43, 'Flight of time;' No. 51, 'Domestic greatness unattainable;' No. 52, 'Self-denial;' No. 58, 'Actual, how short of fancied, excellence;' No. 89, 'Physical evil moral good;' and his concluding paper on 'The horror of the last,' will prove this assertion. I know not why a motto, the usual trapping of periodical papers, is prefixed to very few of the Idlers, as I have heard Johnson commend the custom and he never could be at a loss for one, his memory being stored with innumerable passages of the classics. In this series of essays he exhibits admirable instances of grave humour, of which he had an uncommon share. Nor on some occasions has he repressed that power of sophistry which he possessed in so eminent a degree. In No. 11 he treats with the utmost contempt the opinion that our mental faculties depend in some degree upon the weather; an opinion which they who have never experienced its truths are not to be envied, and of which he himself could not but be sensible, as the effects of weather upon him were very visible. Yet thus he declaims:

'Surely nothing is more reproachful to a being endowed with reason, than to resign its powers to the influence of the air, and live in dependence on the weather and the wind for the only blessings which nature has put into our power-tranquillity and benevolence. This distinction of seasons is produced only by imagination operating on luxury. To temperance, every day is bright; and every hour is propitious to diligence. He that shall resolutely excite his faculties or exert his virtues will soon

or turned his eyes sometimes to the ceiling and sometimes to the floor.'

A casual coincidence with other writers, or an adoption of a sentiment or image which has been found in the writings of another, and afterwards appears in the mind of one's own, is not unfrequent. The richness of Johnson's fancy, which could supply his page abundantly on all occasions, and the strength of his memory, which at once detected the real owner of any thought, made him less liable to the imputation of plagiarism than perhaps any of our writers. In the Idler, however, there is a paper in which conversation is assimilated to a bowl of punch, where there is the same train of comparison as in a poem by Blacklock, in his collection published in 1756, in which a parallel is ingeniously drawn between human life and that liquor. It ends:

'Say then, physicians of each kind,
Who cure the body or the mind,
What harm in drinking can there be,
Since punch and life so well agree?'

To the Idler, when collected in volumes, he added, beside the Essay on Epitaphs, and the Dissertation on those of Pope, an Essay on the Bravery of the English common Soldiers. He, however, omitted one of the original papers, which in the folio copy is No. 22.1

'TO THE REV. MR. THOMAS WARTON.
'LONDON, April 14, 1758.

'DEAR SIR,--Your notes upon my poet were very acceptable. I beg that you will be so kind as to continue your searches. It will be repu

set at defiance the morning mist and the evening damp, the blasts of the east, and the clouds of the south.'

Alas! it is too certain that where the frame has delicate fibres, and there is a fine sensibility, such influences of the air are irresistible. He might as well have bid defiance to the ague, the palsy, and all other bodily disorders. Such boasting of the mind is false elevation.

'I think the Romans call it Stoicism.'

But in this number of his Idler, his spirits seem to run riot; for in the wantonness of his disquisition he forgets for a moment even the reverence for that which he held in high respect, and describes 'the attendant on a Court' as one 'whose business it is to watch the looks of a being weak and foolish as himself.'

His unqualified ridicule of rhetorical gesture or action is not surely a test of truth; yet we cannot help admiring how well it is adapted to produce the effect which he wished:

'Neither the judges of our laws nor the representatives of our people would be much affected by laboured gesticulations, or believe any man the more because he rolled his eyes, or puffed his cheeks, or spread abroad his arms, or stamped the ground, or thumped his breast,

sorship, to have something of yours in the notes. As you have given no directions about your name, I shall therefore put it. I wish your brother would take the same trouble. A commentary must arise from the fortuitous discoveries of many men in devious walks of literature. Some of your remarks are on plays already printed: but I purpose to add an Appendix of Notes, so that nothing comes too late.

'You give yourself too much uneasiness, dear sir, about the loss of the papers. The loss is nothing, if nobody has found them; nor even then, perhaps, if the numbers be known. You are not the only friend that has had the same mischance. You may repair your want out of a stock which is deposited with Mr. Allen, of Magdalen Hall, or out of a parcel which I have just sent to Mr. Chambers, for the use of anybody that will be so kind as to want them. Mr. Langtons are well; and Miss Roberts, whom I have at last brought to speak, upon the information which you gave me, that she had something to say. I am, etc., 'SAM. JOHNSON.'

TO THE SAME.

'LONDON, June 1, 1758.

'DEAR SIR,-You will receive this by Mr. Baretti, a gentleman particularly entitled to the notice and kindness of the Professor of poesy. He has time but for a short stay, and will be glad to have it filled up with as much as he can hear and see.

you, and the disparity of your discoveries to your hopes has vanished from your mind. It is a rule never to be forgotten, that whatever strikes strongly, should be described while the first impression remains fresh upon the mind.

'I love, dear sir, to think on you, and therefore should willingly write more to you, but that the post will not now give me leave to do more than send my compliments to Mr, Warton, and tell you that I am, dear sir, most affectionately, your very humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

you have shown to myself. Have you any more notes on Shakspeare? I shall be glad of them.

'I see your pupil sometimes;1 his mind is as exalted as his stature. I am half afraid of him; but he is no less amiable than formidable. He will, if the forwardness of his spring be not blasted, be a credit to you and to the University. He brings some of my plays with him, which he has my permission to show you, on condition you will hide them from everybody else. I am, dear sir, etc.,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ., TRINITY COLLEGE. 'June 28, 1758.

'DEAR SIR,-Though I might have expected to hear from you, upon your entrance into a new state of life at a new place, yet, recollecting (not without some degree of shame) that I owe you a letter upon an old account, I think it my part to write first. This, indeed, I do not only from complaisance, but from interest; for, living on in the old way, I am very glad of a correspondent so capable as yourself to diversify the hours. You have at present too many novelties about you to need any help from me to drive along your time.

'I know not anything more pleasant, or more instructive, than to compare experience with expectation, or to register from time to time the difference between idea and reality. It is by this kind of observation that we grow daily less liable to be disappointed. You, who are very capable of anticipating futurity, and raising phantoms before your own eyes, must often have imagined to yourself an academical life, and have conceived what would be the manners, the views, and the conversation of men devoted to letters; how they would choose their companions, how they would direct their studies, and how they would regulate their lives. Let me know what you expected, and what you have found. At least record it to yourself before custom has reconciled you to the scenes before

SPILSBY, LINCOLNSHIRE.

'Sept. 21, 1758.

'DEAR SIR,-I should be sorry to think that what engrosses the attention of my friend should have no part of mine. Your mind is now full of the fate of Dury; but his fate is past, and nothing remains but to try what reflection will suggest to mitigate the terrors of a violent death, which is more formidable at the first glance than on a nearer and more steady view. A violent death is never very painful; the only danger is, lest it should be unprovided. But if a man can be supposed to make no provision for death in war, what can be the state that would have awakened him to the care of futurity? When would that man have prepared himself to die, who went to seek death without prepara tion? What, then, can be the reason why we lament more, him that dies of a wound, than him that dies of a fever? A man that languishes with disease, ends his life with more pain, but with less virtue: he leaves no example to his friends, nor bequeaths any honour to his descendants. The only reason why we lament a soldier's death, is that we think he might have lived longer; yet this cause of grief is common to many other kinds of death which are not so passionately bewailed. The truth is, that every death is violent which is the effect of accident: every death, which is not gradually brought on by the miseries of age, or when life is extinguished for any other reason than that it is burnt out. He that dies before sixty, of a cold or consumption, dies, in reality, by a violent death; yet his death is borne with patience, only because the cause of his untimely end is silent and invisible. Let us endeavour to see

things as they are, and then inquire whether we ought to complain. Whether to see life as it is will give us much consolation, I know not; but the consolation which is drawn from truth, if any there be, is solid and durable: that which

1 Major-General Alexander Dury, of the first regiment of Foot Guards, who fell in the gallant discharge of his duty, near St. Cas, in the well-known unfortunate expedition against France in 1758. His lady and Mr. Langton's mother were sisters. He left an only son, Lieutenant-Colonel Dury, who has a company in the same regiment.-BOSWELL.

may be derived from error must be, like its original, fallacious and fugitive.-I am, dear, dear sir, your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

In 1759, in the month of January, his mother died at the great age of ninety, an event which deeply affected him; not that 'his mind had acquired no firmness by the contemplation of mortality, but that his reverential affection for her was not abated by years, as indeed he retained all his tender feelings even to the latest period of his life. I have been told that he regretted much his not having gone to visit his mother for several years previous to her death. But he was constantly engaged in literary labours, which confined him to London; and though he had not the comfort of seeing his aged parent, he contributed liberally to her support.

'TO MRS. JOHNSON, IN LICHFIELD.2

'Jan. 13, 1758.3 'HONOURED MADAM, - The account which Miss [Porter] gives me of your health, pierces my heart. God comfort, and preserve you, and save you, for the sake of Jesus Christ.

'I would have Miss read to you from time to time the Passion of our Saviour, and sometimes the sentences in the Communion Service-Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

'I have just now read a physical book, which inclines me to think that a strong infusion of the bark would do you good. Do, dear mother, try it.

'Pray, send me your blessing, and forgive all that I have done amiss to you. And whatever you would have done, and what debts you would have paid first, or anything else that you would direct, let Miss put it down; I shall endeavour to obey you.

'I have got twelve guineas to send you, but unhappily am at a loss how to send it to-night. If I cannot send it to-night, it will come by the next post.

'Pray do not omit anything mentioned in • Hawkins's Life of Johnson, p. 395. BoSWELL.

2 Since the publication of the third edition of this work, the following letters of Dr. Johnson, occasioned by the last illness of his mother, were obligingly communicated to Mr. Malone by the Rev. Dr. Vyse. They are placed here agreeably to the chronological order almost uniformly observed by the author; and so strongly evince Dr. Johnson's piety and tenderness of heart, that every reader must be gratified by their insertion.-MALONE.

• Written by mistake for 1759, as the subsequent letters show. In the next letter he had inadvertently fallen into the same error, but corrected it. On the outside of the letter of the 13th was written by another hand, 'Pray acknowledge the receipt of this by return of the post, without fail'-MALONE.

• Six of these twelve guineas Johnson appears to have borrowed from Mr. Allen, the printer. See Hawkins's Life of Johnson, p. 366, n.-MALONE.

this letter. God bless you for ever and ever. -I am, your dutiful son, 'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'TO MISS PORTER, AT MRS. JOHNSON'S, IN

LICHFIELD.

'Jan. 16, 1759.

'MY DEAR MISS, -I think myself obliged to you beyond all expression of gratitude for your care of my dear mother. God grant it may not be without success. Tell Kitty that I shall never forget her tenderness for her mistress. Whatever you can do, continue to do. My heart is very full.

'I hope you received twelve guineas on Monday. I found a way of sending them by means of the Postmaster, after I had written my letter, and hope they came safe. I will send you more in a few days. God bless you all.-I am, my dear, your most obliged and most humble servant, 'SAM. JOHNSON.

'Over the leaf is a letter to my mother.'

'Jan. 16, 1759. 'DEAR HONOURED MOTHER, - Your weakness afflicts me beyond what I am willing to communicate to you. I do not think you unfit to face death, but I know not how to bear the thought of losing you. Endeavour to do all you [can] for yourself. Eat as much as you can.

'I pray often for you; do you pray for me. I have nothing to add to my last letter.-I am, dear, dear mother, your dutiful son,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'TO MRS. JOHNSON IN LICHFIELD.
'Jan. 18, 1759.

'DEAR HONOURED MOTHER, -I fear you are too ill for long letters; therefore I will only tell you, you have from me all the regard that can possibly subsist in the heart. I pray God to bless you for evermore, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. 'Let Miss write to me every post, however short. - I am, dear mother, your dutiful son, 'SAM. JOHNSON.'

TO MISS PORTER, AT MRS. JOHNSON'S, IN

LICHFIELD.

'Jan. 20, 1759.

'DEAR MISS, -I will, if it be possible, come down to you. God grant that I may yet [find] my dear mother breathing and sensible. Do not tell her, lest I disappoint her. If I miss to write next post, I am on the road.-I am, my dearest Miss, your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

1 Catherine Chambers, Mrs. Johnson's maid-servant. She died in October 1767. See Dr. Johnson's Prayers and Meditations, p. 71: 'Sunday, October 18, 1767. Yesterday, October 17, I took my leave for ever of my dear old friend Catherine Chambers, who came to live with my mother about 1724, and has been but little parted from us since. She buried my father, my brother, and my mother. She is now fifty-eight years old.'-MALONE.

[On the other side.]

'Jan. 20, 1759.

'DEAR HONOURED MOTHER, -Neither your condition nor your character make it fit for me to say much. You have been the best mother, and I believe the best woman, in the world. I thank you for your indulgence to me, and beg forgiveness of all that I have done ill, and all that I have omitted to do well. God grant you his Holy Spirit, and receive you to everlasting happiness, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. Lord Jesus receive your spirit. Amen. -I am, dear, dear mother, your dutiful son,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'TO MISS PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.
'Jan. 23, 1759.3

'You will conceive my sorrow for the loss of my mother, of the best mother. If she were to live again, surely I should behave better to her. But she is happy, and what is past is nothin to her; and for me, since I cannot repair my faults to her, I hope repentance will efface them. I return you and all those that have been good to her my sincerest thanks, and pray God to repay you all with infinite advantage. Write to me, and comfort me, dear child. I shall be glad likewise, if Kitty will write to me. I shall send a bill of twenty pounds in a few days, which I thought to have brought to my mother; but God suffered it not. I have not power or composure to say much more. God bless you, and bless us all. -I am, dear Miss, your affectionate humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

Soon after this event he wrote his Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia [*]; concerning the publication of which Sir John Hawkins guesses vaguely and idly, instead of having taken the trouble to inform himself with authentic precision. Not to trouble my readers with a repetition of the Knight's reveries, I have to mention that the late Mr Strahan, the printer, told me that Johnson wrote it, that with the profits he might defray the expense of his mother's funeral, and pay some little debts which she had left. He told Sir Joshua Reynolds that he composed it in the evenings of

one week,1 sent it to the press in portions as it was written, and had never since read it over. Mr. Strahan, Mr. Johnston, and Mr. Dodsley purchased it for a hundred pounds, but afterwards paid him twenty-five pounds more when it came to a second edition.

Considering the large sums which have been received for compilations, and works requiring not much more genius than compilations, we cannot but wonder at the very low price which he was content to receive for this admirable performance; which, though he had written nothing else, would have rendered his name immortal in the world of literature. None of his writings have been so extensively diffused over Europe; for it has been translated into most, if not all, of the modern languages. This tale, with all the charms of oriental imagery, and all the force and beauty of which the English language is capable, leads us through the most important scenes of human life, and shows us that this stage of our being is full of 'vanity and vexation of spirit.' To those who look no further than the present life, or who maintain that human nature has not fallen from the state in which it was created, the instruction of this sublime story will be of no avail. But they who think justly, and feel with strong sensibility, will listen with eagerness and admiration to its truth and wisdom. Voltaire's Candide, written to refute the system of Optimism, which it has accomplished with brilliant success, is wonderfully similar in its plan and conduct to Johnson's Rasselas; insomuch that I have heard Johnson say, that if they had not been published so closely one after the other that there was not time for imitation, it would have been in vain to deny that the scheme of that which came latest was taken from the other. Though the proposition illustrated by both these works was the same, -namely, that in our present state there is more evil than good, -the intention of the writers was very different. Voltaire, I am afraid, meant only by wanton profaneness to obtain a sportive victory over religion, and to discredit the belief of a superintending Providence. Johnson meant, by showing the unsatisfactory nature of things temporal, to direct the hopes of man to things eternal. Rasselas, as was observed to me by a very accomplished lady, may be considered as a more enlarged and more deeply philosophical discourse in prose, upon the interesting truth, which in his Vanity of Human Wishes he had so successfully enforced in verse.

The fund of thinking which this work contains is such, that almost every sentence of it

1 Rasselas was published in March or April 1759. - BOSWELL.

2 See under June 2,1781. Finding it then accidentally in a chaise with Mr. Boswell, he read it eagerly. This was doubtless long after his declaration to Sir Joshua Reynolds.-MALONE.