No rattling wheels stop short before these gates;
No powdered pert, proficient in the art

Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors
Till the street rings; no stationary steeds
Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound,
The silent circle fan themselves and quake:
But here the needle plies its busy task,
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower,
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn,
Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed,
Follow the nimble fingers of the fair;

A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers that blow
With most success when all beside decay.

The poet's or historian's page by one

Made vocal for the amusement of the rest;

The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out;
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strife triumphant still,
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
On female industry; the threaded steel
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds.

The volume closed, the customary rites
Of the last meal commence-a Roman meal,
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic shade,
Enjoyed spare feast, a radish and an egg.
Discourse ensues, not trivial yet not dull,
Nor such as with a frown forbids the play
Of fancy, or prescribes the sound of mirth :
Nor do we madly, like an impious world,
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God
That made them an intruder on their joys,
Start at His awful Name, or deem His praise
A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone,

Exciting oft our gratitude and love,

While we retrace with Memory's pointing wand,
That calls the past to our exact review,

The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare,
The disappointed foe, deliverance found
Unlooked for, life preserved, and peace restored,
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.

"O evenings worthy of the gods!" exclaimed
The Sabine bard. "O evenings," I reply,
"More to be prized and coveted than yours,
As more illumined, and with nobler truths,
That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy."

W. Cowper.

TABLE TALK OF DR. JOHNSON.

PART I.

I mentioned Elwal the heretic, whose trial Sir John Pringle had given me to read. JOHNSON: "Sir, Mr. Elwal was, I think, an ironmonger at Wolverhampton ; and he had a mind to make himself famous by being the founder of a new sect, which he wished much should be called Elwallians. He held that everything in the Old Testament that was not typical was to be of perpetual observance; and so he wore a ribbon in the plaits of his coat, and he also wore a beard. I remember I had the honour of dining in company with Mr. Elwal. There was one Barter, a miller, who wrote against him, and you had the controversy between Mr. Elwal and Mr. Barter. To try to make himself distinguished he wrote a letter to King George the Second, challenging him to dispute with him, in which he said, 'George, if be afraid to come by yourself to dispute with a poor old man, you may bring a thousand of your black-guards with you; and if you should still be afraid, you may bring a thousand of your redguards.' The letter had some of the impudence of Junius to our present king (George III). But the men of Wol

you

verhampton were not so inflammable as the Common Council of London, so Mr. Elwal failed in his scheme of making himself a man of great consequence."

A question was started how far persons who disagree on a capital point can live in fellowship together. Johnson said they might; Goldsmith said they could not, as they had not the same likings and the same aversions. JOHNSON: 66 Why, sir, you must shun the subject as to which you disagree. For instance, I can live very well with Burke: I love his knowledge, his genius, his diffusion, and affluence of conversation; but I would not talk to him of the Rockingham party." GOLDSMITH: "But, sir, when people live together who have something as to which they disagree, and which they want to shun, they will be in the situation mentioned in the story of Blue Beard: 'you may look into all the chambers but one.' But we should have the greatest inclination to look into that chamber, to talk of that subject." JOHNSON (with a loud voice): "Sir, I am not saying that you could live in friendship with a man from whom you differ on some point: I am only saying that I could do it. You put me in mind of Sappho in Ovid."

Goldsmith told us that he was now busy in writing a Natural History; and, that he might have full leisure for it, he had taken lodgings at a farmer's house, near to the six-mile stone on the Edgware Road, and had carried down his books in two returned post-chaises. He said he believed the farmer's family thought him an odd character, similar to that in which the Spectator appeared to his landlady and her children. Mr. Mickle, the translator of "The Lusiad," and I went to visit him at this place a few days afterwards. He was not at home; but, having a curiosity to see his apartment, we went in, and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals scrawled upon the wall with a black-lead pencil.

Mr. Langton told us he was about to establish a school upon his estate, but it had been suggested to him that it might have a tendency to make the people less industrious. JOHNSON: "No, sir. While learning to read and write is a distinction, the few who have that distinction may be

less inclined to work; but when everybody learns to read and write, it is no longer a distinction. A man who has a laced waistcoat is too fine a man for work; but if everybody had laced waistcoats, we should have people working in laced waistcoats. There are no people whatever more industrious, none who work more, than our manufacturers; yet they have all learned to read and write. Sir, you must not neglect doing a thing immediately good from fear of remote evil—from fear of its being abused. A man who has candles may sit up too late, which he would not do if he had not candles; but nobody will deny that the art of making candles, by which light is continued to us beyond the time that the sun gives us light, is a valuable art, and ought to be preserved." BOSWELL" But, sir, would it not be better to follow nature, and go to bed and rise just as nature gives us light or withholds it?" JOHNSON: “No, sir; for then we should have no kind of equality in the partition of our time between sleeping and waking. It would be very different in different seasons and in different places. In some of the northern parts of Scotland, how little light is there in the depth of winter?"

He said, "I am very unwilling to read the manuscripts of authors, and give them my opinion. If the authors who apply to me have money, I bid them boldly print without a name; if they have written in order to get money, I tell them to go to the booksellers and make the best bargain they can." BOSWELL: "But, sir, if a bookseller should bring you a manuscript to look at?" JOHNSON : “Why, sir, I would desire the bookseller to take it away.'

Johnson praised John Bunyan highly. "His "Pilgrim's Progress' has great merit, both for invention, imagination, and the conduct of the story; and it has the best evidence of its merit, the general and continued approbation of mankind. Few books, I believe, have had a more extensive sale. It is remarkable that it begins very much like the poem of Dante; yet there was no translation of Dante when Bunyan wrote. There is reason to think that he had read Spenser."

Goldsmith's incessant desire of being conspicuous in company was the occasion of his sometimes appearing to

such disadvantage as one should hardly have supposed possible in a man of his genius. When his literary reputation had risen deservedly high, and his society was much courted, he became very jealous of the extraordinary attention which was everywhere paid to Dr. Johnson. One evening, in a circle of wits, he found fault with me (Boswell) for talking of Johnson as entitled to the honour of unquestionable superiority. "Sir," said he, " "you are making a monarchy of what should be a republic.'

He was still more mortified when, talking in a company with fluent vivacity, and, as he flattered himself, to the admiration of all who were present, a German who sat next him, and perceived Johnson rolling himself as if about to speak, suddenly stopped him, saying, "Stay, stay— Toctor Shonson is going to say something." This was, no doubt, very provoking, especially to one so irritable as Goldsmith, who frequently mentioned it with strong expressions of indignation.

The common remark as to the utility of reading history being made,-JOHNSON: "We must consider how very little history there is; I mean real authentic history. That certain kings reigned, and certain battles were fought, we can depend upon as true; but all the colouring, all the philosophy of history is conjecture." BOSWELL: "Then, sir, you would reduce all history to no better than an almanac, a mere chronological series of remarkable events." Mr. Gibbon, who must at that time have been employed upon his history, of which he published the first volume in the following year, was present; but did not step forth in defence of that species of writing. He probably did not like to trust himself with Johnson.

He talked of Isaac Walton's "Lives," which was one of his most favourite books. Dr. Donne's life, he said, was the most perfect of them. He observed that it was wonderful that Walton, who was in a very low situation in life, should have been familiarly received by so many great men, and that at a time when the ranks of society were kept more separate than they are now. He supposed that Walton had then given up his business as a linen-draper, and was only an author; and added that he was a great pane