The milk-woman

66

Chevy Chase," Genius is, in fact,

"Doubtless," he answered. "But there is nothing so little comprehended as what is genius. They give it to all, when it can be but a part. had surely begun with some ballad or the "Children in the Wood." knowing the use of tools. But there must be tools, or how use them? A man who has spent all his life in this room, will give a very poor account of what is contained in the next." 66 Certainly, Sir; and yet there is such a thing as invention ? Shakspeare could never have seen a Caliban ?

"No; but he had seen a man, and knew how to vary him to a monster. A person who would draw a monstrous cow, must know first what a cow is commonly; or how can he tell that to give her an ass's head, or an elephant's tusk, will make her monstrous ? Suppose you show me a man who is a very expert carpenter, and that an admiring stander-by, looking at some of his works, exclaims: 'O! he was born a carpenter!' What would have become of that birthright if he had never seen any wood?"

Presently, dwelling on this idea, he went on, "Let two men, one with genius, the other with none, look together at an overturned waggon; he who has no genius will think of the waggon only as he then sees it; that is to say, overturned, and walk on: he who has genius will give it a glance of examination, that will paint it to his imagination such as it was previously to its being overturned, and when it was standing still, and when it was in motion, and when it was heavy loaded, and when it was empty; but both alike must see the waggon to think of it at all."

The pleasure with which I listened to his illustration now animated him on; and he talked upon this milkwoman, and upon a once as famous shoemaker; and then mounted his spirits and his subject, to our immortal Shakspeare; flowing and glowing on, with as much wit

and truth of criticism and judgment, as ever yet I have heard him display; but, alack-a-day! my Susan, I have no power to give you the participation so justly your due. My paper is filling; and I have no franks for doubling letters across the channel! But delightfully bright are his faculties, though the poor, infirm, shaken machine that contains them seems alarmingly giving way!

And soon, exhilarated as he became by the pleasure of bestowing pleasure, I saw a palpable increase of suffering in the midst of his sallies; I offered, therefore, to go into the next room, there to wait for the carriage; an offer which, for the first time, he did not oppose; but taking, and most affectionately pressing, both my hands, "Be not," he said, in a voice of even melting kindness and concern, "be not longer in coming again for my letting you go now!" I eagerly assured him I would come the sooner, and was running off; but he called me back, and in a solemn voice, and a manner the most energetic, said: "Remember me in your prayers!

How affecting such an injunction from Dr. Johnson ! It almost as once before- made me tremble, from surprise and emotion — surprise he could so honour me, and emotion that he should think himself so ill. I longed to ask him so to remember me! but he was too serious for any parleying, and I knew him too well for offering any disqualifying speeches: I merely, in a low voice, and I am sure, a troubled accent, uttered an instant and heartfelt assurance of obedience; and then, very heavily indeed in spirits, I left him.

From this meeting I felt redoubled anxiety, both for the health and the sight of this illustrious invalid. But all accounts thenceforward discouraged my return to him; his pains daily becoming greater, and his weakness more oppressive; added to which obstacles, he was now constantly attended by a group of male friends. I was soon afterwards engaged on a visit to Norbury

Park; but immediately upon my return to town, presented myself, according to my willing promise, at Bolt Court. Frank Barber, the faithful negro, told me, with great sorrow, that his master was very bad indeed, though he did not keep his bed. The poor man would have shown me up stairs. This I declined, desiring only that he would let the Doctor know that I had called to pay my respects to him, but would by no means disturb him, if he were not well enough to see me without inconvenience.

Mr. Strahan, the clergyman, was with him, Frank said, alone; and Mr. Strahan, in a few minutes, descended. Dr. Johnson, he told me, was very ill indeed, but much obliged to me for coming to him; and he had sent Mr. Strahan to thank me in his name; but to say that he was so very weak, that he hoped I would excuse his not seeing me.

I was greatly disappointed; but, leaving a message of the most affectionate respect, acquiesced, and drove away; painfully certain how extremely ill, or how sorrowfully low he must be, to decline the sight of one whom so constantly, so partially, he had pressed, nay, adjured, "to come to him again and again." Fast, however, was approaching the time when he could so adjure me no more! From my firm conviction of his almost boundless kindness to me, I was fearful now to importune or distress him, and forbore, for the moment, repeating my visits; leaving in Dr. Burney's hands all propositions for their renewal.

On Friday, the 10th of December, Mr. Seward brought to my father the alarming intelligence from Frank Barber, that Dr. Warren had seen his master, and told him that he might take what opium he pleased for the alleviation of his pains. Dr. Johnson instantly understood, and impressively thanked him, and then gravely took a last leave of him; after which, with the

utmost kindness, as well as composure, he formally bid adieu to all his physicians.

Dr. Burney, in much affliction, hurried to Bolt Court; but the invalid seemed to be sleeping, and could not be spoken to till he should open his eyes. Mr. Strahan, the clergyman, gave, however, the welcome information, that the terror of death had now passed away; and that this excellent man no longer looked forward with dismay to his quick-approaching end; but, on the contrary, with what he himself called the irradiation of hope.

This was, indeed, the greatest of consolations, at so awful a crisis, to his grieving friend; nevertheless, Dr. Burney was deeply depressed at the heavy and irreparable loss he was so soon to sustain; but he determined to make, at least, one more effort for a parting sight of his so long-honoured friend. And, on Saturday, the 11th December, to his unspeakable comfort, he arrived at Bolt Court just as the poor invalid was able to be visible; and he was immediately admitted.

Dr. Burney found him seated on a great chair, propped up by pillows, and perfectly tranquil. He affectionately took my father's hand, and kindly inquired after his health, and that of his family; and then, as evermore Dr. Johnson was wont to do, he separately and very particularly named and dwelt upon his second daughter; gently adding, "I hope Fanny did not take it amiss, that I did not see her that morning? - I was very bad indeed!" Dr. Burney answered, that the word amiss could never be à propos to her; and least of all now, when he was so very ill.

My father ventured to stay about half an hour, which was partly spent in quiet discourse, partly in calm silence; the invalid always perfectly placid in looks and manner. When he was retiring, Dr. Johnson again took his hand and encouraged him to call yet another time; and afterwards, when again he was departing,

Dr. Johnson impressively said, though in a low voice, "Tell Fanny to pray for me!" And then, still holding, or rather grasping, his hand, he made a prayer for himself, the most pious, humble, eloquent, and touching, Dr. Burney said, that mortal man could compose and utter. He concluded it with an amen! in which Dr. Burney fervently joined; and which was spontaneously echoed by all who were present.

"Tell

This over, he brightened up, as if with revived spirits, and opened cheerfully into some general conversation; and when Dr. Burney, yet a third time, was taking his reluctant leave, something of his old arch look played upon his countenance as, smilingly, he said, Fanny, I think I shall yet throw the ball at her again!" A kindness so lively, following an injunction so penetrating, reanimated a hope of my admission ; and, after church, on the ensuing morning, Sunday, the 12th of December, with the fullest approbation of Dr. Burney, I repaired once more to Bolt Court. But grievously was I overset on hearing, at the door, that the Doctor was worse, and could receive no one. I summoned Frank Barber, and told him I had understood, from my father, that Dr. Johnson had meant to see me. Frank then, but in silence, conducted me to the parlour. 1 begged him merely to mention to the Doctor, that I had called with most earnest inquiries; but not to hint at any expectation of seeing him till he should be better.

Frank went up stairs; but did not return. A full hour was consumed in anxious waiting. I then saw Mr. Langton pass the parlour door, which I watchfully kept open, and ascend the stairs. I had not courage to stop or speak to him, and another hour lingered on in the same suspense.

But, at about four o'clock, Mr. Langton made his appearance in the parlour. I took it for granted he came accidentally, but observed that, though he bowed