using only his occasional leisure, throw off, and afterward revise and correct for publication, a piece of some two hundred and fifty lines. When the poem was ready for publication, Johnson sent it to Cave for his inspection, feigning to act for the author-a third person who chose not to be known-and accompanying it by a letter full of complimentary allusions to both the discernment and the liberality of the publisher. He pleaded for a favorable consideration of the article on account of the necessities of the author, "who," he writes, "lies at present under very disadvantageous circumstances of fortune." It is melancholy to contemplate genius united to virtue thus driven by want to make haste to exchange its choicest productions for the means of subsistence; yet such has often been the case, and many of the fairest gems of literature have been the products of minds and hearts oppressed with sorrows and sheer want of the most common necessaries. How the poem appeared to Cave is not known. Probably he could not form any intelligent estimate of its character: but if he had but little taste, he was not altogether without generosity; for in Johnson's next letter there is an acknowledgment of a present for the unknown author, which he promises shall be deducted from the price of the manuscript, should it be printed. Cave, it would seem, suggested that the poem should be shown to Dodsley. Johnson proposed to take the manuscript and read it to him; still insisting that Cave should be the real publisher, for he adds: "I am very sensible, from your generosity on this occasion, of your regard to learning, even in its unhappiest estate; and cannot but think such a temper deserving of the gratitude of those who suffer so often from a contrary disposition." But the paper was forwarded directly to Dodsley, and a few days later Johnson called on him. Mr. Robert Dodsley was a very different sort of man from his fellowpublisher, Mr. Cave. He was more than a mere publisher; and, in his aspirations to the title of a man of letters, was not an empty pretender. He was equally distinguished for discernment, frankness, and geniality of spirit, and all these qualities were manifested on this occasion. Soon after this interview, Johnson again wrote to Cave: "I was to-day with Mr. Dodsley, who declares very warmly in favor of the paper you sent him, which he desires to have a share in, it being, as he says, a creditable thing to be concerned in. I knew not what answer to make till I had consulted you, nor what to demand on the author's part, but am very willing, if you please, he should have a part in it." Cave generously consented that any arrangement thought desirable might be made with Dodsley, who thereupon gave Johnson ten guineas for the manuscript, a price that the author himself esteemed as liberal. Considered by itself, and without respect to its circumstances, "London" is a production of very considerable merit. As a poem, it is second to only such pieces as Goldsmith's "Traveler" and "Deserted Village," Gray's " Churchyard Elegy," Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope" and "Gertrude," and a few other pieces of the same class. Its pretensions are necessarily very moderate, as must be the case with a satire on the times. But the thoughts are far from being mere commonplaces; the style is dignified, yet easy; and the versification, though not faultless, is above mediocrity. According to its professed design," London" is a satire upon the manners of the times in which it was produced. Following the train of thought given by Juvenal, he makes the retirement of a friend to the quiet of the country the occasion of an invective against the manners of the town. Some brief references are first made to private disorders and individual miseries-to "malice," "rapine," and "accident;" to the "rage" of "fires" and "rabbles," and perils from "fell attorneys;" to dangers from "falling houses," and the horrors of being talked to death by some "female atheist." The poet then passes to more general topics, and expends all the force of his invective upon the government, which is satirized much in the usual temper and tone of political maledictions, though with a force and elegance of diction not often found in that kind of writing. It was a time of great political violence that "London" was designed to depict, and the painter was himself a decided partisan. It is a matter of common notoriety that Tories are Whigs when out of office, and Whigs are Tories when in; and so now, since a Whig administration directed the affairs of the kingdom, of course Tory patriotism was awakened to an indignant assertion of "a Briton's rights," and a valorous defense against its own rulers of "the cheated nation." It is remarkable, too, that in his opposition to the liberal administration of Walpole, the youthful champion of Toryism employs, with all the facility of a popular declaimer, the choice terms and expressions of radical liberalism. What warm invectives are here against "tyranny" and "oppression;" what earnest assertions of the rights of "true-born Englishmen ;" what sympathy for "rebellious virtue, quite o'erthrown;" and what regard for "the poor," driven out to "pathless wastes or undiscovered shores!" Such language from the pen of a Goldsmith, though equally unjust, is in keeping with his general character; but when Johnson satirizes the court and government because his own party is out of power, one may not only sigh for the violence of partisanship, but also smile at its inconsistencies. A more interesting feature of this poem is its evident allusions to the circumstances of the writer, which have been shown to have been at that time most painfully "disadvantageous." The aptness with which some of its expressions apply to his case is palpably evident, as in these lines: "In those cursed walls, devote to vice and gain, Since unrewarded science toils in vain; But more especially, in apparently incidental remarks and expressions, do we detect the inward feelings of his distressed and yet unsubdued spirit. It was rather from his own experience than from the verse of the satirist, that he had been brought to feel that 66 SLOW RISES WORTH, BY POVERTY DEPRESSED:" a line that was doubly underscored in the original manuscript—and to ask, "Where can starving merit find a home?" And in the multitude of venal flatterers to inquire, despondingly, "Can surly virtue hope to find a friend?" It is gratifying to perceive, however, that in all this distress and despondency, there is no appearance of a disposition to yield to the pressure of adversity, and cease to assert his sturdy independence and virtue. The literary history of this poem presents one of those vexed questions that not unfrequently occur in such matters, and which constitute a large share of the curiosities of literature. Several of Johnson's biographers have asserted with the utmost confidence that "London" was composed on the departure of Savage (of whom more hereafter) from the metropolis to his retirement in Wales. The scene of the parting is placed at Greenwich, where Johnson then resided; and several expressions and allusions in the poem are explained by corresponding facts. A very fair case is thus made out by which at once to fix the design of the production, and to interpret its language. But unfortunately the stubborn dates will not bend to this supposition. "London" was written about the beginning of 1738, whereas Savage's departure for Wales did not occur til July, 1739; and, furthermore, the departure of Savage was not by water from Greenwich, but by the Bristol stage. Johnson himself denied any such reference in the poem. It does not appear, indeed, that at the time of writing his satire, he had any acquaintance with Savage, and, of course, all that is said in proof of the identity of Thales and the author of the Bastard, is mere fancy. And yet, it must be acknowledged, the hypothesis is commended in no small degree by the suitto the facts and circumstances in the case ableness of the language of the poem itself of Savage. It is more probable, however, that in the character of Thales the poet designed to represent his own case; for we shall presently see that he was at this GIBBON. very time meditating such a retirement, on account of the very evils that he assigns for the retreat of his hero. The reception of "London" by the public was highly flattering to its author. In the learned circles especially, it produced a profound impression, and, as it appeared anonymously, the question was everywhere current: "Who is this unknown poet, who surpasses even Pope ?" The first impression was exhausted, and a second ordered in the course of a week. It is said that General Oglethorpe was especially delighted with it, agreeing as it did with his political antipathies and the generous sympathies of his heart, and long afterward Johnson was heard to express his indebtedness to the favor of that truly benevolent gentleman for this, his early production, though at that time he was an entire stranger to the author. Pope, at this period, was the unrivaled leader of the devotees of the muses, and, of course, could not fail to share in the public interest on such an occasion; but to his honor, be it recorded, he manifested a kindly interest to the unknown candidate for poetic fame-perhaps a future rival to himself. Having made diligent inquiry as to who the author was, and being able to learn no more than that he was an obscure scholar by the name of Johnson, he remarked that he would not long be concealed. Johnson had thus fairly broken his way into the literary arena of London. Here commences that career of success and renown which has rendered him the most familiar, perhaps the most interesting, if not the most gigantic character in our literature; and here we may appropriately take our leave of him for the present. THERE GIBBON. which attends the serene triumph of a life PLAGUE CUSTOM AT CONSTANTINOPLE.— The Turks have a touching custom when the plague rages very greatly, and a thousand corpses are carried out daily from Stamboul, through the Adrianople gate, to the great groves of cypress which rise over the burial grounds beyond the walls. At times of terror and grief, such as these, the Sheikh Ul Islam (high-priest of the Mohammedans) causes all the little children to be assembled on a beautiful green hill, called the Oc Maidan-the Place of Arrows-and there they bow down upon the ground, and raise their innocent voices in supplication to the Father of Mercy, and implore his compassion on their afflicted city.-Curzon's HERE is an Hôtel Gibbon here, (Lau- THE CHAINED BIBLE. Its glorious liberty. But kindled was a beacon light, That higher tower'd, and higher; And kindled were a thousand hearts, Nor rack, nor stake could tame. The chainless truth, our country's boast A BOUT the time of the Reformation, when Bibles were scarce, a copy was usually chained to a convenient place in the church, that the people might read it. It was strongly bound, literally in "boards," and was chained to the desk on which it was placed, that it might not be removed. In those days he who could read "occupied the place of the learned" among his neighbors; and to him the task was allotted of reading aloud for the public good. And deeply interesting were the scenes that often presented themselves. On Sabbaths and holidays all the parishioners that could leave their homes would congregate in the "convenient place," where the book of God, the food of their souls, was placed; and would listen earnestly and devoutly to the "words whereby they might be saved." Our cut illustrates the scene as it probably actually appeared at the time. That teaches no commands of men, But wisdom from above; And needs no weapons, but its own The chainless truth, we 'll speed it forth, Shall land to land transmit its glad, Its everlasting words. And nations blinded and enslaved Shall rouse as from a sleep; And error for her fallen shrines And broken idols weep. The chainless truth, we 'll speed it forth, Our strength, our glory, and our shield, Its page first taught our childish lips NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. E know not how it may be with shade; the sculptor by the turn of a limb, W others, but for our single selves, we have great faith in our being able to discover authors in their books; to discover their peculiarities of mind and person, and oftentimes the circumstances of their lives; building, as it were, complete forms from their fragmentary members scattered, in many places. It may not be always intentional-in most cases we fancy it is not-but there is always something of an author in his books, even when he is most false to himself, or disguises himself the most. Any perfect and impenetrable disguise is impossible. For when we no longer see the distinctive impress of his style, his cast and peculiarity of thought, or in fact any of his acknowledged attributes, we are able, if we have ever felt the soul which these embody, to detect it still, and still to trace "The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark." Disguise himself as he may, the musician is still revealed by some chord or combination of sound; the painter by some bit of color, some gleam of light or VOL. II, No. 1.-B or the fold of a robe; and the poet, or The Play round the head, but come not near the heart." |