man to man, as friend to friend," he drew forth the different powers of each expanding spirit, by the vivid interchange of sentiment and opinion, and by the cheering influence of generous applause. Another circumstance combined to heighten the merit of this patronage. Mr. Walmesley was a zealous Whig. My grandfather, then master of the free school, perceiving Johnson's abilities, had, to his own honour, taken as much pains with him as with the young gentlemen whose parents paid a high price for their pupilage; but my grandfather was a Jacobite, and Sam. Johnson had imbibed his master's absurd zeal for the forfeit rights of the house of Stuart: and this, though his father had very loyal principles; but the anxiety attendant on penurious circumstances probably left old Johnson little leisure or inclination to talk on political subjects. His son, I am told, even at that early period of life, maintained his opinions, on every subject, with the same sturdy, dogmatical, and arrogant fierceness with which he now overbears all opposition to them in company. At present we can well conceive the probability of his dogmatism being patiently supported by attending admirers, awed by the literary eminence on which he stands. But how great must have been Mr. Walmesley's love of genius; how great his generous respect for its dependant situation, that could so far restrain a naturally impetuous temper, as to induce him to suffer insolent sallies from the son of an indigent bookseller, and on a subject which, so handled by people of his own rank, he would have dashed back in their faces with no small degree of asperity! My father wrote the following epitaph on Mr. Walmesley; I send it to you, because it is what epitaphs seldom are-characteristic. I am sure you would be interested in conceiving a just idea of the first patron of our modern Roscius, and of the illustrious author of the Rambler. Reader, if Science, Truth, and Reason charm, If smiling Bounty ope thy heart and door, Yet think not Walmesley dead-he lives in thee. If, Briton-born, thy soul's a Gallic slave, Start from his tomb he would, and call thee fool and knave. Prior tells us that every man of ability should either by the compass, the pencil, the pen, or the sword, leave his name in life's visit. With all Mr. Walmesley's knowledge, accomplishments, taste, and munificence, not having stept out in any public line of literature, his name must have passed into oblivion, had he not been the first who distinguished his illustrious townsmen. By that circumstance, he rendered his memory immortal as the talents he drew forth. While Johnson and Garrick are remembered, their first patron will not be forgotten. Who is there of a soul so grovelling, as would not wish for their memories an honourable immortality? Fame is the spur which the clear spirit doth raise, That last infirmity of noble minds! How inconceivable, then, is the idiotism of short sighted pride, which affects to associate only with people of a certain rank, and which induces the gentlemen, as they call themselves, to preclude from their reputation the glory of having been able to discern genius and to raise it from obscurity! I speak not from any selfish consideration, Whatever little talents I may possess, they have not to struggle up to the notice of my neighbours from the gloom of an inferior station. My father is a gentleman by birth, and by his profession; a scholar by education; and, being canon of this cathedral, his daughter necessarily converses on terms of equality with the proudest inhabitants of our little city; but they perceive nothing of those uncommon talents with which your partiality has invested her. Attention and praise are the summer-suns that must unfold and ripen the germs of imagination, ere they can possibly produce fruit worthy the taste of the public. Had it been my lot to have been animated by the smiles, and sustained and encouraged in my studies, and in my little sallies of poetic invention, by the applause of a Walmesley, I might perhaps have ventured myself among the candidates for the literary palms. But may it not be better as it is? Let me be ter's recommendation had transpired, and was become a card table theme. Nothing can be a secret if my father is to know it, so frank are We had been unpleasantly his communications. conscious of this publicity. On the message being delivered, sweet Sarah's serenity became considerably discomposed dur"Some natural tears she ing a few minutes. dropt;" but soon smiled them away. The elements seemed in unison with her feelings; for the sun was just then looking mildly through one of those vernal showers in which the present "Look, love, said I, April has been so rich. that calm and gilded rain promises flowers and fruits in abundance; may those kindred tears prepare thy mind, as that shower prepares the earth, for the flowers and fruits of wedded happiness!" |