Johnson shook his head at these common-place funereal lines, and said to Garrick, 'I think, Davy, I can make a better.' Then, stirring about his tea for a little while, in a state of meditation, he almost extempore produced the following verses: 'Philips, whose touch harmonious could remove 1742: ÆTAT. 33.]—IN 1742 he wrote . . . 'Proposals for Printing Bibliotheca Harleiana, or a Catalogue of the Library of the Earl of Oxford.' He was employed in this business by Mr. Thomas Osborne the bookseller, who purchased the library for 13,000l., a sum which Mr. Oldys says, in one of his manuscripts, was not more than the binding of the books had cost; yet, as Dr. Johnson assured me, the slowness of the sale was such, that there was not much gained by it. It has been confidently related, with many embellishments, that Johnson one day knocked Osborne down in his shop, with a folio, and put his foot upon his neck. The simple truth I had from Johnson himself. 'Sir, he was impertinent to me, and I beat him. But it was not in his shop: it was in my own chamber.' 1744: ÆTAT. 35.]—HE produced one work this year, fully sufficient to maintain the high reputation which he had acquired. This was The Life of Richard Savage; a man, of whom it is difficult to speak impartially, without wondering that he was for some time the intimate companion of Johnson; for his character was marked by profligacy, insolence, and ingratitude: yet, as he undoubtedly had a warm and vigorous, though unregulated mind, had seen life in all its varieties, and been much in the company of the statesmen and wits of his time, he could communicate to Johnson an abundant supply of such materials as his philosophical curiosity most eagerly desired; and as Savage's misfortunes and misconduct had reduced him to the lowest state of wretched IN WANT OF A LODGING 337 iter for bread, his visits to St. John's Gate natuat Johnson and him together. ancholy to reflect, that Johnson and Savage were in such extreme indigence,1 that they could not lodging; so that they have wandered together Es in the streets. Yet in these almost incredible istress, we may suppose that Savage mentioned e anecdotes with which Johnson afterwards enife of his unhappy companion, and those of other Sir Joshua Reynolds, that one night in particular, ge and he walked round St. James's-square for lodging, they were not at all depressed by their but in high spirits and brimful of patriotism, he square for several hours, inveighed against the nd 'resolved they would stand by their country.' son's Life of Savage, although it must be allowed oral is the reverse of 'Respicere exemplar vitæ jubebo,' a very useful lesson is inculcated, to guard rm passions from a too free indulgence of them; arious incidents are related in so clear and anianner, and illuminated throughout with so much that it is one of the most interesting narratives lish language. Sir Joshua Reynolds told me, that eturn from Italy he met with it in Devonshire, othing of its authour, and began to read it while. inding with his arm leaning against a chimneyseized his attention so strongly, that, not being down the book till he had finished it, when he to move, he found his arm totally benumbed. ty with which this work was composed, is a wonumstance. Johnson has been heard to say, 'I er Savage's Life was published, Mr. Harte dined with Edand occasionally praised it. Soon after, meeting him, wrote forty-eight of the printed octavo pages of the Life of Savage at a sitting; but then I sat up all night.' It is remarkable, that in this biographical disquisition there appears a very strong symptom of Johnson's prejudice against players; a prejudice which may be attributed to the following causes: first, the imperfection of his organs, which were so defective that he was not susceptible of the fine impressions which theatrical excellence produces upon the generality of mankind; secondly, the cold rejection of his tragedy; and, lastly, the brilliant success of Garrick, who had been his pupil, who had come to London at the same time with him, not in a much more prosperous state than himself, and whose talents he undoubtedly rated low, compared with his own. His being outstripped by his pupil in the race of immediate fame, as well as of fortune, probably made him feel some indignation, as thinking that whatever might be Garrick's merits in his art, the reward was too great when compared with what the most successful efforts of literary labour could attain. At all periods of his life Johnson used to talk contemptuously of players; but in this work he speaks of them with peculiar acrimony; for which, perhaps, there was formerly too much reason from the licentious and dissolute manners of those engaged in that profession. It is but justice to add, that in our own time such a change has taken place, that there is no longer room for such an unfavourable distinction. His schoolfellow and friend, Dr. Taylor, told me a pleasant anecdote of Johnson's triumphing over his pupil David Garrick. When that great actor had played some little time at Goodman's fields, Johnson and Taylor went to see him perform, and afterwards passed the evening at a tavern with him and old Giffard. Johnson, who was ever depreciating stage-players, after censuring some mistakes in emphasis which Garrick had committed in the course of that night's acting, said, 'The players, Sir, have got a kind of rant, with which they run on, without any regard either to accent or emphasis.' Both Garrick and Giffard were offended at this sarcasm, and endeavoured to refute it; upon which Johnson rejoined, 'Well now, I'll give you something to speak, with 1746] THE REBELLION OF 1745 39 which you are little acquainted, and then we shall see how just my observation is. That shall be the criterion. Let me hear you repeat the ninth Commandment, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.' Both tried at it, said Dr. Taylor, and both mistook the emphasis, which should be upon not and false witness. Johnson put them right, and enjoyed his victory with great glee. Johnson's partiality for Savage made him entertain no doubt of his story, however extraordinary and improbable. It never occurred to him to question his being the son of the Countess of Macclesfield, of whose unrelenting barbarity he so loudly complained, and the particulars of which are related in so strong and affecting a manner in Johnson's life of him. Johnson was certainly well warranted in publishing his narrative, however offensive it might be to the lady and her relations, because her alledged unnatural and cruel conduct to her son, and shameful avowal of guilt, were stated in a Life of Savage now lying before me, which came out so early as 1727, and no attempt had been made to confute it, or to punish the authour or printer as a libeller: but for the honour of human nature, we should be glad to find the shocking tale not true; and, from a respectable gentleman connected with the lady's family, I have received such information and remarks, as joined to my own inquiries, will, I think, render it at least somewhat doubtful, especially when we consider that it must have originated from the person himself who went by the name of Richard Savage. 1746: ÆTAT. 37.]—It is somewhat curious, that his literary career appears to have been almost totally suspended in the years 1745 and 1746, those years which were marked by a civil war in Great-Britain, when a rash attempt was made to restore the House of Stuart to the throne. That he had a tenderness for that unfortunate House, is well known; and some may fancifully imagine, that a sympathetick anxiety impeded the exertion of his intellectual powers: but I am inclined to think, that he was, during this time, sketching the outlines of his great philological work. 1747: ÆTAT. 38.]-THIS year his old pupil and friend, David Garrick, having become joint patentee and manager 40 LIFE OF DR. JOHNSON of Drury-lane theatre, Johnson honoured his open with a Prologue, which for just and manly dramati cism, on the whole range of the English stage, as for poetical excellence, is unrivalled. Like the ce Epilogue to the Distressed Mother, it was, during the often called for by the audience. But the year 1747 is distinguished as the epoch Johnson's arduous and important work, his DICTION THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, was announced to the wo the publication of its Plan or Prospectus. How long this immense undertaking had been the of his contemplation, I do not know. I once asked what means he had attained to that astonishing kno of our language, by which he was enabled to realise a of such extent, and accumulated difficulty. He to that 'it was not the effect of particular study; but had grown up in his mind insensibly.' I have been in by Mr. James Dodsley, that several years before this when Johnson was one day sitting in his brother R shop, he heard his brother suggest to him, that a Dict of the English Language would be a work that would b received by the publick; that Johnson seemed at fi catch at the proposition, but, after a pause, said, abrupt decisive manner, 'I believe I shall not underta That he, however, had bestowed much thought upo subject, before he published his Plan, is evident fro enlarged, clear, and accurate views which it exhibits; we find him mentioning in that tract, that many o writers whose testimonies were to be produced as aut ties, were selected by Pope; which proves that he had furnished, probably by Mr. Robert Dodsley, with wha hints that eminent poet had contributed towards a literary project, that had been the subject of important sideration in a former reign. The booksellers who contracted with Johnson, single unaided, for the execution of a work, which in other c tries has not been effected but by the co-operating exert |