as "in press." The Herculean task of more than seven years' continuance were almost ended, though the oversight of the publication would necessarily require no little labor at his hands. It will, however, be agreeable to turn aside, and contemplate this great artificer of books occupied in more genial occupations than the daily toils of authorship; and as we have carried this part of the narrative ahead of the life history, certain events of the current year may be here noticed.

On the sixth of March of that year were issued from the press of Mallett, the bookseller, the posthumous works of Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke. His lordship's skeptical opinions-if the vagaries of a disordered fancy may be so called— | were no secrets during his lifetime, though he prudently withheld them from the public. He, however, committed them to paper, with the design of having them issued after his death, which was now done according to his purpose. The impression made by these works among all right-minded persons was most painful; and in the literary circles in which Johnson moved only one sentiment prevailed respecting them. It is not certain that he ever honored them with a perusal; but it was not difficult to form a sufficiently accurate opinion of them from common fame. After learning in this manner their character and tendency, he remarked, with characteristic force and aptness of comparison-"Sir, he was a scoundrel and a coward—a scoundrel for charging a blunderbuss against religion and morality; and a coward, because he had not resolution to fire it off himself, but left half-a-crown to a beggarly Scotchman to draw the trigger after his death."

On this occasion Garrick signalized himself somewhat out of his usual line. Though his associations were among the gayest and most frivolous of society, he nevertheless retained at all times a just reverence for religion, which rather increased than declined as he advanced in years. He also aspired in some small degree to the name of a poet; nor were his efforts in the "divine art" altogether contemptible.

He now composed an ode on the death of Mr. Pelham, which occurred on the same day on which Bolingbroke's works were issued; and the coincidence is thus noticed:

"The same sad morn, to Church and State, (So for our sins 't was fix'd by fate,) A double stroke was given; Black as the whirlwinds of the north, St. John's fell genius issued forth,

And Pelham fled to heaven." During the summer of this year Johnson made a visit to Oxford-the same already noticed in the account of his acquaintance with Langton and Beauclerk-for the purpose of consulting some of the libraries, to aid him in completing his "Dictionary." His most intimate friends and correspondents at Oxford, at that time, were the brothers Revs. Joseph and Thomas Warton, of Trinity College. He arrived just at the beginning of the long vacation, when many were leaving town; but this rather favored than hindered the object of his visit, his friends were at leisure, and he had a more ready access to them, and whatever else he had occasion to visit. He lodged during his stay, which extended to about five weeks, at Kettell Hall, in the immediate vicinity of Trinity College; and was so well pleased with all things about him, that he seriously meditated removing to Oxford, and residing at Trinity College. The next day after his arrival he visited Pembroke College, in company with Dr. Joseph Warton; and was much pleased to find most of the old servants whom he had left there more than twenty years before. The master, Dr. Radcliffe, received him with only cold civility, which Johnson did not fail to notice and animadvert upon. He was, however, much pleased to meet with an old class-mate, Rev. Mr. Meeke, one of the Fellows, who received his old associate with great cordiality. Johnson spake of Meeke as among the best of his class; and confessed to some envy he used to feel toward him on account of his superiority in the classics. But he seemed to think the seclusion of the college had effectually buried the superior parts and attainments of his former rival. After parting from him, Johnson remarked to Warton:"About the same time of life, Meeke was left behind at Oxford to feed on a fellowship, and I went to London to get my living; now, sir, see the difference in our literary characters." Upon this the learned and copious editor of Boswell very happily remarks: "Poverty was the stimulus which made Johnson exert a genius naturally, it may be supposed, more vigorous than Meeke's; and he was now beginning to

KETTELL HALL.

enjoy the fame, of which so many painful years of distress and penury had laid the foundation. Meeke had lived an easy life of decent competence; and on the whole, perhaps, as little envied Johnson as Johnson him."

As they were passing out of the college Johnson pointed out the place where he translated Pope's Messiah-a performance of which he spoke with evident satisfaction.

At this time the Rev. Francis Wise, keeper of the archives of the University, and Radclivean librarian-a person somewhat distinguished for his zeal and learning in the Roman and Anglo-Saxon antiquities of Britain-resided at Ellesfield, a few miles from Oxford; and as he and the Wartons were on terms of intimacy, Johnson also visited him several times, and a warm and lasting friendship grew up between the two scholars.

ELLESFIELD.

In returning from one of these visits to Ellesfield, the friends turned aside to examine the ruins of Oseney and Bewley Abbeys. Johnson was deeply affected by the view of these magnificent ruins, and stood gazing in silence for half-an-hour. He had a high and almost religious reverence for whatever bore the marks of antiquity; and the stately solemnity of these moldering Gothic piles seemed peculiarly

suited to his mind and temper. In speaking of these ruins afterward, he remarked: "I viewed them with indignation." A corresponding remark, in reference to similar ruins in Scotland, gave great offence to the over-sensitive North Britains.

It has been noticed that several years before this date Johnson had been an unsuccessful suitor for the degree of Master of Arts. His changed circumstances now promised a better result should the application be renewed. The matter was accordingly undertaken by his Oxford friends,

especially the Wartons and Mr. Wise. Johnson was not indifferent as to the success of the movement; for though he had less need of such favors than formerly, he had not yet reached that point of eminence at which a college degree can afford no additional honor. Both himself and friends were solicitous to have his

name upon the titlepage of the "Dictionary" appear as that of a titled scholar; and for that purpose the printing of the first sheet of the book was delayed for several months. With all his hardy independence, Johnson loved praise; and especially as to literary reputation he was far from being indifferent. By the influence of his friends and the help of his own reputation, especially as the author of

the "Rambler," and of the expected "Dictionary "--both of which are named in the diploma-the desired degree was obtained with but little difficulty; and by the undivided suffrages of the University.

OSENEY ABBEY.

Early in the spring of 1755 was issued from the press of Andrew Miller, bookseller in the Strand, "A Dictionary of the English Language, to

which are prefixed, a History of the Language, and an English Grammar, by SAMUEL JOHNSON, A. M." This was an event of no ordinary interest to the author and his friends, and probably the publishers had equal cause for rejoicing. When the messenger, who had carried the last sheet to the publisher, returned, Johnson asked what he said to it. The messenger answered, "He thanked God that he was done with you." "I am glad," said JohnVOL. II, No. 6.-LL

son, "that he thanks God for anything." As the work when published fully justified the expectations that had been entertained concerning it, and its accomplishment rolled from the shoulders of the overtasked author a burden under which he had staggered for seven years, its completion was an occasion of much exultation among his friends.

The merits of Johnson's "Dictionary" are too well known to require any statement in this place: and though the subject of English lexicography, on account of Johnson's relation to it, would not be out of place in his biography, yet the magnitude of the subject forbids its introduction. He was usually pretty well satisfied with his own productions, and the "Dictionary" was not excluded from this common paternal favor; though, while he claimed that he had done much to bring order out of the preexisting chaos of words, he confessed that the work was very far from perfection.

The original preface was at once a characteristic and highly valuable essay. The difficulties of the work he had performed are first stated in general terms, and then more specifically, together with his method of obviating them, and the aids of which he had availed himself in the work. His closing remarks are so nobly eloquent and so pathetically impressive that they cannot be abridged, nor yet wholly omitted,-the final paragraph is therefore given entire :

"In this work, when it shall be found that much is omitted, let it not be forgotten that much likewise is performed; and though no book was ever spared out of tenderness to the

author, and the world is little solicitous to know whence proceeded the faults of that which it condemns; yet it may gratify curiosity to inform it, that the English Dictionary was written with little assistance of the learned, and without any patronage of the great; not in the soft obscurities of retirement, or under the shelter of academic bowers, but amid inconvenience and distraction; in sickness and in sorrow. It may repress the triumph of malignant criticism to observe, that if our language is not here fully displayed, I have only failed in an attempt which no human powers have hitherto completed. If the lexicons of ancient tongues, now immutably fixed, and comprised in a few volumes, be yet, after the toil of successive ages, inadequate and delusive; if the aggregated knowledge and cooperating diligence of the Italian Academicians did not secure them from

the censure of Beni; if the embodied critics of France, when fifty years had been spent upon their work, were obliged to change its economy, and give their second edition another form, I may surely be contented without the praise of perfection, which, if I could obtain, in this gloom of solitude, what would it avail me? I have protracted my work till most of those whom I wished to please have sunk into the grave, and success and miscarriage are empty sounds. I therefore dismiss it with frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or from praise."

The deep tone of sorrow that marks the closing sentences of this elegant and forcible address to the public, cannot fail to arrest the attention of every reader; and many will be ready to inquire why he was thus depressed in spirit. Some part of this may, perhaps, be ascribed to his constitutional melancholy, but much more to his circumstances. Omitting one or two names, we ask in vain who were "the most of those whom he had wished to please" who had already "sunk into the grave?" The circle of his intimate friends had never yet been extensive, and among those whom he had, it does not appear that there had been any unusual mortality. But death had invaded his household, and deprived him of the sole companion of his home, and she was more to him than all the world beside. would probably have afforded him a higher satisfaction to have laid his "Dictionary" at her feet, and to have heard her commendation of his labors, than was derived from the applause of all the great world. The seeming indifference to the public judgment, however, though probably sincere, was only temporary, as is evinced by his cotemporary letters to his friends. He had too much self-respect to fawn for favor; he knew the merits of his productions, and was too proud to be vain; yet

It

praise freely offered was always gratefully accepted-though rather as a just recompense, than as a gratuity.

But a scarcely less painful cause of dejection existed in his finances. The price paid for his "Dictionary" was spent before the work was completed; and while it was in progress he was often compelled to devote himself to other things, in order to "make provision for the day that was passing over him ;" and when the work was done, and his wearied hands hung down, and his overtasked brain demanded repose, stern want was still clamoring for its daily supplies. In such a case, minds less inclined to melancholy might speak of their condition as a "gloom of solitude," and nothing else so effectually as starving poverty inclines one to be indifferent to censure or praise.