It is, perhaps, needless to mention, that forty was the number of the French academy, at the time when their dictionary was published to settle their language.

In the course of the winter, preceding this grand publication, the late earl of Chesterfield gave two essays in the periodical paper, called The World, dated November 28, and December 5, 1754, to prepare the public for so important a work.  The original plan, addressed to his lordship in the year 1747, is there mentioned, in terms of the highest praise; and this was understood, at the time, to be a courtly way of soliciting a dedication of the Dictionary to himself.  Johnson treated this civility with disdain.  He said to Garrick and others:  “I have sailed a long and painful voyage round the world of the English language; and does he now send out two cockboats to tow me into harbour?” He had said, in the last number of the Rambler, “that, having laboured to maintain the dignity of virtue, I will not now degrade it by the meanness of dedication.”  Such a man, when he had finished his Dictionary, “not,” as he says himself, “in the soft obscurities of retirement, or under the shelter of academick bowers, but amidst inconvenience and distraction, in sickness and in sorrow, and without the patronage of the great,” was not likely to be caught by the lure, thrown out by lord Chesterfield.  He had, in vain, sought the patronage of that nobleman; and his pride, exasperated by disappointment, drew from him the following letter, dated in the month of February, 1755.

  “To the right honourable the earl of Chesterfield.

My lord,—­I have been lately informed, by the proprietors of The World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the publick, were written by your lordship.  To be so distinguished is an honour which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish, that I might boast myself “le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre;” that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending.  But I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it.  When I had once addressed your lordship in publick, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing, which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess.  I had done all that I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

Seven years, my lord, have now passed, since I waited in your outward room, or was repulsed from your door; during which time, I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour.  Such treatment I did not expect; for I never had a patron before.

  The shepherd in Virgil grew acquainted with love, and found him a
  native of the rocks.