Of his habits, or external manners, nothing | prevalence of Pope's poetical reputation; nor is so often mentioned as that timorous or sul- is it without strong reason suspected, that by len taciturnity, which his friends called mod- some disingenuous acts he endeavoured to obesty by too mild a name. Steele mentions with struct it; Pope was not the only man whom he great tenderness that remarkable bashfulness, insidiously injured, though the only man of which is a cloak that hides and muffles merit; ' "whom he could be afraid. and tells us, that "his abilities were covered His own powers were such as might have only by modesty, which doubles the beauties satisfied him with conscious excellence. Of very which are seen, and gives credit and esteem to extensive learning he has indeed given no all that are concealed." Chesterfield affirms, proofs. He seems to have had small acquaintthat "Addison was the most timorous and awk- ance with the sciences, and to have read little ward man that he ever saw." And Addison, except Latin and French; but of the Latin speaking of his own deficiency in conversation, poets his Dialogue on Medals show that he had used to say of himself, that, with respect to perused the works with great diligence and intellectual wealth, "he could draw bills for skill. The abundance of his own mind left a. thousand pounds, though he had not a guinea him little need of adventitious sentiments; his in his pocket.' "" wit always could suggest what the occasion deThat he wanted current coin for ready pay-manded. He had read with critical eyes the ment, and by that want was often obstructed important volume of human life, and knew the and distressed; that he was oppressed by an heart of man from the depths of stratagem to improper and ungraceful timidity, every testi- the surface of affectation.

mony concurs to prove; but Chesterfield's rep- What he knew he could easily communicate. resentation is doubtless hyperbolical. ThatThis,' says Steele, "was particular in this man cannot be supposed very unexpert in the writer, that, when he had taken his resolution, arts of conversation and practice of life, who, or made his plan for what he designed to write, without fortune or alliance, by his usefulness he would walk about a room, and dictate it into and dexterity, became Secretary of State; and language with as much freedom and ease as who died at forty-seven, after having not only any one could write it down, and attend to the stood long in the highest rank of wit and liter- coherence and grammar of what he dictated." ature, but filled one of the most important offices of State.

The time in which he lived had reason to lament his obstinacy of silence; for he was,'' says Steele, "above all men in that talent called humour, and enjoyed it in such perfection, that I have often reflected, after a night spent with him apart from all the world, that I had had the pleasure of conversing with an intimate acquaintance of Terence and Catullus, who had all their wit and nature, heightened with humour more exquisite and delightful than any other man ever possessed." This is the fondness of a friend; let us hear what is told us by a rival. "Addison's conversation," says Pope, had something in it more charming than I have found in any other man. But this was only when familiar: before strangers, or perhaps a single stranger, he preserved his dignity by a stiff silence."'

66

This modesty was by no means inconsistent with a very high opinion of his own merit. He demanded to be the first name in modern wit; 13 and, with Steele to echo him, used to depreciate Dryden, whom Pope and Congreve defended against them. There is no reason to doubt that he suffered too much pain from the 13 Used in the 18th century sense of "polite learning."

Pope, who can be less suspected of favouring his memory, declares that he wrote very fluently, but was slow and scrupulous in correcting; that many of his Spectators were written very fast, and sent immediately to the press; and that it seemed to be for his advantage not to have time for much revisal.

"He would alter," says Pope, "anything to please his friends, before publication; but would not retouch his pieces afterwards: and I believe not one word in Cato, to which I made an objection, was suffered to stand."

The last line of Cato is Pope's, having been originally written

And, oh! 'twas this that ended Cato's life.
Pope might have made more objections to the
six concluding lines. In the first couplet the
words from hence are improper; and the sec-
ond line is taken from Dryden's Virgil. Of
the next couplet, the first verse being included
in the second, is therefore useless; and in the
third Discord is made to produce Strife.

"From hence let fierce contending nations know
What dire effects from civil discord flow.
'Tis this that shakes our country with alarms,
And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms,
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife,
And robs the guilty world of Cato's life."
The rather trivial verbal criticism is characteris-
tic of the time.

Of the course of Addison's familiar day, before his marriage, Pope has given a detail. He had in the house with him Budgell, and perhaps Philips. His chief companions were Steele, Budgell, Philips, Carey, Davenant, and Colonel Brett. With one or other of these he always breakfasted. He studied all morning; then dined at a tavern, and went afterwards to Button's.

found any man invincibly wrong, to flatter his opinions by acquiescence, and sink him yet deeper in absurdity. This artifice of mischief was admired by Stella; 16 and Swift seems to approve her admiration.

His works will supply some information. It appears from his various pictures of the world, that, with all his bashfulness, he had conversed with many distinct classes of men, had surveyed their ways with very diligent observation, and marked with great acuteness the effects of different modes of life. He was a man in whose presence nothing reprehensible was out of danger; quick in discerning whatever was wrong or ridiculous, and not unwilling to expose it. There are, says Steele, in his writings many

Button had been a servant in the Countess of Warwick's family, who, under the patronage of Addison, kept a coffee-house on the south side of Russell Street, about two doors from Covent Garden. Here it was that the wits of that time used to assemble. It is said that when Addison suffered any vexation from the countess, he withdrew the company from But-oblique strokes upon some of the wittiest men ton's house.

of the age. His delight was more to excite merriment than detestation, and he detects follies rather than crimes.

From the coffee-house he went again to a tavern, where he often sat late, and drank too much wine. In the bottle, discontent seeks for If any judgment be made, from his books, of comfort, cowardice for courage, and bashfulness his moral character, nothing will be found but for confidence. It is not unlikely that Addison purity and excellence. Knowledge of mankind, was first seduced to excess by the manumission indeed, less extensive than that of Addison, which he obtained from the servile timidity of will show that to write, and to live, are very his sober hours. He that feels oppression different. Many who praise virtue, do no more from the presence of those to whom he knows than praise it. Yet it is reasonable to believe himself superior, will desire to set loose his that Addison's professions and practice were at powers of conversation; and who, that ever no great variance, since, amidst that storm of asked succour from Bacchus, was able to pre-faction in which most of his life was passed, serve himself from being enslaved by his auxil- though his station made him conspicuous, and iary? his activity made him formidable, the character Among those friends it was that Addison dis- given him by his friends was never contradicted played the elegance of his colloquial accom- by his enemies: of those with whom interest plishments, which may easily be supposed such or opinion united him, he had not only the as Pope represents them. The remark of Mande-esteem, but the kindness; and of others, whom ville, who, when he had passed an evening in the violence of opposition drove against him, his company, declared that he was a parson in though he might lose the love, he retained the a tie-wig,15 can detract little from his charac- reverence. ter; he was always reserved to strangers, and was not incited to uncommon freedom by a character like that of Mandeville.

4

From any minute knowledge of his familiar manners, the intervention of sixty years has now debarred us. Steele once promised Congreve and the public a complete description of his character; but the promises of authors are like the vows of lovers. Steele thought no more on his design, or thought on it with anxiety that at last disgusted him, and left his friend in the hands of Tickell.

One slight lineament of his character Swift has preserved. It was his practice, when he 14 Bernard Mandeville, a poet and somewhat of a cynic. 15 i. e, in the latest court-fashion (tie-wigs having just come in moreover, the learned professions affected the loose, flowing wigs) Addison married the countess in 1716.

It is justly observed by Tickell that he employed wit on the side of virtue and religion. He not only made the proper use of wit himsclf, but taught it to others; and from his time it has been generally subservient to the cause of reason and of truth. He has dissipated the prejudice that had long connected gaiety with vice, and easiness of manners with laxity of principles. He has restored virtue to its dignity, and taught innocence not to be ashamed. This is an elevation of literary character, above all Greek, above all Roman fame.17 No greater felicity can genius attain than that of having purified intellectual pleasure, separated mirth from indecency, and wit from licentiousness; of having taught a succession of writers

16 Swift's inamorata.

17 Quoted from Pope, To Augusius.

to bring elegance and gaiety to the aid of told Mr Langton that while Hunter was floggoodness; and, if I may use expressions yet ging his boys unmercifully, he used to say, more awful, of having turned many to right-"And this I do to save you from the gallows.

cousness.18

JAMES BOSWELL (1740-1795)

FROM THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON,

LL.D.

JOHNSON AT SCHOOL

Johnson, upon all occasions, expressed his approbation of enforcing instruction by means of the rod. "I would rather'' (said he) "have the rod to be the general terror to all, to make them learn, than tell a child, if you do thus, or thus, you will be more esteemed than your brothers or sisters. The rod produces an effect which terminates in itself. A child is afraid

of being whipped, and gets his task, and there's an end on't: whereas, by exciting emulation and comparisons of superiority, you lay the foundation of lasting mischief; you make brothers and sisters hate each other."

He was first taught to read English by Dame Oliver, a widow, who kept a school for young children in Lichfield. He told me she could read the black letter, and asked him to borrow for her, from his father, a Bible in that character. When he was going to Oxford, she came to take That superiority over his fellows, which he leave of him, brought him, in the simplicity of maintained with so much dignity in his march her kindness, a present of gingerbread, and said through life, was not assumed from vanity and he was the best scholar she ever had. He de- ostentation, but was the natural and constant lighted in mentioning this early compliment: effect of those extraordinary powers of mind, adding, with a smile, that "this was as high of which he could not but be conscious by coma proof of his merit as he could conceive."parison; the intellectual difference, which in His next instructor in English was a master other cases of comparison of characters, is whom, when he spoke of him to me, he famil- often a matter of undecided contest, being as iarly called Tom Brown, who, said he, "pub-clear in his case as the superiority of stature lished a spelling-book, and dedicated it to the Universe; but I fear no copy of it can now be had."

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He began to learn Latin with Mr. Hawkins, usher, or undermaster, of Lichfield school-a man" (said he) "very skilful in his little way." With him he continued two years, and then rose to be under the care of Mr. Hunter, the head master, who, according to his account, was very severe and wrongheadedly severe. He used" (said he) to beat us unmercifully; and he did not distinguish between ignorance and negligence; for he would beat a boy equally for not knowing a thing, as for neglecting to know it. He would ask a boy a question, and if he did not answer it, he would beat him, without considering whether he had an opportunity of knowing how to answer it. For instance, he would call up a boy and ask him Latin for a candlestick, which the boy could not expect to be asked. Now, Sir, if a boy could answer every question, there would be no need of a master to teach him." However, Johnson was very sensible how much he owed to Mr. Hunter. Mr. Langton one day asked him how he had acquired so accurate a knowledge of Latin, in which I believe he was exceeded by no man of his time; he said, "My master whipt me very well. Without that, sir, I should have done nothing." 18 Daniel, xii, 3.

He

His

in some men above others. Johnson did not strut or stand on tiptoe; he only did not stoop. From his earliest years, his superiority was perceived and acknowledged. He was from the beginning anax andron, a king of men. schoolfellow, Mr. Hector, has obligingly furnished me with many particulars of his boyish days; and assured me that he never knew him corrected at school but for talking and diverting other boys from their business. He seemed to learn by intuition; for though indolence and procrastination were inherent in his constitution, whenever he made an exertion he did more than any one else. In short, he is a memorable instance of what has been often observed, that the boy is the man in miniature; and that the distinguishing characteristics of each individual are the same through the whole course of life. His favourites used to receive very liberal assistance from him; and such was the submission and deference with which he was treated, such the desire to obtain his regard, that three of the boys, of whom Mr. Hector was sometimes one, used to come in the morning as his humble attendants, and carry him to school. One in the middle stooped while he sat upon his back, and one on each side supported him, and thus he was borne triumphant. Such a proof of the early predominance of intellec tual vigour is very remarkable, and does honour

to human nature.

JOHNSON'S FRIENDS, 1752-53*

forth together into Covent-Garden, where the

greengrocers and fruiterers were beginning to arrange their hampers, just come in from the country. Johnson made some attempts to help them; but the honest gardeners stared so at his figure and manner, and odd interference, that he soon saw his services were not relished. They then repaired to one of the neighbouring taverns, and made a bowl of that liquor called Bishop,3 which Johnson had always liked: while, in joyous contempt of sleep, from which he had been roused, he repeated the festive lines,

"Short, O short, then be thy reign,
And give us to the world again!"

His acquaintance with Bennet Langton, Esq., of Langton, in Lincolnshire, another much valued friend, commenced soon after the conclusion of his Rambler; which that gentleman, then a youth, had read with so much admiration, that he came to London chiefly with the view of endeavouring to be introduced to its author. By a fortunate chance he happened to take lodgings in a house where Mr. Levet1 frequently visited; and having mentioned his wish to his landlady, she introduced him to Mr. Levet, who readily obtained Johnson's permission to bring Mr. Langton to him; as, indeed, Johnson, during the whole course of his life, had no shyness, real or affected, but was easy of access to all who were properly recommended, They did not stay long, but walked down to and even wished to see numbers at his levee, as the Thames, took a boat, and rowed to Billingshis morning circle of company might, with gate. Beauclerk and Johnson were so well strict propriety, be called. Mr. Langton was pleased with their amusement that they resolved exceedingly surprised when the sage first ap- to persevere in dissipation for the rest of the peared. He had not received the smallest inti-day: but Langton deserted them, being engaged mation of his figure, dress, or manner. From to breakfast with some young ladies. Johnson perusing his writings, he fancied he should see a decent, well-drest, in short, a remarkably decorous philosopher. Instead of which, down from his bed-chamber, about, noon, came, as newly risen, a huge uncouth figure, with a little dark wig which scarcely covered his head, and his clothes hanging loose about him. But his conversation was so rich, so animated, and so forcible, and his religious and political notions so congenial with those in which Langton had been educated, that he conceived for him that veneration and attachment which he ever preserved.

scolded him for “leaving his social friends, to
go and sit with a set of wretched un-idea'd
girls.'
"Garrick being told of this ramble, said
to him smartly, "I heard of your frolic t'other
night. You'll be in the Chronicle." Upon
which Johnson afterwards observed, "He durst
not do such a thing. His wife would not let
him!"'

He entered upon this year, 1753, with his usual piety, as appears from the following prayer, which I transcribed from that part of his diary which he burned a few days before his death:

"Jan. 1, 1753, N. S.,* which I shall use for the future.

"Almighty GOD, who hast continued my life to this day, grant that, by the assistance of thy Holy Spirit, I may improve the time which thou shalt grant me, to my eternal salvation. Make me to remember, to thy glory, thy judg ments and thy mercies. Make me so to consider the loss of my wife, whom thou hast taken from me, that it may dispose me by thy grace, to lead the residue of my life in thy fear. Grant this, O LORD, for JESUS CHRIST's sake. Amen."'

One night when Beauclerk2 and Langton had supped at a tavern in London, and sat till about three in the morning, it came into their heads to go and knock up Johnson, and see if they could prevail on him to join them in a ramble. They rapped violently at the door of his chambers in the Temple, till at last he appeared in his shirt, with his little black wig on the top of his head, instead of a nightcap, and a poker in his hand, imagining, probably, that some ruffians were coming to attack him. When he discovered who they were, and was told their errand, he smiled, and with great good humour agreed to their proposal: "What, is it you, you dogs! I'll have a frisk with you." He was soon dressed, and they sallied 1 A surgeon, and odd 2 A gentleman of elecharacter, inmate gant tastes but of Dr. Johnson's rather free manhouse. ners and opinions. * New style; referring to the change to the Greperiod of Johnson's gorian calendar, which was adopted in England in 1752, when the dates between September 2nd and 14th were omitted.

These dates indicate the

life under which the particular records are made. See any edition of Boswell's Johnson.

JOHNSON AND GOLDSMITH, 1773

He and Mr. Langton and I went together to
THE CLUB, where we found Mr. Burke, Mr.

3 Mulled wine, oranges 4 The Literary Club. See
and sugar
Eng. Lit., p. 207

Garrick, and some other members, and amongst | sometimes content to be treated with an easy them our friend Goldsmith, who sat silently familiarity, but upon occasions would be conbrooding over Johnson's reprimand to him after dinner. Johnson perceived this, and said aside to some of us, "I'll make Goldsmith forgive me;"' and then called to him in a loud voice, "Dr. Goldsmith-something passed today where you and I dined: I ask your pardon." Goldsmith answered placidly, "It must be much from you, Sir, that I take ill." And so at once the difference was over, and they were on as easy terms as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual.

He was still more mortified, when talking in a company with fluent vivacity, and, as he flattered himself, to the admiration of all who were present; a German who sat next him, and perceived Johnson rolling himself as if about to speak, suddenly stopped him, saying, "Stay, stay-Toctor Shonson is going to say something." This was, no doubt, very provoking, especially to one so irritable as Gold-pany; but surely he was not dull in poetry." smith, who frequently mentioned it with strong in his closet, dull everywhere. He was dull in a JOHNSON. "Sir, he was dull in company, duli expressions of indignation. new way, and that made many people think him GREAT. He was a mechanical poet." He then

After one of Johnson's long discourses, Gold-5 Thomas Sheridan, father of the dramatist. smith had begged that somebody else might 6 A bookseller and publisher who published a pirbe heard; whereupon Johnson called him im- ated edition of Johnson's writings but was pertinent. forgiven by him.