had, among other elegances about the park and gardens, been made to observe a temple to the winds, when this thought naturally presented itself to a wit. Gratum animum laudo; Qui debuit omnia ventis, A translation of Dryden's epigram too, I used to fancy I had to myself. Quos laudet vates, Graius, Romanus, et Anglus, from the famous lines written under Milton's picture: Three poets in three distant ages born, One evening in the oratorio season of the year 1771, Mr. Johnson went with me to Covent-Garden theatre; and though he was for the most part an exceeding bad playhouse com panion, as his person drew people's eyes upon the box, and the loudness of his voice made it difficult for me to hear any body but himself; he sat surprisingly quiet, and I flattered myself that he was listening to the music. When we got home, however, he repeated these verses, which he said he had made at the oratorio, and he bid me translate them. IN THEATRO. Tertii verso quater orbe lustri Quid theatrales tibi crispe pompæ! Quam decet canos male literatos Sera voluptas! Tene mulceri fidibus canoris ? Tene cantorum modulis stupere? Tene per pictas oculo elegante Currere formas ? Inter equales sine felle liber, Codices veri studiosus inter Rectius vives, sua quisque carpat Gaudia gratus, Lusibus gaudet puer otiosis Luxus oblectat juvenem theatri, At seni fluxo sapienter uti Tempore restat, I gave him the following lines in imitation, which he liked well enough, I think: When threescore years have chill'd thee quite, Ill suits this place with learned wight, May Bates or Coulson cry. The scholar's pride can Brent disarm? The climacteric eye? The social club, the lonely tower, In worth or wisdom shine! And while play pleases idle boys, And wanton mirth fond youth employs, To fix the soul, and free from toys, That useful task be thinc. The copy of verses in Latin hexameters, as well as I remember, which he wrote to Dr. Lawrence, I forgot to keep a copy of; and he obliged me to resign his translation of the song beginning, Busy, curious, thirsty fly, for him to give Mr. Langton, with a promise not to retain a copy. I concluded he knew why, so never inquired the reason. He had the greatest possible value for Mr. Langton, of whose virtue and learning he delighted to talk in very exalted terms; and poor Dr. Lawrence had long been his friend and confidant. The conversation I saw them hold together in Essex-street one day in the year 1781 or 1782, was a melancholy one, and made a singular impression on my mind. He was himself exceedingly ill, and I accompanied him thither for advice. The physician was, however, in some respects, more to be pitied than the patient: Johnson was panting under an asthma and dropsy; but Lawrence had been brought home that very morning struck with the palsy, from which he had, two hours before we came, strove to awaken himself by blisters: they were both deaf, and scarce able to speak besides; one from difficulty of breathing, the other from paralytic debility. To give and receive medical counsel therefore, they fairly sat down on each side a table in the doctor's gloomy apartment, adorned with skeletons, preserved monsters, &c. and agreed to write Latin billets to each other: such a scene did I never see! "You (said Johnson) are timidè and gelidè;" finding that his friend had prescribed palliative not drastic remedies. It is not me, replies poor Lawrence, in an interrupted voice; 'tis nature that is gelidè and timidè. In fact he lived but few months after I believe, and retained his faculties still a shorter time. He was a man of strict piety and profound learning, but little skilled in the knowledge of life or manners, and died without ever having enjoyed the reputation he so justly deserved. Mr. Johnson's health had been always extremely bad since I first knew him, and his over-anxious care to retain without blemish the perfect sanity of his mind, contributed much to disturb it. He had studied medicine diligently in all its branches; but had given particular attention to the diseases of the imagination, which he watched in himself with a solicitude destructive of his own peace, and intolerable to those he trusted. Dr. Lawrence told him one day, that if he would come and beat him once a week he would bear it; but to hear his complaints was more than man could support. "Twas therefore that he tried, I suppose, and in eighteen years contrived, to weary the patience of a woman. When Mr. Johnson felt his fancy, or fancied he felt it, disordered, his constant recurrence was to the study of arithmetic: and one day that he was totally confined to his chamber, and I inquired what he had been doing to divert himself; he shewed me a calculation which I could scarce be made to under |