however pious in daily practice, and however dignified in person or estate, exclaim, with the almost matchless George Herbert,

Throw away thy rod,

Throw away thy wrath,
O my God,

Take the gentle path."

And would not these very lines themselves form a good epitaph? What better prayer for the soul (if it could be permitted to pray) awaiting the tribunal of the judgment day? Doubtless, from many of our sacred poets appropriate lines might be selected for the purpose of epitaphs: and it would be well, if the friends of the deceased would usually consult the clergyman of the parish, or some other discreet friend, in this matter, rather than, by leaving the choice to an unlettered stone-cutter, deface the tombstones of a Churchyard.* We should best obtain modest and instructive epitaphs, if persons in their life-time would select some sentence or verse which they might feel would have a solemn effect either on the devout perambulator, or on the mere idle stroller, in our Churchyards. And what could be a more grateful idea than that of contributing to the welfare of our fellow-creatures, however few, after we are gone!—

"Nunc vivo, neque adhuc homines lucemque relinquo !
Sed linquam."

*See Tract on Tombstones, by Rev. E. Paget: also, Remarks on English Churches, by T. H. Markland, F.R.S. & S.A.

CHAPTER XXI.

CLOSE OF DR. JOHNSON'S LIFE-THE FEAR OF DEATH.

WE now come to a subject that all men should regard with feelings of solemnity and awe, and discourse of in a gentle tone, as Dr. Johnson ever did—namely, the fear of death. And herein we shall view so much of the true magnanimity of his mind-the tenderness of his conscience-the reality of his soul's religion-that if we have admired his talent and his benevolence in life, we shall reverence his resignation and fortitude, at the last, in death. That he had a fear of death continually before him, is a fact-but it was, though not wholly, a becoming fear,-the fear of a mind sensible of the doom that awaited the transgressor, sensible of the justice of the Almighty, sensible of his own utter unworthiness, fearful lest Christ's merits might not avail him ;-it was the fear of a stedfast believer who dare not acquit himself - dare not presumptuously anticipate the sentence of his Judge-of one, who, with a permission to cherish hope, must, to the very last, work out his own salvation with fear and trembling.

Let us first present his own recorded sayings and conversations on this matter, and they are worthy our profoundest consideration and reflection, at the same

time that they must, in no small degree, call forth our pity and regret.

He was a man that never could bear bravado upon any occasion. General Paoli had said, that a great portion of the fashionable infidelity sprung out of a desire of showing courage. "Men," observed the General," who have no opportunity of showing it as to things in this life, take death and futurity as objects on which to display it." Johnson answered,-" That is mighty foolish affectation. Fear is one of the passions of human nature, of which it is impossible to divest it. You remember that the Emperor Charles V., when he read upon the tombstone of a Spanish nobleman, ‘Here lies one who never knew fear,' wittily said, 'Then he never snuffed a candle with his fingers.'

He was much pleased with a remark of General Paoli, which was mentioned to him by Boswell-“ That it is impossible not to be afraid of death; and that those who at the time of dying are not afraid, are not thinking of death, but of applause, or something else, which keeps death out of their sight: so that all men are equally afraid of death when they see it only some have a power of turning away their sight from it better than others."

This observation must particularly apply to soldiers in the tumult and glory of battle. Johnson looked upon preparation for death as the grand thing-and would have had all soldiers especially prepared. "If a man," he said, " 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 preparation?"

There is an article in the Gentleman's Magazine (1747) which bears strong internal evidence of being the production of Johnson's pen, on the behaviour of Lord Lovat at his execution, and which censures the display of pleasantry and lightness in the hour of death. Lord Lovat was a profligate, hypocritical, and cowardly man had he been better, and braver, he would have met the "last enemy" in a different spirit, and with other bearing.

"When I first entered Ranelagh," says Johnson, speaking of the Vauxhall-gardens of his day," it gave an expansion and gay sensation to my mind, such as I never experienced anywhere else. But as Xerxes wept when he viewed his immense army, and considered that not one of that great multitude would be alive a hundred years afterwards, so it went to my heart to consider that there was not one in all that brilliant circle that was not afraid to go home and think: but that the thoughts of each individual there would be distressing when alone." Alas! how many would die without thinking-and the more thought, the more fear of death.

"You know," he says to Mrs. Thrale, "I never thought confidence with respect to futurity any part of the character of a brave, a wise, or a good man. Bravery has no place where it can avail nothing: wisdom impresses strongly the consciousness of those faults, of which it is, perhaps, itself an aggravation; and goodness, always wishing to be better, and imputing every

deficiency to criminal indulgence, and every fault to voluntary corruption, never dares to suppose the condition of forgiveness fulfilled, nor what is wanting in the crime supplied by penitence." But, surely, in such a case there is a lack of faith in the promises of God? "The serenity which is not felt," he says again, “it can be no virtue to feign."

The sternest love of truth always pervaded his mind. He once said," There is something noble in publishing truth, though it condemns oneself,”—and we may feel certain that, as in life's best days, so in its last hour, he would be no dissembler. Boswell told him of the unconcerned way in which some criminals met their death at Tyburn gallows :-"Most of them," said Johnson, "have never thought at all." "But," asked Boswell, "is not the fear of death natural to man?" Johnson answered, "So much so, Sir, that the whole of life is but keeping away the thoughts of it." He then, in a low and earnest tone, talked of his meditating upon the awful hour of his own dissolution, and in what manner he should conduct himself upon that occasion. "I know not," he said, "whether I should wish to have a friend by me, or have it all between God and myself." How awful must it have been to hear this; and yet how much real courage in the thought!

To Boswell's inquiry, whether we might not fortify our minds for the approach of death, he answered,— "No, Sir, let it alone. It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time." He added, with an earnest