seats; and in this respect such a laudable spirit | ker, what can a man do?" We come now to the prevails, that, in another half century it never 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 surprised by modes of life, and appearances of nature, that are familiar to men of wider survey, and more varied conversation. Novelty and ignorance must always be reciprocal; 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 Johnson's inquiry during his residence in Scotland and the Hebrides. On his return to England, November, 1773, a storm seemed to be gathering over his head; but the cloud never burst, and the thunder never fell.-Ossian, it is well known, was presented to the public as a translation from the Earse; but that this was a fraud, Johnson declared without hesitation. "The Earse," he says, 66 was always oral only, and never a written language. The Welsh 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 Account 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 fragments; the whole is too long to be remembered. 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 show the original, nor can it be shown by any other. To revenge reasonable incredulity, by refusing evidence, is a degree of insolence with which the world is not yet acquainted; 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 heroes frowned at a distance, but never came to action. 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 completed in 1781. In a memo randum 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 conspicuous 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, unregarded, and unlamented. Was there no friend to pay the tribute of a tear? No just observer of life, to record the virtues of the deceased? 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 moral lesson to after ages. If tradition told us that Ben Johnson went to the Devil Tavern; that Shakspeare stole deer, and held the stirrup at playhouse doors; that Dryden frequented 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, choked up, and little remained besides doubtful anecdote, uncertain tradition, and vague report. "Nunc situs informis premit et deserta Vetustas. But 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. Fontenelle, D'Alembert, and Monsieur Thomas have left models in this kind of composition. They have embalmed the dead. it is true, that they had incitements and advan tages, even at a distant day, which could not, by any diligence, be obtained by Dr. Johnson. The wits of France had ample materials. They lived in a nation of critics, who had at heart the honour done to their country by their Poets, In the year 1777, the misfortunes of Dr. Dodd their Heroes, and their Philosophers. They excited his compassion. He wrote a speech for had, besides, an Academy of Belles-Lettres, where that unhappy man, when called up to receive Genius was cultivated, refined, and encouraged. judgment of death; besides two petitions, one They had the tracts, the essays, and dissertato the King, and another to the Queen: and a tions, which remain in the memoirs of the Aca sermon to be preached by Dodd to the convicts demy, and they had the speeches of the several in Newgate. It may appear trifling to add, that members, delivered at their first admission to a about the same time he wrote a prologue to the seat in that learned Assembly. In those speechcomedy of "A Word to the Wise," written by es the new Academician did ample justice to Hugh Kelly. The play, some years before, had the memory of his predecessor; and though his been damned by a party on the first night. It harangue was decorated with the colours of elowas revived for the benefit of the author's wi-quence, and was, for that reason, called panedow. Mrs. Piozzi relates, that when Johnson gyric, yet being pronounced before qualified was rallied for these exertions, so close to one, another, his answer was, "When they come to me with a dying Parson, and a dead Stay-ma judges, who knew the talents, the conduct and morals of the deceased, the speaker could not, with propriety, wander into the regions of fic 66 ened by an association with others of distinguished ability. It may, therefore, be inferred, that an Academy of Literature would be an establishment_highly useful, 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 and factiou to carry such a scheme into execution, will, in all probability, be respected by posterity as the Mæcenas of letters." tion. The truth was known, before it was adorned. The Academy saw the marble before the artist polished it. But this country has had no Academy of Literature. The public mind, for centuries, has been engrossed by party and faction; by the madness of many for the gain of a few; by civil wars, religious dissensions, trade and commerce, 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 Marseilles, We now take leave of Dr. Johnson as an audrew purer breath amidst the contagion of the thor. Four volumes of his Lives of the Poets plague in London, and, during the whole time, were published in 1778, and the work was comcontinued in the city, administering medical as- pleted in 1781. Should Biography fall again sistance, was suffered, as Johnson used to re-into disuse, there will not always be a Johnson late with tears in his eyes, to die for debt in a to look back through a century, and give a body gaol. In this country, the man who brought of critical and moral instruction. In April 1781, the New River to London was ruined by that he lost his friend Mr. Thrale. His own words, noble project; and in this country, Otway died in his diary, will best tell that melancholy event. for want on Tower Hill; Butler, the great author "On Wednesday the 11th of April, was buried of Hudibras, whose name can only die with the my dear friend Mr. Thrale, who died on WedEnglish language, was left to languish in pover-nesday the 4th, and with him were buried many ty, the particulars of his life almost unknown, of my hopes and pleasures. About five, I think, and scarce a vestige of him left except his immor- on Wednesday morning he expired. I felt altal poem. Had there been an Academy of Lite- most the last flutter of his pulse, and looked for rature, the lives, at least, of those celebrated per- the last time upon the face, that, for fifteen years sons would have been written for the benefit of before, had never been turned upon me but with posterity. Swift, it seems, had the idea of such respect and benignity. Farewell! may God, an institution, and proposed it to Lord Oxford; that delighteth in mercy, have had mercy on but Whig and Tory were more important objects. thee! I had constantly prayed for him before It is needless to dissemble that Dr. Johnson, in his death. The decease of him, from whose the Life of Roscommon, talks of the inutility friendship I had obtained many opportunities of of such a project. "In this country," he says, amusement, and to whom I turned my thoughts an academy could be expected to do but little. as to a refuge from misfortunes, has left me If an Academician's place were profitable, it heavy. But my business is with myself." From would be given by interest; if attendance were the close of his last work, the malady that pergratuitous, it would be rarely paid, and no man secuted him through life, came upon him with would endure the least disgust. Unanimity is alarming severity, and his constitution declined impossible, and debate would separate the as- apace. In 1782 his old friend Levet expired sembly." To this it may be sufficient to an- without warning, and without a groan. Events swer, that the Royal Society has not been dis-like these reminded Johnson of his own morsolved by sullen disgust; and the modern Aca- tality. He continued his visits to Mrs. Thrale demy at Somerset House has already performed at Streatham, to the 7th day of October 1782, much, and promises more. Unanimity is not when having first composed a prayer for the necessary to such an assembly. On the contra- happiness of a family with whom he had for ry, by difference of opinions, and collision of many years enjoyed the pleasures and comforts sentiment, the cause of literature would thrive of life, he removed to his own house in town. and flourish. The true principles of criticism, He says he was up early in the morning, and the secret of fine writing, the investigation of read fortuitously in the Gospel, which was his antiquities, and other interesting subjects, might parting use of the library. The merit of the faoccasion a clash of opinion; but in that conten-mily is manifested by the sense he had of it, and tion, Truth would receive illustration, and the essays of the several members would supply the memoirs of the Academy. "But," says Dr. Johnson, "suppose the philological decree made and promulgated, what would be its authority? In absolute government 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 be told. The edicts of an English Academy would probably be read by many, only that they may be sure to disobey them. The present manners of the nation would deride authority, and therefore nothing is left, but that every writer should criticise 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 acknowledged, that authority, which the individual obtains, would not be less we see his heart overflowing with gratitude. He leaves the place with regret, and casts a lingering look behind. The few remaining occurrences may be soon despatched. In the month of June, 1783, Johnson had a paralytic stroke, which affected his speech only. He wrote to Dr. Taylor of Westminster; 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. Watson's Chymistry. 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 knowledge recalled to his mind in a manner highly pleasing." In the month of August he set out for Litchfield on a visit to Mrs. Lucy Porter, the daughter of his wife by her first husband; and, some appearance of health, Johnson went into 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 September, 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, was terrible. For many years, when he was not disposed to enter ir to the conversation going forward, whoever sat near his chair, might hear him repeating from Shakspeare, Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; And from Milton, Who would lose, For fear of pain, this intellectual being? By the death of Mrs. Williams he was left in a state of destitution, with nobody but Frank, his black servant, to soothe his anxious moments. In November 1783, he was swelled from head to foot with a dropsy. 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 suddenly obliged to rise, and, in the course of the day, discharged twenty pints of water. Derbyshire, and thence to Litchfield. 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 travelling valetudinarian, and it was not then known that he had saved a moderate sum of money. Mr. Boswell and Sir Joshua Reynolds undertook 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 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 Litchfield, Johnson wrote the following letter: 66 "My Lord, After a long and not inattentive observation of mankind, the generosity of your Lordship's offer raises in me not less wonder than gratitude. Bounty, so liberally bestowed, I should gladly receive if my condition made it necessary; for to such a mind who would not be proud to own his obligations? But it has pleased God to restore me to so great a measure of health, that if I should now appropriate so much of a fortune Johnson, being eased of his dropsy, began to destined to do good, I could not escape from entertain hopes that the vigour of his constitu- myself the charge of advancing a false claim. tion was not entirely broken. For the sake of My journey to the continent, though I once conversing with his friends, he established a thought it necessary, was never much encou conversation club, to meet on every Wednesday raged by my physicians; and I was very desirous evening; and to serve a man whom he had that your Lordship should be told it by Sir Joshua known in Mr. Thrale's household for many Reynolds as an event very uncertain; for if I years, the place was fixed at his house in Essex-grew much better, I should not be willing; if street, near the Temple. To answer the malig- much worse, I should not be able to migrate. nant remarks of Sir John Hawkins on this sub- Your Lordship was first solicited without my ject, were a wretched waste of time. Profess-knowledge; but when I was told that you were ing to be Johnson's friend, that biographer has pleased to honour me with your patronage, I did raised more objections to his character, than all not expect to hear of a refusal; yet, as I have the enemies to that excellent man. Sir John had no long time to brood hopes, and have not had a root of bitterness that put rancours in the rioted in imaginary opulence, this cold reception vessel of his peace. Fielding, he says, was the has been scarce a disappointment; and from inventor of a cant phrase, Goodness of heart, your Lordship's kindness I have received a bewhich means little more than the virtue of a horse nefit which only men like you are able to beor a dog. He should have known that kind af- stow. I shall now live mihi carior, with a higher fections are the essence of virtue: they are the opinion of my own merit. will of God implanted in ou nature, to aid and strengthen moral obligation; they incite to action; a sense of benevolence 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 shows 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 respectable for their rank, their talents, and their literature. They attended with punctuality till about Midsummer 1784, when, with I am, my Lord, Your Lordship's most obliged, most grateful, and most humble servant, SAMUEL JOHNSON. "Sept. 1784." 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. Brocklesby 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. of literary intelligence in Mr. Swinton's own Dec. 6, 1784. Mr. Swinton. The History of the Carthaginians, Numidians, Mauritinians, Gætulians, Garamantes, Melano-Getulians, Nigrits, Cyrenaica, Marmarica, Regio Syrtica, Turks, Tartars, and Moguls, Indians, Chinese, Dissertation on the peopling of America, Dissertation on the In dependency of the Arabs. The Cosmogony, and a small part of the history immediately following. By M. Sale. Shelvock. To the Birth of Abraham. Chiefly by Mr. 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 languor of sickness, still desirous to contribute all in his power to the advancement of science and useful knowledge. He says, in a letter to that gentleman, dated Litchfield, October 20, that he should be glad to give so skilful a lover of antiquities any information. 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 Xenophon's Retreat. By the same. old friends. I thought that I could now and History of the Persians, and the Constantinothen have told you some hints worth your no- politan Empire. By Dr. Campbell. tice: We perhaps may talk a life over. I hope History of the Romans. By Mr. Bower.† we shall be much together. You must now be On the morning of Dec. 7, Dr. Johnson reto me what you were before, and what dear Mr.quested to see Mr. Nichols. A few days before, Allen was besides. He was taken unexpectedly he had borrowed some of the early volumes of away, but I think he was a very good man. I the Magazine, with a professed intention to have made very little progress in recovery. I point out the pieces which he had written in am very weak, and very sleepless; but I live on that collection. The books lay on the table, and hope." with many leaves doubled down, and in partiticular those which contained his share in the Parliamentary Debates. Such was the goodness of Johnson's heart, that he then declared, that "those debates were the only parts of his writings which gave him any compunction: 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 own imagination." He added, "that he never wrote any part of his work with equal velocity. 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 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, Dr. Butter, and Mr. Cruikshank, the eminent surgeon. Eternity presented to his mind an awful 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 composed, and even cheerful, 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 epitaph for his father, his mother, and his brother 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: "SIR, "THE late learned Mr. Swinton, of Oxford, having one day remarked that one man, meaning, I suppose, no man but himself, could assign all the parts of the Ancient Universal History to their proper Authors, at the request of Sir Robert Chambers, or myself, gave the account which I now transmit to you in his own hand, being willing that of so great a work the history should be known, and that each writer should receive his due proportion of praise from posterity. "I recommend to you to preserve this scrap * It is there deposited. J. N. + Before this authentic communication, Mr. Nichols had given, in the volume of the Gentleman's Magazine for Vol. I. Mr. Sale, translator of the Koran-II. George Psalmanazar.-III. George Psalmanazar, Archibald Bower, Captain Shelvock, Dr. Campbell.-IV. The same as vol. III.-V. Mr. Bower.-VI. Mr. Bower, Rev. John Swinton.-VII. Mr. Swinton, Mr. Bower Wishing to discharge every duty, and every | amusement, or the pleasure of discussion, Criobligation, 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. Hamilton, 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. Sastress (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 MORITURUS! 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." 66 On the 8th of December, the Reverend Mr. Strahan drew his will, by which, after a few legacies, the residue, amounting to about fifteen hundred pounds, was bequeathed to Frank, the black servant, formerly consigned to the testator by his friend Dr. Bathurst. 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 of 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 discovered. We see him reviewing every year of his life, and severely censuring himself for not keeping resolutions, which morbid melancholy, and other bodily infirmities, rendered impracticable. We see him for every little defect imposing on himself voluntary penance, going through the day with only one cup of tea without 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 uncertain 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 sometimes of his own accord do things inconsistent with the established modes of behaviour. Sitting at table with the celebrated Mrs. Cholmondeley, who exerted herself to circulate the subscription for Shak The history of a death-bed is painful. Mr. Strahan informs us, that the strength of religion prevailed against the infirmity of nature; and his foreboding dread of the Divine Justice sub-speare, he took hold of her hand in the middle sided 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 existence 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 morning he tried the experiment, but no water followed. In an hour or two after he fell into a doze, and about seven in the evening expired without a groan. of dinner, and held it close to his eye, wondering at the delicacy and 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 sometimes violated. His morbid melancholy had an effect on his temper; his passions were irritable; and the pride of science, as well as of a fierce, independent spirit, inflamed him on some occasions above all bounds On the 20th of the month his remains, with of moderation. Though not in the shade of due solemnities, and a numerous attendance of academic bowers, he led a scholastic life; and his friends, were buried in Westminster Abbey, the habit of pronouncing decisions to his friends near the foot of Shakspeare's monument, and and visitors gave him a dictatorial manner, close to the grave of the late Mr. Garrick. The which was much enforced by a voice naturally funeral service was read by his friend Dr. Tay-loud, and often overstretched. Metaphysical lor. A black marble over his grave has the following inscription: SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D. MDCCLXXXIV. Etatis suæ LXXV. If we now look back, as from an eminence, to view the scenes of life, and the literary labours 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. discussion, moral theory, systems of religion, and anecdotes of literature, were his favourite topics. General history had little of his regard. Biography 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 introduced the subject. 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 As a man, Dr. Johnson stands displayed in open daylight. Nothing remains undiscovered. Whatever he said is known; and without allowing him the usual privilege of hazarding sentiments, and advancing positions, for mere | bler, No. CX. On the subject of voluntary penance, see the Ram |