66 66 suppose several members would supply the Memoirs of the Academy. But, says Dr. Johnson, the philological decree made and promulgated, what would be its authority? "In absolute government there is sometimes "a general reverence paid to all that has "the sanction of power, the countenance "of greatness. How little this is the state "of our country needs not to be told. The "edicts of an English academy would pro"bably be read by many, only that they 66 may be sure to disobey them. The pre"sent manners of the nation would deride "authority, and therefore nothing is left, "but that every writer should criticise him"self." This surely is not conclusive, It is by the standard of the best writers that every man settles for himself his plan of legitimate composition; and since the authority of superior genius is acknowledged, that authority, which the individual obtains, would not be lessened by an association with others of distinguished ability. It may, therefore, be inferred, that an Academy of Literature would be an establishment highly useful, and an honour to Literature. stitution profitable places In such an in would not be wanted. Vatis avarus haud facile est animus ; and the minister, who shall find leisure from party and faction to carry such a scheme into execution, will, in all probability, be respected by posterity as the Mæcenas of letters. We now take leave of Dr. Johnson as an author. Four volumes of his Lives of the Poets were published in 1778, and the work was completed in 1781. Should Biography fall again into disuse, there will not always be a Johnson to look back through a century, and give a body of critical and moral instruction. In April 1781, he lost his friend Mr. Thrale. His own words, in his diary, will best tell that melancholy event. "On 66 Wednesday the 11th of April, was buried my dear friend Mr. Thrale, who died on "Wednesday the 4th, and with him were "buried many of my hopes and pleasures. “About five, I think, on Wednesday morn 66 ing he expired. I felt almost the last flut“ter of his pulse, and looked for the last "time upon the face, that, for fifteen years "before, had never been turned upon me "but with respect and benignity. Farewell: may God, that delighteth in mercy, have "had mercy on thee! I had constantly pray"ed for him before his death. The decease “of him, from whose friendship I had ob"tained many opportunities of amusement, ❝ and to whom I turned my thoughts as to "a refuge from misfortunes, has left me 66 heavy. But my business is with myself.”— From the close of his last work, the malady that persecuted him through life came upon him with alarming severity, and his constitution declined apace. In 1782 his old friend Levet expired without warning, and without a groan. Events like these reminded Johnson of his own mortality. He continued his visits to Mrs. Thrale at Streatham, to the 7th day of October, 1782, when having first composed a prayer for the happiness of a family with whom he had for many years enjoyed the pleasures and comforts of life, he removed to his own house in town. He says he was up early in the morning, and read fortuitously in the Gospel, which was his parting use of the library. The merit of the family is manifested by the sense he had of it, and we see his heart overflowing with gratitude. He leaves the place with regret, and casts a tigering look behind. シ The few remaining occurrences may be soon dispatched. In the month of June, 1783, Johnson had a paralytic stroke, which affected his speech only. He wrote to Dr. Taylor of Westminster; and to his friend Mr. Allen, the printer, who lived at the next door. Dr. Brocklesby arrived in a short time, and by his care, and that of Dr. Heberden, Johnson soon recovered. During his illness the writer of this narrative visited him, and found him reading Dr. Watson's Chemistry. Articulating with difficulty, he said, "From this book, he who knows nothing may learn a great deal; and he who "knows, will be pleased to find his know 66 66 ledge recalled to his mind in a manner highly pleasing." In the month of August he set out for Lichfield, on a visit to Mrs. Lucy Porter, the daughter of his wife by her first husband; and in his way back paid his respects to Dr. Adams at Oxford. Mrs. Williams died at his house in Bolt-court in the month of September, during his absence. This was another shock to a mind like his, ever agitated by the thoughts of futurity. The contemplation of his own approaching end was constantly before his eyes; and the prospect of death, he declared, was terrible. For many years, when he was not disposed to enter into the conversation going forward, whoever sat near his chair, might hear him repeating, from Shakspeare, Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded lo, and the delighted spirit And from Milton, Who would lose, For fear of pain, this intellectual being? By the death of Mrs. Williams he was left in a state of destitution, with nobody but Frank his black servant, to soothe his anxious moments. In November 1783, he was swelled from head to foot with a dropsy. Dr. Brocklesby, with that benevolence with which he always assists his friends, paid his |