the vehemence with which I talk; but I do not despair." MRS. ADAMS. "You seem, sir, to forget the merits of our Redeemer." JOHNSON. "Madam, I do not forget the merits of my Redeemer; but my Redeemer has said that he will set some on his right hand and some on his left."-He was in gloomy agitation, and said, "I'll have no more on 't."-If what has now been stated should be urged by the enemies of Christianity, as if its influence on the mind were not benignant, let it be remembered, that Johnson's temperament was melancholy, of which such direful apprehensions of futurity are often a common effect. We shall presently see, that when he approached nearer to his awful change, his mind. became tranquil, and he exhibited as much fortitude as becomes a thinking man in that situation.

From the subject of death we passed to discourse of life, whether it was upon the whole more happy or miserable. Johnson was decidedly for the balance of misery in confirmation of which I maintained that no man would choose to lead over again the life which he had experienced. Johnson acceded to that opinion in the strongest terms. This is an inquiry often made; and its being a subject of disquisition is a proof that much misery presses upon human feelings; for those who are conscious of a felicity of existence would never hesitate to accept of a repetition of it. I have met with very few who would. I have heard Mr. Burke make use of a very ingenious and plausible argument on this subject : "Every man," said he, "would lead his life over again; for every man is willing to go on and take an addition to his life, which, as he grows older, he

[Here followed a very long note, or rather dissertation, by the Reverend Mr. Churton, on the subject of Johnson's opinion of the misery of human life, which the editor has thought will be read most conveniently in the Appendix.-ED.]

has no reason to think will be better, or even so good as what has preceded." I imagine, however, the truth is that there is a deceitful hope that the next part of life will be free from the pains, and anxieties, and sorrows, which we have already felt. We are for wise purposes "Condemned to Hope's delusive mine," as Johnson finely says; and I may also quote the celebrated lines of Dryden, equally philosophical and poetical:

"When I consider life, 't is all a cheat,

Yet, fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit ;
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow's falser than the former day;
Lies worse; and while it says we shall be blest
With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strange cozenage! none would live past years again;
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain ;

And from the dregs of life think to receive

What the first sprightly running could not give '."

It was observed to Dr. Johnson, that it seemed strange that he, who has so often delighted his company by his lively and brilliant conversation, should say he was miserable. JOHNSON. "Alas! it is all outside; I may be cracking my joke, and cursing the sun. Sun, how I hate thy beams!" I knew not well what to think of this declaration; whether to hold it as a genuine picture of his mind, or as the effect of his persuading himself contrary to fact, that the position which he had assumed as to human unhappiness was true. We may apply to him a sentence in Mr. Greville's " Maxims, Characters, and Reflections 3;" a book which is entitled to much more praise than it has received: "Aristarchus is

3.99

Aurengzebe, Act iv. Scene 1.-BOSWELL.

Yet there is no doubt that a man may appear very gay in company, who is sad at heart. His merriment is like the sound of drums and trumpets in a battle, to drown the groans of the wounded and dying.-BoswELL.

3 Page 139.-- BOSWELL.

charming; how full of knowledge, of sense, of sentiment. You get him with difficulty to your supper; and after having delighted every body and himself for a few hours, he is obliged to return home; he is finishing his treatise, to prove that unhappiness is the portion of man."

On Sunday, 13th June, our philosopher was calm at breakfast. There was something exceedingly pleasing in our leading a college life, without restraint and with superiour elegance, in consequence of our living in the master's house, and having the company of ladies. Mrs. Kennicott related, in his presence, a lively saying of Dr. Johnson to Miss Hannah More, who had expressed a wonder that the poet who had written "Paradise Lost," should write such poor sonnets: "Milton, madam, was a genius that could cut a Colossus from a rock, but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones."

We talked of the casuistical question, "Whether it was allowable at any time to depart from truth?” JOHNSON. "The general rule is, that truth should never be violated, because it is of the utmost importance to the comfort of life that we should have a full security by mutual faith; and occasional inconveniences should be willingly suffered, that we may preserve it. There must, however, be some exceptions. If, for instance, a murderer should ask you which way a man is gone, you may tell him what is not true, because you are under a previous obligation not to betray a man to a murderer." BosWELL. "Supposing the person who wrote Junius were asked whether he was the authour, might he deny it?" JOHNSON. "I don't know what to say to this. If you were sure that he wrote Junius, would you, if he denied it, think as well of him

afterwards? Yet it may be urged that what a man has no right to ask, you may refuse to communicate; and there is no other effectual mode of preserving a secret and an important secret, the discovery of which may be very hurtful to you, but a flat denial; for if you are silent, or hesitate, or evade, it will be held equivalent to a confession. But stay, sir, here is another case. Supposing the authour had told me confidentially that he had written Junius, and I were asked if he had, I should hold myself at liberty to deny it, as being under a previous promise, express or implied, to conceal it'. Now what I ought to do for the authour, may I not do for myself? But I deny the lawfulness of telling a lie to a sick man, for fear of alarming him '. You have no business with consequences; you are to tell the truth. Besides, you are not sure what effect your telling him that he is in danger may have. It may bring his distemper to a crisis, and that may cure him. Of all lying, I have the greatest abhorrence of this, because I believe it has been frequently practised on myself."

I cannot help thinking that there is much weight in the opinion of those who have held that truth, as an eternal and immutable principle, ought upon no account whatever to be violated, from supposed previous or superiour obligations, of which every man being to judge for himself, there is great danger that we too often, from partial motives, persuade ourselves that they exist; and probably whatever extraordinary

1 [See ante, vol. iv. p. 246.-ED.]

[A very eminent physician of the present day (1831) is reported to have publicly stated, that he always kept in view his duty to preserve a patient's life as long as possible, and that for that reason he did not communicate to the patient himself the extent of danger that impended over him."-J. H. MARKLAND. [Warburton says "where the terror of such a sentence may impede the doctor's endeavours to save, the pronouncing it would be very indiscreet."-Lett. to Hurd, p. 392.-ED.]

instances may sometimes occur, where some evil may be prevented by violating this noble principle, it would be found that human happiness would, upon the whole, be more perfect were truth universally preserved.

In the notes to the "Dunciad," we find the following verses addressed to Pope 1:

"While malice, Pope, denies thy page
Its own celestial fire;

While criticks, and while bards in rage,
Admiring, won't admire :

While wayward pens thy worth assail,
And envious tongues decry;

These times, though many a friend bewail,
These times bewail not I.

"But when the world's loud praise is thine,
And spleen no more shall blame;
When with thy Homer thou shalt shine
In one establish'd fame!

"When none shall rail, and every lay

Devote a wreath to thee;

That day (for come it will) that day

Shall I lament to see."

It is surely not a little remarkable that they should

appear without a name.

Miss Seward, knowing Dr. Johnson's almost universal and minute literary information, signified a desire that I should ask him who was the authour. He was prompt with his answer:-"Why, sir, they were written by one Lewis, who was either under-master or an usher of Westminster-school, and published a Miscellany, in which 'Grongar Hill' first came out." Johnson praised

The annotator calls them "amiable verses."-BOSWELL. [The annotator was Pope himself.-ED.]

Lewis's verses addressed to Pope (as Mr. Bindley suggests to me) were first published in a collection of Pieces in verse and prose on occasion of "The Dunciad," 8vo. 1732. They are there called an Epigram. "Grongar Hill," the same gentleman observes, was first printed in Savage's Miscellanies, as an Ode (it is singular that Johnson should not have recollected this), and was reprinted in the same year (1726), in Lewis's Miscellany, in the form it now bears. In that Miscellany (as the Reverend Mr. Blakeway observes to me), "the beautiful poem, Away, let nought to love displeasing,' &c. (reprinted in Percy's Reliques, vol. i. b. iii. No. 14), first appeared." It is there said to be a translation from the ancient British. Lewis was authour of "Philip of Mace