George the Second filled the throne, and a Whig ministry directed the affairs of the nation, even a Tory would require that all available checks should be thrown around the action of the government; but the case seemed quite different when a Tory king and ministry had the direction of public affairs. No well-informed person, however friendly to Johnson's reputation, will hesitate to acknowledge that his mind was peculiarly susceptible of party bias, and that by reason of his prejudices he was often inconsistent with himself. Still, independent of all party influences, he was beyond a doubt a thorough friend of subordination, whether in State or Church, the school or the family; and though he joined in the popular clamor against Walpole, and so disliked the person of the king that he could not honor the king in the person of George the Second, yet his disposition was to support the throne and the convocation against the encroachments of parliament. But if we look beyond the external forms and positive institutions of government, and examine his political notions in their elementary state, it will be seen that his heart was true to the great principles of human liberty, and a friend to the hardy independence of individual manhood. Evidence of this statement is found scattered through all his writings wherever the subject of political philosophy is alluded to, and most fully when only incidentally brought forward. The following extract, from an essay "On the Bravery of the English Common Soldiers," will prove and illustrate this subject. Assuming the subject of discussion as matter of fact, the cause of it is sought; and after examining and rejecting certain supposed causes, the whole is thus concluded : "Whence then is the courage of the English vulgar? It proceeds, in my opinion, from that dissolution of dependence which obliges every man to regard his own character. While every man is fed by his own hands, he has no need of servile arts; he may always have wages for his labor, and is no less necessary to his employer than his employer is to him. While he looks for no protection from others, he is naturally roused to be his own protector; and having nothing to abate his esteem of himself, he consequently aspires to the esteem of others. Thus every man that crowds our streets is a man of honor, disdainful of obligation, impatient of reproach, and desirous of extending his reputation among those of his own rank; and as courage is in most frequent use, the fame of courage is most eagerly pursued. From this VOL. III, No. 1.-C neglect of subordination, I do not deny that some inconveniences may from time to time proceed; the power of the law does not always sufficiently supply the want of reverence, or maintain the proper distinctions between different ranks; but good and evil will grow up in this world together; and they who complain, in peace, of the insolence of the populace, must remember that their insolence in peace is bra very in war." This extract, while it proves that its author was closely bound by conventional notions of subordination, shows also that he had detected the existence of individual manhood, as a common attribute of our nature, and a most powerful stimulant to noble and virtuous conduct, though sometimes a little dangerous to that social order whose basis is usurpation and tyranny. a In this magazine Johnson appeared as writer of reviews,-a species of composition for which he was eminently qualified. At that time the review had not assumed the specific individuality that it now has, though in his hands the less formal and elaborate article often aspired to the proportions and dignity of the review of the present age. During the fifteen months of his connection with the "Literary Magazine," he wrote notices, more or less extended, of no less than twenty-five new publications. Some of them were very little more extended than what are now called "notices," but quite unlike most of those in character--they are concise yet comprehensive, and just the opposite of their common-place remarks and unmeaning generalities. Some are mere extended résumés of the contents of the works under notice; and yet others, elaborate essays on the subjects of the works professedly reviewed. Of this class is the review of Soame Jenyns's "Free Inquiry into the Origin of Evil," an elaborate and somewhat extended discussion of that vexed question, abounding with piquant criticisms, and forcible refutations of that writer's strange assumptions, mingled with appreciative commendations of whatever was esteemed excellent in the work. The usual result of reviewing honestly and independently a living author occurred in this case; forgetting all the commendations of the reviewer, the poor author writhed terribly under the torture of the gilded arrows of his antagonist. But prudence dictated forbearance and silence, till the castigator had gone to his grave, when, with the spirit of the ass that trampled on the dead lion, he attempted, by a coarse epitaph, to avenge himself for was any deception practiced in such his past sufferings. Among these essays is found a defense of the use of tea, against the objections of Mr. Jonas Hanway, who in a book then recently published had made a wholesale onslaught against that fashionable bevererage. This defense was with Johnson a labor of love, for he was an inveterate and most extravagant tea-drinker. Two essays on the subject were issued-the first apparently designed only as a defense of the indulgence against Mr. Hanway's objections; the other was more controversial and personal, though it is carried on with much good-humor, and with a vein of quiet irony and ridicule. The advocate's participation in the condemned practice is confessed, and with assumed penitence he speaks of himself as "a hardened and shameless tea-drinker, who has for twenty years diluted his meals with only the infusion of this fascinating plant-whose kettle has scarcely had time to cool-who with tea amuses the evening, with tea solaces the midnight, and with tea welcomes the morning."* The whole affair was in itself a trifling one, and is now unworthy of attention, except as it serves to illustrate Johnson's private life as well as to show how well he could trifle with a matter of only a momentary interest. A variety of inconsiderable pieces, proposals, essays, introductions and dedications, the offspring of his pen, belong to this period; which, while they evince both the kindness of his heart and the vigorous maturity of his understanding, add very little to his reputation. It is believed that about this period of his life he was accustomed to write sermons for certain clergymen to be used by them in their ordinary pulpit exercises, for which he was paid a guinea apiece. The practice of giving other men's productions from the pulpit, to which Johnson thus contributed, has been often condemned as at best one of doubtful morality; for though doubtless better sermons would thus be obtained, yet if there is fraud in the transaction, no excellence of composition or matter could adequately atone for it. Johnson himself, however, seems not to have suspected that there Johnson was much in the habit of applying some classical motto to any subject of conversation that came up; so relative to this, he would quote-Te veniente die, te decente. cases. Writing to a young clergyman at a later period, who had consulted him as to what sermons he would do well to copy out of books for his own pulpit, that practice is commended, and any inclination to misgivings in the case anticipated by the declaration that "few frequent preachers can be supposed to have sermons more original than yours will be." He, however, advises his pupil to "attempt from time to time an original sermon." It is evident that Johnson had no suspicion that for the ordinary exercises of the pulpit only original compositions were to be used. He is said, in this manner, to have written and sold about forty sermons; and so fully did he conceive that he had disposed of his right of property in them that he never claimed even their authorship. During this year (1756) the Ivy Lane Club, having become somewhat reduced in numbers by the removal of some of its members, and its attendants further diminished by the diversion of others to other associations, was first discontinued and afterward dissolved, though Johnson continued his interest in it to the last. At a later period of his history we shall find him establishing another association of the same kind, but of characters much more to his liking than were those from whom he was now unwillingly separated. It was stated at a former stage of this biography that Johnson at one time contemplated issuing an edition of Shakspeare with notes and corrections-a project from which he was diverted by the simultaneous announcement of a like design by Warburton. He was now, however, by the earnest solicitations of the booksellers, induced to resume that deferred purpose, and a plan and proposals were accordingly issued. His preliminary strictures seemed to give a pledge and earnest of the excellence of the proposed annotations; but, as he came to the work reluctantly, so he prosecuted it but languidly. The edition was promised to be ready by the end of the year, 1757; but nine long years elapsed before it saw the day. At the first thought it might seem that there was a peculiar fitness in Johnson's mind for the work he had taken in hand, and that something especially excellent might be expected as the result of the concurrence of two such minds as those of the author and commentator, in eluci dating the themes of Shakspeare's dramatic works. But the result failed to justify any such expectation. The failure was no doubt in part attributable to Johnson's indolence, which at this period of his life was extreme and apparently invincible. Nor does it seem that he had at any time any special interest in the subject. He came to the work as to a task, and prosecuted it simply as a means of living-a condition of things but little suited to awaken the genius and elicit the best powers of the soul. His mind, too, was already jaded by task-work; for the ponderous mass of "The Dictionary" had rested upon him for more than seven years, and now he required rest and recreation. These considerations may in part account for the slow progress, and finally unsatisfactory character of the work; but there was a deeper and more invincible obstacle than this in the way of success. Shakspeare and Johnson were both of them great masters of the human mind; but they viewed their common subject from different stand-points, so that it presented to each different aspects. Shakspeare approached it by the way of the imagination, and conversed chiefly with the passions; but Johnson by the understanding, and he addressed himself almost exclusively to the judgment and conscience. Each had his own field, quite independent of that of the other, and this discrepancy rendered the one unfit for the office of interpreter to the other. Johnson's want of dramatic power, so clearly evinced in "Irene," is not less forcibly displayed in his criticisms on Shakspeare. "All that he writes," said Garrick, comes from his head; Shakspeare, when he sat down to write, dipped his pen into his own heart." 66 About this time Johnson was solicited with a very eligible offer to enter into holy orders and assume the office of a rector. A living of considerable value, somewhere in Lincolnshire, was in the gift of Mr. Langton, the father of Bennett Langton, Johnson's cherished friend, through whose influence the proposal was made. The offer, however, though dictated by friendship, and presenting many temporal advantages, and also apparently one welladapted to his deeply religious character, was declined. Two reasons were assigned for this determination. His love of society, and especially of the social ex citements of the town, would not permit him readily to exchange them for the gloomy quiet of a country parish, where his constitutional melancholy might prey upon him without check, since no genial power would be at hand to exorcise the imp by social converse or intellectual gymnastics. He evidently set a low estimate on the pleasures of the country, and in several instances he portrayed the folly of seeking happiness in rural pleasures, after a large portion of life has been passed among the activities of the town. But a stronger reason for his determination in this case was found in his reverence for the clerical office, and his sense of the solemn responsibilities of those who have the care of souls. His views on these subjects, though still very defective, were greatly in advance of those generally entertained. He remarked to Hawkins that he had not the requisites for the office of a rector, and that he could not in conscience "shear the flock that he was unable to feed." He seemed to suspect that he had not the patience to undergo the fatigue of catechising and instructing a great number of poor ignorant persons, who in religious matters had perhaps everything to learn. "He justly considered," says Boswell, "that the clergy, as persons set apart for the sacred office of serving at the altar, and impressing the minds of men with the awful concerns of a future state, should be somewhat more serious than the generality of mankind, and have a suitable composure of manners. A due sense of the dignity of their profession, independent of higher motives, will ever prevent them from losing their distinction in an indiscriminate sociality." The fitness of these views will commend them to all judicious persons; and yet it must be obvious that these necessary and salutary restraints upon boisterous mirth and indiscriminate sociality would have been painfully irksome to himself. In his view the office of a rector implied more than the rendering of a few perfunctional services and the enjoyment of the living. Writing to a young friend who had recently entered upon this important service, after several other valuable instructions, he concluded:— "Talk to your people as much as you can; and you will find the more frequently you converse with them upon religious subjects the more willingly they will attend, and the more submissively they will learn. A clergyman's diligence always makes him venerable." At another time, when an old collegeassociate was wishing that he had chosen the life of a clergyman rather than that of a counselor and advocate, because he should in that case have had a much easier life, Johnson replied earnestly : "Sir, the life of a parson, of a conscientious clergyman, is not easy. I have always considered a clergyman as the father of a larger family than he is able to maintain. I would rather have chancery suits upon my hands than the care of souls. No, sir; I do not envy a clergyman's life as an easy life, nor do I envy the clergyman who makes it an easy life." With such notions of the duties of the clerical office, joined to his own invincible indolence and want of order, it is not wonderful that he declined to take these responsibilities upon himself. Johnson had now attained the high level of fame at which his later life was passed. But his recompense was not yet complete. He had won a reputation and a position of influence, and his society was sought by so many of those whose company he most valued, that the horrors of solitude no longer haunted him. But he was still the subject of starving want, and his life was imbittered by irksome labor and haggard poverty. He, however, still sustained himself manfully, and hoped for a brighter day in the future. L POETRY OF EVENING. BY THE LATE 8. B. BANGS. AST evening I stood by the farm-yard gate, after a day's hard labor; the stillness of the evening had settled upon mountain and vale, and I thought such a beautiful evening I never before enjoyed. Two long ridges of mountains stretched away to the west, and just where the sun left his parting glory and disappeared, the lines of the perspective met, and seemed a gorge, above which the crimson flushes rose in beautiful radiance. At the foot of the northern range my friend's farm is situated; by the side of the southern flows the incipient Delaware, skirted by thick shrubs and undergrowth. The rich moonlight streamed upon the fertile meadows of the valley, and the little tumbling rivulet, bearing its tribute on to the Indian's river, sent up its voice of joy. Amid these beautiful scenes-above and around-I was impressed with the poetry of the hour. It was hymned by all the voices of nature not less than the human heart; and these voices, heard only by the inward ear, speak they not far more emphatically than any audible sound? How many associations render the moonlit hour poetical! The powers of the intellect are awake. Memory, with renewed energy, sways the soul-and we pay instinctive reverence to the past, for it belongs to the history of eternity—it once was ours, but is no more. The future is invisible, beyond the reach of our thought; the present is in our grasp but a moment, for the insatiable past seizes it ere we can use it; but at the close of day we are able to recount the moments that have fled away, and we feel ""Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bear to heaven." The love of the hour of evening, the spirit of poetry it kindles in the breast, is deemed sentimental weakness by your "strong minds." But its very sentimentality is healthful as well as beautiful. It is inherent in the time as well as in the heart. It is the hour for self-reflection, for devotion, for penitence, for love. Never does the vanity of human riches, the disappointment of human hope, the nothingness of human honor, more deeply impress the mind. The gloom of the feelings, as we wander in the shadowing stillness, resembles the sadness and quiet of the churchyard, crowded with suggestive memorials. and we ask : "Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What though we wade in wealth or soar in fame, Earth's highest station ends in here he lies!' And dust to dust' concludes her noblest song!" But the highest feeling which the human breast can enjoy is the holiest. And so the highest sentiment of poetry which evening inspires is Christian. It is felt only by those who, conscious of their enrollment among the redeemed, view earth as the dim vestibule of that great temple in which man is to worship the God of his adoration through countless ages, and in the fullness of light-that future which alone can be called happy. I have seen many beautiful poems, descriptive of the associations of the evening; but none never reached the reality. The soul is wronged often by its material illustrations; the poetry of evening cannot be imaged through the medium of our feeble words. Still, though we have not the powerful utterance of Byron, or the delicate sense of Wordsworth, the common soul can appreciate and the common heart feel what genius alone can express. And as I stood rapt in the inward picture of the outward glory, that seemed to pervade creation like an essence of life, I thought how meager must be the conception of him whose spirit is not elevated from the rapture to the Spirit of all things, from the created to the Creator. I [For the National Magazine.] SHORT WORDS.* "And ten low words oft creep in one dull line." CHOOSE this verse of Pope's for my text. He means to sneer at the use of short words-to brand them as low; they creep, he says, and make the lines in which they are found, dull. Of course they are not fit for verse. Short words are low; and those who would write to please should choose such as have length and sound -such as fill the mouth and stun the ear. It seems as if most men are of the same mind as Pope; at least when they would write so as to stir the blood and rouse the soul. Then they seek out long wordswords full of sound and gas. I think they are wrong; nay, more, I shall prove that short words, in spite of the sneer in my text, need not creep, nor be dull, but that they give strength, and life, and fire, to the verse of those who know how to use them. And first, I take up Watts, and quote a few lines from his hymns: God is our sun, he makes our day; A glance of thine runs through the globe, Sweet is the work, my God, my King, now if you can add strength to that last verse, and let it be done by the change of a short word for a long one. Next, I shall quote from Charles Wesley, whose hymns we rank in the first place. Montgomery is with us in the opinion, we think. And first hear him pray : Breathe on us, Lord, in this our day, And these dry bones shall live. Hymn 34, v. 4. Save me from death; from hell set free; Death, hell are but the want of thee: My life, my only heav'n thou art,O might I feel thee in my heart!-H. 165, v. 4. Wash me, and make me thus thine own; Wash me, and mine thou art; Wash me, but not my feet alone, My hands, my head, my heart.-H. 524, v. 3. O arm me with the mind, Meek Lamb, that was in thee.-H. 732, v. 3. How shall I 'scape into thy breast, My Eden how regain ?-H. 873, v. 5. These, as will be seen, are all short words, and need not my praise. They speak to the heart, and when sung from the heart they reach the throne of God, of the same sort, and in the same style, and bring down his grace to the soul. is this verse from the hymn for those who go down to the sea in great ships : : Keep the souls whom now we leave; H. 1037, v. 3. Could length of words add strength to his trust in God, as shown in these lines:Give to the winds thy fears; |