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Lecture the Forty-Sixth.

SAMUEL JOHNSON-JAMES HARRIS-WILLIAM MELMOTH-JAMES BURNET-JOHN HAWKESWORTH-EARL OF CHATHAM-EDMUND BURKE-LETTERS OF JUNIUS.

F all the writers of the present period, none, perhaps, exerted so great

Of ;.

force of understanding, variety of knowledge, sagacity, and moral intrepidity, he has rarely been equalled. His various works, with their sententious morality and sonorous periods, his manly character, and noble appearance, his great virtues and strong prejudices, his early and severe struggles, his love of argument and society, into which he poured the treasures of his rich and well-stored mind, his rough manners and his kind heart, have all been brought so vividly before us by his biographer, Boswell, that to most readers the great lexicographer is almost as well known as the members of their own family. His heavy form seems still to haunt Fleet-street and the Strand, and he has stamped his memory on the remote Hebrides.'

In literature, Dr. Johnson's influence has been scarcely less extensive. No prose writer of that day escaped the contagion of his peculiar style. He banished, for a long time, the naked simplicity of Swift, and the idiomatic graces of Addison; he depressed the literature and poetry of imagination, while he elevated that of the understanding; he based criticism on strong sense and solid judgment, not on scholastic subtleties and refinement; and though some of the higher qualities and attributes of genius eluded his grasp and observation, the withering scorn and invective with which he assailed all affected sentimentalism, immorality, and licentiousness, introduced a pure, healthful, and invigorating atmosphere into the crowded walks of literature. As an author, Dr. Johnson's course was singularly pure, high-minded, and independent. At every step in his progress, his passport was talent and virtue; and when munificence was at length extended to him, it was but a ratification by the sovereign of the wishes and opinions entertained by the best and wisest of the English nation.

SAMUEL JOHNSON was the son of a bookseller, and was born at Lichfield,

on the seventh of September, 1709. When eight years old, he was placed at the free-school in Lichfield, where he remained until he was sixteen; and though he was not remarkable for diligence or application, yet his tenacious memory made whatever he read its own. From the school at Lichfield he went to an academy at Stonebridge, in Worcestershire, where he remained two years, and there passed through the rudiments of classical learning, after which he returned to his father's house, and almost immediately became tutor to a young gentleman fitting for the university. In 1728, he entered Pembroke College, Oxford; and he had been in the university but a short time, before he began to exhibit, in his ordinary exercises, that depth of thought and strength of diction for which, in mature age, he was so remarkable. One of these exercises was a translation of Pope's Messiah into Latin verse, and so finished was this performance, that when it was handed to Pope for his examination, the great poet remarked that posterity would doubt which poem was the original.

While Johnson was in the university, his father unfortunately became insolvent; and the young student, after struggling some time with poverty, finally, in 1731, left his college without a degree, and, with no settled plan of life, returned to Lichfield. For a few years he found occasional employment, sometimes as an usher in a neighboring school, and at others, as a translator for a bookseller. In 1736, he married a widow lady much older than himself; and as he obtained with her eight hundred pounds, he resolved to open a boarding-school for young gentlemen. With this view he fitted up a house at Edial, near Lichfield, for the reception of pupils; but for the schoolmaster's calling he soon discovered that his natural disposition utterly disqualified him. Though his scholarship was ample, he had neither patience to bear with the dullness and waywardness of youth, nor kind and urbane manners to win their love and respect; and it is no wonder, therefore, that he quitted the teacher's avocation in disgust. Having relinquished his school, he resolved to leave the country and seek his fortune in London. Accordingly, accompanied by David Garrick, one of his former pupils, he set out in March, 1737, for the metropolis; and perhaps two such candidates for future fame never before that day entered London together.

In London Johnson became acquainted with Cave, the publisher of the Gentleman's Magazine, and entered, at once, into his employment. His first publication in that work was a Latin alcaic ode, which appeared in March, 1738; and such was its reception with the public, that the author was encouraged to expect permanent and lucrative employment upon the magazine. He now visited Lichfield, and on his return his wife accompanied him. From that period, till 1744, he was laboriously employed in the service of the periodical, and in writing the parliamentary debates, valuable, not as the effusions of orators, but as the bold compositions of a man of genius on such subjects as were supposed to engage the attention of the. English legislators of the day. He had, as early as 1738, published his

London, a poem in imitation of Juvenal's third satire, which passed to a second edition in one week, and of which Pope said, 'Whoever the author may be, he will not long remain unknown.'

In 1744, Johnson's Life of Savage appeared, and at once won universal approbation. This is conceded to be one of the finest pieces of biography ever written, exhibiting, in elegant and pathetic language, the sufferings and poverty of a friend, whose calamities the author himself had shared and bewailed. In 1747, he began his Dictionary of the English language, and published it, in two folio volumes, in 1755. This was, at the time of its appearance, a very valuable practical work; not indeed remarkable for philological research, but for its happy and luminous definitions, the result of great sagacity, precision of understanding, and clearness of expression. A few of the definitions betray the personal feelings and peculiarities of the author; but those should be regarded as mere specks on a very clear surface. As an illustration of Johnson's character, we here introduce his celebrated letter to Lord Chesterfield. That courtly nobleman had made great professions of friendship to the retired scholar, but afterwards, for some years, entirely neglected him. When the 'Dictionary' was on the eve of publication, Chesterfield, hoping the work might be dedicated to him, attempted to conciliat, the author by writing two papers in a periodical called 'The World,' in recommendation of the work. The appearance of these papers drew, from Johnson, the following letter, which, as a keen and dignified expression of wounded pride and surly independence, is inimitable :

February 7, 1755.

MY LORD-I have been lately informed by the proprietor of the 'World,' that two papers, in which my 'Dictionary' is recommended to the public, were written by your lordship. To be so distinguished is an honour, which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre; -that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had exhausted all the arts of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.

The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and found him a native of the rocks.

Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help?

The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and can not enjoy it; till I am solitary, and can not impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron which providence has enabled me to do for myself.

Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have been long awakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so much exultation, my lord,-Your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.

While Johnson was laboriously engaged on his 'Dictionary,' his tragedy of Irene, was, through the friendship of Garrick, brought upon the stage; but, notwithstanding the noble sentiments with which the play abounds, it was not adapted to public representation, and was therefore unsuccessful. The same year, 1749, that witnessed the production of 'Irene' on the stage, witnessed also the appearance of The Vanity of Human Wishes, a poem in imitation of the tenth satire of Juvenal. In this poem the author departs farther from the original, and takes wider views of human nature, society, and manners, than in his 'London.' His pictures of Wolsey, and Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, have a strength and magnificence that would do honor to Dryden, while the historical and philosophic paintings are contrasted by reflections on the cares, vicissitudes, and sorrows of life, so profound, so true, and touching, that they may be justly denominated 'mottoes of the heart.' Sir Walter Scott has termed this poem 'a satire, the deep and pathetic morality of which has often extracted tears from those whose eyes wander dry over pages professedly sentimental.' Johnson was, perhaps, too prone to indulge in dark and melancholy views of human life; yet those who have experienced its disappointments and afflictions, must subscribe to the severe morality and pathos with which the contemplative poet

Expatiates free o'er all this scene of man.

From this fine satire we select the following passage as a fair sample of the whole poem :

Grant that the virtues of a temperate prime
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;
An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating conscience cheers;
The general favourite as the general friend;
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?
Yet even on this her load misfortune flings,
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings;
New sorrow rises as the day returns,

A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.

Now kindred merit fills the sable bier,
Now lacerated friendship claims a tear.
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,

Still drops some joy from withering life away;
New forms arise, and different views engage,
Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage,
Till pitying nature signs the last release,
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.

But few there are whom hours like these await,

Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate.

From Lydia's monarch should the search descend,
By Solon cautioned to regard his end.

In life's last scene what prodigies surprise,
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise?

*

*

From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage flow,
And Swift expires a driveller and a show.
Where, then, shall hope and fear their objects find?
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?
Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,

Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?

Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,

No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?

Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain,

Which Heaven may hear, nor deem religion vain.
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice.
Safe in his power, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious prayer.
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,
Secure whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,

Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat :

These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain,

These goods he grants, who grants the power to gain;

With these celestial wisdom calms the mind

And makes the happiness she does not find.

The other poetical productions of Johnson are short and occasional, and do not require any farther notice. But the beautiful Prologue which follows, and which was spoken by Garrick at the opening of Drury Lane, in 1747, must not be here omitted:

PROLOGUE.

When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes
First reared the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose;
Each change of many-coloured life he drew,
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new:

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