be drowned, for he had seen them pass before him with wet garments and dropping locks.  The event corresponded with his disordered fancy.  And thus,” continues Mr. Pennant, “a distempered imagination, clouded with anxiety, may make an impression on the spirits; as persons, restless, and troubled with indignation, see various forms and figures, while they lie awake in bed.”  This is what Dr. Johnson was not willing to reject.  He wished for some positive proof of communications with another world.  His benevolence embraced the whole race of man, and yet was tinctured with particular prejudices.  He was pleased with the minister in the isle of Skie, and loved him so much, that he began to wish him not a presbyterian.  To that body of dissenters his zeal for the established church, made him, in some degree, an adversary; and his attachment to a mixed and limited monarchy, led him to declare open war against what he called a sullen republican.  He would rather praise a man of Oxford than of Cambridge.  He disliked a whig, and loved a tory.  These were the shades of his character, which it has been the business of certain party-writers to represent in the darkest colours.

Since virtue, or moral goodness, consists in a just conformity of our actions to the relations, in which we stand to the supreme being and to our fellow-creatures, where shall we find a man who has been, or endeavoured to be, more diligent in the discharge of those essential duties?  His first prayer was composed in 1738; he continued those fervent ejaculations of piety to the end of his life.  In his Meditations we see him scrutinizing himself with severity, and aiming at perfection unattainable by man.  His duty to his neighbour consisted in universal benevolence, and a constant aim at the production of happiness.  Who was more sincere and steady in his friendships?  It has been said, that there was no real affection between him and Garrick.  On the part of the latter, there might be some corrosions of jealousy.  The character of Prospero, in the Rambler, No. 200, was, beyond all question, occasioned by Garrick’s ostentatious display of furniture and Dresden china.  It was surely fair to take, from this incident, a hint for a moral essay; and, though no more was intended, Garrick, we are told, remembered it with uneasiness.  He was also hurt, that his Lichfield friend did not think so highly of his dramatic art, as the rest of the world.  The fact was, Johnson could not see the passions, as they rose, and chased one another, in the varied features of that expressive face; and, by his own manner of reciting verses, which was wonderfully impressive, he plainly showed, that he thought, there was too much of artificial tone and measured cadence, in the declamation of the theatre.  The present writer well remembers being in conversation with Dr. Johnson, near the side of the scenes, during the tragedy of King Lear:  when Garrick came off the stage, he said, “You two talk so loud, you destroy all