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it was tending.

very deed and truth, like that baseless fabric | and what it was; whence it proceeded, whither of Prospero's air-vision. Of the Mitre Tavern nothing but the bare walls remain there: of London, of England, of the World, nothing but the bare walls remain; and these also decaying, (were they of adamant,) only slower. The mysterious River of Existence rushes on: a new Billow thereof has arrived, and lashes wildly as ever round the old embankments; but the former Billow with its loud, mad eddyings, where is it?-Where!-Now this Book of Boswell's, this is precisely a Revocation of the Edict of Destiny; so that Time shall not utterly, not so soon by several centuries, have dominion over us. A little row of Naphthalamps, with its line of Naphtha-light, burns clear and holy through the dead Night of the Past: they who are gone are still here; though hidden they are revealed, though dead they yet speak. There it shines, that little miraculously lamp-lit Pathway; shedding its feebler and feebler twilight into the boundless dark Oblivion, for all that our Johnson touched has become illuminated for us: on which miraculous little Pathway we can still travel, and see wonders.

Mournful, in truth, is it to behold what the business called "History," in these so enlightened and illuminated times, still continues to be. Can you gather from it, read till your eyes go out, any dimmest shadow of an answer to that great question: How men lived and had their being; were it but economically, as what wages they got, and what they bought with these? Unhappily you cannot. History will throw no light on any such matter. At the point where living memory fails, it is all darkness; Mr. Senior and Mr. Sadler must still debate this simplest of all elements in the condition of the past: Whether men were bet ter off, in their mere larders and pantries, or were worse off than now! History, as it stands all bound up in gilt volumes, is but a shade more instructive than the wooden volumes of a Backgammon-board. How my Prime Minister was appointed is of less moment to me than How my House Servant was hired. In these days, ten ordinary Histories of Kings and Courtiers were well exchanged against the tenth part of one good History of Booksellers.

It is not speaking with exaggeration, but with strict measured sobriety, to say that this For example, I would fain know the HisBook of Boswell's will give us more real in-tory of Scotland; who can tell it me? "Rosight into the History of England during those bertson," cry innumerable voices; "Robertson days than twenty other Books, falsely entitled against the world." I open Robertson; and "Histories," which take to themselves that find there, through long ages too confused for special aim. What good is it to me though narrative, and fit only to be presented in the innumerable Smolletts and Belshams keep way of epitome and distilled essence, a cundinning in my ears that a man named George ning answer and hypothesis, not to this questhe Third was born and bred up, and a man tion: By whom, and by what means, when named George the Second died; that Walpole, and how, was this fair broad Scotland, with and the Pelhams, and Chatham, and Rocking-its Arts and Manufactures, Temples, Schools, ham, and Shelburne, and North, with their Institutions, Poetry, Spirit, National CharacCoalition or their Separation Ministries, all ter, created and made arable, verdant, pecuousted one another; and vehemently scrambled liar, great, here as I can see some fair section for "the thing they called the Rudder of Go- of it lying, kind and strong, (like some Bacvernment, but which was in reality the Spigot chus-tamed Lion,) from the Castle-hill of Edinof Taxation?" That debates were held, and burgh ?-but to this other question: How did infinite jarring and jargoning took place; and the King keep himself alive in these old days; road-bills and enclosure-bills, and game-bills and restrain so many Butcher-Barons and and India-bills, and Laws which no man can ravenous Henchmen from utterly extirpating number, which happily few men needed to one another, so that killing went on in some trouble their heads with beyond the passing sort of moderation? In the one little Letter moment, were enacted, and printed by the of Æneas Sylvius, from old Scotland, there is King's Stationer? That he who sat in Chan- more of History than in all this.-At length, cery, and rayed out speculation from the however, we come to a luminous age, interestWoolsack, was now a man that squinted, now ing enough; to the age of the Reformation. a man that did not squint? To the hungry All Scotland is awakened to a second higher and thirsty mind all this avails next to nothing. life: the Spirit of the highest stirs in every These men and these things, we indeed know, bosom, agitates every bosom; Scotland is did swim, by strength or by specific levity, (as convulsed, fermenting, struggling to body apples or as horse-dung,) on the top of the itself forth anew. To the herdsman among current but is it by painfully noting the his cattle in remote woods; to the craftsman, courses, eddyings, and bobbings hither and in his rude, heath-thatched workshop, among thither of such drift-articles, that you will un- his rude guild-brethren; to the great and to fold to me the nature of the current itself; of the little, a new light has arisen: in town and that mighty-rolling, loud-roaring, Life-current, hamlet groups are gathered, with eloquent bottomless as the foundations of the Universe, looks, and governed or ungovernable tongues; mysterious as its Author? The thing I want the great and the little go forth together to do to see is not Redbook Lists, and Court Calen- battle for the Lord against the mighty. We dars, and Parliamentary Registers, but the ask, with breathless eagerness: How was it; LIFE OF MAN in England: what men did, how went it on? Let us understand it, let us thought, suffered, enjoyed; the form, especially see it, and know it!-In reply, is handed us a the spirit, of their terrestrial existence, its out-really graceful, and most dainty little Seanda ward environment, its inward principle; how lous Chronicle (as for some Journal of Fash.

ion) of two persons: Mary Stuart, a Beauty, | insincere speech with which the thought of manbut over lightheaded; and Henry Darnley, a kind is well nigh drowned,-were it other than Booby, who had fine legs. How these first the most indubitable benefit? He who speaks courted, billed and cooed, according to nature; honestly cares not, needs not care, though his then pouted, fretted, grew utterly enraged, and words be preserved to remotest time: for him blew one another up with gunpowder: this, who speaks dishonestly, the fittest of all punishand not the History of Scotland, is what we ments seems to be this same, which the nagoodnaturedly read. Nay, by other hands, ture of the case provides. The dishonest something like a horseload of other Books speaker, not he only who purposely utters have been written to prove that it was the falsehoods, but he who does not purposely, Beauty who blew up the Booby, and that it was and with sincere heart, utter Truth, and Truth not she. Who or what it was, the thing once alone; who babbles he knows not what, and for all being so effectually done, concerns us has clapped no bridle on his tongue, but lets it little. To know Scotland, at that great epoch, run racket, ejecting chatter and futility-is were a valuable increase of knowledge: to among the most indubitable malefactors omiknow poor Darnley and see him with burning ted, or inserted, in the Criminal Calendar. candle, from centre to skin, were no increase To him that will well consider it, idle speak of knowledge at all. Thus is History written. ing is precisely the beginning of all HollowHence, indeed, comes it that History, which ness, Halfness, Infidelvy, (want of Faithful should be "the essence of innumerable Bio- ness;) the genial atmosphere in which rank graphies," will tell us, question it as we like, weeds of every kind attain the mastery over less than one genuine Biography may do, noble fruits in man's life, and utterly choke pleasantly and of its own accord! The time them out: one of the most crying maladies is approaching when History will be attempted of these days, and to be testified against, and on quite other principles; when the Court, the in all ways to the uttermost withstood. Wise, Senate, and Battle-field, receding more and of a wisdom far beyond our shallow depth, more into the background, the Temple, the was that old precept: Watch thy tongue : out Workshop, and Social Hearth, will advance of it are the issues of Life! "Man is properly more and more into the foreground; and His-an incarnated word :" the word that he speaks is tory will not content itself with shaping some the man himself. Were eyes put into our answer to that question: How are men taxed head, that we might see; or only that we might and kept quiet then? but will seek to answer fancy, and plausibly pretend, we had seen? this other infinitely wider and higher question: Was the tongue suspended there, that it might How and what were men then? Not our Go- tell truly what we had seen, and make man vernment only, or the "House wherein our life the soul's brother of man; or only that it was led," but the Life itself we led there, will might utter vain sounds, jargon, soul-confus be inquired into. Of which latter it may being, and so divide man, as by enchanted walls found that Government, in any modern sense of Darkness, from union with man! Thou of the word, is after all but a secondary con- who wearest that cunning, Heaven-made ordition in the mere sense of Taxation and gan, a Tongue, think well of this. Speak not, Keeping quiet, a small, almost a pitiful one. I passionately entreat thee, till thy thought Meanwhile let us welcome such Boswells, have silently matured itself, till thou have each in his degree, as bring us any genuine other than mad and mad-making noises to contribution, were it never so inadequate, so emit: hold thy tongue (thou hast it a-holding) inconsiderable. till some meaning lie behind, to set it wagging. Consider the significance of SILENCE: it is boundless, never by meditating to be exhausted; unspeakably profitable to thee! Cease that chaotic hubbub, wherein thy own soul runs to waste, to confused suicidal dislocation and stupor: out of Silence comes thy strength. 'Speech is silvern, Silence is golden; Speech is human, Silence is divine." Fool! thinkest thou that because no Boswell is there with ass-skin and black-lead to note thy jargon, it therefore dies and is harmless? Nothing dies,


An exception was early taken against this Life of Johnson, and all similar enterprises, which we here recommend; and has been transmitted from critic to critic, and repeated in their several dialects, uninterruptedly, ever since: That such jottings down of careless conversation are an infringement of social privacy; a crime against our highest Freedom, the Freedom of man's intercourse with man. To this accusation, which we have read and heard oftener than enough, might it not be well for once to offer the flattest con-nothing can die. No idlest word thon speak tradiction, and plea of Not at all guilty? Not est but is a seed cast into Time, and grows that conversation is noted down, but that con- through all Eternity! The Recording Angel, versation should not deserve noting down, is consider it well, is no fable, but the truest of the evil. Doubtless, if conversation be falsely truths: the paper tablets thou canst burn; of recorded, then is it simply a Lie; and worthy the "iron leaf" there is no burning.-Truly, of being swept, with all despatch, to the Fa-if we can permit God Almighty to note down ther of Lies. But if, on the other hand, con- our conversation, thinking it good enough for versation can be authentically recorded, and Him,-any poor Boswell need not scruple to any one is ready for the task, let him by all work his will of it. means proceed with it; let conversation be kept in remembrance to the latest date possible. Nay, should the consciousness that a man may be among us "taking notes" tend, in any measure, to restrict those floods of idle

Leaving now this our English Odyssey, with its Singer and Scholiast, let us come to the Ulysses; that great Samuel Johnson himself, the far-experienced, "much-enduring man,"

whose labours and pilgrimage are here sung. A full-length image of his Existence has been preserved for us: and he, perhaps of all living Englishmen, was the one who best deserved that honour. For if it is true and now almost proverbial, that "the Life of the lowest mortal, if faithfully recorded, would be interesting to the highest," how much more when the mortal in question was already distinguished in fortune and natural quality, so that his thinkings and doings were not significant of himself only, but of large masses of mankind! "There is not a man whom I meet on the streets," says one," but I could like, were it otherwise convenient, to know his Biography:" nevertheless, could an enlightened curiosity be so far gratified, it must be owned the Biography of most ought to be, in an extreme degree, summary. In this world, there is so wonderfully little self-subsistence among men; next to no originality, (though never absolutely none:) one Life is too servilely the copy of another; and so in whole thousands of them you find little that is properly new; nothing but the old song sung by a new voice, with better or worse execution, here and there an ornamental quaver, and false notes enough: but the fundamental tune is ever the same; and for the words, these, all that they meant stands written generally on the Churchyard stone: Natus sum: esuriebam, quærebam; nunc repletus requiesco. Mankind sail their Life-voyage in huge fleets, following some single whale-fishing or herring-fishing Commodore: the logbook of each differs not, in essential purport, from that of any other; nay the most have no legible log-book (reflection, observation not being among their talents;) keep no reckoning, only keep in sight of the flagship,-and fish. Read the Commodore's Papers, (know his Life;) and even your lover of that street Biography will have learned the most of what he sought after.

tures lie: solely when the sweet grass is be. tween our teeth, we know it, and chew it; also when grass is bitter and scant, we know it,— and bleat and butt: these last two facts we know of a truth, and in very deed-Thus do Men and Sheep play their parts on this Nether Earth; wandering restlessly in large masses, they know not whither; for most part, each following his neighbour, and his own nose.

Nevertheless, not always; look better, you shall find certain that do, in some small degree, know whither. Sheep have their Bellwether; some ram of the folds, endued with more valour, with clearer vision than other sheep; he leads them through the wolds, by height and hollow, to the woods and watercourses, for covert or for pleasant provender; courageously marching, and if need be, leaping, and with hoof and horn doing battle, in the van: him they courageously, and with assured heart, follow. Touching it is, as every herdsman will inform you, with what chival rous devotedness these woolly Hosts adhere to their Wether; and rush after him, through good report and through bad report, were it into safe shelters and green thymy nooks, or into asphaltic lakes and the jaws of devouring lions. Ever also must we recall that fact which we owe Jean Paul's quick eye: "If you hold a stick before the Wether, so that he, by necessity, leaps in passing you, and then withdraw your stick, the Flock will nevertheless all leap as he did; and the thousandth sheep shall be found impetuously vaulting over air, as the first did over an otherwise impassable barrier." Reader, wouldst thou understand Society, ponder well those ovine proceedings; thou wilt find them all curiously significant.

Now if sheep always, how much more must men always, have their Chief, their Guide! Man, too, is by nature quite thoroughly grega rious: nay, ever he struggles to be something more, to be social; not even when Society has Or, the servile imitancy, and yet also a nobler become impossible, does that deep-seated tenrelationship and mysterious union to one dency and effort forsake him. Man, as if by another which lies in such imitancy, of Man-miraculous magic, imparts his Thoughts, his kind might be illustrated under the different Mood of mind to man; an unspeakable comfigure (itself nowise original) of a Flock of munion binds all past, present, and future men Sheep. Sheep go in flocks for three reasons: into one indissoluble whole, almost into one First, because they are of a gregarious temper, living individual. Of which high, mysterious and love to be together: Secondly, because of Truth, this disposition to imitate, to lead and their cowardice; they are afraid to be left be led, this impossibility not to imitate, is the alone: Thirdly, because the common run of most constant, and one of the simplest manithem are dull of sight, to a proverb, and can festations. To "imitate!" which of us all can have no choice in roads; sheep can in fact see measure the significance that lies in that one nothing; in a celestial Luminary, and a scour word? By virtue of which the infant Man, ed pewter Tankard, would discern only that born at Woolsthorpe, grows up not to be a both dazzled them, and were of unspeakable hairy Savage, and chewer of Acorns, but an glory. How like their fellow-creatures of the Isaac Newton, and Discoverer of Solar Syshuman species! Men, too, as was from the tems!-Thus both in a celestial and terrestrial first maintained here, are gregarious: then sense, are we a Flock, such as there is no surely faint-hearted enough, trembling to be other: nay, looking away from the base and ieft by themselves: above all, dull-sighted, ludicrous to the sublime and sacred side of the down to the verge of utter blindness. Thus matter, (since in every matter there are two are we seen ever running in torrents, and sides,) have not we also a SHEPHERD, "if we mobs, if we run at all; and after what foolish will but hear his voice?" Of those stupid scoured Tankards, mistaking them for Suns! multitudes there is no one but has an immor Foolish Turnip-lanterns likewise, to all ap- tal Soul within him; a reflex, and living image pearance supernatural, keep whole nations of God's whole Universe: strangely, from its quaking, their hair on end. Neither know dim environment, the light of the Highest we, except by blind habit, where the good pas- looks through him; for which reason, indeed,

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it is that we claim a brotherhood with him, and so love to know his History, and come into clearer and clearer union with all that he feels, and says, and does.

the noblest of earthly tasks, that of Priesthood, and Guidance of mankind; by destiny, more over, he was appointed to this task, and did actually, according to strength, fulfil the same: However, the chief thing to be noted was so that always the question, How; in what this: Amid those dull millions, who, as a dull spirit; under what shape? remains for us to be flock, roll hither and thither, whithersoever they asked and answered concerning him. For as are led, and seem all sightless and slavish, ac- the highest Gospel was a Biography, so is the complishing, attempting little save what the Life of every good man still an indubitable animal instinct (in its somewhat higher kind) Gospel, and preaches to the eye and heart and might teach, (to keep themselves and their whole man, that Devils even must believe and young ones alive,)-are scattered here and tremble, these gladdest tidings: "Man is there superior natures, whose eye is not desti- heaven-born; not the thrall of Circumstances, tute of free vision, nor their heart of free voli- of Necessity, but the victorious subduer tion. These latter, therefore, examine and thereof: behold how he can become the determine, not what others do, but what it is Announcer of himself and of his Freedom;' right to do; towards which, and which only, and is ever what the Thinker has named him, will they, with such force as is given them, the Messias of Nature!"—Yes, Reader, all resolutely endeavour: for if the Machine, this that thou hast so often heard about “force living or inanimate, is merely fed, or desires of circumstances," "the creature of the time," to be fed, and so works; the Person can will," balancing of motives," and who knows what melancholy stuff to the like purport, wherein thou, as in a nightmare Dream, sittest paralyz ed, and hast no force left,-was in very truth, if Johnson and waking men are to be credited, little other than a hag-ridden vision of deathsleep: some half-fact, more fatal at times than a whole falsehood. Shake it off; awake; up and be doing, even as it is given thee!



The Contradiction which yawns wide enough in every Life, which it is the meaning and task of Life to reconcile, was in Johnson's wider than in most. Seldom, for any man, has the contrast between the ethereal heaven ward side of things, and the dark sordid earthward, been more glaring: whether we look at Nature's work with him or Fortune's, from first to last, heterogeneity, as of sunbeams and miry clay, is on all hands manifest. Whereby indeed, only this was declared, That much Life had been given him; many things to triumph over, a great work to do. Happily also he did it; better than the most.

and so do. These are properly our Men, our Great Men; the guides of the dull host,-which follows them as by an irrevocable decree. They are the chosen of the world: they had this rare faculty not only of "supposing" and "inclining to think," but of knowing and believing; the nature of their being was, that they lived not by Hearsay but by clear Vision; while others hovered and swam along, in the grand Vanity-fair of the World, blinded by the mere "Shows of things," these saw into the Things themselves, and could walk as men having an eternal load-star, and with their feet on sure paths. Thus was there a Reality in their existence; something of a perennial character; in virtue of which indeed it is that the memory of them is perennial. Whoso belongs only to his own age, and reverences only us gilt Popinjays or soot-smeared Mumbojumbos, must needs die with it: though he have been crowned seven times in the Capitol, or seventy and seven times, and Rumour have blown his praises to all the four winds, deafening every ear therewith,—it avails not; there was nothing universal, nothing eternal in him; he must fade away, even as the Popinjaygildings and Scarecrow-apparel, which he could not see through. The great man does, in good truth, belong to his own age; nay, more so than any other man; being properly the synopsis and epitome of such age with its interests and influences: but belongs likewise to all ages, otherwise he is not great. What was transitory in him passes away; and an immortal part remains, the significance of which is in strict speech inexhaustible,-as that of every real object is. Aloft, conspicuous, on his enduring basis, he stands there, serene, unaltering; silently addresses to every new generation a new lesson and monition. Well is his Life worth writing, worth interpreting; and ever, in the new dialect of new times, of re-writing and re-interpreting.

Of such chosen men was Samuel Johnson: not ranking among the highest, or even the high, yet distinctly admitted into that sacred band; whose existence was no idle Dream, but a Reality which he transacted awake; nowise a Clothes-horse and Patent Digester, but a genuine Man. By nature he was gifted for

Nature had given him a high, keen-visioned, almost poetic soul; yet withal imprisoned it in an inert, unsightly body: he that could never rest had not limbs that would move with him, but only roll and waddle: the inward eye, allpenetrating, all embracing, must look through bodily windows that were dim, half-blinded; he so loved men, and "never once saw the human face divine!" Not less did he prize the love of men; he was eminently social; the approbation of his fellows was dear to him, "valuable," as he owned, "if from the meanest of human beings:" yet the first impression he produced on every man was to be one of aversion, almost of disgust. By Nature it was farther ordered that the imperious Johnson should be born poor: the ruler-soul, strong in its native royalty, generous, uncontrollable, like the lion of the woods, was to be housed, then, in such a dwelling-place; of Disfigurement, Disease, and lastly of a Poverty which itself made him the servant of servants. Thus was the born King likewise a born Slave: the divine spirit of Music must awake imprisoned amid dull-croaking universal Discords; the Ariel finds himself encased in the coarse hulls of a Caliban. So is it more or less, we know, (and thou, O Reader, knowest and feelest even

now,) with all men: yet with the fewest men in any such degree as with Johnson.


Fortune, moreover, which had so managed his first appearance in the world, lets not her hand lie idle, or turn the other way, but works unweariedly in the same spirit, while he is journeying through the world. What such a mind, stamped of Nature's noblest metal, though in so ungainly a die, was specially and best of all fitted for, might still be a question. To none of the world's few Incorporated Guilds could he have adjusted himself without difficulty, without distortion; in none been a Guild-Brother well at ease. Perhaps, if we look to the strictly practical nature of his Faculty, to the strength, decision, method that manifests itself in him, we may say that his calling was rather towards Active than Speculative life; that as Statesman, (in the higher, now obsolete sense,) Lawgiver, Ruler: in short, as Doer of the Work, he had shone even more than as Speaker of the Word. His honesty of heart, his courageous temper, the value be set on things outward and material, might have made him a King among Kings. Had the golden age of those new French Prophets, when it shall be: A chacun selon sa capacité; à chaque capacité selon ses œuvres, but arrived! Indeed even in our brazen and Birmingham-lacker age, he himself regretted that he had not become a Lawyer, and risen to be Chancellor, which he might well have done. However, it was otherwise appointed. To no man does Fortune throw open all the kingdoms of this world, and say: It is thine; choose where thou wilt dwell! To the most she opens hardly the smallest cranny or doghutch, and says, not without asperity: There, that is thine whilst thou canst keep it: nestle thyself there, and bless Heaven! Alas, men must fit themselves into many things: some forty years ago, for instance, the noblest and ablest man in all the British lands might be seen not swaying the royal sceptre, or the pontiff's censer, on the pinnacle of the World, but gauging ale-tubs in the little burgh of Dumfries! Johnson came a little nearer the mark than Burns: but with him too, "Strength was mournfully denied its arena;" he too had to fight Fortune at strange odds, all his life long.

felt that little spectacle of mischievous schoolboys to be a great one. For us, who look back on it, and what followed it, now from afar, there arise questions enough: How looked thes urchins? What jackets and galligaskins ha they; felt headgear, or of dogskin leather? What was old Lichfield doing then; what thinking?

Johnson's disposition for royalty, (had the Fates so ordered it,) is well seen in early boyhood. "His favourites," says Boswell, "used to receive very liberal assistance from him; and such was the submission and deference with which he was treated, that three of the boys, of whom Mr. Hector was sometimes one, used to come in the morning as his humble attendants, and carry him to school. One in the middle stooped, while he sat upon his back, and one on each side supported him; and thus was he borne triumphant." The purfly, sandblind lubber and blubber, with his open mouth and his face of bruised honeycomb: yet already dominant, imperial, and irresistible! Not in the "King's chair" (of human arms) as we see, do his three satellites carry him along: rather on the Tyrant's-saddle, the back of his fellow-creature, must he ride prosperous!— The child is father of the man. He who had seen fifv vears into coming Time, would have

and so on, through the whole series of Corporal Trim's "auxiliary verbs." A picture of it all fashions itself together;-only unhappily we have no brush, and no fingers.

Boyhood is now past; the ferula of Pedagogue waves harmless, in the distance: Samuel has struggled up to uncouth bulk and youthhood, wrestling with Disease and Poverty, all the way; which two continue still his companions. At College we see little of him: yet thus much, that things went not well. A rugged wild-man of the desert, awakened to the feeling of himself; proud as the proudest, poor as the poorest: stoically shut up, silently enduring the incurable: what a world of blackest gloom, with sun-gleams, and pale, tearful moon-gleams, and flickerings of a celestial and an infernal splendour, was this that now opened for him! But the weather is wintry; and the toes of the man are looking through his shoes. His muddy features grow of a purple and seagreen colour; a flood of black indignation mantling beneath. A truculent, raw-boned figure! Meat he has probably little; hope he has less; his feet, as we said, have come into brotherhood with the cold mire.

"Shall I be particular," inquires Sir John Hawkins, "and relate a circumstance of his distress, that cannot be imputed to him as an effect of his own extravagance or irregularity, and consequently reflects no disgrace on his memory? He had scarce any change of raiment, and, in a short time after Corbet left him, but one pair of shoes, and those so old that his feet were seen through them: a gentleman of his college, the father of an eminent clergyman now living, directed a servitor one morning to place a new pair at the door of Johnson's chamber; who seeing them upon his first going out, so far forgot himself and the spirit which must have actuated his unknown bene. factor, that, with all the indignation of an insulted man, he threw them away."

How exceedingly surprising!-The Rev. Dr. Hall remarks: "As far as we can judge from a cursory view of the weekly account in the buttery books, Johnson appears to have lived as well as other commoners and scholars." Alas! such "cursory view of the buttery books," now from the safe distance of a cen tury, in the safe chair of a College Mastership, is one thing; the continual view of the empty (or locked) buttery itself was quite a different thing. But hear our Knight, how he farther discourses. "Johnson," quoth Sir John, "could not at this early period of his life divest himself of an idea that poverty was disgraceful; and was very severe in his censures of that economy in both our Universities, which exacted at meals the attendance of poor scholars, under the several denominations of Servitors in the one and Sizers in the other: he thought that the Scholar's, like the Christian life, le velled all distinctions of rank and worldly pre.

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