accounts of the debates in parliament, under the title of "The Senate of Lilliput." Long afterwards one of the speeches that he had put into the mouth of William Pitt was praised in his presence as superior to anything in Demosthenes. Thereupon Johnson said, "I wrote that speech in a garret in Exeter Street." When the company applauded not only his eloquence but his impartiality, Johnson replied, "That is not quite true; I saved appearances, but I took care

that the Whig dogs should not have the best of it." In the same year, being reproved by Osborne, a publisher who had employed him to make a catalogue of the Harleian Library, Johnson knocked him down with a folio, an act which Leslie Stephen says has " doubtless refreshed the soul of many authors, who have shared Campbell's

gratitude to Napoleon for the sole redeeming action of his life-the shooting of a bookseller."

In 1738 Johnson published the book which constitutes his first real contribution to literature, an imitation of Juvenal's Fourth Satire, entitled "London." The theme of the poem is embodied in one couplet:

"This mournful truth is everywhere confess'd:
Slow rises worth by poverty depress'd."

It also contains the familiar lines:

"Of all the griefs that harass the distrest,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest."

The poem attracted the attention of Pope and the patronage of General Oglethorpe, the founder of Georgia, who became a warm friend of Johnson's.

Ten years later, in 1749, appeared "The Vanity of Human Wishes," an imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal. The undercurrent of the poem is much the same as that of "London," being embodied in the lines:

"There mark what ills the scholar's life assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail."

For "London" Johnson received ten guineas and for "The Vanity of Human Wishes" fifteen.

While Johnson was thus toiling in obscurity and poverty, his pupil, David Garrick, had become the most successful actor of the age. In 1749 he put on the stage Johnson's tragedy "Irene," which is the heaviest, the most unreadable, and the most undramatic play ever acted. Through Garrick's friendly zeal, however, it was carried through nine nights, and Johnson received as his share of the profits nearly three hundred pounds.

In 1747, he entered into a contract with certain publishers to make a dictionary of the English language, for which they agreed to pay him the sum of 1575 pounds, part of which, however, he had to pay to assistants. In fact, the entire sum was spent when, in 1755, he finished the job. Though this work afforded him no real opportunities to exercise his literary powers, some of the definitions bear the

impress of his personality. Thus, for example, he calls a lexicographer a "harmless drudge," and a pensioner "a hireling paid by the government to betray his country." The science of philology being then undeveloped, the work has, of course, been supplanted since by the labors of other scholars. Its publication, however, placed Johnson at the head of his profession. Henceforth he was the undisputed dictator among English men of letters. He finished it doubtless with a sigh of relief. When the last sheet of the book had been carried to the publisher, whose name was Miller, Johnson asked the messenger, "What did he say?" "Sir," said the messenger," he said, 'Thank God I have done with him."" "I am glad," replied Johnson, "that he thanks God for anything."

The publication of the dictionary was marked by an explosion of Johnson's temper which Carlyle says "marks an epoch in the history of English literature, the far-famed blast of doom proclaiming into the ear of the listening world, that patronage should be no more." When in 1747 he published the prospectus of his dictionary, he addressed it to the Earl of Chesterfield, who rewarded him by studiously ignoring his existence until seven years later, when the book was on the point of publication. Johnson was righteously indignant and took revenge by saying, "I thought that this man had been a lord among wits; but I find that he is only a wit among lords." Just before the appearance of the dictionary, Chesterfield put forth two articles in its praise. Johnson thereupon bestowed upon the noble Earl a piece of his mind in a letter, part of which is as follows:

"My Lord, I have been lately informed by the proprietor of the 'World' that two papers, in which my 'Dictionary' is recommended to the public, were written by your lordship.

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When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address.

"Seven years, my lord, have now passed, since I waited in your outer rooms or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour.

"Is not a patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached the ground encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to

take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.

"Your Lordship's most humble, most obedient servant,

"SAM JOHNSON."

The loneliness to which he alludes was due to the death of his wife, which occurred in 1752. During the years of struggle when the Dictionary was in the process of manufacture he had published a paper called the "Rambler " from March 20, 1750, to March 14, 1752. This periodical was conceived somewhat upon the plan of Addison's "Spectator," but Johnson had neither Addison's lightness of touch nor his ability to appeal to the public. Accordingly, while the "Spectator" had a circulation at times as high as fourteen thousand, the "Rambler " seldom reached a circulation of more than five hundred. It was, however, dignified and impressive in a heavy way, and among conservative Englishmen enjoyed and still enjoys a sort of popularity. Johnson followed it, between 1758 and 1760, with another paper along similar lines, called the "Idler." In 1756 he undertook an edition of Shakespeare, for which he received generous subscriptions. These he proceeded to spend, but owing to his indolence he did not complete the work until, in 1764, it had been hinted to him in no gentle terms by the poet Churchill that he had obtained money under false pretenses. While the notes and emendations which he made are of little value, his introductions are marked by such strong sense and eloquence that they are readable to this day.

In 1759 he was still so poor that, on the death of his mother, he was obliged to beg for money to defray her funeral expenses. In order to pay this debt he wrote his story" Rasselas," which is a kind of philosophical treatise on the "Vanity of Human Wishes," the narrative being only just sufficient to hold the chapters together and having no intrinsic interest. It is, however, one of Johnson's most interesting books. In his day it was more popular, probably, than any of his other works and in our own it is still read by all students who aspire to be educated.

With the publication of "Rasselas " Johnson's years of hardship

came to an end. George III was told upon his accession to the throne in 1760 that he ought to become a patron of literature, and he accordingly bestowed upon Johnson a pension of three hundred pounds a year. Though Johnson had defined a pension in his Dictionary as generally understood to mean pay given to a State hireling for treason to his country," he accepted it on the understanding that he was not to lose his independence. Of the roar of indignation which greeted his apparent inconsistency he said, "I wish that my pension were twice as large that they might make twice as much noise."

The chief occupation of his remaining years was the cultivation of the noblest of all arts, the art of friendship. He was one of the most clubable men who ever lived.

He counted that day lost on which he made no new acquaintance. From his earliest years he had taken pains, according to his own statement, to keep his friendships constantly in repair, and in order to do this he had always talked as well as he could. In spite of his immense consumption of food and tea, the frequently unsanitary condition of his clothes, and the occasional ferocity of his manners, he succeeded in keeping on excellent terms with most of the best men of his time. Among his intimate companions was David Garrick, whom he abused but permitted no one else to abuse. When Garrick died he said that his death had "eclipsed the gaiety of nations and diminished the public stock of harmless pleasures." Boswell ventured to criticize the observation. "Why nations?" says he. "Did his gaiety extend further than his own nation?" "We may say nations," replied Johnson," if we allow the Scotch to be a nation, and to have gaiety— which they have not." Then there was Dr. Bathurst, whom Johnson loved because he was a very good hater; he hated fools, rogues, and Whigs. Sir John Hawkins, a solemn prig, remarkable chiefly for the fact that he thought all virtue consists in respectability and called by Johnson a very unclubable man," found a place in this company. There, too, were Richardson, the novelist, and Bennet Langton, whose exceedingly tall and slender figure was compared by someone to the stork in Raphael's cartoon in the Miraculous Draught of Fishes. He was remarkable for the amiable sanctity of his life. Topham Beauclerk, a man of fashion, was another of Johnson's friends. Though