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rience of a friend you can trust, the sincerity of whose advice you will try and prove by your own experience hereafter, when more years shall have given it to you. I have been longer upon this head, than I hope there was any occasion for: but the great importance of the matter, and my warm wishes for your welfare, figure, and happiness, have drawn it from me.

My dear Nephew,
Ever affectionately.

Yours.

SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 1723–1780.

THIS eminent civilian was born in London, in July, 1723. His .ather was a silk-mercer, and the fortune he had acquired in the honorable | ursuits of trade, was sufficient to enable him to afford his son every advantage of edu cation and scholarship. On leaving the University of Oxford, having selected the law as his profession, he entered the Middle Temple, on which occasion he wrote the sprightly and beautiful lines entitled "The Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse." In due time he was called to the bar, but after seven years of patient and vain expectance, meeting with but little success, he returned to Oxford, with the intention of living on his fellowship. Having, however, obtained an appointment to the law professorship in the university, be so distinguished himself by the lectures he delivered, that he resumed the practice of his profession with a success proportioned to his great abilities an 1 learning. In 1765 he published his celebrated "Commentaries on the laws of England," than which few books have exerted a wider influence, it being one of the first works read by every student of the law, and the one to which, perhaps, he makes the most frequent reference through the whole cc rse of his professional life. In 1770, Blackstone was made one of the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, which situation he held till his death, in 1786

THE LAWYER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MUSE.

As by some tyrant's stern command,

A wretch forsakes his native land,
In foreign climes condemn'd to roam'
An endless exile from his home;
Pensive he treads the destined way,
And dreads to go, nor dares to stay;
Till on some neighboring mountain's brow
He stops, and turns his eyes below;
Then, melting at the well-known view,
Drops a last tear, and bids adieu;
So I, thus doom d from thee to part,
. Gay Queen of Fancy and of Art,
Reluctant move, with doubtful mind,
Oft stop, and often look behind.

Companion of my tender age,
Serenely gay, and sweetly sage,

How blithesome were we wont to rove by verdant hill or shady grove,

Where fervent bees, with humming voice,
Around the honey'd oak rejoice,
And aged elms with awful bend
In long cathedral walks extend!
Lull'd by the lapse of gliding floods,
Cheer'd by the warbling of the woods,
How bless'd my days, my thoughts how free
In sweet society with thee!

Then all was joyous, all was young,
And years unheeded roll'd along:
But now the pleasing dream is o'er,

Those scenes must charm me now no more;
Lost to the fields, and torn from you,-
Farewell!-a long, a last adieu.

Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law,
To smoke, and crowds, and cities, draw:
There selfish faction rules the day,
And pride and avarice throng the way;
Diseases taint the murky air,

And midnight conflagrations glare;
Loose revelry and riot bold

In frighted streets their orgies hold;
Or, where in silence all is drown'd,
Fell Murder walks his lonely round;
No room for peace, no room for you,
Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu!

Shakspeare no more, thy sylvan son,
Nor all the art of Addison,

Pope's heaven-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, Nor Milton's mighty self, must please:

Instead of thee, a formal band

In furs and coifs a cund me stand;

With sounds uncouth and accents dry,

That grate the soul of harmony:
Each pedant sage unlocks his store
Of mystic, dark, discordant lore;

And points with tottering hand the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.

There, in a winding close retreat,
Is justice doom'd to fix her seat;
There, fenced by bulwarks of the law,
She keeps the wondering world in awe;
And there, from vulgar sight retired,
Like eastern queens, is more admired.
O let me pierce the secret shade

Where dwells the venerable maid!
There humbly mark, with reverend awe
The guardian of Britannia's law;
Unfold with joy her sacred page,
Th united boast of many an age;
Where mix'd, yet uniform, appears
The wisdom of a thousand years.
In that pure spring the bottom view,
Clear, deep, and regularly true;

And other doctrines thence imbibe
Than lurk within the sordid scribe;
Observe how parts with parts unite
In one harmonious rule of right;
See countless wheels distinctly tend
By various laws to one great end:
While mighty Alfred's piercing soul
Pervades and regulates the whole.

Then welcome business, welcome strife
Welcome the cares, the thorns of life,
The visage wan, the purblind sight,
The toil by day, the lamp at night,
The tedious forms, the solemn prate,
The pert dispute, the dull debate,
The drowsy bench, the babbling Hall,-
For thee, fair Justice, welcome all!
Thus though my noon of life be past,
Yet let my setting sun, at last,
Find out the still, the rural-cell,
Where sage Retirement loves to dwell!
There let me taste the homefelt bliss
Of innocence and inward peace;
Untainted by the guilty bribe,
Uncursed amid the harpy tribe;
No orphan's cry to wound my ear;
My honor and my conscience clear;
Thus may I calmly meet my end,
Thus to the grave in peace descend.

SAMUEL JOHNSON. 1709-1784.

SAMUEL JOHNSON, the Corypheus of English Literature of the eighteenth century, was born at Litchfield,' in Staffordshire, September 7, 1709, and was educated at Pembroke College, Oxford. He gave early proof of a vigoroUS understanding and of a great fondness for knowledge; but poverty compelled him to leave the university, after being there three years, without taking a degree, and he returned to Litchfield in the autumn of 1731, destitute, and wholly undetermined what plan of life to pursue. His father, who had been a bookseller, and who had become insolvent, died in December, and in the July following, Johnson accepted the situation of usher of the grammar-school at Market-Bosworth, in Leicestershire. For this situation, however, he soo felt himself utterly unqualified by means of his natural disposition. Though his scholarship was ample, he wanted that patience to bear with dulness and waywardness, those kind and urbane manners to win love and respect, that tact in controlling and governing youth, and that happy manner of illustrating difficulties and imparting knowledge, which are as essential as high literary attainments to form the perfect schoolmaster. No wonder, therefore, that he quitted the high vocation in disgust. His scholars, doubtless, were quite as glad to get rid of him as he was of them. Non omnes omnibus.

1 Hence he has been frequently termed "The Sage o' Litchfield."

The next year he obtained temporary employment from a bookseller at Birmingham, and soon after, entered into an engagement with Mr. Cave, the editor of the Gentleman's Magazine, to write for that periodical. This, however, was not sufficient to support him, but Cupid happily came to his assistance; for he fell in love with a Mrs. Porter, a widow of little more than double her lover's age, and possessed of eight hundred pounds. They were married on the 9th of July, 1736, and soon after, Johnson took a large house near Litchfield, and opened an academy for classical education. But the plan failed, and he went to London, and engaged himself as a regular contributor to the Gentleman's Magazine. Here he shortly produced his admirable poem entitled "London," in imitation of the third satire of Juvenal. For it, he received from Dodsley ten guineas; it immediately attracted great attention, and Pope, as soon as he read it, said, "The author, whoever he is, will not be long concealed." His tragedy of "Irene," produced about the same time, was, as regards stage success, a total failure, though, like the Cato of Addison, it is full of noble sentiments. His pen was at this time continually employed in writing pamphlets, prefaces, epitaphs, essays, and biographical memoirs for the magazine; but the compensation he received was small, very small; and it is distressing to reflect that, at this period, the poverty of this most distinguished scholar was so great, that he was sometimes obliged to pass the day without food.

In 1744 he published the "Life of Richard Savage," one of the best writ ten and most instructive pieces of biography extant, and which was at once the theme of general admiration. In 1747 he issued his plan for his “English Dictionary," addressed, in an admirably written pamphlet, to the Earl of Chesterfield, who, however, concerned himself very little about its success. The time he could spare from this Herculean labor, he gave to various litetary subjects. In 1749 appeared his "Vanity of Human Wishes," an admitable poem, in imitation of the tenth satire of Juvenal; and in the next year he commenced his periodical paper "The Rambler," which deservedly raised the reputation of the author still higher, and which, from the peculiar strength of its style, exerted a powerful influence on English Prose Literature. In 1755, appeared the great work which has made his name known wnerever the English language is spoken-his long-promised "Dictionary." Eignt long years was he in bringing it to a completion; and considering the little aid he could receive from previous lexicographers, it was a gigantic undertaking; and most successfully and nobly did he accomplish it.3 But just before it was

1 One of the best proofs of its attractive power was given by Sir Joshua Reynolds, who said that, on his return from Italy, he met with it in Devonshire, knowing aɔthing of its author, and began to read it while he was standing with his arm leaning against a chimney-piece. It seized his attention so strongly, that, not being able to lay down the book till he had finished it, when he attempted to move, he found his arm totally benumbed.

2 "The Rambler," was commenced on the 20th of March, 1750, and continued every Tuesday and Saturday to March 14, 1752. Of the energy and fertility of resource with which this work was conducted, there can be no greater proof than that during the whole time, though afflicted with disease, and harassed with the toils of lexicography, he wrote the whole himself, with the exception of four or five numbers.

3 The French Academy of FORTY members were all engaged upon their boasted Dictionary, which, after all, was not equal to Johnson's single-handed labor. This gave rise to the following spirited Hines from Garrick :

Talk of war with a Briton, he'll boldly advance,
That one English soldier will beat ten of France;
Would we alter the boast from the sword to the pen,
Our odds are still greater, still greater our men,

published, Lord Chesterfield endeavored to influence Johnson to dedicate it to himself, and for this purpose he wrote two numbers, in a periodical paper, *The World," highly complimentary of Johnson's learning and labors Johnson was of course highly indignant,' and addressed to him the following let ter, which, for the polish of its style, the elegance of its language, the keenness of its sarcasm, its manly disdain, and the condensed vigor of its thought, is, perhaps, unequalled in English literature.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

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. To be so distinguished, is an honor, which, being very little accustomed to favors from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

When upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address; and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre ;that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward 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 favor. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.

In the deep mines of science, though Frenchmen may toil,
Can their strength be compared to Locke, Newton, and Boyle!
Let them rally their heroes, send forth all their powers,
Their verse-men and prose-men; then match them with ours:
First Shakspeare and Milton, like gods in the fight,
Have put their whole drama and epic to flight;
In satires, epistles, and odes would they cope,
Their numbers retreat before Dryden and Pope;
And JOHNSON, well arm'd like a hero of yore,

Has beat FORTY French, and will beat forty more!"

1 In his anger he exclaimed to his friend Garrick, "I have sailed a long and painful voyage round the world of the English language; and does he now send out two cock boats to tow me te harbor

The conqueror of the conqueror of the world.

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