cient and modern history, it is difficult, if not impossible, to point out a single individual, in whom was discoverable so various a combination of literary accomplishments. It may also be safely affirmed, that he seemed to possess a mind which actually contained a greater and more variegated mass of knowledge than any other person has been known to possess. It will not, however, be surprising, that his productions excited the wonder and astonishment of mankind, when we reflect, that he had a memory which at any moment could furnish him with all that he had ever read, and a judgment which could exactly combine and compare, analyze and aggregate, the most subtle reasoning, and a love of learning never satiated by indul gence. A clear head and nice discrimination, a logical method and mathe matical precision, rendered him one of the most powerful reasoners of his age. A character so eminent, it is not likely could pass his own times without much animadversion and much praise. As he was the most conspicuous literary man of his nation, it is not matter of suprise, that we find written of him more than it would be safe implicitly to credit, and presumption universally to disbelieve. Soon after his death, he was very justly compared to the sick lion in the fable, whom, while living, few had the temerity to attack, but against whom, when in the defenceless state of a corse, all in whom the malignancy of envy, or the voice of prejudice, or the excitement of resentment existed, united their assaults with rancor and bitterness. In many, the gratification of these feelings was like the fury of canine madness. They bit with the mordacity of the viper; but the impassive metal rendered retributive justice to their efforts, and the good sense of mankind reprobated their folly.

It is a delightful employment to trace through the stages of infantine imbecility, the growth of a genius, which, in the progressive gradations of its maturity, expands like the majestic branches of "the Pride of the Forest," by slow degrees, and native hardihood, acquiring strength and enlargement, and becoming at last a sublime emblem of independence, of fortitude, and durability. The development of Dr. Johnson's mind, is a subject, from the contemplation of which, we may derive much pleasure and improvement. It was not like a sickly and tender plant, to be nursed with the most anxious solicitude. It possessed a native vigor and energy, which neither the disadvantages of an unpropitious culture could retard, nor the blasts of adverse fortune could depress. The tempestuous storms, to which a nature less hardy would have yielded, it bore with inflexible firmness; and, like a rock in the midst of the ocean, just protending above the waves, by which it is sometimes overflowed, and at the refluence of the billows, with haughty pride becomes again visible, it withstood the conflict of contending elements. Undaunted by difficulties, from which a mind not underserving of respect would involuntarily have recoiled, we observe it, in the progress of his life, stemming the current of adversity, rather in the pride of triumph, than in the humiliation of despondence. In following him through the dangers and hardships which he too frequently had to encounter, we may observe how wonderfully his mind gained efficiency by resistance; and, like an impetuous torrent, overleaping the barriers of its course, with renovated strength he overwhelmed opposition.

The ninth year of the eighteenth century gave birth to the man, who was afterwards to become the glory of his country, the champion of his language, and the honor and ornament of the literature of his age. Among some of the biographers of Dr. Johnson, we discover a disposition to indulge in tales of absurdity; ascribing to him a jingle of boyish rhymes at the age of three years, and leading readers to suppose him to have mounted his Pegasus before he was entirely out of the cradle. Little appears to have been known respecting his early childhood, and much less with re gard to the progress he made in learning under his earliest teachers, both of which were perhaps of no consequence; stories of such strange precocity usually carry with themselves their own refutation. The earliest intelli

gence, upon which we may rely, informs us, that Johnson, while at the Litchfield school, had a standing scarcely respectable. The only talent by which he was then in any wise distinguished, was a remarkable tenacity of memory. This, it will be seen, was of the utmost importance to him. After a preparatory course in classical literature, we find him, at the age of nineteen, entered as a commoner in Pembroke College, Oxford, assisting the studies of a young gentleman, by whose aid he was maintained. The performance which first brought him into notice, was the translation of Pope's "Messiah" into Latin, which possessed no other poetical merit than purity of diction. Circumstances occurred, which deprived him of the only support upon which he relied; the gentleman under his charge changing his plan of education. After various discouragements, and embarrassments in his pecuniary resources, he was compelled to quit the university, where his residence, with little interruption, had been continued nearly three years. Having endeavored to obtain the means of living by assisting at a public school, in a short time he relinquished an employment, which yield ed him little pleasure, and which became the more irksome from a disgust he had taken with the person by whom it was patronized. It was at this period, that a resort to his pen became necessary for the support of his life. A translation of a voyage to Abyssinia, by Jerome Lobo, a Portuguese missionary, it is believed, was the first literary effort by which he attempted to raise a revenue. In this production, Johnson discovers much of that purity and energy of diction, by which he was afterwards distinguished. An easy flow of language, with a strength of expression, gave a dignity to the translated author he did not naturally possess. The flexibility and harmony of the English tongue added an importance and interest to the performance, to which, for its subsequent reputation, it was much indebted. In March, 1737, Johnson, in company with David Garrick, made his entry into London, each to try his fortune on the extensive theatre of the metropolis. The former, hitherto the child of disaster and disappontment, determined to enlarge the sphere in which to crowd his way; and both were equally undaunted by the failure of their schemes.

The biographers of Johnson are unable to fix with certainty the period at which the Tragedy of "Irene" was finished. Though there appears some evidence of its completion prior to his arrival in London, it was doomed, if written at that time, to slumber in obscurity, until the fortune and friend ship of Garrick, who, in 1747, became one of the managers of Drury Lane Theatre, enabled him to produce it on the stage. With respect to the merits of this production, an observation which was judiciously applied to Addison's "Cato," may, with equal justice, be made: "It wants much of that contrivance and effect, which is best understood by those who are skilled in writing for the stage." It is, in a great measure, destitute of that style, and those incidents, which would render it interesting to an audience; and will much better delight a reader in the retirement of the closet, than the confused assemblage of the theatre. The language is dignified and forci ble, and the sentiments worthy of its author. Literary men, who are pleased with "chill philosophy," and "unaffecting elegance," will admire it; readers of taste will be delighted with the beauty of some of its sentiments, and many elegant passages which it contains, which will long preserve it from oblivion. Garrick, upon being asked why he did not produce another tragedy from his Litchfield friend, replied, "when Johnson writes tragedy, passion sleeps, and declamation roars." Johnson himself appears to have been in some degree sensible of the truth of such a remark, as this was his first and only attempt. Having had a run of thirteen nights, Irene was never after revived.

About the year 1738, we find him again invoking his muse, in an imita tion of Juvenal's Third Satire, to which he gave the name of "London." It has been thought, that, under the name of Thales, he addresses his friend Savage, whose life he subseqently wrote, and with whom he had previously

passed many of his dissipated hours. Savage was a man of very great genius, but of an irregular and dissipated life, from the contamination of which, nothing but good principles, deep rooted, which he had early imbibed, could have preserved the morals of Johnson.

If not among the most important of his efforts, this poem, and "The Vanity of Human Wishes," another similar to it, in imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal, may be esteemed among his most happy attempts. The spirit and energy with which he wrote, fully equals the poignancy of the Roman satirist. Juvenal and Johnson were both engaged in the cause of virtue, and the poetic fire and sarcastic severity of the imitation is well worthy of the original. The lines of the English author flow with all that grace and dignity with which the Latin poet abounds. That he should have written with the same ardor and animation, is natural; and the accu satorial strain of invective in which he writes, does ample justice to the censorial department of the satirist. It is related that Mr. Pope, after read ing his London," observed, in allusion to the passage from Terence, which was once applied to Milton, "Ubi, ubi est, diu celari non potest," mark which proved truly prophetic.

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It is a melancholy reflection, that the superior talents of this eminent writer, at the age of thirty, were scarcely able to provide him with an in come adequate to his wants. Being bred to no profession, he was com pelled to resort to his pen as a last resource. Many of his schemes in pub lication failed for want of encouragement, and others, in which he succeed ed, proved of little benefit to him. We find some of his fugitive pieces at this time appearing in the "Gentleman's Magazine," and among them several very masterly touches in biographical delineation. In biography, Johnson peculiarly excelled. The "Lives of the Poets," which he at a much later period sent into the world, will remain a lasting monument of his genius, and critical sagacity. Few perhaps, more feelingly illustrated Juvenal's axiom,

"Haud facile emergunt, quorum virtutibus obstat
Res angusta domi."

But the independence of his spirit, and the native energy of his mind, ren dered him little sensible to the sombre shades by which fortune had surrounded him.

His parliamentary speeches, which appeared about this time, are a model of purity of diction, copiousness of language, and flowing eloquence. In reflecting how scanty were the materials from which they were written, our surprise and admiration are equally excited. His biographers relate, that frequently he was only informed who were the speakers, the order in which they spoke, and the sides they took. At best, the notes which were pro cured were of but little use to him; and it is well known, he was but once in Parliament-house for this purpose. We are charmed with the dignity and energy which these speeches possess. Without disparagement, some of them may be compared to the ancient specimens of the Grecian and Roman orators. In force of style, harmony of diction, and copiousness of expression, they equal any instances of ancient or modern eloquence.

There is no view in which Johnson appears less advantageous than as a political writer. His warmest friends are ready to acknowledge, that his reputation would have suffered no loss, had he never meddled with politics. His arguments, indeed, were ingenious; but strong prejudices and partiali ties gave to his pen a direction which his understanding could not approve, and, in moments of cooler reflection, his conscience must have condemned. With the sentiments of a warm tory and rigid high-churchman, his charac ter was frequently exposed to much severity of aspersion; but, possessed with the genius and reputation of the greatest scholar of his age, and the virtues of a man, over whom morality and religion had much influence, he might well defy the attacks of his enemies.

At about the age of forty, he commenced a work which added to his reputation, and gave him, with no inconsiderable degree of justice, the name of the English moralist.

With very little assistance, he completed, in a course of two years, the publication of the "Rambler," giving to the world, on stated days, two papers in a week. It appears, that, though those essays amounted to two hundred and eight, he received but ten numbers from the pens of his friends.

The disadvantages under which an author labors, in periodical publica tions, whose frequency leaves little time for the interruptions of recreation or necessity, he has most feelingly described. "He that condemns himself to compose on a stated day, will often bring to his task an attention dissipated, a memory embarrassed, an imagination overwhelmed, a mind distracted with anxieties, a body languishing with disease; he will labor on a barren topic till it is too late to change it; or, in the ardor of invention, diffuse his thoughts into wild exuberance, which the present hour cannot suffer judgment to examine or reduce."

For depth of moral reflection, the "Ramblers" of Johnson must ever be preeminent. The ethics of the ancients are not stored with a more val uable mass of moral instruction; and in vain may we search for the prin ciples of the purest philosophy, so beautifully blended with the loveliness of virtue. It was not probable that the frailties or peculiarities of mankind could escape his acute penetration, which was ever on the alert,

"To mark the age, shoot folly as it flies,

And catch the manners living as they rise."

From an early period, he had accustomed himself to a habit of close think ing. His active and vigorous mind always first matured what he had to advance, and his confidence in his assertions was owing to deductions which resulted from the deepest reasoning.

The moralizing "Rambler" is always dignified in his sentiments, logical in is inferences, and energetic in his style. Though many of his papers assume a gravity which forbids trifling, his remarks are sententious and forcible. They do not always partake of the sombre shades of melancholy, and seldom seem to participate of a cynical severity. The strain of morality which flows from his pen, discovers a mind at times under the influence of gloomy reflections, and inclined to indulge in the sober feelings of a man prone to look upon the darkest side. Instruction and sublimity may be found in his papers. The majority of mankind will admire them in the retirement of the closet, when the mind is inclined to serious advice; and the friends of virtue will ever rejoice that the great learning of the critic and scholar has so successfully labored in her service. The papers of the "Idler," and those of the "Ådventurer," written by Johnson, exhibit the same powers of mind, and fewer of his peculiar faults.

As a Latin poet, he can only be ranked with other admired writers, who attempted metrical excellence in a language that allows no new expressions. The most successful writer can do no more than imitate the flowers which he has discovered on classic ground, and display to the world his acquaintance with its productions. He may heat his mind with the spirit with which the poets of antiquity have written. He may imbibe a portion of their taste, and, as far as he is able, copy their style. His productions, in their language, will still fail of originality, and savor of imitation.

There can be little doubt but that the affair in which Johnson was con nected with Lauder, was always to himself a source of regret. His integ rity, it may safely be presumed, would have withholden him from giving countenance to an attempt to injure the reputation of the immortal Milton, had he been at first, as he afterwards was, convinced of the injustice of the cause in which he engaged. The recantation he extorted from the person

who had thus inveigled him into this infamous plan, made honorable amenda to the injured character of the poet. That he had been made a dupe to the duplicity of the enemy of Milton, could, in his own feelings, be but little alleviated by an acknowledgment of his crime. As he harboured no malevolence of feeling towards this sublime writer, posterity have little of which to accuse him; as the best men may at times be deceived, especially when the influence of party feelings fosters their prejudices, and gives to the judgment, for a moment, a bias, which calm reflection, and dispassionate examination, afterwards perceives, acknowledges, and cor

rects.

His "English Dictionary" will long remain a lasting record of the powerful mind of Dr. Johnson. By it, he has fixed the standard of our language, and, with the most indefatigable labor and acuteness, given precision to the meaning of our words, which, hitherto, had been too much neglected by the lexicographers who preceded him. He has pruned of their excrescences the indeterminate signification of many terms, and placed in appro priate gradations the fluctuating import of many expressions. Until his time there had been no author upon whose judgment the world seemed implicitly to rely; and time has since proved, that the stupendous labor, and powerful talents of Johnson have left nothing for succeeding lexicographers to do in defining the English language.

His benevolent feelings often engaged him in the service of many for whom he had little friendship, and who could lay no claim to the assistance of his pen. The number of dedications, prologues, and recommendatory effusions which issued from it, in behalf of indigent merit, or unaspiring modesty, at once illustrates the kindness of his heart, and the disinterestedness of his motives.

During a season, in which his mind was oppressed with the gloomy reflections of affliction, occasioned by the loss of his aged mother, to whom he was tenderly and affectionately attached, it is related, that he wrote his "Rasselas." This elegant specimen of Oriental in agery, we are told, was written during the evenings of a single week, to eable him to defray the funeral expenses of his deceased parent. Perhaps there is no prosaic effusion, in which the exuberance and harmony of our language has been more artfully combined, or more fully displayed. It is here that he discovers those surprising powers of imagination, which were the astonishment and admiration of mankind. Though the strain of moralizing reflection, which pervades the whole story, seems to partake of the gloomy shades which oc casionally overshadowed his mind, it may yet be questioned, if the world will again soon be favored with a trifle, from any pen, in which it may be, at the same time, more delighted and improved.

In the poetry of Dr. Johnson, if we do not discover the harmony which delights a musical ear, we are fully compensated by an energy of expression, a lofty style, and a critical elegance of diction. The majesty of his numbers resembles the tones of a powerful instrument, not discordant by the strength of their parts. His versification cannot boast of an unbroken melody, but his measures flow like the slow and solemn progress of a mighty river, rather than like the graceful glidings of a shallow stream. If he does not possess the smoothness of poetical numbers, the ear is not fatigued by the sameness of his style; and we may continue to be delighted with the variety and dignity of his expressions, when we should be glad to be relieved from the monotonous harmony of poets of more musical ears. Johnson had for some time been solicited by his bookseller to undertake the editorial department in a splendid edition of the British Poets. This was the last great effort of his mind. His reputation needed not, at this period, an accession to give permanency to his fame; yet another laurel was added to grace his brow.

This stupendous publication, which was to be comprised in seventy volumes, in the course of a few years was offered to the world, with the lives