town, in which, for the modest reward of 57., he brought forward his maiden production in literature—' A Voyage to Abyssinia, by the Portuguese Jesuit Jerome Lobo,' translated from the French. The effort was occasioned by some literary contributions which he casually tendered to a newspaper printed by the occupier of the house in which he lodged with his friend; but neither in that longer nor these shorter essays did there appear any thing very promising or remarkable.

It was also during this stay at Birmingham that Johnson became a married man; he has himself described it solely as a love match upon both sides; but his biographers represent it mainly as a connexion of interest, because the lady was ordinary, double his age, and endowed with 8007. However the truth may lie between these points, one matter of praise ought not to be forgotten: Johnson never treated his wife but with respect; never spoke of her but with regard; and both in her epitaph and his various writings has given many instances of sincere affection. Her name was Porter, and she was the widow of a mercer.

With this capital, Johnson reverted to what seems to have been with him, as with many other literary men of chequered fortunes, a favourite plan, the establishment of a classical academy. For this purpose he fitted up a large house at Edial, near Lichfield; but before the year closed upon him he was obliged to desert it in utter want of scholars. From this disappointment he ventured to take refuge in the vast expectations of a journey to London, at which place he eventually arrived, in March 1737, accompanied by one of only three pupils whom he is now known to have had-the celebrated Garrick.

The views of these memorable adventurers were naturally different in their destinations: Johnson hoped for wealth and reputation from the performance of his Irene,' a tragedy, in the composition of which he was already far advanced, while Garrick, though intended for the profession of the law, rapidly usurped both the one and the other of these blessings, even where his friend and master failed to acquire them-the stage. Few, indeed, are the careers of fortune and fame upon record, so quick in rising, and so bright when risen, as that happy actor embraced; while, on the contrary, no pressure of penury and sufferance can be more poignant than the one recited in the

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story of our great grammarian's distresses after this occurrence. Fleetwood, then manager of the theatre in Drury-lane, rejected his play, and there his first hope was blasted. Alone, amidst the vast multitude, and poor amidst all the superfluities of London, he wandered about in so destitute a state during the day, and at night, when the rain chilled, and the frost bit, was forced to take refuge with the prostitute under an archway; or, if the weather was milder, to stroll about the squares in want of a sixpence with which to pay for the shelter of a roof. Such was the misery, revolting to dwell on and horrible to describe, of the great Samuel Johnson, a scholar justly revered as one of the brightest ornaments to the literature of his country. If such a man had to bear a fate so hard, who may murmur at the chances of life! One solace, indeed, occurred to him in this abandoned state, the solace of companionship-the cultivated, but dissolute Savage, was the partner of his midnight rambles, and the sharer of a common adversity.

Johnson's first employment in London was obtained from Cave, the publisher of that great parent of our periodicals, the 'Gentleman's Magazine,' to which he soon became a constant contributor. What advantages he received for his labours has never been ascertained: they commenced in 1738, continued until 1744, and mainly comprised Parliamentary debates and biographical essays. In all probability the first money he received worth mentioning, was a sum of forty-nine guinéas for a translation of Courayer's History of the Council of Trent—a work which Cave was deterred from publishing, by some proposals which were issued at the same time for a rival undertaking; and what was a strange coincidence, so little was he satisfied with his prospects about this time, that he endeavoured to obtain the mastership of the Free School in the country, worth only 607. a year. But the statutes of the foundation, unfortunately, limited the presentation to an M.A., and he was obliged to confine his aspirations to the precarious labours of an author. He remained without any opportunity of making his merits in any degree generally known until May, 1738, when, after repeated refusals from the booksellers to purchase it at any price, Dodsley had judgment enough to give him ten guineas for London,' a poem, in imitation of the third satire of Juvenal. That was an effort

which amply justified the expectations of the publisher, and ultimately did no small service to the reputation of the author. After an interval, he followed it up with The Vanity of Human Wishes,' a similar paraphrase on the tenth satire of Juvenal, which appeared, with equal success, in 1749: the former poem showed greater skill in adaptation, but the latter has the praise of finer feeling. It was also during the year 1738, that the favourite of his early hopes, the tragedy of Irene,' came before the public, and failed to please them, notwithstanding all the influence and support of Garrick, who brought it forward at the theatre in Drury Lane, of which he was already a patentee. In sentiment and diction it is moving and elevated, but it wants dramatic interest and events, and on that account but feebly excites the sympathies of an audience. Johnson was greatly chagrined at its fate. His next production, however, made ample amends for his disappointment. The Life of Savage, his partner in the sorrows of adversity, and his friend up to the dawning of gentler prospects, is pathetically told, with an energy of periods, which fully developed the peculiar strength of his powers, and a precision of thought which created the highest opinion of his learning and penetration of character.

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It was from the vicissitudes of his past life, in all probability, and the great variety of subjects he had been tempted to address his mind to, just as to so many speculations for subsistence, that Johnson was spurred to write the Rambler,' at the rate of two papers a week, on the 20th of March, 1750. Thirty-seven years had elapsed since the joint labours of Steele and Addison delighted the town with essays of the same sort; attempts had been repeatedly made to emulate their popularity, more particucularly by the Craftsman,' 'Common Sense,' the 'Champion,' &c.; and the comparative failure of those undertakings, could only serve to damp the courage of a less resolute projector. But Johnson was a dogmatist even in courage, and he persisted in this labour. The reception not only of the 'Rambler,' but of the 'Idler,' which ensued in April, 1760, as a sort of companion or counterpart, far from rivalled the prosperity of the celebrated papers they professed to imitate. Of the two, the Rambler' is unquestionably the nobler performance, and is eminently distinguished by all the energetic qualities that distinguished Johnson's

style. Nevertheless it cannot be ranked upon equality with the 'Spectator,' &c. His style is universally lofty or serious; theirs is always simple and amusing; both instruct, and both improve: but the one had the gravity of a master, the other the lightness of a drawing-room companion: he never approached wit, but he fell upon satire, and pronounced it with a frown; whenever they drew near it, they confined it to pleasantry, and uttered it with a smile. In short, Johnson was unfortunate, and never shook off the moodiness of neglect; while Addison was always complacent, because he scarcely ever found the world rough; and Steele was always happy in spite of adversity itself.

The morbid sense of Johnson's feelings in religious matters is well known; that divine belief which soothes most hearts with hope, only tore his bosom with fears; he seems to have dreaded far more than he confided; and dwelt deeper on the threats than on the promises of his Bible. To these melancholy peculiarities of temper must be attributed the extreme shock he received upon the death of his wife, in 1752: his affliction was violent, and the recollection of it lasted so long, that no event of his life can be conceived so formidably affecting as this occurrence proved.

In the month of May, 1754, appeared 'A Dictionary of the English Language, with a History of the Language, and an English Grammar,' 2 vols. folio. The project for this great work, which is said to have been originally started by Dodsley, was digested in 1746, and announced to the public during the following year, in a pamphlet, entitled, "The Plan of a Dictionary of the English Language, addressed to the Right Honourable Philip Dormer, Earl of Chesterfield, one of his Majesty's Principal Secretaries of State.' To every appearance all the honours which a dedication of the work itself could give, were applied in this address; it was nevertheless printed without any dedication at all, and the doctor assigned his reasons for his conduct in a letter to the Earl, which describes his feelings so admirably, and has been so generally admired, that its insertion seems unavoidable.

'My Lord,

'I have been lately informed by the proprietor of the 'World,'

that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the public, were written by your lordship. To be so distinguished is an honour, which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

"When upon some slight encouragement I first visited your lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself, le vainquieur du vainquieur de la terre, that I might obtain the regard for which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would allow me to continue it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I could, and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

'Seven years, my Lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.

The Shepherd, in Virgil, grew at last acquainted with love, and found him a native of the rocks.

'Is not a patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached ground encumbers him with help? The notice you have been pleased to take of my work, had it been early, had been kind ; but it has been delayed until I am indifferent and cannot enjoy it— till I am solitary and cannot impart it-till I am known and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.

Having carried on my labour thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed, though I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have not