ture. The public mind, for centuries, has been engroffed by party and faction; by the madness of many for the gain of a few; by civil wars, religious diffentions, trade and commerce, and the arts of accumulating wealth. Amidst fuch attentions, who can wonder that cold praife has been often the only reward of merit? In this country Doctor Nathaniel Hodges, who, like the good bishop of Marfeilles, drew purer breath amidst the conta gion of the plague in London, and, during the whole time, continued in the city, adminiftering medical affiftance, was fuffered, as Johnfon used to relate with tears in his eyes, to die for debt in a gaol. In this country, the man who brought the New River to London was ruined by that noble project; and in this country Otway died for want on Tower Hill; Butler, the great author of Hudibras, whose name can only die with the English language, was left to languish in poverty, the particulars of his life almost unknown, and fcarce a veftige of him left except his immortal poem. Had there been an Academy of Literature, the lives, at least, of thofe celebrated perfons would have been written for the benefit of posterity.

Swift, it feems, had

the

the idea of fuch an institution, and proposed it to Lord Oxford; but Whig and Tory were more important objects. It is needless to diffemble, that Dr. Johnfon, in the Life of Roscommon, talks of the inutility of such a project. "In this country," he says,

66

66 an

Academy could be expected to do but lit"tle. If an academician's place were pro"fitable, it would be given by intereft; if "attendance were gratuitous, it would be "rarely paid, and no man would endure the "leaft difguft. Unanimity is impoffible, and "debate would feparate the affembly." To this it may be fufficient to answer, that the Royal Society has not been diffolved by fullen disgust; and the modern Academy at Somerset-house has already performed much, and promises more. Unanimity is not néceffary to fuch an affembly. On the contrary, by difference of opinion, and collifion of fentiment, the cause of literature would thrive and flourish. The true principles of criticism, the secret of fine writing, the investigation of antiquities, and other interefting fubjects, might occafion a clash of opinions; but in that contention Truth would receive illustration, and the effays of the fe h 3

veral

66

veral members would fupply the Memoirs of the Academy. But, says Dr. Johnson, “ suppofe the philological decree made and

66

66

promulgated, what would be its authority? "In abfolute government there is fometimes "a general reverence paid to all that has "the fanction of power, the countenance. "of greatness. How little this is the state "of our country needs not to be told. The "edicts of an English academy would pro

66

bably be read by many, only that they 66 may be fure to disobey them. The pre"fent manners of the nation would deride "authority, and therefore nothing is left, "but that every writer fhould criticife him"felf." This furely is not conclufive. It is by the standard of the best writers that every man fettles for himself his plan of legitimate compofition; and fince the authority of fuperior genius is acknowledged, that authority, which the individual obtains, would not be leffened by an affociation with others of distinguished ability. It may, therefore, be inferred, that an Academy of Literature would be an establishment highly useful, and an honour to Literature. In fuch an inftitution profitable places would not be wanted.

wanted. Vatis avarus haud facile eft animus; and the minifter, who fhall find leifure from party and faction to carry fuch a scheme into execution, will, in all probability, be respected by posterity as the Mæcenas of letters.

We now take leave of Dr. Johnson as an author. Four volumes of his Lives of the Poets were published in 1778, and the work was completed in 1781. Should Biography fall again into difufe, there will not always be a Johnson to look back through a century, and give a body of critical and moral' instruction. In April 1781, he lost his friend Mr. Thrale. His own words, in his diary, will best tell that melancholy event. " On "Wednesday the 11th of April, was buried my dear friend Mr. Thrale, who died onWednesday the 4th, and with him were "buried many of my hopes and pleasures. "About five, I think, on Wednesday morn"ing he expired. I felt almoft the last flut"ter of his pulfe, and looked for the laft "time upon the face, that, for fifteen years` "before, had never been turned upon me "but with respect and benignity. Farewel:

66

66

66

may God, that delighteth in mercy, have

h 4

"bad.

"bad mercy on thee! I had constantly pray"ed for him before his death. The decease "of him, from whofe friendship I had ob"tained many opportunities of amusement, "and to whom I turned my thoughts as to "a refuge from misfortunes, has left me "heavy. But my business is with myself." From the close of his last work, the malady that perfecuted him through life came upon him with alarming feverity, and his conftitution declined apace. In 1782 his old friend Levet expired without warning, and without a groan. Events like these reminded Johnfon of his own mortality. He continued his vifits to Mrs. Thrale at Streatham, to the 7th day of October, 1782, when, having first compofed a prayer for the happinefs of a family with whom he had for many years enjoyed the pleasures and comforts of life, he removed to his own house in town. He fays he was up early in the morning, and read fortuitously in the Gofpel, which was his parting ufe of the library. The merit of the family is manifested by the sense he had of it, and we see his heart overflowing with gratitude. He leaves the place with regret, and cafis a lingering look behind.

The