plicity of the great Lord Chesterfield, the apostle of simulation, who thought to go down to posterity as the friend of learning and the patron of Johnson. To posterity he has come; but it is as a heartless pretender; as a peer who lacked nobility; to posterity he still will go; not elevated by Johnson but gibbeted by Boswell.

Macaulay is very fond of trotting out that scarce and precocious animal, the intelligent schoolboy, and he complains that Boswell never made an original observation worthy of such a boy. To this it may be fairly urged that few people make original observations of any value, except, of course, in connection with the weather, but Boswell did better than talk; he listened; he put questions; he suggested subjects; he started ideas and--the doctor; the result was usually such a torrent of eloquence and wisdom that it was not requisite for Boswell to say anything; and it really does seem to be the very height of captiousness to blame a man for hearkening when he could learn, and for remaining silent when he had nothing to say. Such querulousness can only be accounted for by the fact that the essayist held a party-brief and acted on his instructions; otherwise, if he had been free, and in private life had come across a young man void of understanding, he would probably have said "learn a lesson from the sprightly Boswell; when a good man and a fine scholar condescends to talk to you be sure and listen attentively so that you may obtain knowledge, and when you have got it mind and keep it."

There is this distinction between Macaulay and Boswell: the accused was a plain narrator; he was fond of the truth and lavished it freely : the essayist was also fond of the truth but economised it rigidly. There is a spice of veracity, an infinitesimal grain of truth in all the charges made against Boswell, because he was a fallible being, and had not put off, to use a technical term, the old man ; but my contention is that the whole of the charges are grossly exaggerated.

For instance, one of the gravest charges against James Boswell is that he was a sot. I object to the term as being altogether too strong; for by the word sot we mean an habitual drunkard, whereas Bozzy was merely an occasional over-stepper. We know that he had not strength of mind to guard against excess at times, for the Biography is filled to overflowing with reflections on wine, with regrets at having been overcome, with promises of amendment, with vows of total abstinence, with confessions of headache, with more drink, with lowness of spirits, with more spirits, with an accusing conscience, and with an avenging liver. The changes are rung continually upon the liquor question; for example, he makes a young lady an offer of marriage and is naturally overcome with drinking her health. A gentleman names a curious kind of mixed beverage called "mahogany," made of two parts gin and one part treacle, well beaten up; James Boswell straightway expresses a wish to have some, well beaten up. At the Three Crowns, Lichfield, he indulges in fat ale because that liquor was recommended with eloquent jollity by Boniface in "The Beaux Stratagem." With him gravity has the same effect as jollity; he says, “I had solemn conversation with the Rev. Mr.

Flower; I drank old port." He cites the statement of Dr. John Campbell that he had drank thirteen bottles of wine at a sitting. Johnson:-"Why, Sir, you could not entirely depend on what he told you in conversation, but he was a solid, orthodox man." He possessed an excellent example in Dr. Johnson who, finding it easier to avoid drink altogether than to take it in temperate quantities, left it off entirely for ten years, and advised Boswell to do the same; for, said he, "Sir, if you keep to water only you are sure not to get drunk." They discuss, with Sir Joshua Reynolds, the question whether drinking improved conversation and benevolence. Sir Joshua maintained it did. Johnson :-"No, Sir, before dinner men meet with great inequality of understanding, and those who are conscious of their inferiority have the modesty not to talk. When they have drunk wine they lose that modesty and grow impudent and vociferous; but they are not improved, they are only not sensible of their defects." Conversations of this nature might be quoted indefinitely, but all the concession Boswell ever extracted from his faithful mentor was, “Sir, I have no objection to a man drinking wine if he can do it in moderation."

I

Now, without making the slightest apology for Boswell's besetting sin, it is fair to plead his organisation and the custom of his time. Probably a love of good liquor was bred in him. Scottish lawyers were famed for their drinking abilities; and what can be more likely than that his father, the judge, was not only a good judge of law, but of whiskey? said a love of good liquor advisedly, for it must be borne in mind that the quality of the drink consumed a century ago was very different to the rubbish we have to put up with. Wine was honest to this extent, it was made from the juice of the grape-port came from Oporto; whiskey was distilled from honest malt; and aristocratic champagne was free alike from the plebian gooseberry and the deadly chemical. The worst feature of that time was that a foolish custom elevated drinking to a place among the virtues; a reasonable degree of excess was winked at, and cool temperance was regarded as degeneracy! What wonder, then, if the all-susceptible Boswell occasionally overstepped the bounds of moderation? Let us make such allowance as we may for the peculiarities (I had almost said the necessities) of the times; and we can console ourselves with the reflection that if Bozzy had lived in these sweet days, it is pretty certain that his desire for distinction, his fondness for decoration, his sense of duty and his love of beauty would have induced him to join the Blue Ribbon Army.

Then Boswell is denounced as "an eavesdropper, a common spy, and a common tattler." No proof is given, and we search for evidence in vain: we know he was not an angel; we lament that the development of his portly person prevented him from becoming even a cherub; but there is nothing to show that he ever listened to conversation intended to be private, or that he was a meddler or mischief-maker in any shape or form whatever. It might be pleaded in favour of Boswell's moral character that he kept a diary, for does not observation bear out the fact that those who keep diaries are among the most innocent of our

kind? Boswell was advised by Dr. Johnson to keep his journal well posted, "but not to mention such trifles as that the meat was too much or too little done, or that the weather was fair or rainy." On one Occasion Boswell observed that there were few of his friends so accurate that he could venture to put down in writing what they told him as the Doctor's sayings. Johnson :-"Why should you write down my sayings?" Boswell:-"I write them down when they are good." Johnson:-"Nay, you may as well write down the sayings of anyone else when they are good." "But where," says Boswell, "I might with great propriety have asked, can I find such?" Dr. Johnson burnt many of his private memoranda shortly before he died; but he had previously given his direct sanction to Boswell to publish whatsoever he pleased after his death, so that Boswell was justified to the fullest extent in all he wrote; and he had such faith in his own discrimination that he ventured to make a prophecy, a true prophecy, as all will allow : "I am absolutely certain," he said, "that my mode of biography, which gives not only a history of Johnson's visible progress through the world, and of his publications, but a view of his mind in his letters and conversations, is the most perfect that can be conceived, and will be more of a Life than any work that has yet appeared."

As to Boswell being a man of feeble intellect, a bigot, and a talebearer, I say that in the making of such charges Macaulay appears to have acted on the principle of throwing plenty of mud, in the hope that some of it would stick. If we apply the old maxim, "Tell me what company you keep and I will tell you what you are,' to Boswell, he comes out admirably, for we fin 1 that he had invariably the good sense to associate with better men than himself: he never courted a man merely because he was wealthy or the owner of a title; he was neither a tuft-hunter nor a worshipper of money-bags; but he was a great admirer of men of distinguished ability, and he dearly loved the society of men of letters. From Samuel Johnson, moralist and scholar; from Sir Joshua Reynolds, artist and gentleman; from Edmund Burke, statesman and orator, and from many other members of the Literary Club he would derive nothing but good, and we can honestly envy Boswell his singularly happy fortune in being permitted to enjoy their conversation and good fellowship. I would ask is it in any degree probable that men of high character and position such as these would have admitted Boswell into their private circle unless he had given evidence of qualities entitling him to their regard? We pay but a poor compliment to their virtue, discernment, and self-respect if we allow that they would continue year after year on terms of friendly, brotherly intercourse with a sot, a dunce, an eavesdropper, and so forth. The man was ever before them, they knew his failings and were acquainted with his excellencies; they amused themselves with his harmless vanity and egotism, but considered it no degradation to associate with him in the bonds of social affection ; because, without doubt, they esteemed him in the main to be a man of fair acquirements and an honourable gentleman.

Of

The manner in which Boswell retained the friendship of the great Lexicographer for more than twenty years was very remarkable. course he let the Doctor have pretty much his own way, and his natural sagacity enabled him to avoid censure and to disarm criticism. An amusing account is given of an explosion which took place at an evening party. Johnson was talking of a very respectable author, and said that he had married a printer's devil. Sir Joshua observed that he thought a printer's devil was a creature with a black face and in rags. Johnson: "Yes, Sir, but I suppose he had her face washed, and put clean clothes on her: (then, looking very serious,) and she did not disgrace him—the woman had a bottom of good sense." Most of the company," says Boswell, "tittered;" a Bishop managed to keep his right reverend countenance, but Hannah More had to hide her face behind a lady's back. Johnson called out in a strong tone, "Where's the merriment? I say the woman was fundamentally sensible." They all sat composed as at a funeral.

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The connection of Boswell with the Rev. W. J. Temple was also extremely creditable, and testified alike to the constancy of his friendship and the amiability of his disposition. A correspondence was regularly maintained between them for thirty-seven years, and the letters are full of kindly feeling. Boswell lent his friend money, without 75 per cent. interest, or a bill of sale. On applying for two hundred pounds on account, he says if not quite convenient for Temple to send it he will make shift to do without it, and he earnestly begs that such a matter may never be allowed to interfere with their friendship. Boswell was fond of pickles and of ladies' society. Having, through press of literary work, neglected to cut his toe nails, he became lame in consequence, and wrote Temple thus: "On the way to Newcastle-onTyne, an agreeable young widow nursed me, and supported my lame foot on her knee. Am I not fortunate in having something about me that interests most people at first sight in my favour?"

One is sorely tempted to go out of the way for a moment to have a shy at Macaulay, the party-political writer, the one-sided historian, and the Parliamentary failure; but let him pass; and as a welcome set-off let us listen to the words of a much greater man, Thomas Carlyle : "Boswell wrote a good book because he had a heart and an eye to discern wisdom, and an utterance to render it forth; because of his free insight, his lively talent; above all, because of his love and child-like openmindedness." Surely, it is time that, in estimating this man's character, all political bias should be laid aside, and the truth alone be looked for. We cannot do better than note what Dr. Johnson says when speaking of vain men who could not extract from truth sufficient nutriment for their vanity, and so betook themselves to error: "Truth, Sir, is a cow which will yield such people no more milk, and so they are gone to milk the bull."

Opportunity does not occur to speak of the Tour to the Hebrides further than to say that Boswell played his part with ample generosity, and that the Doctor was charmed with nearly all he saw, although it is

to be feared that his delicacy received a shock when he beheld the young ladies prancing over the family washing.

Let us then think as kindly as may be of James Boswell; a man who loved his neighbour and respected his neighbour's wife; a man who, although he visited Birmingham was never sent to Coventry; a man who possessed, as a natural endowment, all the cool assurance necessary for making a useful Town Councillor, or high-class Commercial Traveller, or a pushing Clergyman; a man whose friendship was never mistrusted, and whose truthfulness was never doubted.

Finally, let us throw the mantle of charity over poor Bozzy's failings and shortcomings, which were merely of the venial genial order; and let us not fail to take note of his unflagging industry, and to feel thankful for the spirit of curiosity which enabled him to send forth a book to gratify and amuse all lovers of books for all time.

A. L.

Stanzas.

OME Courage! nerve me for the fray,
I fight the fiends of care

Who fain would steal my peace away
And dcom me to despair.

Harassed with numberless alarms
By the inveigling foe,

My rallying soul would don thy arms
To lay the leaguerers low.

Thou, prescient Wisdom, strengthen me
With fortitude, to brave

The turmoil and the misery.
That dog man to the grave.
The happiness for which I sigh,
No trouble shall prevent,
If thou but prove a kind ally

And dower me with content.

And sweet-souled Love, I pray thee bless
My sad heart with thy cheer,

I hunger for thy fond caress
And yearn to have thee near.

I'll then charm off all worldly wiles
In the comfort of thy kiss,

And in the sunshine of thy smiles
Build me a heaven of bliss.

C.