my feelings.”  “Prithee,” replied Johnson, “do not talk of feelings, Punch has no feelings.”  This seems to have been his settled opinion; admirable as Garrick’s imitation of nature always was, Johnson thought it no better than mere mimickry.  Yet, it is certain, that he esteemed and loved Garrick; that he dwelt with pleasure on his praise; and used to declare, that he deserved his great success, because, on all applications for charity, he gave more than was asked.  After Garrick’s death, he never talked of him, without a tear in his eye.  He offered, if Mrs. Garrick would desire it of him, to be the editor of his works, and the historian of his life[bb].  It has been mentioned, that, on his death-bed, he thought of writing a Latin inscription to the memory of his friend.  Numbers are still living who know these facts, and still remember, with gratitude, the friendship which he showed to them, with unaltered affection, for a number of years.  His humanity and generosity, in proportion to his slender income, were unbounded.  It has been truly said, that the lame, the blind, and the sorrowful, found, in his house, a sure retreat.  A strict adherence to truth he considered as a sacred obligation, insomuch that, in relating the most minute anecdote, he would not allow himself the smallest addition to embellish his story.  The late Mr. Tyers, who knew Dr. Johnson intimately, observed, “that he always talked, as if he was talking upon oath.”

After a long acquaintance with this excellent man, and an attentive retrospect to his whole conduct, such is the light in which he appears to the writer of this essay.  The following lines of Horace, may be deemed his picture in miniature: 

  “Iracundior est paulo? minus aptus acutis
  Naribus horum hominum? rideri possit, eo quod
  Rusticius tonso toga defluit, et male laxus
  In pede calceus haeret?  At est bonus, ut melior vir
  Non alius quisquam:  at tibi amicus:  at ingenium ingens
  Inculto latet hoc sub corpore.”

  “Your friend is passionate, perhaps unfit
  For the brisk petulance of modern wit. 
  His hair ill-cut, his robe, that awkward flows,
  Or his large shoes, to raillery expose
  The man you love; yet is he not possess’d
  Of virtues, with which very few are blest? 
  While underneath this rude, uncouth disguise,
  A genius of extensive knowledge lies.”

Francis’s Hor. book i. sat. 3.

It remains to give a review of Johnson’s works; and this, it is imagined, will not be unwelcome to the reader.

Like Milton and Addison, he seems to have been fond of his Latin poetry.  Those compositions show, that he was an early scholar; but his verses have not the graceful ease, that gave so much suavity to the poems of Addison.  The translation of the Messiah labours under two disadvantages:  it is first to be compared with Pope’s inimitable performance, and afterwards with the Pollio of Virgil.  It