of which a judicious and faithful narrative would not be useful" and indeed all that is wanting to render any life useful is, on the acquisition of facts, to draw such inferences as may render them applicable to valuable purposes; and of facts capable of such application, no life, where sanity exists, has been destitute. "Biography," observes Dr. Kippis," may be considered in two lights. It is very agreeable and useful, when it hath no other view than merely to relate the circumstances of the lives of eminent men, and to give an account of their writings. But it is capable of a still nobler application. It may be regarded as presenting us with a variety of events, that, like experiments in Natural Philosophy, may become the materials from which general truths and principles are to be drawn. When Biographical knowledge is employed in enlarging our acquaintance with human nature, in exciting an honourable emulation, in correcting our prejudices, in refining our sentiments, and in regulating our conduct, it then attains its true excellence. Besides its being a pleasing amusement, and a just tribute of respect to illustrious characters, it rises to the dignity of SCIENCE; and of such science as must ever be esteemed of peculiar importance, because it hath MAN for its object."+ *Rambler, No. 60..

+ Preface to Biographia Britannica, vol. 1, 2d edition.

Before Johnson produced the admirable biography of his unfortunate friend, there had been very few elegant compositions in this branch, of the growth of England. Compilations indeed, heavy, dry, and incomplete, had issued in considerable numbers from our press; Leland, Bale, Pits, Dempster, Ware, Fuller, Bates, Wood, and Ward, had all published, either in Latin or English, their ponderous folios, and as mere repositories of facts they are valuable; but with the exception of Sprat's Life of Cowley, and Middleton's Life of Cicero, which last work appeared in 1741, and is written in a classical style, we had no specimen of biography which could safely be referred to as a model.

Previous, indeed, to the publication of the Life of Savage, our author had contributed several very judicious and spirited biographical sketches. to the Gentleman's Magazine. In the year 1738 appeared in that Miscellany his Life of Father Paul Sarpi; in 1739 his Life of Boerhaave; in 1740 the Lives of Sir Francis Drake, of Admiral Blake, and of Philip Barretier; and in 1742 the lives of Peter Burman and of Sydenham, of which the last was afterwards prefixed to a translation of his Works by John Swan, M. D. of Newcastle, in Staffordshire.

Of these Lives, those of Boerhaave, Drake, and

Sydenham appear to me to be the best written. To the study of medicine and chemistry, Johnson was peculiarly partial; in the year 1743 he dedicated the Dictionary of his friend Dr. James to the celebrated Mead, and contributed likewise some of the articles in that elaborate work. His predilection for these sciences, indeed, is very visible in his Life of the Leyden Professor, to whose piety and virtue also he has paid the most eloquent tribute, concluding his narrative with a paragraph which cannot be too often repeated. "So far," says he, was this man from being made impious by philosophy, or vain by knowledge, or by virtue, that he ascribed all his abilities to the bounty, and all his goodness to the grace of God; may his example extend its influence to his admirers and followers! May those who study his writings imitate his life! and those who endeavour after his knowledge aspire likewise to his piety!"

The merit of these biographical attempts was, however, completely eclipsed by the appearance of the Life of Savage. With this unfortunate but imprudent man Johnson became acquainted early in the year 1738, having met him occasionally at St. John's Gate, to which place both were impelled to resort from motives of necessity.

Disowned and persecuted by his mother, and

at the same time combining with this singular misfortune, fascinating manners, and considerable vigour and versatility of intellect, Savage was entitled to, and indeed at first met with, a liberal patronage from the public. But the irregularity of his habits, his dissipation, insolence, and ingratitude, soon alienated the friends which either his abilities or his misfortunes had obtained." It was his peculiar happiness," remarks his Biographer," that he scarcely ever found a stranger, whom he did not leave a friend; but it must likewise be added, that he had not often a friend long, without obliging him to become a stranger;" a confession than which nothing can paint in stronger colours the folly and ruinous tendency of his conduct.

The story of Savage was early known to the world through the medium of the Plain Dealer; in N° 28 of which Mr. Hill had written a letter in order to arrest the attention of the public, and, if possible, to excite the compassion of his mother. It contains the following pathetic lines, said to have been composed by Mr. Savage, but which were, in reality, the production of the Plain. Dealer :

Hopeless, abandon'd, aimless, and oppress'd;
Lost to delight, and every way distress'd;

'Cross bis cold bed, in wild disorder, thrown,
Thus sigh'd Alexis, friendless and alone :

Why do I breathe? What joy can being give,
When she, who gave me life, forgets I live!
Feels not these wintry blasts ;-nor heeds my smart,
But shuts me from the shelter of her heart!
Saw me expos'd, to want! to shame! to scorn!
To ills!-which make it mis'ry to be born!
Cast me, regardless, on the world's bleak wild,
And bad me be a wretch while yet a child!

Where can he hope for pity, peace, or rest,
Who moves no softness in a mother's breast?
Custom, law, reason, all! my cause forsake,
And nature sleeps, to keep my woes awake!
Crimes, which the cruel scarce believe can be,
The kind are guilty of, to ruin me!

Even she who bore me blasts me with her hate,
And, meant my fortune, makes herself my fate!
Yet has this sweet neglecter of my woes
The softest, tend'rest breast that pity knows!
Her eyes shed mercy wheresoe'er they shine;
And her soul melts at every woe,—but mine.
Sure then! some secret fate, for guilt unwill'd,
Some sentence, pre-ordain'd to be fulfill'd!
Plung'd me, thus deep, in sorrow's searching flood,
And wash'd me from the mem'ry of her blood.
But, oh! whatever cause has mov'd her hate,

Let me but sigh in silence at my fate.

The God within, perhaps, may touch her breast;
And when she pities, who can be distress'd?

This letter, which was published in 1724, was succeeded in 1727 by a more circumstantial account of the life and sorrows of the unhappy man;