tamely suffer to be questioned; and had, perhaps, at an early period, narrowed his mind somewhat too much, both as to religion and politics. His being impressed with the danger of extreme latitude in either, though he was of a very independent spirit, occasioned his appearing somewhat unfavorable to the prevalence of that noble freedom of sentiment which is the best possession of man. Nor can it be denied that he had many prejudices; which, however, frequently suggested many of his pointed sayings, that rather show a playfulness of fancy than any settled malignity. He was steady and inflexible in maintaining the obligations of religion and morality; both from a regard for the order of society, and from a veneration for the Great Source of all order; correct, nay, stern in his taste; hard to please, and easily offended; impetuous and irritable in his temper, but of a most humane and benevolent heart, which showed itself not only in a most liberal charity, as far as his circumstances would allow, but in a thousand instances of active benevolence. He was afflicted with a bodily disease, which made him often restless and fretful; and with a constitutional melancholy, the clouds of which darkened the brightness of his fancy, and gave a gloomy cast to his whole course of thinking. We, therefore, ought not to wonder at his sallies of impatience and passion at any time; especially when provoked by obtrusive ignorance or presuming petulance; and allowance must be made for his uttering hasty and satirical sallies even against his best friends. And, surely, when it is considered, that, "amidst sickness and sorrow," he exerted his faculties in so many works for the benefit of mankind, and particularly that he achieved the great and admirable Dictionary of our language, we must be astonished at his resolution. The solemn text, "of him to whom much is given, much will be required," seems to have been ever present to his mind, in a rigorous sense, and to have made him dissatisfied with his labors and acts of goodness, however comparatively great; so that the unavoidable consciousness of his superiority was, in that respect, a cause of disquiet. He suffered so much from this, and from the gloom which perpetually haunted him, and made solitude frightful, that it may be said of him, “If in this

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SUPERIORITY OF HIS THINKING

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life only he had hope, he was of all men most miserable." He loved praise, when it was brought to him; but was too proud to seek for it. He was somewhat susceptible of flattery. As he was general and unconfined in his studies, he cannot be considered as master of any one particular science; but he had accumulated a vast and various collection of learning and knowledge, which was so arranged in his mind as to be ever in readiness to be brought forth. But his superiority over other learned men consisted chiefly in what may be called the art of thinking, the art of using his mind; a certain continual power of seizing the useful substance of all that he knew, and exhibiting it in a clear and forcible manner; so that knowledge, which we often see to be no better than lumber in men of dull understanding, was, in him, true, evident, and actual wisdom. His moral precepts are practical; for they are drawn from an intimate acquaintance with human nature. His maxims carry conviction; for they are founded on the basis of common sense, and a very attentive and minute survey of real life. His mind was so full of imagery that he might have been perpetually a poet; yet it is remarkable, that, however rich his prose is in this respect, his poetical pieces, in general, have not much of that splendor, but are rather distinguished by strong sentiment and acute observation, conveyed in harmonious and energetic verse, particularly in heroic couplets. Though usually grave, and even awful in his deportment, he possessed uncommon and peculiar powers of wit and humor; he frequently indulged himself in colloquial pleasantry; and the heartiest merriment was often enjoyed in his company; with this great advantage that, as it was entirely free from any poisonous tincture of vice or impiety, it was salutary to those who shared in it. He had accustomed himself to such accuracy in his common conversation that he at all times expressed his thoughts with great force, and an elegant choice of language, the effect of which was aided by his having a loud voice, and a slow, deliberate utterance. In him were united a most logical head with a most fertile imagination, which gave him an extraordinary advantage in arguing; for he could reason close or wide, as he saw best for the moment. Exulting in his intellectual strength

and dexterity, he could, when he pleased, be the greatest sophist that ever contended in the lists of declamation; and from a spirit of contradiction and a delight in showing his powers, he would often maintain the wrong side with equal warmth and ingenuity; so that, when there was an audience, his real opinions could seldom be gathered from his talk; though when he was in company with a single friend, he would discuss a subject with genuine fairness; but he was too conscientious to make error permanent and pernicious, by deliberately writing it; and, in all his numerous works, he earnestly inculcated what appeared to him to be the truth; his piety being constant, and the ruling principle of all his conduct.

Such was SAMUEL JOHNSON, a man whose talents, acquirements, and virtues were so extraordinary that the more his character is considered, the more he will be regarded by the present age, and by posterity, with admiration and reverence.1

1. Reverence. "I used to tell [Dr. Johnson] in jest that his morality was easily contented, and when I have said something as if the wickedness of the world gave me concern, he would cry out aloud against canting, and protest that he thought there was very little gross wickedness in the world, and still less of extraordinary virtue. 'Heroic virtues,' said he, ‘are the bon mots of life; they do not appear often, and when they do appear are too much prized. I think life is made up of little things, and that character is best which does little but repeated acts of beneficence. I hope I have not lost my sensibility of wrong; but I hope likewise that I have lived long enough in the world to prevent me from expecting to find any action of which all the original motives and all the parts were good.'" Mrs. Piozzi: Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson.

APPENDIXES

APPENDIX A

RICHARD SAVAGE

Savage, Richard (1697?-1743). Author of the Wanderer (1729) and other works.

"An author whose manufactures had long lain uncalled for in the warehouse, till he happened, very fortunately for his bookseller, to be found guilty of a capital crime." Henry Fielding.

"To the acquisition of extensive acquaintance every circumstance of his life contributed. He excelled in the arts of conversation He was always ready to comply with every invitation, having often no money to provide for himself; and by dining with one company, he never failed of obtaining an introduction into another.”

"To supply him with money was a hopeless attempt, for no sooner I did he see himself master of a sum sufficient to set him free from care for a day than he became profuse and luxurious."

"If his miseries, were sometimes the consequences of his faults, his faults were very often the effect of misfortunes.'

...

"It must be confessed that Mr. Savage's esteem was no very certain possession, and that he would lampoon at one time those whom he had praised at another." "That Mr. Savage was too much elated by any good fortune is generally known His prosperity was heightened by the force of novelty and made more intoxicating by a sense of the misery in which he had so long languished, and perhaps by the insults he had formerly borne, and which he might now think himself entitled to revenge." Johnson: Life of Savage.

"It is impossible to pass a day or an hour in the confluxes of men without seeing how much indigence is exposed to contumely, neglect, and insult; and in its lowest state to hunger and nakedness; to injuries against which every passion is in arms, and to wants which nature cannot sustain." Johnson: The Rambler.

APPENDIX B

MRS. SAMUEL JOHNSON

Deepest distress. According to Johnson's friend, Mrs. Williams, who had lived with them both, Mrs. Johnson "had a good understanding and great sensibility, but [was] inclined to be satirical."

"Some cunning men choose fools for their wives, thinking to manage them, but they always fail. And suppose a fool to be made do pretty well, you must have the continual trouble of making her do. Depend upon it, no woman is the worse for sense and knowledge." Johnson, quoted in Boswell's Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides.

"Of another lady, more insipid than offensive, I once heard him say, 'she has some softness, indeed, but so has a pillow,' and when one observed in reply that her husband's fidelity and attachment were exemplary 'why, sir,' said the Doctor, 'being married to those sleepy-souled women is just like playing at cards for nothing: no passion is excited, and time is filled up.' "I asked him if he ever disputed with his wife (I had heard that he loved her passionately). 'Perpetually,' said he; 'my wife had a particular reverence for cleanliness, and desired the praise of neatness in her dress and furniture, as many ladies do, till they become troublesome to their best friends, slaves to their own besoms [brooms], and only sigh for the hour of sweeping their husbands out of the house as dirt and useless lumber... "One day . I

asked him if he ever huffed his wife about his dinner. 'So often,' replied he, 'that at last she called out to me, and said, "Nay, hold, Mr. Johnson, and do not make a farce of thanking God for a dinner which in a few minutes you will protest not eatable.""" Mrs. Piozzi.

"Wives and husbands are, indeed, incessantly complaining of each other; and there would be reason for imagining that almost every house was infested with perverseness or oppression beyond human sufferance, did we not know. how naturally every animal revenges his pain upon those who happen to be near, without any nice examination of its cause. Johnson: The Rambler.

"Though it must be allowed that he suffers most like a hero that hides his grief in silence, yet it cannot be denied that he who complains acts like a man, like a social being, who looks for help from his fellow-creatures." The same.

In 1739, Johnson wrote to his wife: "Dearest Tetty, after hearing that you are in so much danger, as I apprehend from a hurt on a tendon, I shall be very uneasy till I know you are recovered, and beg that you will omit nothing that can contribute to it, nor deny yourself anything that may make confinement less melancholy. You have already suffered more than I can bear to reflect upon, and I hope more than either of us shall suffer again."

In 1778, Johnson wrote to one recently bereaved of his wife: "A loss such as yours lacerates the mind, and breaks the whole system of purposes and hopes. It leaves a dismal vacuity in life, which affords nothing on which the affections can fix, or to which endeavor may be directed. All this I have known, and it is now, in the vicissitude of things, your turn to know it."

APPENDIX C

RASSELAS AND CANDIDE

Wonderfully similar in its plan and conduct. The story of Rasselas closes under the shadow of those tombs of ancient kings, the pyramids. 'Let us return,' said Rasselas, 'from this scene of mortality. Those that lie here stretched before us, the wise and powerful of ancient times,