bathe its point in the blood of their benefactors: this people, now contented with a little, shall then refuse to spare, what they themselves confess they could not miss; and these men, now so honest and so grateful, shall, in return for peace and for protection, see their vile agents in the house of parliament, there to sow the seeds of sedition, and propagate confusion, perplexity, and pain. Be not dispirited then at the contemplation of their present happy state: I promise you that anarchy, poverty, and death shall, by my care, be carried even across the spacious Atlantic, and settle in America itself. the sure consequences of our beloved whiggism."

This I thought a thing so very particular, that I begged his leave to write it down directly, before anything could intervene that might make me forget the force of the expressions,1 a trick, which I have however seen played on common occasions, of sitting steadily down at the other end of the room to write at the moment what should be said in company, either by Dr. Johnson or to him, I never practised myself, nor approved of in another. There is something so ill-bred, and so inclining to treachery in this conduct, that were it commonly adopted, all confidence would soon be exiled from society, and a conversation assembly-room would become tremendous as a court of justice. A set of acquaintance joined in familiar chat may say a thousand things, which (as the phrase is) pass well enough at the time, though they cannot stand the test of critical examination; and as all talk beyond that which is necessary to the purposes of actual business is a kind of game, there will be ever found ways of playing fairly or unfairly at it, which distinguish the gentleman from the juggler. Dr. Johnson, as well as many of my acquaintance, knew that I kept a common-place book; and he one day said to me good-humouredly, that he would give me something to write in my repository. "I warrant (said he) there is a great deal about me in it: you shall have at least one thing worth your pains; so if you will get the pen and ink, I will repeat to you Anacreon's Dove directly; but tell at the same time, that as I never was struck with any thing in the Greek language till I read that, so I never read any thing in the same language since, that pleased me as much. I hope my translation (continued he) is not worse than that of Frank

See Life, vol. iv., June 30, 1784.

Fawkes." Seeing me disposed to laugh, "Nay nay (said he), Frank Fawkes has done them very finely."

Lovely courier of the sky,
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scatt'ring as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way:
Is it business? is it love?

Tell me, tell me, gentle Dove.
"Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
'Vows to Myrtale the fair;

'Grac'd with all that charms the heart,
'Blushing nature, smiling art.
'Venus, courted by an ode,
'On the bard her Dove bestow'd.
Vested with a master's right
'Now Anacreon rules my flight:
'His the letters that you see,
'Weighty charge consign'd to me:
'Think not yet my service hard,
'Joyless task without reward;
Smiling at my master's gates,
Freedom my return awaits.
But the liberal grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again :
'Can a prudent Dove decline
'Blissful bondage such as mine?
'Over hills and fields to roam,
'Fortune's guest without a home
Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed;
'Now my better lot bestows
'Sweet repast, and soft repose;

Now the generous bowl I sip

'As it leaves Anacreon's lip;

'Void of care, and free from dread,
'From his fingers snatch his bread,
'Then with luscious plenty gay,
'Round his chamber dance and play;
'Or from wine, as courage springs,
"O'er his face extend my wings;
And when feast and frolic tire,

'Drop asleep upon his lyre.

This is all, be quick and go,

'More than all thou canst not know;

Let me now my pinions ply,

'I have chatter'd like a pye."

When I had finished, "But you must remember to add (says

Mr. Johnson) that though these verses were planned, and even

begun, when I was sixteen years old, I never could find time to make an end of them before I was sixty-eight."

This facility of writing, and this dilatoriness ever to write, Mr. Johnson always retained, from the days that he lay a bed and dictated his first publication to Mr. Hector, who acted as his amanuensis, to the moment he made me copy out those variations in Pope's "Homer" which are printed in the "Poets Lives" "And now (said he, when I had finished it for him), I fear not Mr. Nicholson of a pin."-The fine "Rambler" on the subject of Procrastination was hastily composed, as I have heard, in Sir Joshua Reynolds's parlour, while the boy waited to carry it to press and numberless are the instances of his writing under immediate pressure of importunity or distress. He told me that the character of Sober in the "Idler," was by himself intended as his own portrait; and that he had his own outset into life in his eye when he wrote the eastern story of Gelaleddin. Of the allegorical papers in the "Rambler," Labour and Rest was his favourite; but Serotinus, the man who returns late in life to receive honours in his native country, and meets with mortification instead of respect, was by him considered as a masterpiece in the science of life and manners. The character of Prospero in the fourth volume, Garrick took to be his; and I have heard the author say, that he never forgave the offence. Sophron was likewise a picture drawn from reality; and by Gelidus the philosopher, he meant to represent Mr. Coulson, a mathematician, who formerly lived at Rochester. The man immortalised for purring like a cat was, as he told me, one Busby, a proctor in the Commons. He who barked so ingeniously, and then called the drawer to drive away the dog, was father to Dr. Salter of the Charterhouse. He who sung a song, and by correspondent motions of his arm chalked out a giant on the wall, was one Richardson, an attorney. The letter signed Sunday, was written by Miss Talbot; and he fancied the billets in the first volume of the "Rambler," were sent him by Miss Mulso, now Mrs. Chapone. The papers contributed by Mrs. Carter, had much of his esteem, though he always blamed me for preferring the letter signed Chariessa to the allegory, where religion and superstition are indeed most masterly delineated.

When Dr. Johnson read his own satire, in which the life of a scholar is painted, with the various obstructions thrown in his way to fortune and to fame, he burst into a passion of tears one

day: the family and Mr. Scott only were present, who, in a jocose way, clapped him on the back, and said, “What's all this, my dear Sir? Why you, and I, and Hercules, you know, were all troubled with melancholy." As there are many gentlemen of

the same name, I should say, perhaps, that it was a Mr. Scott who married Miss Robinson, and that I think I have heard Mr. Thrale call him George Lewis, or George Augustus, I have forgot which. He was a very large man, however, and made out the triumvirate with Johnson and Hercules comically enough. The Doctor was so delighted at his odd sally, that he suddenly embraced him, and the subject was immediately changed. I never saw Mr. Scott but that once in my life.

Dr. Johnson was liberal enough in granting literary assistance to others,1 I think; and innumerable are the prefaces, sermons, lectures, and dedications which he used to make for people who begged of him. Mr. Murphy related in his and my hearing one day, and he did not deny it, that when Murphy joked him the week before for having been so diligent of late between Dodd's sermon and Kelly's prologue, that Dr. Johnson replied, “Why, Sir, when they come to me with a dead stay-maker and a dying parson, what can a man do?" He said, however, that "he hated to give away literary performances, or even to sell them too cheaply the next generation shall not accuse me (added he) of beating down the price of literature: one hates, besides, ever to give that which one has been accustomed to sell; would not you, Sir (turning to Mr. Thrale), rather give away money than porter?"

:

Mr. Johnson had never, by his own account, been a close student, and used to advise young people never to be without a book in their pocket, to be read at bye-times when they had nothing else to do. "It has been by that means (said he to a boy at our house one day) that all my knowledge has been gained, except what I have picked up by running about the world with my wits ready to observe, and my tongue ready to talk. A man is seldom in a humour to unlock his book-case, set his desk in order, and betake himself to serious study; but a retentive memory will do something, and a fellow shall have strange credit given him, if he can but recollect striking passages from different books, keep the authors separate in his head, and bring his stock

1 See Life, vol. iv., June 30, 1784.

of knowledge artfully into play: How else (added he) do the gamesters manage when they play for more money than they are worth?" His Dictionary, however, could not, one would think, have been written by running up and down; but he really did not consider it as a great performance; and used to say, "that he might have done it easily in two years, had not his health received several shocks during the time."

When Mr. Thrale, in consequence of this declaration, teized him in the year 1768 to give a new edition of it, because (said he) there are four or five gross faults: "Alas, Sir (replied Johnson), there are four or five hundred faults, instead of four or five; but you do not consider that it would take me up three whole months labour, and when the time was expired the work Iwould not be done." When the booksellers set him about it however some years after, he went cheerfully to the business, said he was well paid, and that they deserved to have it done carefully. His reply to the person who complimented him on its coming out first, mentioning the ill success of the French in a similar attempt, is well known; and, I trust, has been often recorded: "Why, what would you expect, dear Sir (said he), from fellows that eat frogs?" I have however often thought Dr. Johnson more free than prudent in professing so loudly his little skill in the Greek language: for though he considered it as a proof of a narrow mind to be too careful of literary reputation, yet no man could be more enraged than he, if an enemy, taking advantage of this confession, twitted him with his ignorance; and I remember when the king of Denmark was in England, one of his noblemen was brought by Mr. Colman to see Dr. Johnson at our country-house; and having heard, he said, that he was not famous for Greek literature, attacked him on the weak side; politely adding, that he chose that conversation on purpose to favour himself. Our Doctor, however, displayed so copious, so compendious a knowledge of authors, books, and every branch of learning in that language, that the gentleman appeared astonished. When he was gone home (says Johnson), "Now for all this triumph, I may thank Thrale's Xenophon here, as I think, excepting that one, I have not looked in a Greek book these ten years; but see what haste my dear friends were all in (continued he) to tell this poor innocent foreigner that I knew nothing of Greek! Oh, no, he knows nothing of Greek!" with a loud burst of laughing.