounds for the beſt Poem on Life, Death, Judgement, Heaven, and Hell; and this circumſtance diffuſed an idea of his liberality. Johnſon became con⯑nected with him in buſineſs, and in a cloſe and intimate acquaintance. Of Cave's character it is unneceſſary to ſay any thing in this place, as Johnſon was afterwards the biographer of his firſt and moſt uſeful patron. To be en⯑gaged in the tranſlation of ſome important book was ſtill the object which Johnſon had in view. For this purpoſe he propoſed to give the Hiſtory of the Council of Trent, with copious notes then lately added to a French edition. Twelve ſheets of this work were printed, for which Johnſon received forty-nine [32] pounds, as appears by his receipt in the poſſeſſion of Mr. Nichols, the compiler of that entertaining and uſeful work, the Gentle⯑man's Magazine. Johnſon's tranſlation was never completed; a like deſign was offered to the publick, under the patronage of Dr. Za⯑chary Pearce; and by that contention both attempts were fruſtrated. Johnſon had been commended by Pope for the tranſlation of the Meſſiah into Latin verſe; but he knew no approach to ſo eminent a man. With one, however, who was connected with Pope, he became acquainted at St. John's Gate; and that perſon was no other than the well-known Richard Savage, whoſe life was afterwards written by Johnſon with great elegance, and a depth of moral reflection. Savage was a man of conſiderable talents. His addreſs, his va⯑rious accompliſhments, and, above all, the peculiarity of his misfortunes recommended him to Johnſon's notice. They became united in the cloſeſt intimacy. Both had great parts, and they were equally under the preſſure of want. Sympathy joined them in a league of friendſhip. Johnſon has been often heard to relate; that he and Savage walked round Groſve⯑nor-ſquare [33] till four in the morning; in the courſe of their converſation reforming the world, dethroning princes, eſtabliſhing new forms of government, and giving laws to the ſeveral ſtates of Europe, till, fatigued at length with their legiſlative office, they began to feel the want of refreſhment; but could not muſter up more than four pence halfpenny. Savage, it is true, had many vices; but vice could never ſtrike its roots in a mind like Johnſon's, ſeaſoned early with religion, and the principles of moral rectitude. His firſt prayer was com⯑poſed in the year 1738. He had not at that time renounced the uſe of wine; and, no doubt, occaſionally enjoyed his friend and his bottle. The love of late hours, which fol⯑lowed him through life, was, perhaps, origi⯑nally contracted in company with Savage. However that may be, their connection was not of long duration. In the year 1738, Sa⯑vage was reduced to the laſt diſtreſs. Mr. Pope, in a letter to him, expreſſed his con⯑cern for ‘the miſerable withdrawing of his penſion after the death of the Queen;’ and gave him hopes that, ‘in a ſhort time, he ſhould find himſelf ſupplied with a compe⯑tence, [34] without any dependance on thoſe little creatures, whom we are pleaſed to call the Great.’ The ſcheme propoſed to him was, that he ſhould retire to Swanſea in Wales, and receive an allowance of fifty pounds a year, to be raiſed by ſubſcription; Pope was to pay twenty pounds. This plan, though finally eſtabliſhed, took more than a year be⯑fore it was carried into execution. In the mean time, the intended retreat of Savage called to Johnſon's mind the third ſatire of Juvenal, in which that poet takes leave of a friend, who was withdrawing himſelf from all the vices of Rome. Struck with this idea, he wrote that well-known Poem, called London. The firſt lines manifeſtly point to Savage.

Johnſon at that time lodged at Greenwich. He there fixes the ſcene, and takes leave of [35] his friend; who, he ſays in his Life, parted from him with tears in his eyes. The poem, when finiſhed, was offered to Cave. It hap⯑pened, however, that the late Mr. Dodſley was the purchaſer at the price of ten guineas. It was publiſhed 1738; and Pope, we are told, ſaid, ‘The author, whoever he is, will not be long concealed;’ alluding to the paſ⯑ſage in Terence, Ubi, ubi eſt, diu celari non poteſt. Notwithſtanding that prediction, it does not appear that, beſides the copy-money, any advantage accrued to the author of a poem, written with the elegance and energy of Pope. Johnſon, in Auguſt 1738, went, with all the ſame of his poetry, to offer himſelf a candi⯑date for the maſterſhip of the ſchool at Ap⯑pleby, in Leiceſterſhire. The ſtatutes of the place required, that the perſon choſen ſhould be a maſter of arts. To remove this objec⯑tion, the late Lord Gower was induced to write to a friend, in order to obtain for John⯑ſon a maſter's degree in the Univerſity of Dub⯑lin, by the recommendation of Dr. Swift. The letter was printed in one of the maga⯑zines, and is as follows:

[38] This ſcheme miſcarried. There is reaſon to think, that Swift declined to meddle in the buſineſs; and to that circumſtance Johnſon's known diſlike of Swift has been often im⯑puted.

It is mortifying to purſue a man of merit through all his difficulties; and yet this narra⯑tive muſt be, through many following years, the hiſtory of Genius and Virtue ſtruggling with Adverſity. Having loſt the ſchool at Appleby, Johnſon was thrown back on the metropolis. Bred to no profeſſion, without relations, friends, or intereſt, he was con⯑demned to drudgery in the ſervice of Cave, his only patron. In November 1738 was pub⯑lished a tranſlation of Crouſaz's Examen of Pope's Eſſay on Man; ‘containing a ſuccinct View of the Syſtem of the Fataliſts, and a Confutation of their Opinions; with an Illuſtration of the Doctrine of Free Will; and an Enquiry, what view Mr. Pope might have in touching upon the Leibnitzian Phi⯑loſophy, and Fataliſm. By Mr. Crouſaz, Profeſſor or Philoſophy and Mathematics at Lauſanne.’ This tranſlation has been gene⯑rally [39] thought a production of Johnſon's pen; but it is now known, that Mrs. Elizabeth Carter has acknowledged it to be one of her early per⯑formances. It is certain, however, that Johnſon was eager to promote the publication. He conſi⯑dered the foreign philoſopher as a man zealous in the cauſe of religion; and with him he was wil⯑ling to join againſt the ſyſtem of the Fataliſts, and the doctrine of Leibnitz. It is well known that Warburton wrote a vindication of Mr. Pope; but there is reaſon to think, that Johnſon conceived an early prejudice againſt the Eſſay on Man; and what once took root in a mind like his, was not eaſily eradicated. His letter to Cave on this ſubject is ſtill extant, and may well juſtify Sir John Hawkins, who inferred that Johnſon was the tranſlator of Crouſaz. The concluſion of the letter is remarkable. ‘I am yours, IMPRANSUS.’ If by that Latin word was meant that he had not dined, becauſe he wanted the means, who can read it, even at this hour, without an aching heart?

With a mind naturally vigorous, and quick⯑ened by neceſſity, Johnſon formed a multipli⯑city of projects; but moſt of them proved abortive. A number of ſmall tracts iſſued [40] from his pen with wonderful rapidity; ſuch as ‘MARMOR NORFOLCIENSE; or an Eſſay on an ancient prophetical Inſcription, in Monkiſh Rhyme, diſcovered at Lynn in Norfolk. By Probus Britannicus.’ This was a pamphlet againſt Sir Robert Walpole. According to Sir John Hawkins, a warrant was iſſued to apprehend the Author, who re⯑retired with his wife to an obſcure lodging near Lambeth Marſh, and there eluded the ſearch or the meſſengers. But this ſtory has no foundation in truth. Johnſon was never known to mention ſuch an incident in his life; and Mr. Steele (late of the Treaſury) cauſed diligent ſearch to be made at the proper offices, and no trace of ſuch a proceeding could be found. In the ſame year (17 [...]9) the Lord Chamberlain prohibited the repreſentation of a tragedy, called GUSTAVUS VASA, by Henry Brooke. Under the maſk of irony Johnſon publiſhed, ‘A Vindication of the Licencer from the malicious and ſcandalous Aſperſions of Mr. Brooke.’ Of theſe two pieces Sir John Hawkins ſays, ‘they have neither learn⯑ing nor wit; nor a ſingle ray of that ge⯑nius which has ſince blazed forth;’ but as they have been lately re-printed, the reader, [41] who wiſhes to gratify his curioſity, is referred to the fourteenth volume of Johnſon's works, publiſhed by Stockdale. The lives of Boer⯑haave, Blake, Barratier, Father Paul, and others, were, about that time, printed in the Gentleman's Magazine. The ſubſcription of fifty pounds a year for Savage was completed; and in July, 1739, Johnſon parted with the companion of his midnight-hours, never to ſee him more. The ſeparation was, perhaps, an advantage to him, who wanted to make a right uſe of his time, and even then beheld, with ſelf-reproach, the waſte occaſioned by diſ⯑ſipation. His abſtinence from wine and ſtrong liquors began ſoon after the departure of Sa⯑vage. What habits he contracted in the courſe of that acquaintance cannot now be known. The ambition of excelling in converſation, and that pride of victory, which, at times, diſ⯑graced a man of Johnſon's genius, were, per⯑haps, native blemiſhes. A fierce ſpirit of in⯑dependence, even in the midſt of poverty, may be ſeen in Savage; and, if not thence transfuſed by Johnſon into his own manners, it may, at leaſt, be ſuppoſed to have gained ſtrength from the example before him. During that connection there was, if we believe Sir [42] John Hawkins, a ſhort ſeparation between our author and his wife; but a reconciliation ſoon took place. Johnſon loved her, and ſhewed his affection in various modes of gallantry, which Garrick uſed to render ridiculous by his mimicry. The affectation of ſoft and faſhionable airs did not become an unwieldy figure: his admiration was received by the wife with the ſlutter of an antiquated coquette; and both, it is well known, furniſhed matter for the lively genius of Garrick.

It is a mortifying reflection, that Johnſon, with a ſtore of learning and extraordinary ta⯑lents, was not able, at the age of thirty, to force his way to the favour of the publick. Slow riſes worth by poverty depreſs'd. ‘He was ſtill,’ as he ſays himſelf, ‘to provide for the day that was paſſing over him.’ He ſaw Cave involved in a ſtate of warfare with the numerous competitors, at that time ſtrug⯑gling with the Gentleman's Magazine; and gratitude for ſuch ſupplies as Johnſon received, dictated a Latin Ode on the ſubject of that contention. The firſt lines,

[43]put one in mind of Caſimir's Ode to Pope Urban:

The Poliſh poet was, probably, at that time in the hands of a man who had meditated the hiſtory of the Latin poets. Guthrie the hiſ⯑torian, had from July 1736 compoſed the parliamentary ſpeeches for the Magazines; but, from the beginning of the ſeſſion which opened on the 19th of November 1740, Johnſon ſucceeded to that department, and con⯑tinued it from that time to the debate on ſpi⯑rituous liquors, which happened in the Houſe of Lords in February, 1742-3. The elo⯑quence, the force of argument, and the ſplen⯑dor of language, diſplayed in the ſeveral ſpeeches, are well known, and univeſally ad⯑mired. The whole has been collected in two volumes by Mr. Stockdale, and may form a proper ſupplement to this edition. That John⯑ſon was the author of the debates during that period was not generally known; but the ſe⯑cret tranſpired ſeveral years afterwards, and was avowed by himſelf on the following occaſion. Mr. Wedderburne (now Lord Lough⯑borough), [44] Dr. Johnſon, Dr. Francis (the tranſlator of Horace), the preſent writer, and others, dined with the late Mr. Foote. An important debate towards the end of Sir Ro⯑bert Walpole's adminiſtration being mentioned, Dr. Francis obſerved, ‘That Mr. Pitt's ſpeech, on that occaſion, was the beſt he had ever read.’ He added, ‘That he had employed eight years of his life in the ſtudy of De⯑moſthenes, and finiſhed a tranſlation of that celebrated orator, with all the decorations of ſtyle and language within the reach of his capacity; but he had met with nothing equal to the ſpeech above-mentioned.’ Many of the company remembered the debate; and ſome paſſages were cited, with the approbation and applauſe of all preſent. During the ar⯑dour of converſation Johnſon remained ſilent. As ſoon as the warmth of praiſe ſubſided, he opened with theſe words. ‘That ſpeech I wrote in a garret in Exeter-ſtreet.’ The company was ſtruck with aſtoniſhment. After ſtaring at each other in ſilent amaze, Dr. Fran⯑cis aſked, ‘How that ſpeech could be written by him?’ "Sir," ſaid Johnſon, ‘I wrote it in Exeter-ſtreet. I never had been in the [45] gallery of the Houſe of Commons but once. Cave had intereſt with the door-keepers. He, and the perſons employed under him, gained admittance: they brought away the ſubject of diſcuſſion, the names of the ſpeakers, the ſide they took, and the order in which they roſe, together with notes of the arguments advanced in the courſe of the debate. The whole was afterwards commu⯑nicated to me, and I compoſed the ſpeeches in the form which they now have in the Par⯑liamentary debates.’ To this diſcovery Dr. Francis made anſwer: ‘Then, Sir, you have exceeded Demoſthenes himſelf; for to ſay, that you have exceeded Francis's Demoſ⯑thenes, would be ſaying nothing.’ The reſt of the company beſtowed laviſh encomiums on Johnſon: one, in particular, praiſed his im⯑partiality; obſerving, that he dealt out reaſon and eloquence with an equal hand to both parties. That is not quite true, ſaid John⯑ſon‘; I ſaved appearances tolerably well; but I took care that the WHIG DOGS ſhould not have the beſt of it.’ The ſale of the Magazine was greatly increaſed by the Parlia⯑mentary debates, which were continued by [46] Johnſon till the month of March, 1742-3. From that time the Magazine was conducted by Dr. Hawkeſworth.

In 1743-4, Oſborne, the bookſeller, who kept a ſhop in Gray's-Inn, purchaſed the Earl of Oxford's library, at the price of thirteen thouſand pounds. He projected a catalogue in five octavo volumes, at five ſhillings each. Johnſon was employed in that painful drudgery. He was likewiſe to collect all ſuch ſmall tracts, as were in any degree worth preſerving, in order to reprint and publiſh the whole in a collection, called "The Harleian Miſcellany." The cata⯑logue was completed; and the Miſcellany in 1749 was publiſhed in eight quarto volumes. In this buſineſs Johnſon was a day-labourer for immediate ſubſiſtence, not unlike Guſtavus Vaſa working in the mines of Dalicarlia. What Wilcox, a bookſeller of eminence in the Strand, ſaid to Johnſon, on his firſt arrival in town, was now almoſt confirmed. He lent our author five guineas, and then aſked him, ‘How do you mean to earn your livelihood in this town?’ "By my literary labours," was the anſwer. Wilcox, ſtaring at him, ſhook [47] his head: ‘By your literary labours!—You had better buy a porter's knot.’ Johnſon uſed to tell this anecdote to Mr. Nichols; but he ſaid, ‘Wilcox was one of my beſt friends, and he meant well.’ In fact, Johnſon, while employed in Gray's-Inn, may be ſaid to have car⯑ried a porter's knot. He pauſed occaſionally, to peruſe the book that came to his hand. Oſborne thought that ſuch curioſity tended to nothing but delay, and objected to it with all the pride and inſolence of a man, who knew that he paid daily wages. In the diſpute that of courſe enſued, Oſborne, with that roughneſs which was natu⯑ral to him, enforced his argument by giving the lie. Johnſon ſeized a folio, and knocked the bookſeller down. This ſtory has been related as an inſtance of Johnſon's ferocity; but merit cannot always take the ſpurns of the unworthy with a patient ſpirit.

That the hiſtory of an author muſt be found in his works is, in general, a true obſervation; and was never more apparent than in the pre⯑ſent narrative. Every aera of Johnſon's life is fixed by his writings. In 1744, he publiſhed the Life of Savage; and then projected a new [48] edition of Shakſpeare. As a prelude to this deſign, he publiſhed, in 1745, Miſcellaneous Obſervations on the Tragedy of Macbeth, with Remarks on Sir Thomas Hanmer's Edition; to which were prefixed, Propoſals for a new Edi⯑tion of Shakſpeare, with a Specimen. Of this pamphlet Warburton, in the Preface to Shak⯑ſpeare, has given his opinion: ‘As to all thoſe things, which have been publiſhed under the title of Eſſays, Remarks, Ob⯑ſervations, &c. on Shakſpeare, if you except ſome critical notes on Macbeth, given as a ſpecimen of a projected edition, and written, as appears, by a man of parts and genius, the reſt are abſolutely below a ſerious notice.’ But the attention of the publick was not excited; there was no friend to promote a ſubſcription; and the project died, to revive at a future day. A new undertaking, however, was ſoon after propoſed; namely, an Engliſh Dictionary, upon an enlarged plan. Several of the moſt opulent bookſellers had meditated a work of this kind; and the agree⯑ment was ſoon adjuſted between the parties. Em⯑boldened by this connection, Johnſon thought of a better habitation than he had hitherto [49] known. He had lodged with his wife in courts and alleys about the Strand; but now, for the purpoſe of carrying on his arduous undertaking, and to be near his printer and friend Mr. Strahan, he ventured to take a houſe in Gough-ſquare, Fleet-ſtreet. He was told that the Earl of Cheſ⯑terfield was a friend to his undertaking; and, in conſequence of that intelligence, he publiſhed, in 1747, The Plan of a Dictionary of the Engliſh Language, addrſſed to the Right Honourable Philip Dormer, Earl of Cheſterfield one of his Majeſty's principal Secretaries of State. Mr. Whitehead, afterwards Poet Laureat, undertook to convey the manuſcript to his Lordſhip: the conſe⯑quence was an invitation from Lord Cheſter⯑field to the author. A ſtronger contraſt of cha⯑racters could not be brought together; the Nobleman, celebrated for his wit, and all the graces of polite behaviour; the Author, con⯑ſcious of his own merit, towering in idea above all competition verſed in ſcholaſtic logic, but a ſtranger to the arts of polite con⯑verſation, uncouth, vehement, and vociferous. The coalition was too unnatural. Johnſon expected a Maecenas, and was diſappointed. No patronage, no aſiſtance followed. Viſits [50] were repeated; but the reception was not cor⯑dial. Johnſon one day was left a full hour, wait⯑ing in an anti-chamber till a gentleman ſhould retire, and leave his Lordſhip at leiſure. This was the famous Colley Cibber. Johnſon ſaw him go, and, fired with indignation, ruſhed out of the houſe. What Lord Cheſterfield thought of his viſitor may be ſeen in a paſſage in one of that Nobleman's letters to his ſon. ^*. ‘There is a man, whoſe moral character, deep learn⯑ing, and ſuperior parts, I acknowledge, ad⯑mire, and reſpect; but whom it is ſo im⯑poſſible for me to love, that I am almoſt in a fever whenever I am in his company. His figure (without being deformed) ſeems made to diſgrace or ridicule the common ſtructure of the human body. His legs and arms are never in the poſition which, according to the ſituation of his body, they ought to be in, but conſtantly employed in commit⯑ting acts of hoſtility upon the Graces. He throws any where, but down his throat, whatever he means to drink; and mangles what he means to carve. Inattentive to all the regards of ſocial life, he miſtimes and [51] miſplaces every thing. He diſputes with heat indiſcriminately, mindleſs of the rank, cha⯑racter, and ſituation of thoſe with whom he diſputes. Abſolutely ignorant of the ſeveral gradations of familiarity and reſpect, he is exactly the ſame to his ſuperiors, his equals, and his inferiors; and therefore, by a ne⯑ceſſary conſequence, is abſurd to two of the three. Is it poſſible to love ſuch a man? No. The utmoſt I can do for him is, to conſider him a reſpectable Hottentot.’ Such was the idea entertained by Lord Cheſterfield. After the incident of Colley Cibber, Johnſon never repeated his viſits. In his high and de⯑ciſive tone, he has been often heard to ſay, ‘Lord Cheſterfield is a Wit among Lords, and a Lord among Wits.’

In the courſe of the year 1747, Garrick, in conjunction with Lacy, became patentee of Drury-lane Playhouſe. For the opening of the theatre, at the uſual time, Johnſon wrote for his friend the well-known prologue, which, to ſay no more of it, may at leaſt be placed on a level with Pope's to the tragedy of Cato. The play-houſe being now under Garrick's [52] direction, Johnſon thought the opportunity fair to think of his tragedy of Irene, which was his whole ſtock on his firſt arrival in town, in the year 1737. That play was accordingly put into rehearſal in January 1749. As a pre⯑curſor to prepare the way, and awaken the public attention, The Vanity of Human Wiſhes, a Poem in Imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal, by the Author of London, was pub⯑liſhed in the ſame month. In the Gentleman's Magazine, for February, 1749, we find that the tragedy of Irene was acted at Drury-lane, on Monday, February the 6th, and from that time without interruption, to Monday, February the 20th, being in all thirteen nights. Since that time it has not been exhibited on any ſtage. Irene may be added to ſome other plays in our language, which have loſt their place in the theatre, but continue to pleaſe in the cloſet. During the repreſentation of this piece, Johnſon attended every night behind the ſcenes. Conceiving that his character, as an author, required ſome ornament for his perſon, he choſe, upon that occaſion, to de⯑corate himſelf with a handſome waiſtcoat, and a gold-laced hat. The late Mr. Topham Beau⯑clerc, [53] who had had a great deal of that hu⯑mour which pleaſes the more for ſeeming undeſigned, uſed to give a pleaſant deſcription of this Green-room finery, as related by the au⯑thor himſelf; "But," ſaid Johnſon, with great gravity, ‘I ſoon laid aſide my gold-laced hat, leſt it ſhould make me proud.’ The amount of the three benefit nights for the tragedy of Irene, it is to be feared, was not very conſi⯑derable, as the profit, that ſtimulating motive, never invited the author to another dramatic attempt. Some years afterwards, when the preſent writer was intimate with Garrick, and knew Johnſon to be in diſtreſs, he aſked the manager why he did not produce another tra⯑gedy for his Lichfield friend? Garrick's anſwer was remarkable: ‘When Johnſon writes tragedy, declamation roars, and paſſion ſleeps: when Shakſpeare wrote, he dipped his pen in his own heart’

There may, perhaps, be a degree of ſame⯑neſs in this regular way of tracing an author from one work to another, and the reader may feel the effect of a tedious monotony; but in the life of Johnſon there are no other land⯑marks. [54] He was now forty years old, and had mixed but little with the world. He followed no profeſſion, tranſacted no buſineſs, and was a ſtranger to what is called a town-life. We are now arrived at the brighteſt period he had hitherto known. His name broke out upon mankind with a degree of luſtre that promiſed a triumph over all his difficulties. The Life of Savage was admired as a beautiful and inſtruc⯑tive piece of biography. The two Imitations of Juvenal were thought to rival even the ex⯑cellence of Pope; and the tragedy of Irene, though unintereſting on the ſtage, was uni⯑verſally admired in the cloſet, for the propriety of the ſentiments, the richneſs of the lan⯑guage, and the general harmony of the whole compoſition. His fame was widely diffuſed; and he had made his agreement with the book⯑ſellers for his Engliſh Dictionary at the ſum of fifteen hundred guineas; part of which was to be, from time to time, advanced in proportion to the progreſs of the work. This was a cer⯑tain fund for his ſupport, without being obliged to write fugitive pieces for the petty ſupplies of the day. Accordingly we find that, in 1749, he eſtabliſhed a club, conſiſting of ten in num⯑ber, [55] at Horſeman's, in Ivy-lane, on every Tueſday evening. This is the firſt ſcene of ſocial life to which Johnſon can be traced out of his own houſe. The members of this little ſociety were, Samuel Johnſon; Dr. Salter (father of the late Maſter of the Charter-houſe); Dr. Hawkeſworth; Mr. Ryland, a merchant; Mr. Payne, a bookſeller, in Pater⯑noſter-row; Mr. Samuel Dyer, a learned young man; Dr. William M'Ghie, a Scotch phyſi⯑cian; Dr. Edmund Barker, a young phyſician; Dr. Bathurſt, another young phyſician; and Sir John Hawkins. This liſt is given by Sir John, as it ſhould ſeem, with no other view than to draw a ſpiteful and malevolent character of almoſt every one of them. Mr. Dyer, whom Sir John ſays he loved with the affec⯑tion of a brother, meets with the harſheſt treatment, becauſe it was his maxim, that to live in peace with mankind, and in a temper to do good offices, was the moſt eſſential part of our duty. That notion of moral goodneſs gave umbrage to Sir John Hawkins, and drew down upon the memory of his friend the bit⯑tereſt imputations. Mr. Dyer, however, was admired and loved through life. He was a [56] man of literature. Johnſon loved to enter with him into a diſcuſſion of metaphyſical, moral, and critical ſubjects; in thoſe conflicts, exerciſing his talents, and, according to his cuſtom, always contending for victory. Dr. Bathurſt was the perſon on whom Johnſon fixed his affection. He hardly ever ſpoke of him without tears in his eyes. It was from him, who was a native of Jamaica, that Johnſon received into his ſervice Frank, the black ſervant, whom, on account of his maſter, he valued to the end of his life. At the time of inſtituting the club in Ivy-lane, Johnſon had projected the Rambler. The title was moſt probably ſuggeſted by the Wanderer; a poem which he mentions, with the warmeſt praiſe, in the Life of Savage. With the ſame ſpirit of independence with which he wiſhed to live, it was now his pride to write. He communi⯑cated his plan to none of his friends: he de⯑ſired no aſſiſtance, relying entirely on his own fund, and the protection of the Divine Being, which he implored in a ſolemn form of prayer, compoſed by himſelf for the occaſion. Hav⯑ing formed a reſolution to undertake a work that might be of uſe and honour to his country, [57] he thought, with Milton, that this was not to be obtained ‘but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit that can enrich with all ut⯑terance and knowledge, and ſend out his ſeraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleaſes.’

Having invoked the ſpecial protection of Heaven, and by that act of piety fortified his mind, he began the great work of the Ram⯑bler. The firſt number was publiſhed on Tueſ⯑day, March the 20th, 1750; and from that time was continued regularly every Tueſday and Saturday for the ſpace of two years, when it finally cloſed on Saturday, March 14, 1752. As it began with motives of piety, ſo it ap⯑pears, that the ſame religious ſpirit glowed with unabating ardour to the laſt. His con⯑cluſion is: ‘The Eſſays profeſſedly ſerious, if I have been able to execute my own inten⯑tions, will be found exactly conformable to the precepts of Chriſtianity, without any accommodation to the licentiouſneſs and le⯑vity of the preſent age. I therefore look back on this part of my work with pleaſure, [58] which no man ſhall diminiſh or augment. I ſhall never envy the honours which wit and learning obtain in any other cauſe, if I can be numbered among the writers who have given ardour to virtue, and confidence to truth.’ The whole number of Eſſays amounted to two hundred and eight. Addi⯑ſon's, in the Spectator, are more in number, but not half in point of quantity: Addiſon was not bound to publiſh on ſtated days; he could watch the ebb and flow of his genius, and ſend his pa⯑per to the preſs when his own taſte was ſatiſ⯑fied. Johnſon's caſe was very different. He wrote ſingly and alone. In the whole progreſs of the work he did not receive more than ten eſſays. This was a ſcanty contribution. For the reſt, the author has deſcribed his fituation: ‘He that condemns himſelf to compoſe on a ſtated day, will often bring to his taſk an at⯑tention diſſipated, a memory embarraſſed, an imagination overwhelmed, a mind diſtracted with anxieties, a body languiſhing with diſ⯑eaſe: he will labour on a barren topic, till it is too late to change it; or, in the ardour of invention, diffuſe his thoughts into wild exu⯑berance, which the preſſing hour of publi⯑cation [59] cannot ſuffer judgement to examine or reduce.’ Of this excellent production the number ſold on each day did not amount to five hundred: of courſe the bookſeller, who paid the author four guineas a week, did not carry on a ſucceſsful trade. His generoſity and per⯑ſeverance deſerve to be commended; and hap⯑pily, when the collection appeared in volumes, were amply rewarded. Johnſon lived to ſee his labours flouriſh in a tenth edition. His poſterity, as an ingenious French writer has ſaid on a ſimilar occaſion, began in his life⯑time.

In the beginning of 1750, ſoon after the Rambler was ſet on foot, Johnſon was induced by the arts of a vile impoſtor to lend his aſſiſt⯑ance, during a temporary deluſion, to a fraud not to be paralleled in the annals of literature. One LAUDER, a native of Scotland, who had been a teacher in the Univerſity of EDIN⯑BURGH, had conceived a mortal antipathy to the name and character of Milton. His reaſon was, becauſe the prayer of Pamela, in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, was, as he ſup⯑poſed, maliciouſly inſerted by the great poet in [60] an edition of the Eikon Baſilike, in order to fix an imputation of impiety on the memory of the murdered king. Fired with reſentment, and willing to reap the profits of a groſs im⯑poſition, this man collected from ſeveral Latin poets, ſuch as Maſenius the Jeſuit, Staphorſ⯑tius a Dutch divine, Beza, and others, all ſuch paſſages as bore any kind of reſemblance to different places in the Paradiſe Loſt; and theſe he publiſhed, from time to time, in the Gentleman's Magazine, with occaſional inter⯑polations of lines, which he himſelf tranſlated from Milton. The public credulity ſwallowed all with eagerneſs; and Milton was ſuppoſed to be guilty of plagiariſm from inferior modern writers. The fraud ſucceeded ſo well, that Lauder collected the whole into a volume, and advertiſed it under the title of ‘An Eſſay on Milton's Uſe and Imitation of the Moderns, in his Paradiſe Loſt; dedicated to the Univer⯑ſities of Oxford and Cambridge.’ While the book was in the preſs, the proof-ſheets were ſhewn to Johnſon at the Ivy-lane Club, by Payne, the bookleller, who was one of the members. No man in that ſociety was in poſ⯑ſeſſion of the authors from whom Lauder [61] profeſſed to make his extracts. The charge was believed, and the contriver of it found his way to Johnſon, who is repreſented by Sir John Hawkins, not indeed as an accomplice in the fraud, but, through motives of malignity to Milton, delighting in the detection, and exulting that the poet's reputation would ſuf⯑fer by the diſcovery. More malice to a de⯑ceaſed friend cannot well be imagined. Haw⯑kins adds, ‘that he wiſhed well to the argu⯑ment, muſt be inferred from the preface, which indubitably was written by him.’ The preface, it is well known, was written by Johnſon, and for that reaſon is inſerted in this edition. But if Johnſon approved of the argument, it was no longer than while he believed it founded in truth. Let us advert to his own words in that very preface. ‘Among the enquiries to which the ardour of criticiſm has naturally given occaſion, none is more obſcure in it⯑ſelf, or more worthy of rational curioſity, than a retroſpection of the progreſs of this mighty genius in the conſtruction of his work; a view of the fabric gradually riſing, perhaps from ſmall beginnings, till its foun⯑dation reſts in the centre, and its turrets [62] ſparkle in the ſkies; to trace back the ſtruc⯑ture, through all its varieties, to the ſimpli⯑city of the firſt plan; to find what was pro⯑jected, whence the ſcheme was taken, how it was improved, by what aſſiſtance it was executed, and from what ſtores the mate⯑rials were collected; whether its founder dug them from the quarries of nature, or demoliſhed other buildings to embelliſh his own.’ Theſe were the motives that induced Johnſon to aſſiſt Lauder with a preface: and are not theſe the motives of a critic and a ſcholar? What reader of taſte, what man of real knowledge, would not think his time well employed in an enquiry ſo curious, ſo intereſt⯑ing, and inſtructive? If Lauder's facts were really true, who would not be glad, without the ſmaleſt tincture of malevolence, to receive real information? It is painful to be thus obliged to vindicate a man who, in his heart, towered above the petty arts of fraud and im⯑poſition, againſt an injudicious biographer, who undertook to be his editor, and the protector of his memory. Another writer, Dr. Towers, in an Eſſay on the Life and Character of Dr. Johnſon, ſeems to countenance this calumny. [63] He ſays, It can hardly be doubted, but that Johnſon's averſion to Milton's politics was the cauſe of that alacrity with which he joined with Lauder in his infamous attack on our great epic poet, and which induced him to aſſiſt in that tranſaction. Theſe words would ſeem to de⯑ſcribe an accomplice, were they not immedi⯑ately followed by an expreſs declaration, that Johnſon was unacquainted with the impoſture. Dr. Towers adds, It ſeems to have been by way of making ſome compenſation to the memory of Milton, for the ſhare he had in the attack of Lauder, that Johnſon wrote the prologue, ſpoken by Garrick, at Drury-lane Theatre, 1750, on the performance of the Maſque of Comus, for the benefit of Milton's grand-daughter. Dr. Towers is not free from prejudice; but, as Shakſpeare has it, ‘he begets a temperance, to give it ſmoothneſs.’ He is, therefore, entitled to a diſpaſſionate anſwer. When Johnſon wrote the prologue, it does appear that he was aware of the malignant artifices practiſed by Lauder. In the poſtſcript to Johnſon's pre⯑face, a ſubſcription is propoſed, for relieving the grand-daughter of the author of Paradiſe Loſt. Dr. Towers will agree that this ſhews [64] Johnſon's alacrity in doing good. That alacrity ſhewed itſelf again in the letter printed in the European Magazine, January, 1785, and there ſaid to have appeared originally in the General Advertiſer, 4th April, 1750, by which the publick were invited to embrace the oppor⯑tunity of paying a juſt regard to the illuſtrious dead, united with the pleaſure of doing good to the living. The letter adds, ‘To aſſiſt in⯑duſtrious indigence, ſtruggling with diſtreſs, and debilitated by age, is a diſplay of vir⯑tue, and an acquiſition of happineſs and ho⯑nour. Whoever, therefore, would be thought capable of pleaſure in reading the works of our incomparable Milton, and not ſo deſti⯑tute of gratitude as to refuſe to lay out a trifle, in a rational and elegant entertain⯑ment, for the benefit of his living remains, for the exerciſe of their own virtue, the increaſe of their reputation, and the con⯑ſciouſneſs of doing good, ſhould appear at Drury-lane Theatre, to-morrow, April 5, when COMUS will be performed for the bene⯑fit of Mrs. Elizabeth Foſter, grand-daughter to the author, and the only ſurviving branch of his family. Nota bene, there will be a [65] new prologue on the occaſion, written by the author of Irene, and ſpoken by Mr. Garrick.’ The man, who had thus exerted himſelf to ſerve the grand-daughter, cannot be ſuppoſed to have entertained perſonal malice to the grand-father. It is true, that the ma⯑levolence of Lauder, as well as the impoſtures of Archibald Bower, were fully detected by the labours, in the cauſe of truth, of the Rev. Dr. Douglas, now Lord Biſhop of Saliſbury.

But the pamphlet, entituled, Milton vindicated from the Charge of Plagiariſm brought againſt him by Mr. Lauder, and Lauder himſelf con⯑victed of ſeveral Forgeries and groſs Impoſitions on the Publick. By John Douglas, M. A. Rector of Eaton Conſtantine, Salop, was not pub⯑liſhed till the year 1751. In that work, p. 77. Dr. Douglas ſays: ‘It is to be hoped, nay, it is expected, that the elegant and nervous writer, whoſe judicious ſentiments and in⯑imitable ſtyle point out the author of Lau⯑der's preface and poſtſcript, will no longer allow A MAN to plume himſelf with his fea⯑thers, who appears ſo little to have deſerved [66] his aſſiſtance; an aſſiſtance which I am per⯑ſuaded would never have been communi⯑cated, had there been the leaſt ſuſpicion of thoſe facts, which I have been the inſtru⯑ment of conveying to the world.’ We have here a contemporary teſtimony to the in⯑tegrity of Dr. Johnſon throughout the whole of that vile tranſaction. What was the con⯑ſequence of the requiſition made by Dr. Doug⯑las? Johnſon, whoſe ruling paſſion may be ſaid to be the love of truth, convinced Lauder, that it would be more for his intereſt to make a full confeſſion of his guilt, than to ſtand forth the convicted champion of a lye; and for this purpoſe he drew up, in the ſtrongeſt terms, a recantation in a Letter to the Rev. Mr. Douglas, which Lauder ſigned, and publiſhed in the year 1751. That piece will remain a laſting memorial of the abhorrence with which Johnſon beheld a violation of truth. Mr. Ni⯑chols, whoſe attachment to his illuſtrious friend was unwearied, ſhewed him in 1780 a book, called Remarks on Johnſon's Life of Milton, in which the affair of Lauder was renewed with virulence, and a poetical ſcale in the Lite⯑rary Magazine 1758 (when Johnſon had ceaſed to write in that collection) was urged as an [67] additional proof of deliberate malice. He read the libellous paſſage with attention, and inſtantly wrote on the margin: ‘In the buſineſs of Lau⯑der I was deceived, partly by thinking the man too frantic to be fraudulent. Of the poetical ſcale quoted from the Magazine I am not the author. I fancy it was put in after I had quitted that work; for I not only did not write it, but I do not remember it.’ As a critic and a ſcholar, Johnſon was willing to receive what numbers at the time believed to be true information: when he found that the whole was a forgery, he renounced all con⯑nection with the author.

In March 1752, he felt a ſevere ſtroke of affliction in the death of his wife. The laſt number of the Rambler, as already mentioned, was on the 14th of that month. The loſs of Mrs. Johnſon was then approaching, and, pro⯑bably, was the cauſe that put an end to thoſe admirable periodical eſſays. It appears that ſhe died on the 28th of March: in a memorandum, at the foot of the Prayers and Meditations, that is called her Dying Day. She was buried at Bromley, under the care of Dr. Hawkeſ⯑worth. Johnſon placed a Latin, inſcription on [68] her tomb, in which he celebrated her beauty. With the ſingularity of his prayers for his deceaſed wife, from that time to the end of his days, the world is ſufficiently acquainted. On Eaſter⯑day, 22d April, 1764, his memorandum ſays: ‘Thought on Tetty, poor dear Tetty! with my eyes full. Went to Church. After ſermon I recommended Tetty in a prayer by herſelf; and my father, mother, brother, and Bathurſt, in another. I did it only once, ſo far as it might be lawful for me.’ In a prayer. January 23, 1759, the day on which his mother was buried, he commends, as far as may be lawful, her ſoul to God, im⯑ploring for her whatever is moſt beneficial to her in her preſent ſtate. In this habit he per⯑ſervered to the end of his days. The Rev. Mr. Strahan, the editor of the Prayers and Meditation, obſerves, ‘That Johnſon, on ſome occaſions, prays that the Almighty may have had merry on his wife and Mr. Thrale: evidently ſappoſing their ſentence to have been already paſſed in the Divine Mind; and, by conſequence, proving, that. he had no belief in a ſtate of purgatory, and no reaſon for praying for the dead that could impeach the ſincerity of his profeſſion as a [69] Proteſtant.’ Mr. Strahan adds, ‘That, in praying for the regretted tenants of the grave, Johnſon conformed to a practice which has been retained by many learned members of the Eſtabliſhed Church, though the Liturgy no longer admits it. If where the tree ſalleth, there it ſhall be; if our ſtate, at the cloſe of life, is to be the meaſure of our final ſentence, then prayers for the dead, being viſibly fruitleſs, can be regarded only as the vain oblations of ſuperſtition. But of all ſuperſtitions this, perhaps, is one of the leaſt unamiable, and moſt incident to a good mind. If our ſenſations of kindneſs be intenſe, thoſe, whom we have revered and loved, death cannot wholly ſeclude from our concern. It is true, for the reaſon juſt men⯑tioned, ſuch evidences of our ſurviving af⯑fection may be thought ill-judged; but ſurely they are generous, and ſome natural tenderneſs is due even to a ſuperſtition, which thus originates in piety and benevolence.’ Theſe ſentences, extracted from the Rev. Mr. Strahan's preface, if they are not a full juſtiſication, are, at leaſt, a beautiful apo⯑logy. It will not be improper to add what Johnſon himſelf has ſaid on the ſubject. Being [70] aſked by Mr. Boſwell ^*, what he thought of purgatory, as believed by the Roman Catho⯑lics? His anſwer was, ‘It is a very harmleſs doctrine. They are of opinion, that the generality of mankind are neither ſo obſti⯑nately wicked as to deſerve everlaſting pu⯑niſhment; nor ſo good as to merit being admitted into the ſociety of bleſſed ſpirits; and, therefore, that God is graciouſly pleaſed to allow a middle ſtate, where they may be purified by certain degrees of ſuffering. You ſee there is nothing unreaſonable in this; and if it be once eſtabliſhed that there are ſouls in purgatory, it is as proper to pray for them, as for our brethren of mankind, who are yet in this life.’ This was Dr. Johnſon's gueſs into futurity; and to gueſs is the utmoſt that man can do. Shadows, clouds, and darkneſs, reſt upon it.

Mrs. Johnſon left a daughter, Lucy Porter, by her firſt huſband. She had contracted a friendſhip with Mrs. Anne Williams, the daugh⯑ter of Zachary Williams, a phyſician of emi⯑nence in South Wales, who had devoted more than thirty years of a long life to the ſtudy of [71] the longitude, and was thought to have made great advances towards that important diſco⯑very. His letters to Lord Halifax, and the Lords of the Admiralty, partly corrected and partly written by Dr. Johnſon, are ſtill extant in the hands of Mr. Nichols ^*. We there find Dr. Williams, in the eighty-third year of his age, ſtating, that he had prepared an in⯑strument, which might be called an epitome or miniature of the terraqueous globe, ſliew⯑ing, with the aſſiſtance of tables conſtructed by himſelf, the variations of the magnetic needle, and aſcertaining the longitude for the ſafety of navigation. It appears that this ſcheme had been referred to Sir Iſaac Newton; but that great philoſopher excuſing himſelf on account of his advanced age, all applications were uſeleſs till 1751, when the ſubject was referred, by order of Lord Anſon, to Dr. Bradley, the celebrated profeſſor of aſironomy. His report was unfavourable ^†, though it allows that a conſiderable progreſs had been made. Dr. Williams, after all his la⯑bour and expence, died in a ſhort time after, a melancholy inſtance of unrewarded merit. [72] His daughter poſſeſſed uncommon talents, and, though blind, had an alacrity of mind that made her converſation agreeable, and even deſirable. To relieve and appeaſe me⯑lancholy reflections, Johnſon took her home to his houſe in Gough-ſquare. In 1755, Garrick gave her a benefit-play, which pro⯑duced two hundred pounds. In 1766, ſhe publiſhed, by ſubſcription, a quarto volume of Miſcellanies, and increnſed her little ſtock to three hundred pounds. That fund, with Johnſon's protection, ſupported her through the remainder of her life.

During the two years in which the Rambler was carried on, the Dictionary proceeded by ſlow degrees. In May 1752, having compoſed a prayer preparatory to his return from tears and ſorrow to the duties of life, he reſumed his grand de⯑ſign, and went on with vigour, giving, however, occaſional aſſiſtance to his friend Dr. Hawkeſ⯑worth in the Adventurer, which began ſoon after the Rambler was laid aſide. Some of the moſt valuable eſſays in that collection were from the pen of Johnſon. The Dictionary was completed towards the end of 1754; and, Cave being then no more, it was a mortification to the author of that noble addition to our [73] language, that his old friend did not live to fee the triumph of his labours. In May 1755, that great work was publiſhed. Johnſon was deſirous that it ſhould come from one who had obtained academical honours; and for that pur⯑poſe, his friend the Rev. Thomas Warton ob⯑tained for him, in the preceding month of February, a diploma for a matter's degree from the Univerſity of Oxford. Garrick, on the publication of the Dictionary, wrote the fol⯑lowing lines.

It is, perhaps, needleſs to mention, that Forty was the number of the French Academy, at the time when their Dictionary was publiſhed to ſettle their language.

In the courſe of the winter preceding this grand publication, the late Earl of Cheſter⯑field gave two eſſays in the periodical Paper, called THE WORLD, dated November 28, and December 5, 1754, to prepare the publick for ſo important a work. The original plan, ad⯑dreſſed to his Lordſhip in the year 1747, is there mentioned in terms of the higheſt praiſe; and this was underſtood, at the time, to be a courtly way of ſoliciting a dedication of the Dictionary to himſelf. Johnſon treated this civility with diſdain. He ſaid to Garrick and others, ‘I have ſailed a long and painful voyage round the world of the Engliſh lan⯑gunge; and does he now ſend out two cock-boats to tow me into harbour?’ He had ſaid, in the laſt number of the Rambler, ‘that, having laboured to maintain the dignity of virtue, I will not now degrade it by the meanneſs of dedication.’ Such a man, when [75] he had finiſhed his "Dictionary, not," as he ſays himſelf, ‘in the ſoft obſcurities of retire⯑ment, or under the ſhelter of academic bowers, but amidſt inconvenience and diſ⯑traction, in ſickneſs and in ſorrow, and without the patronage of the great,’ was not likely to be caught by the lure thrown out by Lord Cheſterfield. He had in vain ſought the patronage of that nobleman; and his pride, exaſperated by diſappointment, drew from him the following letter, dated in the month of February, 1755.

[78]It is ſaid, upon good authority, that Johnſon once received from Lord Cheſterfield the ſum of ten pounds. It were to be wiſhed that the ſecret had never tranſpired. It was mean to receive it, and meaner to give it. It may be imagined, that for Johnſon's ferocity, as it has been called, there was ſome foundation in his finances; and, as his Dictionary was brought to a concluſion that money was now to flow in upon him. The reverſe was the caſe. For his ſubſiſtence, during the progreſs of the work, he had received at different times the amount of his contract; and when his re⯑ceipts were produced to him at a tavern-dinner, given by the bookſellers, it appeared, that he had been paid a hundred pounds and upwards more than his due. The author of a book, called Lexiphanes, written by a Mr. Campbell, a Scotchman, and purſer of a man of war, endeavoured to blaſt his laurels, but in vain. The world applauded, and Johnſon never re⯑plied. "Abuſe," he ſaid, ‘is often of ſer⯑vice: there is nothing ſo dangerous to an author as ſilence; his name, like a ſhuttle⯑cock, muſt be beat backward and forward, or it falls to the ground.’ Lexiphanes pro⯑feſſed [79] to be an imitation of the pleaſant man⯑ner of Lucian; but humour was not the talent of the writer of Lexiphanes. As Dryden ſays, "He had too much horſe-play in his raillery."

It was in the ſummer 1754, that the preſent writer became acquainted with Dr. Johnſon. The cauſe of his firſt viſit is related by Mrs. Piozzi nearly in the following manner. ‘Mr. Murphy being engaged in a periodical paper, the Gray's-Inn Journal, was at a friend's houſe in the country, and, not being diſpoſed to loſe pleaſure for buſineſs, wiſhed to con⯑tent his bookſeller by ſome unſtudied eſſay. He therefore took up a French Journal Lité⯑raire, and tranſlating ſomething he liked, ſent it away to town. Time, however, diſ⯑covered that he tranſlated from the French a Rambler, which had been taken from the Engliſh without acknowledgement. Upon this diſcovery Mr. Murphy thought it right to make his excuſes to Dr. Johnſon. He went next day, and found him covered with ſoot, like a chimney-ſweeper, in a little room, as if he had been acting Lungs in the Al⯑chymiſt, making aether. This being told by Mr. Murphy in company, 'Come, come,' [80] ſaid Dr. Johnſon, 'the ſtory is black enough; but it was a happy day that brought you firſt to my houſe'.’ After this firſt viſit, the author of this narrative by degrees grew intimate with Dr. Johnſon. The firſt ſtriking ſentence, that he heard from him, was in a few days after the publication of Lord Boling⯑broke's poſthumous works. Mr. Garrick aſked him, "If he had ſeen them?" ‘Yes, I have ſeen them.’ ‘What do you think of them?’ "Think of them!" He made a long pauſe, and then replied: ‘Think of them! A ſcoundrel and a coward! A ſcoun⯑drel, who ſpent his life in charging a gun againſt Chriſtianity; and a coward, who was afraid of hearing the report of his own gun; but left half a crown to a hungry Scotchman to draw the trigger after his death.’ His mind, at this time ſtrained and over-laboured by conſtant exertion, called for an interval of repoſe and indolence. But indolence was the time of danger: it was then that his ſpirits, not employed abroad, turned with inward hoſtility againſt himſelf. His reflections on his own life and conduct were always ſevere; and, wiſhing to be immaculate, [81] he deſtroyed his own peace by unneceſſary ſcru⯑ples. He tells us, that when he ſurveyed his paſt life, he diſcovered nothing but a barren waſte of time, with ſome diſorders of body, and diſtur⯑bances of mind, very near to madneſs. His life, he ſays, from his earlieſt years, was waſted in a morning bed; and his reigning ſin was a gene⯑ral ſluggiſhneſs, to which he was always in⯑clined, and, in part of his life, almoſt com⯑pelled, by morbid melancholy, and wearineſs of mind. This was his conſtitutional ma⯑lady, derived, perhaps, from his father, who was, at times, overcaſt with a gloom that bor⯑dered on inſanity. When to this it is added, that Johnſon, about the age of twenty, drew up a deſcription of his infirmities, for Dr. Swinfen, at that time an eminent phyſician in Staffordſhire; and received an anſwer to his letter, importing, that the ſymptoms indicated a future privation of reaſon; who can wonder that he was troubled with melancholy and de⯑jection of ſpirit? An apprehenſion of the worſt calamity that can befal human nature hung over him all the reſt of his life, like the ſword of the tyrant ſuſpended over his gueſt. In his ſixtieth year he had a mind to write the hiſtory of his melancholy; but he deſiſted, not know⯑ing [82] whether it would not too much diſturb him. In a Latin poem, however, to which he has prefixed as a title, [...], he has left a picture, of himſelf, drawn with as much truth, and as firm a hand, as can be ſeen in the portraits of Hogarth or Sir Joſhua Reynolds. The learned reader will find the original poem in this volume, p. 178; and it is hoped, that a tranſlation, or rather imitation, of ſo curious a piece will not be improper in this place.

Such is the picture for which Dr. Johnſon ſat to himſelf. He gives the prominent fea⯑tures of his character; his laſſitude, his mor⯑bid [86] bid melancholy, his love of fame, his dejec⯑tion, his tavern-parties, and his wandering reveries, Vacuae mala ſomnia mentis, about which ſo much has been written; all are painted in miniature, but in vivid colours, by his own hand. His idea of writing more Dictionaries was not merely ſaid in verſe. Mr. Hamilton, who was at that time an eminent printer, and well acquainted with Dr. John⯑ſon, remembers that he engaged in a Com⯑mercial Dictionary, and, as appears by the receipt; in his poſſeſſion, was paid his price for ſeveral ſheets; but he ſoon relinquiſhed the undertaking. It is probable, that he found himſelf not ſuffiently verſed in that branch of knowledge.

He was again reduced to the expedient of ſhort compoſitions for the ſupply of the day. The writer of this narrative has now before him a letter in Dr. Johnſon's hand-writing, which ſhews the diſtreſs and melancholy ſitua⯑tion of the man, who had written the Rambler, and finiſhed the great work of his Dictionary. The letter is directed to Mr. Richardſon (the author of Clariſſa), and is as follows:

In the margin of this letter there is a memo⯑randum in theſe words: ‘March 16, 1756. Sent ſix guineas. Witneſs, Wm. Ri⯑chardſon.’ For the honour of an admired writer it is to be regretted, that we do not find a more liberal entry. To his friend in diſtreſs he ſent eight ſhillings more than was wanted. Had an incident of this kind occurred in one of his Romances, Richardſon would have known how to grace his hero; but in ficti⯑tious ſcenes generoſity coſts the writer no⯑thing.

[88]About this time Johnſon contributed ſe⯑veral papers to a periodical Miſcellany, called The VISITOR, from motives which are highly honourable to him, a compaſſionate re⯑gard for the late Mr. Chriſtopher Smart. The criticiſm on Pope's Epitaphs appeared in that work. In a ſhort time after, he became a re⯑viewer in the Literary Magazine, under the auſpices of the late Mr. Newbery, a man of a projecting head, good taſte, and great in⯑duſtry. This employment engroſſed but little of Johnſon's time. He reſigned himſelf to indolence, took no exerciſe, roſe about two, and then received the viſits of his friends. Au⯑thors, long ſince forgotten, waited on him as their oracle, and he gave reſponſes in the chair of criticiſm. He liſtened to the complaints, the ſchemes, and the hopes and fears of a crowd of inferior writers, "who," he ſaid, in the words of Roger Aſcham, ‘lived, men know not how, and died obſcure, men marked not when.’ He believed, that he could give a better hiſtory of Grub-ſtreet than any man living. His houſe was filled with a ſucceſſion of viſitors till four or five in the evening. During the whole time he preſided at his tea⯑table, [89] Tea was his favorite beverage; and, when the late Jonas Hanway pronounced his anathema againſt the uſe of tea, Johnſon roſe in defence of his habitual practice, declaring himſelf ‘in that article a hardened ſinner, who had for years diluted his meals with the infuſion of that faſcinating plant; whoſe tea-kettel had no time to cool; who with tea ſolaced the midnight hour, and with tea welcomed the morning.’

The propoſal for a new edition of Shak⯑ſpeare, which had formerly miſcarried, was reſumed in the year 1756. The book⯑ſellers readily agreed to his terms, and ſub⯑ſcription-tickets were iſſued out. For under⯑taking this work, money, he confeſſed, was the inciting motive. His friends exerted them⯑ſelves to promote his intereſt; and, in the mean time, he engaged in a new periodical production called THE IDLER. The firſt num⯑ber appeared on Saturday, April 15, 1758; and the laſt, April 5, 1760. The profits of this work, and the ſubſcriptions for the new edition of Shakſpeare, were the means by which he ſupported himſelf for four or five [90] years. In 1759 was publiſhed Raſſelas, Prince of Abyſſinia. His tranſlation of Lobo's Voyage to Abyſſinia ſeems to have pointed out that country for the ſcene of action; and Raſſila Chriſtos, the General of Sultan Segued, men⯑tioned in that work, moſt probably ſuggeſted the name of the prince. The author wanted to ſet out on a journey to Lichfield, in order to pay the laſt offices of filial piety to his mother, who, at the age of ninety, was then near her diſſolution; but money was neceſſary. Mr. Johnſton, a bookſeller who has long ſince left off buſineſs, gave one hundred pounds for the copy. With this ſupply Johnſon ſet out for Lichfield; but did not arrive in time to cloſe the eyes of a parent whom he loved. He at⯑tended the funeral, which, as appears among his memorandums, was on the 23d of Janu⯑ary, 1759.

Johnſon now found it neceſſary to retrench Lis expences. He gave up his houſe in Gough⯑ſquare. Mrs. Williams went into lodgings. He retired to Gray's-Inn, and ſoon removed to chambers in the Inner Temple-lane, where he lived in poverty, total idleneſs, and the pride of [91] literature. Magni ſtat nominis umbrd. Mr. Fitzherbert (the father of Lord St. Helen's, the preſent miniſter at Madrid) a man diſtinguiſhed through life for his benevo⯑lence and other amiable qualities, uſed to ſay, that he paid a morning viſit to John⯑ſon, intending from his chambers to ſend a letter into the city; but, to his great ſur⯑prize, he found an author by profeſſion with⯑out pen, ink, or paper. The preſent Biſhop of Saliſbury was alſo among thoſe who endea⯑voured, by conſtant attention, to ſooth the cares of a mind which he knew to be afflicted with gloomy apprehenſions. At one of the parties made at his houſe, Boſcovich, the Je⯑ſuit, who had then lately introduced the New⯑tonian philoſophy at Rome, and, after pub⯑liſhing an elegant Latin poem on the ſubject, was made a Fellow of the Royal Society, was one of the company invited to meet Dr. John⯑ſon. The converſation at firſt: was moſtly in French. Johnſon, though thoroughly verſed in that language, and a profeſſed admirer of Boileau and La Bruyere, did not underſtand its pronunciation, nor could he ſpeak it him⯑ſelf with propriety. For the reſt of the even⯑ing the talk was in Latin. Boſcovich, had a [92] ready current flow of that flimſy phraſeology with which a prieſt may travel through Italy, Spain, and Germany. Johnſon ſcorned what he called colloquial barbariſms. It was his pride to ſpeak his beſt. He went on, after a little practice, with as much faci⯑lity as if it was his native tongue. One ſen⯑tence this writer well remembers. Obſerving that Fontinelle at firſt oppoſed the Newtonian philoſophy, and embraced it afterwards, his words were: Fontinellus, ni fallor, in extremâ ſenectute, fuit transfuga ad caſtra Newtoniana.

We have now traveled through that part of Dr. Johnſon's life which was a perpetual ſtrug⯑gle with difficulties. Halcyon days are now to open upon him. In the month of May 1762, his Majeſty, to reward literary merit, ſignified his pleaſure to grant to Johnſon a penſion of three hundred pounds a year. The Earl of Bute was miniſter. Lord Loughborongh, who, perhaps, was originally a mover in the buſi⯑neſs, had authority to mention it. He was well acquainted with Johnſon; but, having heard much of his independent ſpirit, and of the downfall of Oſborne the bookſeller, he did [93] not know but his benevolence might be re⯑warded with a folio on his head. He deſired the author of theſe memoirs to undertake the taſk. This writer thought the opportunity of doing ſo much good the moſt happy incident in his life. He went, without delay, to the chambers in the Inner Temple-lane, which, in fact, were the abode of wretchedneſs. By ſlow and ſtudied approaches the meſſage was diſcloſed. Johnſon made a long pauſe: he aſked if it was ſeriouſly intended? He fell into a profound meditation, and his own defi⯑nition of a penſioner occurred to him. He was told, ‘That he, at leaſt, did not come within the definition.’ He deſired to meet next day, and dine at the Mitre Ta⯑vern. At that meeting he gave up all his ſcruples. On the following day Lord Loughborough conducted him to the Earl of Bute. The converſation that paſſed was in the evening related to this writer by Dr. Johnſon. He expreſſed his ſenſe of his Majeſty's bounty, and thought himſelf the more highly ho⯑noured, as the favour was not beſtowed on him for having dipped his pen in faction. "No, Sir," ſaid Lord Bute, ‘it is not offered [94] to you for having dipped your pen in faction, nor with a deſign that you ever ſhould.’ Sir John Hawkins will have it, that, after this interview, Johnſon was often preſſed to wait on Lord Bute, but with a ſullen ſpirit refuſed to comply. However that be, Johnſon was ne⯑ver heard to utter a diſreſpectful word of that nobleman. The writer of this eſſay remem⯑bers a circumſtance which may throw ſome light on this ſubject. The late Dr. Roſe, of Chiſwick, whom Johnſon loved and reſpected, contended for the pre-eminence of the Scotch writers; and Ferguſon's book on Civil Society, then on the eve of publication, he ſaid, would give the laurel to North Britain. ‘Alas! what can he do upon that ſubject?’ ſaid John⯑ſon: ‘Ariſtotle, Polybius, Grotius, Puffen⯑dorf, and Burlemaqui, have reaped in that field before him.’ "He will treat it," ſaid Dr. Roſe, "in a new manner." ‘A new manner! Buckinger had no hands, and he wrote his name with his toes at Charing⯑croſs, for half a crown apiece; that was a new manner of writing!’ Dr. Roſe re⯑plied, ‘If that will not ſatisfy you, I will name a writer, whom you muſt allow to be [95] the beſt in the kingdom.’ "Who is that?" ‘The Earl of Bute, when he wrote an order for your penſion.’ "There, Sir," ſaid John⯑ſon, ‘you have me in the toil: to Lord Bute I muſt allow whatever praiſe you may claim for him.’ Ingratitude was no part of John⯑ſon's character.

Being now in the poſſeſſion of a regular in⯑come, Johnſon left his chambers in the Tem⯑ple, and once more became maſter of a houſe in Johnſon's-court, Fleet-ſtreet. Dr. Levet, his friend and phyſician in ordinary, paid his daily viſits with aſſiduity; made tea all the morning, talked what he had to ſay, and did not expect an anſwer. Mrs. Williams had her apartment in the houſe, and entertained her benefactor with more enlarged converſation. Chemiſtry was part of Johnſon's amuſement. For this love of experimental philoſophy, Sir John Hawkins thinks an apology neceſſary. He tells us, with great gravity, that curioſity was the only object in view; not an intention to grow ſuddenly rich by the philoſopher's ſtone, or the tranſmutation of metals. To en⯑large his circle, Johnſon once more had re⯑courſe [96] courſe to a literary club. This was at the Turk's Head, in Gerrard-ſtreet, Soho, on every Tueſday evening through the year. The members were, beſides himſelf, the right ho⯑nourable Edmund Burke, Sir Joſhua Reynolds, Dr. Nugent, Dr. Goldſmith, the late Mr. Topham Beauclerk, Mr. Langton, Mr. Cha⯑mier, Sir John Hawkins, and ſome others. Johnſon's affection for Sir Joſhua was found⯑ed on a long acquaintance, and a thorough knowledge of the virtues and amiable quali⯑ties of that excellent artiſt. He delighted in the converſation of Mr. Burke. He met him for the firſt time at Mr. Garrick's ſeveral years ago. On the next day he ſaid, ‘I ſuppoſe, Murphy, you are proud of your country⯑man. CUM TALIS SIT UTINAM NOSTER ESSET!’ From that time his conſtant ob⯑ſervation was, ‘That a man of ſenſe could not meet Mr. Burke by accident, under a gateway to avoid a ſhower, without being convinced that he was the firſt man in Eng⯑land.’ Johnſon felt not only kindneſs, but zeal and ardour for his friends. He did every thing in his power to advance the reputation of Dr. Goldſmith. He loved him, though he [97] knew his failings, and particularly the leaven of envy which corroded the mind of that ele⯑gant writer, and made him impatient, without diſguiſe, of the praiſes beſtowed on any perſon whatever. Of this infirmity, which marked Goldſmith's character, Johnſon gave a remark⯑able inſtance. It happened that he went with Sir Joſhua Reynolds and Goldſmith to ſee the Fantoccini, which were exhibited ſome years ago in or near the Haymarket. They admired the curious mechaniſm by which the puppets were made to walk the ſtage, draw a chair to the table, ſit down, write a letter, and per⯑form a variety of other actions with ſuch dex⯑terity, that though Nature's journeymen made the men, they imitated humanity to the aſtoniſh⯑ment of the ſpectator. The entertainment being over, the three friends retired to a ta⯑vern. Johnſon and Sir Joſhua talked with pleaſure of what they had ſeen; and ſays Johnſon, in a tone of admiration, ‘How the little fellow brandiſhed his ſpontoon!’ "There is nothing in it," replied Goldſmith, ſtarting up with impatience; ‘give me a ſpon⯑toon; I can do it as well myſelf.’

[98]Enjoying his amuſements at his weekly club, and happy in a ſtate of independence, John⯑ſon gained in the year 1765 another reſource, which contributed more than any thing elſe to exempt him from the ſolicitudes of life. He was introduced to the late Mr. Thrale and his family. Mrs. Piozzi has related the fact, and it is therefore needleſs to repeat it in this place. The author of this narrative looks back to the ſhare he had in that buſineſs with ſelf-congratula⯑tion, ſince he knows the tenderneſs which from that time ſoothed Johnſon's cares at Streatham, and prolonged a valuable life. The ſubſcri⯑bers to Shakſpeare began to deſpair of ever ſeeing the promiſed edition. To acquit him⯑ſelf of this obligation, he went to work un⯑willingly, but proceeded with vigour. In the month or October 1765, Shakſpeare was pub⯑liſhed; and, in a ſhort time after, the Uni⯑verſity of Dublin ſent over a diploma, in ho⯑nourable terms, creating him a Doctor of Laws. Oxford in eight or ten years afterwards followed the example; and till then Johnſon never aſſumed the title of Doctor. In 1766 his conſtitution ſeemed to be in a rapid decline, [99] and that morbid melancholy, which often clouded his underſtanding, came upon him with a deeper gloom than ever. Mr. and Mrs. Thrale paid him a viſit in this ſituation, and found him on his knees, with Dr. Delap, the rector of Lewes, in Suſſex, beſeeching God to continue to him the uſe of his underſtand⯑ing. Mr. Thrale took him to his houſe at Streatham; and Johnſon from that time be⯑came a conſtant reſident in the family. He went occaſionally to the club in Gerard-ſtreet; but his head quarters were fixed at Streatham. An apartment was fitted up for him, and the library was greatly enlarged. Parties were conſtantly invited from town; and Johnſon was every day at an elegant table, with ſelect and poliſhed company. Whatever could be deviſed by Mr. and Mrs. Thrale to promote the happi⯑neſs, and eſtabliſh the health of their gueſt, was ſtudiouſly performed from that time to the end of Mr. Thrale's life. Johnſon accompa⯑nied the family in all their ſummer excurſions to Brighthelmſtone, to Wales, and to Paris. It is but juſtice to Mr. Thrale to ſay, that a more ingenuous frame of mind no man poſ⯑ſeſſed. His education at Oxford gave him the [100] habits of a gentleman; his amiable temper recommended his converſation, and the good⯑neſs of his heart made him a ſincere friend. That he was the patron of Johnſon, is an ho⯑nour to his memory.

In petty diſputes with contemporary wri⯑ters, or the wits of the age, Johnſon was ſel⯑dom entangled. A ſingle incident of that kind may not be unworthy of notice, ſince it happened with a man of great celebrity in his time. A number of friends dined with Gar⯑rick on a Chriſtmas day. Foote was then in Ireland. It was ſaid at table, that the modern Ariſtophanes (ſo Foote was called) had been horſe-whipped by a Dublin apothecary, for mimicking him on the ſtage. "I wonder," ſaid Garrick, ‘that any man ſhould ſhew ſo much reſentment to Foote; he has a pa⯑tent for ſuch liberties; nobody ever thought it worth his while to quarrel with him in London.’ "I am glad," ſaid Johnſon, ‘to find that the man is riſing in the world.’ The expreſſion was afterwards reported to Foote; who in return, gave out, that he would pro⯑duce [101] the Caliban of literature on the ſtage. Being informed of this deſign, Johnſon ſent word to Foote, ‘That the theatre being intended for the reformation of vice, he would ſtep from the boxes on the ſtage, and correct him be⯑fore the audience.’ Foote knew the intre⯑pidity of his antagoniſt, and abandoned the deſign. No ill-will enſued. Johnſon uſed to ſay, ‘That, for broad-faced mirth, Foote had not his equal.’

Dr. Johnſon's fame excited the curioſity of the King. His Majeſty expreſſed a deſire to ſee a man of whom extraordinary things were ſaid. Accordingly, the librarian at Buckingham-houſe invited Johnſon to ſee that elegant collec⯑tion of books, at the ſame time giving a hint of what was intended. His Majeſty entered the room; and, among other things, aſked the author, ‘If he meant to give the world any more of his compoſitions?’ Johnſon anſwered, ‘That he thought he had writ⯑ten enough.’ ‘And I ſhould think ſo too,’ replied his Majeſty, ‘if you had not written ſo well.’

[102]Though Johnſon thought he had written enough, his genius, even in ſpite of bodily ſluggiſhneſs, could not lie ſtill. In 1770 we find him entering the liſts as a political writer. The flame of diſcord that blazed throughout the nation on the expulſion of Mr. Wilkes, and the final determination of the Houſe of Commons; that Mr. Luttrell was duly elected by 206 votes againſt 1143, ſpread a general ſpirit of diſcontent. To allay the tumult, Dr. Johnſon publiſhed The Falſe Alarm. Mrs, Piozzi informs us, ‘That this pamphlet was written at her houſe, between eight o'clock on Wedneſday night and twelve on Thurſ⯑day night.’ This celerity has appeared wonderful to many, and ſome have doubted the truth. It may, however, be placed within the bounds of probability. Johnſon has ob⯑ſerved that there are different methods of com⯑poſition. Virgil was uſed to pour out a great number of verſes in the morning, and paſs the day in retrenching the exuberances, and cor⯑recting inaccuracies; and it was Pope's cuſtom to write his firſt thoughts in his firſt words, and gradually to amplify, decorate, rectify, and [103] refine them. Others employ at once memory and invention, and, with little intermediate uſe of the pen, form and poliſh large maſſes by continued meditation, and write their produc⯑tions only, when, in their opinion, they have completed them. This laſt was Johnſon's method. He never took his pen in hand till he had well weighed his ſubject, and graſped in his mind the ſentiments, the train of argu⯑ment, and the arrangement of the whole. As he often thought aloud, he had, perhaps, talked it over to himſelf. This may account for that rapidity with which, in general, he diſpatched his ſheets to the preſs, without be⯑ing at the trouble of a fair copy. Whatever may be the logic or eloquence of The Falſe Alarm, the Houſe of Commons have ſince eraſed the reſolution from the Journals. But whether they have not left materials for a fu⯑ture controverſy may be made a queſtion.

In 1771 he publiſhed another tract, on the ſubject: of FALKLAND ISLANDS. The deſign was to ſhew the impropriety of going to war with Spain for an iſland thrown aſide from human uſe, ſtormy in winter, and barren in [104] ſummer. For this work it is apparent that mate⯑rials were furniſhed by direction of the miniſter.

At the approach of the general elec⯑tion in 1774, he wrote a ſhort diſcourſe, called THE PATRIOT, not with any viſible applica⯑tion to Mr. Wilkes; but to teach the people to reject the leaders of oppoſition, who called themſelves patriots. In 1775 he undertook a pamphlet of more importance, namely, Taxa⯑tion; no Tyranny, in anſwer to the Reſolutions and Addreſs of the American Congreſs. The ſcope of the argument was, that diſtant colo⯑nies, which had, in their aſſemblies, a legiſla⯑ture of their own, were, notwithſtanding, lia⯑ble to be taxed in a Britiſh Parliament, where they had neither peers in one houſe, nor repre⯑ſentatives in the other. He was of opinion, that this country was ſtrong enough to enforce obedience. "When an Engliſhman," he ſays, ‘is told that the Americans ſhoot up like the hydra, he naturally conſiders how the hydra was deſtroyed’ The event has ſhewn how much he and the miniſter of that day were miſtaken.

[105]The Account of the Tour to the Weſtern Iſlands of Scotland, which was undertaken in the autumn of 1773, in company with Mr. Boſwell, was not publiſhed till ſome time in the year 1775. This book has been variouſly received; by ſome extolled for the elegance of the narrative, and the depth of obſervation on life and manners; by others, as much con⯑demned, as a work of avowed hoſtility to the Scotch nation. The praiſe was, beyond all queſ⯑tion, fairly deſerved; and the cenſure, on due examination, will appear haſty and ill-founded. That Johnſon entertained ſome prejudices againſt the Scotch, muſt not be diſſembled. It is true, as Mr. Boſwell ſays, ‘that he thought their ſucceſs in England exceeded their pro⯑portion of real merit, and he could not but ſee in them that nationality which no liberal-minded Scotſman will deny.’ The author of theſe memoirs well remembers, that Johnſon one day aſked him, ‘Have you obſerved the difference between your own country impu⯑dence and Scottiſh impudence?’ The an⯑ſwer being in the negative: ‘Then I will tell you,’ ſaid Johnſon. ‘The impudence of [106] an Iriſhman is the impudence of a fly, that buzzes about you, and you put it away, but it returns again, and flutters and teazes you. The impudence of a Scotſman is the impu⯑dence of a leech, that fixes and ſucks your blood.’ Upon another occaſion, this writer went with him into the ſhop of Davies the bookſeller, in Ruſſel-ſtreet, Covent-garden. Da⯑vies came running to him almoſt out of breath with joy: ‘The Scots gentleman is come, Sir; his principal wiſh is to ſee you; he is now in the back-parlour.’ ‘Well, well, I'll ſee the gentleman,’ ſaid Johnſon. He walked towards the room. Mr. Boſwell was the perſon. This writer followed with no ſmall curioſity. "I find," ſaid Mr. Boſwell, ‘that I am come to London at a bad time, when great popular prejudice has gone forth againſt us North Britons; but when I am talking to you, I am talking to a large and liberal mind, and you know that I cannot help coming from Scotland.’ "Sir," ſaid Johnſon, "no more can the reſt of your coun⯑trymen."

[107]He had other reaſons that helped to alienate him from the natives of Scotland. Being a cordial well-wiſher to the constitution in Church and State, he did not think that Calvin and John Knox were proper founders of a national religion. He made, however, a wide diſtinc⯑tion between the Diſſenters of Scotland and the Separatiſts of England. To the former he imputed no diſaffection, no want of loyalty. Their ſoldiers and their officers had ſhed their blood with zeal and courage in the ſervice of Great Britain; and the people, he uſed to ſay, were content with their own eſtabliſhed modes of worſhip, without wiſhing, in the preſent age, to give any disturbance to the Church of England. This he was at all times ready to admit; and therefore declared, that when⯑ever he found a Scotchman to whom an Eng⯑liſhman was as a Scotchman, that Scotchman ſhould be as an Englishman to him. In this, ſurely, there was no rancour, no malevolence. The Diſſenters on this ſide the Tweed appeared to him in a different light. Their religion, he frequently ſaid, was too worldly, too political, too reſtleſs and ambitious. The doctrine of [108] caſhiering kings, and erecting on the ruins of the conſtitution a new form of government, which lately iſſued from their pulpits, he always thought was, under a calm diſguiſe, the principle that lay lurking in their hearts. He knew that a wild democracy had overturned King, Lords, and Commons; and that a ſet of Republican Fanatics, who would not bow at the name of JESUS, had taken poſſeſſion of all the livings and all the pariſhes in the kingdom. That thoſe ſcenes of horror might never be renewed, was the ardent wiſh of Dr. Johnſon; and though he apprehended no danger from Scot⯑land, it is probable that his diſlike of Cal⯑viniſm mingled ſometimes with his reflections on the natives of that country. The aſſocia⯑tion of ideas could net be eaſily broken; but it is well known that he loved and reflected many gentlemen from that part of the iſland. Dr. Robertſon's Hiſtory of Scotland, and Dr. Beattie's Eſſays, were ſubjects of his conſtant praiſe. M. Boſwell, Dr. Roſe of Chiſwick, Andrew Millar, Mr. Hamilton the printer, and the late Mr. Strahan, were among his moſt inti⯑mate friends. Many others might be added to the liſt. He ſcorned to enter Scotland as a [109] ſpy; though Hawkins, his biographer, and the profeſſing defender of his fame, allowed him⯑ſelf leave to repreſent him in that ignoble cha⯑racter. He went into Scotland to ſurvey men and manners. Antiquities, foſſils, and mine⯑rals, were not within his province. He did not viſit that country to ſettle the ſtation of Roman camps, or the ſpot where Galgacus fought the laſt battle for public liberty. The people, their cuſtoms, and the progreſs of literature, were his objects. The civilities which he received in the courſe of his tour have been repaid with grateful acknowledge⯑ment, and, generally, with great elegance of expreſſion. His crime is, that he found the country bare of trees, and he has ſtated the fact. This, Mr. Boſwell, in his Tour to the Hebrides, has told us, was reſented by his countrymen with anger inflamed to rancour; but he admits that there are few trees on the eaſt ſide of Scotland. Mr. Pennant, in his Tour, ſays, that in ſome parts of the eaſtern ſide of the country, he ſaw ſeveral large plan⯑tations of pine planted by gentlemen near their ſeats; and in this reſpect: ſuch a laudable ſpirit prevails, that, in another half century, it never [110] ſhall be ſaid, ‘To ſpy the nakedneſs of the land are you come.’ Johnſon could not wait for that half century, and therefore mentioned things as he found them. If in any thing he has been miſtaken, he has made a fair apology in the laſt paragraph of his book, avowing with candour, ‘That he may have been ſur⯑prized by modes of life, and appearances of nature, that are familiar to men of wider ſurvey, and more varied converſation. No⯑velty and ignorance muſt always be recipro⯑cal; and he is conſcious that his thoughts on national manners are the thoughts of one, who has ſeen but little.’

The Poems of Oſſian made a part of John⯑ſon's enquiry during his reſidence in Scotland and the Hebrides. On his return to England, November 1773, a ſtorm ſeemed to be gather⯑ing over his head; but the cloud never burſt, and the thunder never fell. Oſſian, it is well known, was preſented to the publick as a tran⯑ſlation from the Earſe; but that this was a fraud, Johnſon declared without heſitation. "The Earſe," he ſays, ‘was always oral only, and never a written language. The [111] Welch and the Iriſh were more cultivated. In Earſe there was not in the world a ſingle manuſcript a hundred years old. Martin, who in the laſt century publiſhed an Ac⯑count of the Weſtern Iſlands, mentions Iriſh, but never Earſe manuſcripts, to be found in the iſlands in his time. The bards could not read; if they could, they might probably have written. But the bard was a barbarian among barbarians, and, knowing nothing himſelf, lived with others that knew no more. If there is a manuſcript from which the tranſlation was made, in what age was it written, and where is it? If it was collected from oral recitation, it could only be in detached parts and ſcattered frag⯑ments: the whole is too long to be remem⯑bered.’ Who put it together in its preſent form? For theſe, and ſuch like reaſons, Johnſon calls the whole an impoſture. He adds, ‘The editor, or author, never could ſhew the original, nor can it be ſhewn by any other. To revenge reaſonable incredulity, by re⯑fuſing evidence, is a degree of inſolence with which the world is not yet acquainted; [112] and ſtubborn audacity is the laſt refuge of guilt.’ This reaſoning carries with it great weight. It rouſed the reſentment of Mr. Macpherſon. He ſent a threatening letter to the author; and Johnſon anſwered him in the rough phraſe of ſtern defiance. The two he⯑roes frowned at a diſtance, but never came to action.

In the year 1777, the misfortunes of Dr. Dodd excited his compaſſion. He wrote a ſpeech for that unhappy man, when called up to receive judgement of death; beſides two pe⯑titions, one to the King, and another to the Queen; and a ſermon to be preached by Dodd to the convicts in Newgate. It may appear trifling to add, that about the ſame time he wrote a prologue to the comedy of A Word to the Wiſe, written by Hugh Kelly. The play, ſome years before, had been damned by a party on the firſt night. It was revived for the benefit of the author's widow. Mrs. Piozzi relates, that when Johnſon was rallied for theſe exertions, ſo cloſe to one another, his anſwer was, When they come to me with a dying [113] Parſon, and a dead Stay-maker, what can a man do? We come now to the laſt of his literary labours. At the requeſt of the Bookſellers he undertook the Lives of the Poets. The firſt publication was in 1779, and the whole was compleated in 1781. In a memorandum of that year he ſays, ſome time in March he finiſhed the Lives of the Poets, which he wrote in his uſual way, dilatorily and haſtily, unwilling to work, yet working with vigour and haſte. In another place, he hopes they are written in ſuch a manner as may tend to the promotion of piety. That the hiſtory of ſo many men, who, in their different degrees, made themſelves con⯑ſpicuous in their time, was not written recently after their deaths, ſeems to be an omiſſion that does no honour to the Republic of Letters. Their contemporaries in general looked on with calm indifference, and ſuffered Wit and Genius to vaniſh out of the world in total ſilence, un⯑regarded, and unlamented. Was there no friend to pay the tribute of a tear? No juſt ob⯑ſerver of life, to record the virtues of the de⯑ceaſed? Was even Envy ſilent? It ſeemed to have been agreed, that if an author's works ſurvived, the hiſtory of the man was to give no [114] moral leſſon to after-ages. If tradition told us that BEN JONSON went to the Devil Tavern; that SHAKSPEARE ſtole deer, and held the ſtir⯑rup at playhouſe doors; that DRYDEN fre⯑quented Button's Coffee-houſe; curioſity was lulled aſleep, and Biography forgot the beſt part of her function, which is to inſtruct mankind by examples taken from the ſchool of life. This taſk remained for Dr. Johnſon, when years had rolled away; when the channels of information were, for the moſt part, choaked up, and little remained beſides doutful anec⯑dote, uncertain tradition, and vague report.

The value of Biography has been better un⯑derſtood in other ages, and in other countries. Tacitus informs us, that to record the lives and characters of illuſtrious men was the practice of the Roman authors, in the early periods of the Republic. In France the example has been followed. Fontinells, D' Alembert, and Monſieur Thomas, have left models in this kind of com⯑poſition. They have embalmed the dead. But it is true, that they had incitements and ad⯑vantages, [115] even at a diſtant day, which could not, by any diligence, be obtained by Dr. Johnſon. The wits of France had ample ma⯑terials. They lived in a nation of critics, who had at heart the honour done to their country by their Poets, their Heroes, and their Philo⯑ſophers. They had, beſides, an Academy of Belles Lettres, where Genius was cultivated, re⯑fined, and encouraged. They had the tracts, the eſſays, and diſſertations, which remain in the memories of the Academy, and they had the ſpeeches of the ſeveral members, delivered at their firſt admiſſion to a ſeat in that learned Aſſembly. In thoſe ſpeeches the new Acade⯑mician did ample juſtice to the memory of his predeceſſor; and though his harangue was de⯑corated with the colours of eloquence, and was, for that reaſon, called panegyric, yet being pronounced before qualified judges, who knew the talents, the conduct, and morals of the deceaſed, the ſpeaker could not, with pro⯑priety, wander into the regions of fiction. The truth was known, before it was adorned. The Academy ſaw the marble, before the artiſt poliſhed it. But this country has had no Aca⯑demy of Literature. The public mind, for cen⯑turies, [116] has been engroſſed by party and faction by the madneſs of many for the gain of a few; by civil wars, religious diſſentions, trade and com⯑merce, and the arts of accumulating wealth. Amidſt ſuch attentions, who can wonder that cold praiſe has been often the only reward of merit? In this country Doctor Nathaniel Hodges, who, like the good biſhop of Mar⯑ſeilles, drew purer breath amidſt the contagion of the plague in London, and, during the whole time, continued in the city, adminiſtering me⯑dical aſſiſtence, was ſuffered, as Johnſon uſed to relate with tears in his eyes, to die for debt in a gaol. In this country, the man who brought the New River to London was ruined by that noble project; and in this country Otway died for want on Tower Hill; Butler, the great author of Hudibras, whoſe name can only die with the Engliſh language, was left to languiſh in poverty, the particulars of his life almoſt unknown, and ſcarcs a veſtige of him left ex⯑cept his immortal poem. Had there been an Academy of Literature, the lives, at leaſt, of thoſe celebrated perſons would have been writ⯑ten for the benefit of poſterity. Swift, it ſeems, had the idea of ſuch an inſtitution, and pro⯑poſed [117] it to Lord Oxford; but Whig and Tory were more important objects. It is needleſs to diſſemble, that Dr. Johnſon, in the Life of Roſcommon, talks of the inutility of ſuch a project. "In this country," he ſays, ‘an Academy could be expected to do but little. If an academician's place were profitable, it would be given by intereſt; if attendance were gratuitous, it would be rarely paid, and no man would endure the leaſt diſguſt. Una⯑nimity is impoſſible, and debate would ſepa⯑rate the aſſembly.’ To this it may be ſuf⯑ficient to anſwer, that the Royal Society has not been diſſolved by ſullen diſguſt; and the modern Academy at Somerſet-houſe has already performed much, and promiſes more. Una⯑nimity is not neceſſary to ſuch an aſſembly. On the contrary, by difference of opinion, and colliſion of ſentiment, the cauſe of Literature would thrive and flouriſh. The true principles of criticiſm, the ſecret of fine writing, the in⯑veſtigation of antiquities, and other intereſting ſubjects, might occaſion a claſh of opinions; but in that contention Truth would receive il⯑luſtration, and the eſſays of the ſeveral mem⯑bers would ſupply the Memoirs of the Academy. [118] But, ſays Dr. Johnſon, ‘ſuppoſe the philo⯑logical decree made and promulgated, what would be its authority? In abſolute govern⯑ment there is ſometimes a general reverence paid to all that has the ſanction of power, the countenance of greatneſs. How little this is the ſtate of our country needs not to be told. The edicts of an Engliſh academy would probably be read by many, only that they may be ſure to diſobey them. The pre⯑ſent manners of the nation would deride au⯑thority, and therefore nothing is left, but that every writer ſhould criticize himſelf.’ This ſurely is not concluſive. It is by the ſtandard of the beſt writers that every man ſettles for himſelf his plan of legitimate compoſition; and ſince the authority of ſuperior genius is acknow⯑ledged, that authority, which the individual obtains, would not be leſſened by an aſſociation with others of diſtinguiſhed ability. It may, therefore, be inferred, that an Academy of Li⯑terature would be an eſtabliſhment highly uſe⯑ful, and an honour to Literature. In ſuch an inſtitution profitable places would not be wanted. Vatis avarus haud facile eſt animus; and the miniſter, who ſhall find leiſure from party [119] and faction, to carry ſuch a ſcheme into execu⯑tion, will, in all probability, be reſpected by poſterity as the Maecenas of letters.

We now take leave of Dr. Johnſon as an author. Four volumes of his Lives of the Poets were publiſhed in 1778, and the work was completed in 1781. Should Biography fall again into diſuſe, there will not always be a Johnſon to look back through a century, and give a body of critical and moral inſtruction. In April 1781, he loſt his friend Mr. Thrale. His own words, in his diary, will beſt tell that melancholy event. ‘On Wedneſday the 11th of April, was buried my dear friend Mr. Thrale, who died on Wedneſday the 4th, and with him were buried many of my hopes and pleaſures. About five, I think, on Wed⯑neſday morning he expired. I felt almoſt the laſt flutter of his pulſe, and looked for the laſt time upon the face, that, for fifteen years before, had never been turned upon me but with reſpect and benignity. Farewel: may God, that delighteth in mercy, have had mercy on thee. I had conſtantly prayed for him before his death. The deceaſe of him, [120] from whoſe friendſhip I had obtained many opportunities of amuſement, and to whom I turned my thoughts as to a refuge from miſ⯑fortune, has left me heavy. But my buſi⯑neſs is with myſelf.’ From the cloſe of his laſt work, the malady, that perſecuted him through life, came upon him with alarming ſeverity. and his conſtitution declined apace. In 1782 his old friend Levet expired without warning and without a groan. Events like theſe reminded Johnſon of his own mortality. He continued his viſits to Mrs. Thrale at Streatham, to the 7th day of October, 1782, when having firſt: compoſed a prayer for the happineſs of a family with whom he had for many years enjoyed the pleaſures and comforts of life, he removed to his own houſe in town. He ſays he was up early in the morning, and read fortuitouſly in the Goſpel, which was his parting uſe of the library. The merit of the fa⯑mily is manifeſted by the ſenſe he had of it, and we ſee his heart overflowing with grati⯑tude. He leaves the place with regret, and caſts: a lingering look behind.

[121]The few remaining occurrences may be ſoon diſpatched. In the month of June, 1783, Johnſon had a paralytic ſtroke, which affected his ſpeech only. He wrote to Dr. Taylor of Weſt⯑minſter; and to his friend Mr. Allen, the printer, who lived at the next door. Dr. Brockleſby arrived in a ſhort time, and by his care, and that of Dr. Heberden, Johnſon ſoon recovered. During his illneſs the writer of this narrative viſited him, and found him reading Dr. Wat⯑ſon's Chemiſtry. Articulating with difficulty, he ſaid, ‘From this book, he who knows nothing may learn a great deal;and he who knows, will be pleaſed to find his know⯑ledge recalled to his mind in a manner highly pleaſing.’ In the month of Auguſt he ſet out for Lichfield, on a viſit to Mrs. Lucy Porter, the daughter of his wife by her firſt huſband and in his way back paid his reſpects to Dr. Adams at Oxford. Mrs. Williams died at his houſe in Bolt-court in the month of Sep⯑tember, during his abſence. This was another ſhock to a mind like his, ever agitated by the thoughts of futurity. The contemplation of his own approaching end was conſtantly before his eyes; and the proſpect of death, he declared, [122] was terrible. For many years, when he was not diſpoſed to enter into the converſation going forward, whoever ſat near his chair, might hear him repeating, from Shakſpeare,

And from Milton,

By the death of Mrs. Williams he was left in the a ſtate of deſtitution, with nobody but Frank, his black ſervant, to ſooth his anxious moments. In November 1783 he was ſwell⯑ed from head to foot with a droſy. Dr. Brockleſby, with that benevolence with which he always aſſiſts his friends, paid his viſits with aſſiduity. The medicines preſcribed were ſo efficacious, that in a few days, Johnſon, while he was offering up his prayers, was ſud⯑denly obliged to riſe, and, in the courſe of the day, diſcharged twenty pints of water.

[123]Johnſon, being eaſed of his dropſy, began to entertain hopes that the vigour of his conſti⯑tution was not entirely broken. For the ſake of converſing with his friends, he eſtabliſhed a conveſation club, to meet on every Wed⯑neſday evening; and, to ſerve a man whom he had known in Mr. Thrale's houſhold for many years, the place was fixed at his houſe in Eſſex ſtreet near the Temple. To anſwer the malignant remarks of Sir John Hawkins on this ſubject, were a wretched waſte of time. Profeſſing to be Johnſon's friend, that bio⯑grapher has raiſed more objections to his charac⯑ter, than all the enemies of that excellent man. Sir John had a root of bitterneſs that put rancours in the veſſel of his peace. Fielding, he ſays, was the inventor of a cant phraſe, Goodneſs of heart, which means little more than the virtue of a horſe or a dog. He ſhould have known that kind affetions are the eſſence of virtue; they are the will of God implanted in our nature, to aid and ſtrengthen moral obligation; they incite to action; a ſenſe of benevo⯑lence is no leſs neceſſary than a ſenſe of duty, Good affections are an ornament not only to an author but to his writings. He who ſhews [124] himſelf upon a cold ſcent for opportunities to bark and ſnarl throughout a volume of ſix hundred pages, may, if he will, pretend to moralize; but GOODNESS OF HEART, or, to uſe that politer phraſe, the virtue of a horſe or a dog, would redound more to his honour. But Sir John is no more: our buſineſs is with Johnſon. The members of his club were re⯑ſpectable for their rank, their talents, and their literature. They attended with punctuality till about Midſummer 1784, when, with ſome appearance of health, Johnſon went into Der⯑byſhire, and thence to Lichfield. While he was in that part of the world, his friends in town were labouring for his benefit. The air of a more ſouthern climate they thought might prolong a valuable life. But a penſion of £ 300 a year was a ſlender fund for a travel⯑ing valetudinarian, and it was not then known that he had ſaved a moderate ſum of money. Mr. Boſwell and Sir Joſhua Reynolds under⯑took to ſolicit the patronage of the Chancellor. With Lord Thurlow, while he was at the bar, Johnſon was well acquainted. He was often heard to ſay, ‘Thurlow is a man of ſuch vigour of mind, that I never knew I was to [125] meet him but—I was going to ſay, I was afraid, but that would not be true, for I never was afraid of any man; but I never knew that I was to meet Thurlow, but I knew I had ſomething to encounter.’ The Chancellor undertook to recommend Johnſon's caſe, but without ſucceſs. To protract if poſ⯑ſible the days of a man, whom he reſpected, he offered to advance the ſum of five hundred pounds. Being informed of this at Lichfield, Johnſon wrote the following letter.

[127]We have in this inſtance the exertion of two congenial minds; one, with a generous impulſe relieving merit in diſtreſs, and the other, by gratitude and dignity of ſentiment riſing to an equal elevation.

It ſeems, however, that greatneſs of mind is not confined to greatneſs of rank. Dr. Brockles⯑by was not content to aſſiſt with his medical art; he reſolved to miniſter to his patient's mind, and pluck from his memory the ſorrow which the late refuſal from a high quarter might occaſion. To enable him to viſit the ſouth of France in purſuit of health, he offered from his own funds an annuity of one hundred pounds, payable quarterly. This was a ſweet oblivious antidote, but it was not accepted for the reaſons aſſigned to the Chancellor. The propoſal, however, will do honour to Dr. Brockleſby, as long as liberal ſentiment ſhall be ranked among the ſocial virtues.

In the month of October, 1784, we find Dr. Johnſon correſponding with Mr. Nichols, the intelligent compiler of the Gentleman's Magazine, and, in the langour of ſickneſs, ſtill [128] deſirous to contribute all in his power to the advancement of ſcience and uſeful knowledge, He ſays, in a letter to that gentleman, dated Lichfield, October 20, that he ſhould be glad to give ſo ſkilful a lover of Antiquities any in⯑formation. He adds, ‘At Aſhburne, where I had very little company, I had the luck to borrow Mr. Bowyer's Life, a book ſo full of contemporary hiſtory, that a literary man muſt find ſome of his old friends. I thought that I could now and then have told you ſome hints worth your notice: We perhaps may talk a life over. I hope we ſhall be much together. You muſt now be to me what you were before, and what dear Mr. Allen was beſides. He was taken unexpect⯑edly away, but I think he was a very good man. I have made very little progreſs in re⯑covery. I am very weak, and very ſleepleſs; but I live on and hope.’

In that languid condition, he arrived, on the 16th of November, at his houſe in Bolt-court, there to end his days. He laboured with the dropſy and an aſthma. He was attended by Dr. Heberden, Dr. Warren, Dr. Brockleſby, [129] Dr. Butter, and Mr. Cruikſhank, the eminent ſurgeon. Eternity preſented to his mind an aweful proſpect, and, with as much virtue as perhaps ever is the lot of man, he ſhuddered at the thought of his diſſolution. His friends awakened the comfortable reflection of a well-ſpent life; and, as his end drew near, they had the ſatisfaction of ſeeing him com⯑poſed, and even chearful, inſomuch that he was able, in the courſe of his reſtleſs nights, to make tranſlations of Greek epigrams from the Anthologia; and to compoſe a Latin epi⯑taph for his father, his mother, and his bro⯑ther Nathaniel. He meditated, at the ſame time, a Latin inſcription to the memory of Garrick, but his vigour was exhauſted.

His love of Literature was a paſſion that ſtuck to his laſt ſand. Seven days before his death he wrote the following letter to his friend Mr. Nichols.

[132]On the morning of Dec. 7, Dr. Johnſon re⯑queſted to ſee Mr. Nichols. A few days before, he had borrowed ſome of the early vo⯑lumes of the Magazine, with a profeſſed inten⯑tion to point out the pieces which he had writ⯑ten in that collection. The books lay on the table, with many leaves doubled down, and in particular thoſe which contained his ſhare in the Parliamentary Debates. Such was the good⯑neſs of Johnſon's heart, that he then declared, that ‘thoſe debates were the only parts of his writings which gave him any com⯑punction; but that at the time he wrote them he had no conception that he was impoſing upon the world, though they were frequently written from very ſlender materials, and often from none at all, the mere coinage of his [133]own imagination.’ He added, ‘that he never wrote any part of his work with equal velo⯑city. Three columns of the Magazine in an hour,’ he ſaid, ‘was no uncommon effort; which was faſter than moſt perſons could have tranſcribed that quantity. In one day in particular, and that not a very long one, he wrote twelve pages, more in quantity than ever he wrote at any other time, except in the Life of Savage, of which forty eight pages in octavo were the production of one long day, including a part of the night.’

In the courſe of the converſation, he aſked, whether any of the family of Faden the printer were living. Being told that the geographer near Charing-croſs was Faden's ſon, he ſaid, after a ſhort pauſe, ‘I borrowed a guinea of his father near thirty years ago; be ſo good as to take this, and pay it for me.’

Wiſhing to diſcharge every duty, and every obligation, Johnſon recollected another debt of ten pounds, which he had borrowed from his friend Mr. Hamilton the printer, about twenty years before. He ſent the money to Mr. Ha⯑milton [134] at his houſe in Bedford Row, with an apology for the length of time. The Reverend Mr. Strahan was the bearer of the meſſage, about four or five days before Johnſon breathed his laſt.

Mr. Saſtres (whom Dr. Johnſon eſteemed and mentioned in his will) entered the room during his illneſs. Dr. Johnſon, as ſoon as he ſaw him, ſtretched forth his hand, and, in a tone of lamentation, called out, JAM MORI⯑TURUS! But the love of life was ſtill an active principle. Feeling himſelf ſwelled with the dropſy, he conceived that, by inciſions in his legs, the water might be diſcharged. Mr. Cruikſhank apprehended that a mortification, might be the conſequence; but, to appeaſe a diſtempered fancy, he gently lanced the ſurface. Johnſon cried out, ‘Deeper, deeper; I want length of life, and you are afraid of giving me pain, which I do not value.’

On the 8th of December, the Reverend Mr. Strahan drew his will, by which, after a few le⯑gacies, the reſidue, amounting to about fifteen hundred pounds, was bequeathed to Frank, the [135] Black ſervant, formerly conſigned to the teſ⯑tator by his friend Dr. Bathurſt.

The hiſtory of a death-bed is painful. Mr. Strahan informs us, that the ſtrength of reli⯑gion prevailed againſt the infirmity of nature; and his foreboding dread of the Divine Juſtice ſubſided into a pious truſt and humble hope of mercy at the Throne of Grace. On Monday the 13th day of December (the laſt of his ex⯑iſtence on this ſide the grave), the deſire of life returned with all its former vehemence. He ſtill imagined, that, by puncturing his legs relief might be obtained. At eight in the morn⯑ing he tried the experiment, but no water fol⯑lowed. In an hour or two after, he fell into a doze, and about ſeven in the evening, expired without a groan.

On the 20th of the month his remains, with due ſolemnities, and a numerous attendance of his friends, were buried in Weſtminſter Abbey, near the foot of Shakſpeare's monument, and cloſe to the grave of the late Mr. Garrick. The funeral ſervice was read by his friend Dr. Taylor.

A black marble over his grave has the fol⯑lowing inſcription:

If we now, look back, as from an eminence, to view the ſcenes of life, and the literary la⯑bours in which Dr. Johnſon was engaged, we may be able to delineate the features of the man, and to form an eſtimate of his genius.

As a man, Dr. Johnſon ſtands diſplayed in open day light. Nothing remains undiſcovered. Whatever he ſaid is known; and without al⯑lowing him the uſual privilege of hazarding ſentiments, and advancing poſitions, for mere amuſement, or the pleaſure of diſcuſſion, Cri⯑ticiſm has endeavoured to make him anſwerable for what, perhaps, he never ſeriouſly thought. His diary, which has been printed, diſcovers ſtill more. We have before us the very heart or the man, with all his inward conſciouſneſs. And yet neither in the open paths of life, nor in his ſecret receſſes, has any one vice been diſ⯑covered. We ſee him reviewing every year of his life, and ſeverely cenſuring himſelf, for not keeping reſolutions, which morbid melancholy, [137] and other bodily infirmities, rendered imprac⯑ticable. We ſee him for every little defect im⯑poſing on himſelf voluntary penance, going through the day with only one cup of tea with⯑out milk, and to the laſt, amidſt paroxyſms and remiſſions of illneſs, forming plans of ſtudy and reſolutions to amend his life.^* Many of his ſcruples may be called weakneſſes; but they are the weakneſſes of a good, a pious, and moſt; excellent man.

His perſon, it is well known, was large and unwieldy. His nerves were affected by that diſorder, for which, at two years of age, he was preſented to the royal touch. His head ſhook, and involuntary motions made it uncer⯑tain that his legs and arms would, even at a tea-table, remain in their proper place. A perſon of Lord Cheſterfield's delicacy might in his company be in a fever. He would ſome⯑times of his own accord do things inconſiſtent with the eſtabliſhed modes of behaviour. Sit⯑ting at table with the celebrated Mrs Chol⯑mondeley, who exerted herſelf to circulate the

ſubſcription for Shakſpeare, he took hold of her hand in the middle of dinner, and held it cloſe to his eye, wondering at the delicacy and the whiteneſs, till with a ſmile ſhe aſked, Will he give it to me again when he has done with it? The exteriors of politeneſs did not belong to Johnſon. Even that civility which proceeds, or ought to proceed, from the mind, was ſome⯑times violated. His morbid melancholy had an effect on his temper; his paſſions were ir⯑ritable; and the pride of ſcience, as well as of a fierce independent ſpirit, inflamed him on ſome occaſions above all bounds of moderation. Though not in the ſhade of academic bowers, he led a ſcholaſtic life; and the habit of pro⯑nouncing deciſions to his friends and viſitors gave him a dictatorial manner, which was much enforced by a voice naturally loud, and often overſtretched. Metaphyſical diſcuſſion, moral theory, ſyſtems of religion, and anec⯑dotes of literature, were his favourite topics. General hiſtory had little of his regard. Bio⯑graphy was his delight. The proper ſtudy of mankind is man. Sooner than hear of the Punic war, he would be rude to the perſon that in⯑troduced the ſubject.

[139]Johnſon was born a logician; one of thoſe, to whom only books of logic are ſaid to be of uſe. In conſequence of his ſkill in that art, he loved argumentation. No man thought more profoundly, nor with ſuch acute diſcernment. A fallacy could not ſtand before him: it was ſure to be refuted by ſtrength of reaſoning, and a preciſion both in idea and expreſſion almoſt unequalled. When he choſe by apt illuſtration to place the argument of his adverſary in a lu⯑dicrous light, one was almoſt inclined to think ridicule the teſt of truth. He was ſurprized to be told, but it is certainly true, that, with great powers of mind, wit and humour were his ſhining talents. That he often argued for the ſake of a triumph over his adverſary, cannot be diſſembled. Dr. Roſe, of Chiſwick, has been heard to tell of a friend of his, who thanked him for introducing him to Dr. Johnſon, as he had been convinced, in the courſe of a long diſpute, that an opinion which he had embraced as a ſettled truth, was no better than a vulgar error. This being reported to Johnſon, "Nay," ſaid he,‘do not let him be thankful, for he was right, and I was wrong.’ Like his uncle Andrew, in the ring at Smithfield, Johnſon, [140] in a circle of diſputants, was determined neither to be thrown nor conquered. Notwithſtanding all his piety, ſelf-government, or the command of his paſſions in converſation, does not ſeem to have been among his attainments. When⯑ever he thought the contention was for ſupe⯑riority, he has been known to break out with violence, and even ferocity. When the fray was over, he generally ſoftened into repent⯑ance, and, by conciliating meaſures, took care that no animoſity ſhould be left rankling in the breaſt of his antagoniſt. Of this defect he ſeems to have been conſcious. In a letter to Mrs. Thrale, he ſays,‘Poor Baretti! do not quarrel with him; to neglect him a little will be ſufficient. He means only to be frank and manly, and independent, and, per⯑haps, as you ſay, a little wiſe. To be ſrank, he thinks, is to be cynical; and to be inde⯑pendent, is to be rude. Forgive him, deareſt lady, the rather, becauſe of his miſbehaviour I am afraid he learned part of me. I hope to ſet him hereafter a better example.’ For his own intolerant and overbearing ſpirit he apologized by obſerving, that it had done ſome good: obſcenity and impiety were re⯑preſſed in his company.

[141]It was late in life before he had the habit of mixing, otherwiſe than occaſionally, with po⯑lite company. At Mr. Thrale's he ſaw a con⯑ſtant ſucceſſion of well-accompliſhed viſitors. In that ſociety he began to wear off the rugged points of his own character. He ſaw the ad⯑vantages of mutual civility, and endeavoured to profit by the models before him. He aimed at what has been called by Swift the leſſer mo⯑rals, and by Cicero minores virtutes. His en⯑deavour, though new and late, gave pleaſure to all his acquaintance. Men were glad to ſee that he was willing to be communicative on equal terms and reciprocal complacence. The time was then expected when he was to ceaſe being what George Garrick, brother to the celebrated actor, called him the firſt time he heard him converſe, "A TREMENDOUS COMPANION." He certainly wiſhed to be po⯑lite, and even thought himſelf ſo; but his civility ſtill retained ſomething uncouth and harſh. His manners took a milder tone, but the endeavour was too palpably ſeen. He la⯑boured even in trifles. He was a giant gaining a purchaſe to lift a feather.

[142]It is obſerved by the younger Pliny, that in the confines of virtue and great qualities there are generally vices of an oppoſite nature. In Dr. Johnſon not one ingredient can take the name of vice. From his attainments in literature grew the pride of knowledge; and from his powers of reaſoning, the love of diſ⯑putation and the vain-glory of ſuperior vigour. His piety, in ſome inſtances, bordered on ſu⯑perſtition. He was willing to believe in pre⯑ternatural agency, and thought it not more ſtrange that there ſhould be evil ſpirits than evil men. Even the queſtion about ſecond ſight hold him in ſuſpence. "Second ſight," Mr. Pennant tells us, ‘is a power of ſeeing images impreſſed on the organs of ſight by the power of fancy, or on the fancy by the diſordered ſpirits operating on the mind. It is the faculty of ſeeing ſpectres or viſions, which repreſent an event actually paſſing at a distance, or likely to happen at a future day. In 1771, a gentleman, the laſt who was ſuppoſed to be poſſeſſed of this faculty, had a boat at ſea in a tempeſtuous night, and, being anxious for his freight, ſuddenly ſtarted up, and ſaid his men would be drowned, for he had ſeen them paſs before [143] him with wet garments and dropping locks. The event correſponded with his diſordered fancy. And thus,’ continues Mr. Pennant, ‘a diſtempered imagination, clouded with anxiety, may make an impreſſion on the ſpirits; as perſons, reſtleſs and troubled with, indignation, ſee various forms and figures while they lie awake in bed.’ This is what Dr. Johnſon was not willing to reject. He wiſhed for ſome poſitive proof of communica⯑tions with another world. His benevolence embraced the whole race of man, and yet was tinctured with particular prejudices. He was pleaſed with the miniſter in the Iſle of Sky, and loved him ſo much that he began to wiſh him not a Preſbyterian. To that body of Diſ⯑ſenters his zeal for the Eſtabliſhed Church made him in ſome degree an adverſary; and his at⯑tachment to a mixed and limited Monarchy led him to declare open war againſt what he called a ſullen Republican. He would rather praiſe a man of Oxford than of Cambridge. He diſ⯑liked a Whig, and loved a Tory. Theſe were the ſhades of his character, which it has been the buſineſs of certain party-writers to repre⯑ſent in the darkeſt colours.

[144]Since virtue, or moral goodneſs, conſiſts in a juſt conformity of our actions to the relations in which we ſtand to the Supreme Being and to our fellow creatures, where ſhall we find a man who has been, or endeavoured to be, more diligent in the diſcharge of thoſe eſſential duties? His firſt prayer was compoſed in 1738; he continued thoſe fervent ejaculations of piety to the end of his life. In his medita⯑tions we ſee him ſcrutinizing himſelf with ſeverity, and aiming at perfection unattainable by man. His duty to his neighbour conſiſted in univerſal benevolence, and a conſtant aim at the production of happineſs. Who was more ſincere and ſteady in his friendſhips? It has been ſaid that there was no real affection be⯑tween him and Garrick. On the part of the latter, there might be ſome corroſions of jea⯑louſy. The character of PROSPERO, in the Rambler, No. 200, was, beyond all queſtion, occaſioned by Garrick's oſtentatious diſplay of furniture and Dreſden china. It was ſurely fair to take from this incident a hint for a moral eſſay; and, though no more was in⯑tended, Garrick, we are told, remembered it with uneaſineſs. He was alſo hurt that his [145] Lichfield friend did not think ſo highly of his dramatic art as the reſt of the world. The fact was, Johnſon could not ſee the paſ⯑ſions as they roſe and chaſed one another in the varied features of that expreſſive face; and by his own manner of reciting verſes, which was wonderfully impreſſive, he plainly ſhewed that he thought there was too much of artifi⯑cial tone and meaſured cadence in the decla⯑mation of the theatre. The preſent writer well remembers being in converſation with Dr. Johnſon near the ſide of the ſcenes during the tragedy of King Lear: when Gar⯑rick came off the ſtage, he ſaid, ‘You two talk, ſo loud you deſtroy all my feelings.’ "Prithee," replied Johnſon, ‘do not talk of feelings, Punch has no feelings.’ This ſeems to have been his ſettled opinion; admi⯑rable as Garrick's imitation of nature always was, Johnſon thought it no better than mere mimickry. Yet it is certain that he eſteemed and loved Garrick; that he dwelt with plea⯑ſure on his praiſe; and uſed to declare, that he deſerved his great ſucceſs, becauſe on all applications for charity he gave more than was aſked. After Garrick's death he never talked [146] of him without a tear in his eyes. He offered, if Mrs. Garrick would deſire it of him, to be the editor of his works and the hiſtorian of his life. It has been mentioned that on his death-bed he thought of writing a Latin inſcription to the memory of his friend. Numbers are ſtill living who know theſe facts, and ſti11 re⯑member with gratitude the friendſhip which he ſhewed to them with unaltered affection for a number of years. His humanity and generoſity, in proportion to his ſlender income, were unbounded. It has been truly ſaid, that the lame, the blind, and the ſorrowful, found in his houſe a ſure retreat. A ſtrict adherence to truth he conſidered as a ſacred obligation, inſomuch that, in relating the moſt minute anecdote, he would not allow himſelf the ſmall⯑eſt addition to embelliſh his ſtory. The late Mr. Tyers, who knew Dr. Johnſon intimately, obſerved, ‘that he always talked as if he was talking upon oath.’ After a long acquaint⯑ance with this excellent man, and an attentive retroſpect to his whole conduct, ſuch is the light in which he appears to the writer of this eſſay. The following lines of Horace may be, deemed his picture in miniature:

It remains to give a review of Johnſon's works; and this, it is imagined, will not be unwelcome to the reader.

Like Milton and Addiſon, he ſeems to have been fond of his Latin poetry. Thoſe com⯑poſitions ſhew that he was an early ſcholar; but his verſes have not the graceful eaſe that gave ſo much ſuavity to the poems of Addiſon. The tranſlation of the Meſſiah labours under [148] two diſadvantages; it is firſt to be compared with Pope's inimitable performance, and after⯑wards with the Pollio of Virgil. It may ap⯑pear trifling to remark, that he has made the letter o, in the word Virgo, long and ſhort in the ſame line; VIRGO, VIRGO PARIT. But the tranſlation has great merit, and ſome ad⯑mirable lines. In the odes there is a ſweet flexibility, particularly, To his worthy friend Dr. Laurence; on himſelf at the theatre, March 8, 1771; the Ode in the iſle of Sky; and that to Mrs. Thrale from the ſame place.

His Engliſh poetry is ſuch as leaves room to think, if he had devoted himſelf to the Muſes, that he would have been the rival of Pope. His firſt production in this kind was London, a poem in imitation of the third ſa⯑tire of Juvenal. The vices of the metropolis are placed in the room of antient manners. The author had heated his mind with the ardour of Juvenal, and, having the ſkill to po⯑liſh his numbers, he became a ſharp accuſer of the times. The VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES is an imitation of the tenth ſatire of the ſame author. Though it is tranſlated [149] by Dryden, Johnſon's imitation approaches neareſt to the ſpirit of the original. The ſub⯑ject is taken from the ALCIBIADES of PLATO, and has an intermixture of the ſentiments of SOCRATES concerning the object of prayers offered up to the Deity. The general propo⯑ſition is, that good and evil are ſo little under⯑ſtood by mankind, that their wiſhes when granted are always deſtructive. This is exem⯑plified in a variety of inſtances, ſuch as riches, ſtate-preferment, eloquence, military glory, long life, and the advantages of form and beauty. Juvenal's concluſion is worthy of a Chriſtian poet, and ſuch a pen as Johnſon's. "Let us," he ſays, ‘leave it to the Gods to judge what it fitteſt for us. Man is dearer to his Creator than to himſelf. If we muſt pray for ſpecial favour, let it be for a ſound mind in a ſound body. Let us pray for fortitude, that we may think the labours of Hercules and all his ſufferings, preferable to a life of luxury and the ſoft repoſe of SARDANAPALUS. This is a bleſſing within the reach of every man; this we can give ourſelves. It is virtue, and virtue only, that can make us happy.’ In the tranſla⯑tion [150] the zeal of the Chriſtian conſpired with the warmth and energy of the poet; but Juve⯑nal is not eclipſed. For the various characters in the original the reader is pleaſed, in the Engliſh poem, to meet with Cardinal Wolſey, Buckingham ſtabbed by Felton, Lord Straf⯑ford, Clarendon, Charles XII. of Sweden; and for Tully and Demoſthenes, Lydiat, Galileo, and Archbiſhop Laud. It is owing to John⯑ſon's delight in biography that the name of LYDIAT is called forth from obſcurity. It may, therefore, not be uſeleſs to tell, that LYDIAT was a learned divine and mathema⯑tician in the beginning of the laſt century. He attacked the doctrine of Ariſtotle and Sca⯑liger, and wrote a number of ſermons on the harmony of the Evangeliſts. With all his merit, he lay in the priſon of Bocardo at Ox⯑ford, till Biſhop Uſher, Laud, and others, paid his debts. He petitioned Charles I. to be ſent to Ethiopia to procure manuſcripts. Having ſpoken in favour of monarchy and biſhops, he was plundered by the Puritans, and twice carried away a priſoner from his rectory. He died very poor in 1646.

[151]The Tragedy of Irene is founded on a paſſage in KNOLLES'S Hiſtory of the Turks; an author highly commended in the Rambler, N^o 122. An incident in the Life of Mahomet the Great, firſt emperor of the Turks, is the hinge on which the fable is made to move. The ſub⯑ſtance of the ſtory is ſhortly this. In 1453 Mahomet laid ſiege to Conſtantinople, and, having reduced the place, became enamoured of a fair Greek, whoſe name was IRENE. The ſultan invited her to embrace the law of the Prophet, and to grace his throne. En⯑raged at this intended marriage, the Janizaries formed a conſpiracy to dethrone the emperor. To avert the impending danger, Mahomet, in a full aſſembly of the grandees, ‘Catching with one hand,’ as KNOLLES relates it, ‘the fair Greek by the hair of her head, and drawing his falchion with the other, he, at one blow, ſtruck off her head, to the great terror of them all; and, having ſo done, ſaid unto them, Now, by this, judge whether your emperor is able to bridle his affections or not.’ The ſtory is ſimple, and it re⯑mained for the author to amplify it with pro⯑per [152] epiſodes, and give it complication and va⯑riety. The cataſtrophe is changed, and horror gives place to terror and pity. But, after all, the fable is cold and languid. There is not, throughout the piece, a ſingle ſituation to ex⯑cite curioſity, and raiſe a conflict of paſſions. The diction is nervous, rich, and elegant; but ſplendid language, and melodious numbers, will make a fine poem, not a tragedy. The ſentiments are beautiful, always happily ex⯑preſſed, but ſeldom appropriated to the cha⯑racter, and generally too philoſophic. What Johnſon has ſaid of the Tragedy of Cato may be applied to Irene: ‘it is rather a poem in dialogue than a drama; rather a ſucceſſion of juſt ſentiments in elegant language, than a repreſentation of natural affections. Nothing excites or aſſuages emotion. The events are expected without ſolicitude, and are remem⯑bered without joy or ſorrow. Of the agents we have no care; we conſider not what they are doing, nor what they are ſuffering; we wiſh only to know what they have to ſay. It is unaffecting elegance, and chill philoſophy.’ The following ſpeech, in the mouth of a Turk, who is ſuppoſed to have [153] heard of the Britiſh conſtitution, has been often ſelected from the numberleſs beauties with which IRENE abounds:

Theſe are Britiſh ſentiments. Above forty years ago they found an echo in the breaſt of applauding audiences, and, to this hour they are the voice of the people, in defiance of the metaphyſics and the new lights of certain poli⯑ticians, who would gladly find their private advantage in the diſaſters of their country; a race of men, quibus nulla ex honeſto ſpes.

The Prologue to Irene is written with ele⯑gance, and, in a peculiar ſtrain, ſhews the li⯑terary pride and lofty ſpirit of the author. The [154] Epilogue, we are told in a late publication, was written by Sir William Young. This is a new diſcovery, but by no means probable. When the appendages to a Dramatic Performance are not aſſigned to a friend, or an unknown hand, or a perſon of faſhion, they are always ſup⯑poſed to be written by the author of the Play. It is to be wiſhed, however, that the Epilogue in queſtion could be transferred to any other writer. It is the worſt Jeu d' Eſprit that ever fell from Johnſon's pen.

An account of the various pieces contained in this edition, ſuch as miſcellaneous tracts, and philological diſſertations, would lead be⯑yond the intended limits of this eſſay. It will ſuffice to ſay, that they are the productions of a man who never wanted decorations of lan⯑guage, and always taught his reader to think. The life of the late king of Pruſſia, as far as it extends, is a model of the biographical ſtyle. The Review of THE ORIGIN OF EVIL was, perhaps, written with aſperity; but the angry epitaph, which it provoked from SOAME JE⯑NYNS, was an ill-timed reſentment, unworthy of the genius of that amiable author.

[155]The Rambler may be conſidered as Johnſon's great work. It was the baſis of that high re⯑putation which went on increaſing to the end of his days. The circulation of thoſe periodi⯑cal eſſays was not, at firſt, equal to their merit. They had not, like the Spectators, the art of charming by variety; and indeed how could it be expected? The wits of queen Anne's reign ſent their contributions to the Spectator; and Johnſon ſtood alone. A ſtage⯑coach, ſays Sir Richard Steele, muſt go for⯑ward on ſtated days, whether there are paſſen⯑gers or not. So it was with the Rambler, every Tueſday and Saturday, for two years. In this collection Johnſon is the great moral teacher of his countrymen; his eſſays form a body of ethics; the obſervations on life and manners are acute and inſtructive; and the papers, profeſſedly critical, ſerve to promote the cauſe of literature. It muſt, however, be ac⯑knowledged, that a ſettled gloom hangs over the author's mind; and all the eſſays, except eight or ten, coming from the ſame fountain⯑head, no wonder that they have the racineſs of the ſoil from which they ſprung. Of this uni⯑formity [156] Johnſon was ſenſible. He uſed to ſay, that if he had joined a friend or two, who would have been able to intermix papers of a ſprightly turn, the collection would have been more miſcellaneous, and, by conſequence, more agreeable to the generality of readers. This he uſed to illuſtrate by repeating two beautiful ſtanzas from his own Ode to Cave, or Sylvanus Urban:

It is remarkable, that the pomp of diction, which has been objected to Johnſon, was firſt aſſumed in the Rambler. His Dictionary was going on at the ſame time, and, in the courſe of that work, as he grew familiar with technical and ſcholaſtic words, he thought that the bulk of his readers were equally learned; or at leaſt would admire the ſplendour and dignity of the [157] ſtyle. And yet it is well known, that he praiſed in Cowley the eaſe and unaffected ſtructure of the ſentences. Cowley may be placed at the head of thoſe who cultivated a clear and natural ſtyle. Dryden, Tillotſon, and Sir William Temple, followed. Addiſon, Swift, and Pope, with more correctneſs, carried our language well nigh to perfection. Of Ad⯑diſon, Johnſon was uſed to ſay, He is the Ra⯑phael of Eſſay Writers. How he differed ſo widely from ſuch elegant models is a problem not to be ſolved, unleſs it be true that he took an early tincture from the writers of the laſt century, particularly Sir Thomas Browne. Hence the peculiarities of his ſtyle, new com⯑binations, ſentences of an unuſual ſtructure, and words derived from the learned languages. His own account of the matter is, ‘When common words were leſs pleaſing to the ear, or leſs diſtinct in their ſignification, I fa⯑miliarized the terms of philoſophy, by ap⯑plying them to popular ideas.’ But he for⯑got the obſervation of Dryden: If too many fo⯑reign words are poured in upon us, it looks as if they were deſigned, not to aſſiſt the natives, but to conquer them. There is, it muſt be admitted, [158] a ſwell of language, often out of all proportion to the ſentiment; but there is, in general, a fullneſs of mind, and the thought ſeems to expand with the found of the words. Deter⯑mined to diſcard colloquial barbariſms and li⯑centious idioms, he forgot the elegant ſimplicity that diſtinguiſhes the writings of Addiſon. He had what Locke calls a round-about view of his ſubject; and, though he was never tainted, like many modern wits, with the ambition of ſhining in paradox, he may be fairly called an ORIGINAL THINKER. His reading was ex⯑tenſive. He treaſured in his mind whatever was worthy of notice, but he added to it from his own meditation. He collected, quae recon⯑deret, auctaque promeret. Addiſon was not ſo profound a thinker. He was born to write, con⯑verſe, and live with eaſe; and he found an early patron in Lord Somers. He depended, how⯑ever, more upon a fine taſte, than the vigour of his mind. His Latin Poetry ſhews, that he reliſhed, with a juſt ſelection, all the refined and delicate beauties of the Roman claſſics; and when he cultivated his native language, no wonder that he formed that graceful ſtyle, which has been ſo juſtly admired; ſimple, yet [159] elegant; adorned, yet never over-wrought; rich in alluſion, yet pure and perſpicuous; cor⯑rect, without labour, and, though ſometimes deficient in ſtrength, yet always muſical. His eſſays, in general, are on the ſurface of life; if ever original, it was in pieces of humour. Sir Roger de Coverley, and the Tory Fox-hunter, need not to be mentioned. Johnſon had a fund of humour, but he did not know it, nor was he willing to deſcend to the familiar idiom and the variety of diction which that mode of com⯑poſition required. The letter, in the Rambler, N^o 12, from a young girl that wants a place, will illuſtrate this obſervation. Addiſon poſ⯑ſeſſed an unclouded imagination, alive to the firſt objects of nature and of art. He reaches the ſublime without any apparent effort. When he tells us, ‘If we conſider the fixed ſtars as ſo many oceans of flame, that are each of them attended with a different ſet of planets; if we ſtill diſcover new firmaments and new lights, that are ſunk further in thoſe un⯑fathomable depths of aether, we are loſt in a labyrinth of ſuns and worlds, and con⯑founded with the magnificence and immen⯑ſity of nature;’ the eaſe, with which this [160] paſſage riſes to unaffected grandeur, is the ſecret charm that captivates the reader. John⯑ſon is always lofty; he ſeems, to uſe Dryden's phraſe, to be o'er inform'd with meaning, and his words do not appear to himſelf adequate to his conception. He moves in ſtate, and his periods are always harmonious. His Oriental Tales are in the true ſtyle of Eaſtern magnifi⯑cence, and yet none of them are ſo much ad⯑mired as the Viſions of Mirza. In matters of criticiſm, Johnſon is never the echo of preced⯑ing writers. He thinks and decides for himſelf. If we except the Eſſays on the Pleaſures of Ima⯑gination, Addiſon cannot be called a philoſo⯑phical critic. His moral Eſſays are beautiful; but in that province nothing can exceed the Rambler, though Johnſon uſed to ſay, that the Eſſay on The burthens of mankind (in the Spectator, N^o 558) was the moſt exquiſite he had ever read. Talking of himſelf, Johnſon ſaid, ‘Topham Beauclerk has wit, and every thing comes from him with eaſe; but when I ſay a good thing, I ſeem to labour.’ When we compare him with Addiſon, the contraſt is ſtill ſtronger. Addiſon lends grace and ornament to truth; Johnſon gives it force and energy. Addi⯑ſon [161] makes virtue amiable; Johnſon repreſents it as an awful duty. Addiſon inſinuates himſelf with an air of modeſty; Johnſon commands like a dictator; but a dictator in his ſplendid robes, not labouring at the plough. Addiſon is the Jupiter of Virgil, with placid ſerenity talking to Venus:

Johnſon is JUPITER TONANS: he darts his lightning, and rolls his thunder, in the cauſe of virtue and piety. The language ſeems to fall ſhort of his ideas; he pours along, familiariz⯑ing the terms of philoſophy, with bold inver⯑ſions, and ſonorous periods; but we may apply to him what Pope has ſaid of Homer: ‘It is the ſentiment that ſwells and fills out the diction, which riſes with it, and forms itſelf about it; like glaſs in the furnace, which grows to a greater magnitude, as the breath within is more powerful, and the heat more intenſe.’

It is not the deſign of this compariſon to de⯑cide between thoſe two eminent writers. In [162] matters of taſte every reader will chuſe for himſelf. Johnſon is always profound, and of courſe gives the fatigue of thinking. Addiſon charms while he inſtructs; and writing, as he always does, a pure, an elegant, and idiomatic ſtyle, he may be pronounced the ſafeſt model for imitation.

The eſſays written by Johnſon in the Ad⯑venturer may be called a continuation of the Rambler. The IDLER, in order to be con⯑ſiſtent with the aſſumed character, is written with abatad vigour, in a ſtyle of eaſe and unla⯑boured elegance. It is the Odyſſey after the Iliad. Intenſe thinking would not become the IDLER. The firſt number preſents a well⯑drawn portrait of an Idler, and from that cha⯑racter no deviation could be made. Accord⯑ingly, Johnſon forgets his auſtere manner, and plays us into ſenſe. He fill continues his lectures on human life, but he adverts to com⯑mon occurrences, and is often content with the topic of the day. An advertiſement in the beginning of the firſt volume informs us, that twelve entire Eſſays were a contribution from different hands. One of theſe, N^o 33, is the [163] journal of a Senior Fellow at Cambridge, but, as Johnſon, being himſelf an original thinker, always revolted from ſervile imitation, he has printed the piece, with an apology, importing that the journal of a citizen in the Spectator almoſt precluded the attempt of any ſubſequent writer. This account of the Idler may be cloſed, after obſerving, that the author's mo⯑ther being buried on the 23d of January 1759, there is an admirable paper, occaſioned by that event, on Saturday the 27th of the ſame month, N^o 41. The reader, if he pleaſes, may com⯑pare it with another fine paper in the Rambler, N^o 54, on the conviction that ruſhes on the mind at the bed of a dying friend.

"Raſſelas," ſays Sir John Hawkins, "is aſpe⯑cimen of our language ſcarcely to be paralleled; it is written in a ſtyle refined to a degree of imaculate purity, and diſplays the whole force of turgid eloquence." One cannot but ſmile at this encomium. Raſſelas is undoubtedly both elegant and ſublime. It is a view of human life, diſplayed, it muſt be owned, in gloomy colours. The author's natural melancholy, depreſſed, at the time, by the approaching diſ⯑ſolution [164] of his mother, darkened the picture. A tale, that ſhould keep curioſity awake by the artifice of unexpected incidents, was not the deſign of a mind pregnant with better things. He, who reads the heads of the chapters, will find, that it is not a courſe of adventures that invites him forward, but a diſcuſſion of intereſt⯑ing queſtions; Reflections on Human Life; the Hiſtory of Imlac, the Man of Learning; a Diſſertation upon Poetry; the Character of a wiſe and happy Man, who diſcourſes with energy on the government of the paſſions, and on a ſudden, when Death deprives him of his daughter, forgets all his maxims of wiſdom and the eloquence that adorned them, yield⯑ing to the ſtroke of affliction with all the ve⯑hemence of the bittereſt anguiſh. It is by pic⯑tures of life, and profound moral reflection, that expectation is engaged and gratified throughout the work. The Hiſtory of the Mad Aſtronomer, who imagines that, for five years, he poſſeſſed the regulation of the weather, and that the ſun paſſed from tropic to tropic by his direc⯑tion, repreſents in ſtriking colours the ſad effects of a diſtempered imagination. It be⯑comes the more affecting, when we recollect [165] that it proceeds from one, who lived in fear of the ſame dreadful viſitation; from one who ſays emphatically, ‘Of the uncertainties in our preſent ſtate, the moſt dreadful and alarming is the uncertain continuance of reaſon.’ The enquiry into the cauſe of madneſs, and the dangerous prevalence of ima⯑gination, till, in time, ſome particular train of ideas fixes the attention, and the mind re⯑curs conſtantly to the favourite conception, is carried on in a ſtrain of acute obſervation; but it leaves us room to think, that the author was tranſcribing from his own apprehenſions. The diſcourſe on the nature of the ſoul gives us all that philoſophy knows, not without a tincture of ſuperſtition. It is remarkable that the va⯑nity of human purſuits was, about the ſame time, the ſubject that employed both Johnſon and Voltaire; but Candide is the work of a lively imagination, and Raſſelas, with all its ſplendour of eloquence, exhibits a gloomy pic⯑ture. It ſhould, however, be remembered, that the world has known the WEEPING as well as the LAUGHING philoſopher.

[166]The Dictionary does not properly fall with⯑in the province of this eſſay. The preface, however, will be found in this edition. He who reads the cloſe of it, without acknow⯑ledging the force of the pathetic and ſublime, muſt have more inſenſibility in his compoſition than uſually ſells to the ſhare of man. The work itſelf, though in ſome inſtances abuſe has been loud, and in others malice has en⯑deavoured to undermine its ſame, ſtill remains the MOUNT ATLAS of Engliſh Literature.

That Johnſon was eminently qualified for the office of a commentator on Shakſpeare, no man can doubt; but it was an office which he never cordially embraced. The publick ex⯑pected more than he had diligence to perform; and yet his edition has been the ground on which every ſubſequent commentator has choſe to build. One note, for its ſingularity, may be thought worthy of notice in this place. Hamlet ſays, For if the ſun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a God-kiſſing carrion. In this [167] Warburton diſcovered the origin of evil. Ham⯑let, he ſays, breaks off in the middle of the ſentence; but the learned commentator knows what he was going to ſay, and, being unwil⯑ling to keep the ſecret, he goes on in a train of philoſophical reaſoning that leaves the reader in aſtoniſhment. Johnſon, with true piety, adopts the fanciful hypotheſis, declaring it to be a noble emendation, which almoſt ſets the critic on a level with the author. The general obſervations at the end of the ſeveral plays, and the preface, will be found in this edition. The former, with great elegance and preciſion, give a ſummary view of each drama. The preface is a tract of great erudition and philo⯑ſophical criticiſm.

Johnſon's political pamphlets, whatever was his motive for writing them, whether grati⯑tude for his penſion, or the ſolicitation of men in power, did not ſupport the cauſe for which they were undertaken. They are written in a ſtyle truly harmonious, and with his uſual dignity of language. When it is ſaid that he advanced poſitions repugnant to the common rights of mankind, the virulence of party may [168] be ſuſpected. It is, perhaps, true that in the cla⯑mour raiſed throughout the kingdom Johnſon over heated his mind; but he was a friend to the rights of man, and he was greatly ſuperior to the littleneſs of ſprit that might incline him to advance what he did not think and firmly believe. In the Falſe Alarm, though many of the moſt eminent men in the kingdom con⯑curred in petitions to the throne, yet Johnſon, having well ſurveyed the maſs of the people, has given with great humour and no leſs truth, what may be called, the birth, parent⯑age, and education of a remonſirance. On the ſubject of Falkland's iſlands. the fine diſſuaſive from too haſtily involving the world in the calamities of war, muſt extort applauſe even from the party that wiſhed, at that time, for ſeenes or tumult and commotion. It was in the ſame pamphlet that Johnſon offered bat⯑tle to JUNIUS; a writer, who, by the uncom⯑mon elegance of his ſtyle, charmed every rea⯑der, though his object was to inflame the na⯑tion in favour of a faction. Junius fought in the dark; he ſaw his enemy and had his full blow, while he himſelf remained ſafe in ob⯑ſcurity. But let us not, ſaid Johnſon, miſtake [169] the venom of the ſhaft for the vigour of the bow. The keen invective which he publiſhed on that occaſion, promiſed a paper-war between two combatants, who knew the uſe of their weapons. A battle between them was as ea⯑gerly expected as between Mendoza and Big Ben. But Junius, whatever was his reaſon, never returned to the field. He laid down his arms, and has, ever ſince, remained as ſecret as the MAN IN THE MASK in Voltaire's Hiſtory.

The account of his journey to the Hebrides or Weſtern Iſles of Scotland, is a model for ſuch as ſhall hereafter relate their travels. The author did not viſit that part of the world in the character of an Antiquary, to amuſe us with wonders taken from the dark and fa⯑bulous ages; nor as a Mathematician, to mea⯑ſure a degree, and ſettle the longitude and lati⯑tude of the ſeveral iſlands. Thoſe, who ex⯑pected ſuch information, expected what was never intended. In every work regard the writer's end. Johnſon went to ſee men and manners, modes of life, and the progreſs of civilization. His remarks are ſo artfully blended with the [170] rapidity and elegance of his narrative, that the reader is inclined to wiſh, as Johnſon did with regard to GRAY, that to travel, and to tell his travels, had been more of his employment.

As to Johnſon's Parliamentary Debates, no⯑thing with propriety can be ſaid in this place. They are collected in two volumes by Mr. Stock⯑dale, and the flow of eloquence which runs through the ſeveral ſpeeches is ſufficiently known.

It will not be uſeleſs to mention two more vo⯑lumes, which may form a proper ſupplement to this edition. They contain a ſet of Sermons left for publication by John Taylor, LL.D. The Reverend Mr. Hayes, who uſhered theſe Diſcourſes into the world, has not given them as the compeſition of Dr. Taylor. All he could ſay for his departed friend was, that he left them in ſilence among his papers. Mr. Hayes knew them to be the production of a ſuperior mind; and the writer of theſe Memoirs owes it to the candour of that elegant ſcholar, that he is now warranted to give an additional proof of Johnſon's ardour in the cauſe of piety, and every moral duty. The laſt diſcourſe in the collection was intended to be delivered by Dr. [171] Taylor at the funeral of Johnſon's wife; but that Reverend gentleman declined the office, becauſe, as he told Mr. Hayes, the praiſe of the deceaſed was too much amplified. He, who reads the piece, will find it a beautiful moral leſſon, written with temper, and no where overcharged with ambitious ornaments. The reſt of the Diſcourſes were the fund, which Dr. Taylor, from time to time, carried with him to his pulpit. He had the LARGEST BULL ^*in England, and ſome of the beſt Sermons.

We come now to the Lives of the Poets, a work undertaken at the age of ſeventy, yet the moſt brilliant, and certainly the moſt popular of all our Author's writings. For this perform⯑ance he needed little preparation. Attentive always to the hiſtory of letters, and by his own natural bias fond of Biography, he was the more willing to embrace the propoſition of the Bookſellers. He was verſed in the whole body of Engliſh Poetry, and his rules of criticiſm were ſettled with preciſion. The differtation, in the Life of Cowley, on the metaphyſical Poets of the laſt century, has the attraction of [172] novelty as well as ſound obſervation. The writers, who followed Dr. Donne, went in queſt of ſomething better then truth and nature. As Sancho ſays in Don Qnixotte, they wanted better bread than is made with wheat. They took pains to bewilder themſelves, and were ingenious for no other purpoſe than to err. In Johnſon's review of Cowley's works, falſe wit is detected in all its ſhapes, and the Gothic taſte for glittering conceits, and far-fetched alluſions, is exploded, never, it is hoped, to re⯑vive again.

An author, who has publiſhed his obſerva⯑tions on the Life and Writings of Dr. John⯑ſon, ſpeaking of the Lives of the Poets, ſays, ‘Theſe compoſitions, abounding in ſtrong and acute remark, and with many fine and even ſublime paſſages, have unqueſtionably great merit; but if they be regarded merely as containing narrations of the Lives, delinea⯑tions of the characters, and ſtrictures of the ſeveral authors, they are far from being al⯑ways to be depended on.’ He adds, ‘The characters are ſometimes partial, and there is ſometimes TOO MUCH MALIGNITY of miſ⯑repreſentation, [173] to which, perhaps, may be joined no inconſiderable portion of erroneous criticiſm.’ The ſeveral clauſes of this cen⯑ſure deſerve to be anſwered as fully as the limits of this eſſay will permit.

In the firſt place, the facts are related upon the beſt instelligence, and the beſt vouchers that could be gleaned, after a great lapſe of time. Probability was to be inferred from ſuch ma⯑terials as could be procured, and no man better underſtood the nature of hiſtorical evidence than Dr. Johnſon; no man was more religiouſly an obſerver of truth. If his Hiſtory is any where defective, it muſt be imputed to the want of better information, and the errors of uncertain tradition.

If the ſtrictures on the works of the various authors are not always ſatisfactory, and if er⯑roneous criticiſm may ſometimes be ſuſpected, who can hope that in matters of taſte all ſhall agree? The inſtances in which the public mind has differed from the poſitions advanced by the author, are few in number. It has [174] been ſaid, that juſtice has not been done to Swift; that Gay and Prior are undervalued; and that Gray has been harſhly treated. This charge, perhaps, ought not to be diſputed. Johnſon, it is well known, had conceived a prejudice againſt Swift. His friends trembled for him when he was writing that life, but were pleaſed, at laſt, to ſee it executed with temper and moderation. As to Prior, it is pro⯑bable that he gave his real opinion, but an opinion that will not be adopted by men of lively fancy. With regard to Gray, when he condemns the apoſtrophe, in which Father Thames is deſired to tell who drives the hoop, Of toſſes the ball, and then adds, that Father Thames had no better means of knowing than himſelf; when he compares the abrupt beginning of the firſt ſtanza of the bard to the ballad of JOHNNY ARMSTRONG, "Is there ever a man in all Scot⯑land;" there are, perhaps, few friends of John⯑ſon, who would not wiſh to blot out both the paſſages. It may be queſtioned whether the remarks on Pope's Eſſay on Man can be re⯑ceived without great caution. It has been al⯑ready mentioned, that Crouſaz, a profeſſor in Switzerland, eminent for his Treatiſe of Logic, [175] ſtarted up a profeſſed enemy to that poem. Johnſon ſays, ‘his mind was one of thoſe, in which philoſophy and piety are happily united. He looked with diſtruſt upon all metaphyſical ſyſtems of theology, and was perſuaded, that the poſitions of Pope were intended to draw mankind away from Reve⯑lation, and to repreſent the whole courſe of things as a neceſſary concatenation of in⯑diſſoluble fatality.’ This is not the place for a controverſy about the Leibnitzian ſyſtem. Warburton, with all the powers of his large and comprehenſive mind, publiſhied a Vindica⯑tion of Pope; and yet Johnſon ſays, that ‘in many paſſages a religious eye may eaſily diſ⯑cover expreſſions not very favourable to mo⯑rals, or to liberty.’ This ſentence is ſevere, and, perhaps, dogmatical. Crouſaz wrote an Examen of THE ESSAY ON MAN, and after⯑wards a Commentary on every remarkable paſ⯑ſage; and though, it now appears that Mrs. Elizabeth Carter tranſlated the foreign Critic, yet it is certain that Johnſon encouraged the work, and, perhaps, imbibed thoſe early pre⯑judices which adhered to him to the end of his life. He ſhuddered at the idea of irreligion. [176] Hence we are told in the Life of Pope, ‘Never were penury of knowledge and vulgarity of ſentiment ſo happily diſguiſed; Pope, in the chair of wiſdom, tells much that every man knows, and much that he did not know him⯑ſelf; and gives us comfort in the poſition, that though man's a fool, yet God is wiſe; that human, advantages are unſtable; that our true honour is, not to have a great part, but to act it well; that virtue only is our own, and that happineſs is always in our power. The reader, when he meets all this in its new array, no longer knows the talk of his mo⯑ther and his nurſe.’ But may it not be ſaid, that every ſyſtem of ethics muſt or ought to ter⯑minate in plain and general maxims for the uſe of life? and, though in ſuch axioms no diſcovery is made, does not the beauty of the moral theory conſiſt in the premiſes, and the chain of reaſon⯑ing that leads to the concluſion? May not truth, as johnſon himſelf ſays, be conveyed to the mind by a new train of intermediate images? Pope's doctrine about the ruling paſſion does not ſeem to be refuted, though it is called, in harſh terms, pernicious as well as falſe, tend⯑ing to eſtabliſh a kind of moral predeſtination, [177] or over-ruling principle, which cannot be re⯑ſiſted. But Johnſon was too eaſily alarmed in the cauſe of religion. Organized as the human race is, individuals have different inlets of per⯑ception, different powers of mind, and different ſenſations of pleaſure and pain.

Brumoy ſays, Paſcal from his infancy felt him⯑ſelf a geometrician; and Vandyke, in like manner, was a painter. Shakſpeare, who of all poets had the deepeſt inſight into human nature, was aware of a prevailing bias in the operations of every mind. By him we are told, Maſterleſs paſſion ſways us to the mood of what it likes or looths.

It remains to enquire, whether in the lives before us the characters are partial, and too of⯑ten drawn with malignity of miſrepreſentation. To prove this it is alledged, that Johnſon has miſrepreſented the circumſtances relative to the [178] tranſlation of the firſt Iliad, and maliciouſly aſcribed that performance to Addiſon, inſtead of Tickell, with too much reliance on the teſ⯑timony of Pope, taken from the account in the papers left by Mr. Spence. For a refuta⯑tion of the fallacy imputed to Addiſon, we are referred to a note in the Biographia Britannica, written by the late Judge Blackſtone, who, it is ſaid, examined the whole matter with accu⯑racy, and found that the firſt regular ſtate⯑ment of the accuſation againſt Addiſon was publiſhed by Ruffhead in his Life of Pope, from the materials which he received from Dr. Warburton, But, with all due deference to the learned Judge, whoſe talents deſerve all praiſe, this account is by no means accurate.

Sir Richard Steele, in a dedication of the Comedy of the Drummer to Mr. Congreve, gave the firſt inſight into that buſineſs. He ſays, in a ſtyle of anger and reſentment, ‘If that gentleman (Mr. Tickell) thinks himſelf injured, I will allow I have wronged him upon this iſſue, that (if the reputed tranſlator of the firſt book of Homer ſhall pleaſe to give us another book) there ſhall appear [179] another good judge in poetry, beſides Mr. Alexander Pope, who ſhall like it.’ The authority of Steele outweighs all opinions founded on vain conjecture, and, indeed, ſeems to be deciſive, ſince we do not find that Tickell, though warmly preſſed, thought proper to vin⯑dicate himſelf.

But the grand proof of Johnſon's malignity, is the manner in which he has treated the cha⯑racter and conduct of Milton. To enforce this charge, has wearied ſophiſtry, and exhausted the invention of a party. What they cannot deny, they palliate; what they cannot prove, they ſay is probable. But why all this rage againſt Dr. Johnſon? Addiſon, before him, had ſaid of Milton;

And had not Johnſon an equal right to avow his ſentiments? Do his enemies claim a privilege to abuſe whatever is valuable to Engliſhmen, either in Church or State, and muſt the liberty of UNLICENSED PRINTING be denied to the friends of the Britiſh conſtitution?

[180]It is unneceſſary to purſue the argument through all its artifices, ſince, diſmantled of ornament and ſeducing language, the plain truth may be ſtated in a narrow compaſs. John⯑ſon knew that Milton was a republican; he ſays, ‘an acrimonious, and ſurly republican, for which it is not known that he gave any better reaſon, than that a popular government was the moſt frugal; for the trappings of a monarchy would ſet up an ordinary common⯑wealth.’ Johnſon knew that Milton talked ‘aloud of the danger of READMITTING KING⯑SHIP in this nation; and when Milton adds, that a commonwealth was commended, or rather ENJOINED, by our Saviour himſelf to all Chriſtians, not without a remarkable diſ⯑allowance, and the brand of Gentiliſm UPON KINGSHIP,’ Johnſon thought him no better than a wild enthuſiaſt. He knew, as well as Milton, ‘that the happineſs of a nation muſt needs be firmeſt and certaineſt in a full and free council of their own electing, where no ſingle perſon, but reaſon only ſways;’ but the example of all the republics, recorded in the annals of mankind, gave him no room [181] to hope that REASON ONLY would be heard. He knew that the republican form of govern⯑ment, having little or no complication, and no conſonance of parts by a nice mechaniſm forming a regular whole, was too ſimple to be beautiful even in theory. In practice it, perhaps, never exiſted. In its moſt flouriſhing ſtate, at Athens, Rome, and Carthage, it was a con⯑ſtant ſcene of tumult and commotion. From the miſchiefs of a wild democracy, the progreſs has ever been to the dominion of an ariſtocracy; and the word ariſtocracy fatally includes the boldeſt and moſt turbulent citizens, who riſe by their crimes, and call themſelves the beſt men in the State. By intrigue, by cabal, and faction, a pernicious oligarchy is ſure to ſuc⯑ceed, and end at laſt in the tyranny of a ſin⯑gle ruler. Tacitus, the great maſter of poli⯑tical wiſdom, ſaw, under the mixed authority of king, nobles, and people, a better form of government than Milton's boaſted republic; and what Tacitus admired in theory, but de⯑ſpaired of enjoying, Johnſon ſaw eſtabliſhed in this country. He knew that it had been over⯑turned by the rage of frantic men; but he knew that, after the iron rod of Cromwell's uſurpa⯑tion, [182] the conſtitution was once more reſtored to its firſt principles. Monarchy was eſtabliſhed, and this country was regenerated. It was re⯑generated a ſecond time at the Revolution: the rights of men were then defined, and the bleſſings of good order and civil liberty have been ever ſince diffuſed through the whole community.

The peace and happineſs of ſociety were what Dr. Johnſon had at heart. He knew that Milton called his Defence of the Regicides, a defence of the people of England, but, how⯑ever gloſſed and varniſhed, he thought it an apology for murder. Had the men, who, under a ſhew of liberty, brought their king to the ſcaffold, proved by their ſubſequent con⯑duct, that the public good inſpired their ac⯑tions, the end might have given ſome ſanction to the means; but uſurpation and ſlavery fol⯑lowed. Milton undertook the office of ſecre⯑tary under the deſpotic power of Cromwell, offering the incenſe of adulation to his maſter, with the titles of Director of public Councils, the Leader of unconquered Armies, the Father of his Country. Milton declared, at the ſame time, that nothing is more pleaſing to God, or [183] more agreeable to reaſon, than that the higheſt mind ſhould have the ſovereign power. In this ſtrain of ſervile flattery Milton gives us the right divine of tyrants. But it ſeems, in the ſame piece, he exhorts Cromwell ‘not to de⯑ſert thoſe great principles of liberty which he had profeſſed to eſpouſe; for it would be a grievous enormity, if, after having ſucceſs⯑fully oppoſed tyranny, he ſhould himſelf act the part of a tyrant, and betray the cauſe that he had defended.’ This deſertion of every honeſt principle the advocate for liberty lived to ſee. Cromwell acted the tyrant; and, with vile hypocriſy, told the people, that he had conſulted the Lord, and the Lord would have it ſo. Milton took an under part in the tragedy. Did that become the defender of the people of England? Brutus ſaw his country enſlaved; he ſtruck the blow for freedom, and he died with honour in the cauſe. Had he lived to be ſe⯑cretary under Tiberius, what would now be ſaid of his memory?

But ſtill, it ſeems, the proſtitution with which Milton is charged, ſince it cannot be defended, is to be retorted on the character of Johnſon. [184] For this purpoſe a book has been publiſhed, called Remarks on Dr. Johnſon's Life of Milton, to which are added Milton's Tractate of Education, and Areopagitica. In this laboured tract we are told, ‘There is one performance aſcribed to the pen of the Doctor, where the proſtitution is of ſo ſingular a nature, that it would be difficult to ſelect an adequate motive for it out of the mountainous heap of conjectural cauſes of human paſſions, or human caprice. It is the ſpeech of the late unhappy Dr. William Dodd, when he was about to hear the ſentence of the law pronounced upon him, in conſequence of an indictment for forgery. The voice of the publick has given the honour of manufacturing this ſpeech to Dr. Johnſon; and the ſtyle and configuration of the ſpeech itſelf confirm the imputation. But it is hardly poſſible to divine what could be his motive for accepting the office. A man, to expreſs the preciſe ſtate of mind of another, about to be deſtined to an ignominious death for a capital crime, ſhould, one would ima⯑gine, have ſome conſciouſneſs, that he him⯑ſelf had incurred ſome guilt of the ſame kind.’ In all the ſchools of ſophiſtry is [185] there to be found ſo vile an argument? In the purlieus of Grub-ſtreet is there ſuch another mouthfull of dirt? In the whole quiver of Malice is there ſo envenomed a ſhaft?

After this it is to be hoped, that a certain claſs of men will talk no more of Johnſon's malignity. The laſt apology for Milton is, that he acted according to his principles. But Johnſon thought thoſe principles deteſta⯑ble; pernicious to the conſtitution in Church and State, deſtructive of the peace of ſociety, and hoſtile to the great fabric of civil policy, which the wiſdom of ages has taught every Briton to revere, to love, and cheriſh. He reckoned Milton in that claſs of men, of whom the Roman hiſtorian ſays, when they want, by a ſudden convulſion, to overturn the govern⯑ment, they roar and clamour for liberty; if they ſucceed, they deſtroy liberty itſelf. Ut im⯑perium evertant, Libertatem praeferunt; fi per⯑verterint, libertatem ipſam aggredientur. Such were the ſentiments of Dr. Johnſon; and it may be aſked, in the language of Bolingbroke, ‘Are theſe ſentiments, which any man, who is born a Briton, in any circumſtances, in any [186] ſituation, ought to be aſhamed, or afraid to avow.’ Johnſon has done ample juſtice to Milton's poetry: the Criticiſm on Paradiſe Loſt is a ſublime compoſition. Had he thought the author as good and pious a citizen as Dr. Watts, he would have been ready, notwith⯑ſtanding his non-conformity, to do equal ho⯑nour to the memory of the man.

It is now time to cloſe this eſſay, which the author fears has been, drawn too much into length. In the progreſs of the work, feeble as it may be, he thought himſelf performing the laſt human office to the memory of a friend, whom he loved, eſteemed, and honoured.

The author of theſe memoirs has been anxious to give the features of the man, and the true character of the author. He has not ſuffered the hand of partiality to colour his excellencies with too much warmth; nor has he endeavoured to throw his ſingularities too much into ſhade. Dr. Johnſon's failings may well be forgiven for the ſake of his virtues. His defects were ſpots in the ſun. His piety, his kind affections, and the [187] good⯑neſs of his heart, preſent an example worthy of imitation. His works will remain a monument of genius and of learning. Had he written nothing but what is contained in this edition, the quantity ſhews a life ſpent in ſtudy and meditation. If to this we add the labour of his Dictionary and other various productions, it may be fairly allowed, as he uſed to ſay of himſelf, that he has written his ſhare. In the volumes here preſented to the publick, the reader will find a perpetual ſource of pleaſure and inſtruction. With due precautions, authors may learn to grace their ſtyle with elegance, harmony, and preciſion; they may be taught to think with vigour and perſpicuity; and, to crown the whole, by a diligent attention to theſe books all may advance in virtue.