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proposed improvements which are listened to with most favour; that legislation ought only to be concerned with the residue of pauperism which private charity, re-organised and rightly directed, cannot overcome; and that the true direction, both of private charity and of national effort, is in the education of the poor in common sense and in ordinary prudence. In their hard battle with life neither paupers nor the inadequately-paid labourers, who are just above them in the social scale, can be expected to know much, or to make much good use of their knowledge, without zealous aid from those whose lot in life is more fortunate. The most earnest effort will find it hard to reach them; but they must be reached if they are to be improved, and they must be improved if the whole community is to be kept in a healthy condition. The degradation of the lower stratum of society is a source of weakness and danger to all. Our starving thousands and our half-starving millions must be taught that only by wise effort of their own can they be raised out of their low estate. Make them wiser, more temperate, and more prudent, and they will win happiness for themselves and make the whole nation happier. Leave them as they are, or be content to approach them with nothing but mistaken charity, which, however well-meant, is hardly charity at all, and the mass of poverty will only be augmented and made more corrupt, until the poison fostered in it will contaminate the whole body, politic and social.

Samuel Johnson, LL.D.

(SKETCHED BY A GERMAN CONTEMPORARY),

TRANSLATED BY F. STEWART COBB.

[HELFRICH PETER STURZ, the writer of the following letter, was born at Darmstadt, in 1736, and after receiving a liberal education at the Universities of Göttingen, Jena, and Giessen, he became secretary to one of the ambassadors at Munich. Here, however, the fact of his being a foreigner and a Protestant proved so prejudicial to his prospects, that he abandoned his post in 1762, and went to Copenhagen, with letters of introduction to Count Bernstorf, the Danish Minister. Bernstorf received him very favourably, and soon appointed him Secretary for Foreign Affairs. Under his roof, and enjoying the companionship of the poet Klopstock, Sturz passed the happiest years of his life. His talents were rapidly developed under the auspices of the great statesman and the yet greater philanthropist, and his genius, favoured by constant intercourse with the most polished and enlightened circles, quickly transformed him into politician, artist, poet, and author. In 1768, Sturz was appointed counsellor to the Danish Embassy, and accompanied the King on his journey to England and France. A man of such talent, gifted with such powers of observation, and enjoying the advantage of such distinguished company, was not likely to miss his opportunity. It is to these travels we are indebted for the following vivid sketch of Dr. Johnson, which forms one of a series afterwards published at Leipsic, under the title of “Briefe aus England und Frankreich.”

In future numbers we hope to give Sturz's account of his visits to Garrick and Angelica Kaufmann, and some of his sketches of Parisian life a century ago.]

LONDON, August 18, 1768.

I HAVE just returned from a visit to Samuel Johnson, the colossus of English literature, a man who combines profound knowledge with wit, and humour with wisdom, although his exterior would by no means lead you to suppose so, for there is not a single feature in his personal appearance that is unworthy a pugilist. He alludes to this in his description of the "Idler": "the diligence of an Idler is rapid and impetuous, as ponderous bodies forced into velocity move with violence proportionate to their weight." (The Idler, No. 1, Saturday, April 15, 1758.)

His demeanour is boorish, and his glance chilling like his satire, never betraying the least symptom of penetration or waggishness; he always appears absent, and he not unfrequently is. He had sent Colman and myself a written invitation, and forgotten all about it. We surprised him at the country seat of Mr. Thrale, whose wife, a

*

Mr. Thrale was one of the most eminent brewers in England, the founder of the great firm of Barclay, Perkins, and Co., and member of Parliament for Southwark.

pretty Welshwoman, amuses herself by reading and translating Greek. It is here that Johnson lives and rules-for he likes to rule-just as if he were in the bosom of his own family. He received us kindly, though from first to last he retained a certain air of grandeur that is interwoven with his manners no less than with his style. Even in conversation he is careful to finish off his sentences, and he speaks in an almost theatrical tone of voice; but what he says acquires interest from a certain originality that accompanies it. The conversation turned upon the English language, and I remarked that it passed through its different epochs more rapidly than other tongues. Already, I said, there is a greater difference between its present writers and the celebrated Club of Authors of Queen Anne's time, than there is between the French of this century and last. They make inroads upon foreign. territory, and then lavishly expend the booty they so easily obtained; for in this particular they do not follow the advice of Swift, to take up new words, but not to forget to put them away again. "We acquire," remarked some one present, "new words in our enthusiasm, and give them up again in cold blood, just as we do our conquests in time of peace." "But will not you suffer in the estimation of posterity? In three generations you will be scarcely intelligible." "New words," replied Johnson, "are well-gotten riches. When a people extends its knowledge, and gets new ideas, it requires clothing for them; foreign constructions, on the contrary, have been cried down as dangerous, and I am constantly reproached for my Latinisms, which it is asserted, alter the character of the language; but it is my firm opinion that every living language must be modelled in a thoroughly servile fashion upon some old one if its writings are meant to last." "Do you not think there is some truth in sophistry? A language that is dead, and no longer liable to change, may certainly be a standard for living ones. It is old sterling weight by which the current coin can be tested. The introduction of too many foreign words," I continued in reply to Johnson, "tends to create a school of eccentric geniuses, who invent their own Sanscrit, in order to invest their ideas with a mysterious solemnity; and yet we often like to hear their oracles, till we end by catching the infection." "Singularity," exclaimed some one, "is often a sign of genius." "Then," replied Johnson, "there cannot be many greater geniuses than Wilton,* at Chelsea. His style of writing is the most singular in the world; for ever since the late war he writes with his feet."

Colman mentioned the "Rehearsal," a piece that had formerly been admired as a chef d'œuvre though it was now unreadable. "It was not seasoned enough to keep long," said Johnson. Hume was next discussed. "Priestley," said I, "reproaches him for his Galli

A pensioner without arms.

cisms." "And I," said Johnson, "that his entire history is a Gallicism." Johnson can never suffer an opportunity to escape of venting his antipathy to the Scotch; in his Dictionary, for instance, you will find the following:-" Oats—a grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people."

Forgetting his own edition of Shakespeare, which came so far short of the expectations of the critics, I asked him, indiscreetly enough, which edition of the poet he most valued. "Hm!" he replied, smiling, "that is what we call an awkward question."

I enquired after Boswell. He seems to be very fond of him, and though quite sensible of, by no means displeased with, his enthusiasm. Boswell is a warm-hearted youth, a firm believer in heroic virtue, and whose generous nature would have as easily tracked out a demi-god in Iceland as in Corsica.

You are familiar with Johnson's writings. The Rambler, the Idler, the satirical poem, London, and the excellently written life of Savage are known in Germany also. Less talked about with us, however, is Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, a masterly, cold, political tale, like all the rest of the class; for a politician out of berth, writing for royalty, cannot spin anything out of himself but commonplaces. Irene, a tragedy of Johnson's, full of grand speeches, was hissed into oblivion.

This celebrated man long struggled with poverty, for you must not suppose that England always rewards its authors as well as admires them. He often hid himself in a cellar at Moorfields in order to avoid a room with iron bars. It was at this time he used to write philippics on the most important questions in Parliament, under the names of actual members, which for a considerable period were deemed genuine in the provinces. And it is not generally known that among these is the famous speech that Pitt is said to have made when reproached on account of his youth, not one word of which was ever uttered by Pitt. Now, however, Johnson has conducted the Pactolus into his garden. He enjoys a pension of three hundred a year, not for making speeches, but, as the Opposition declares, for holding his tongue.

I have omitted to tell you that Johnson disputes the antiquity of Ossian. Macpherson is a Scotchman, and Johnson would rather credit him with being a great poet than an honourable man. I myself am convinced of the genuineness of the affair. Macpherson showed

Johnson's opinion of Hume's style is thus recorded by Boswell :-"Why, sir, his style is not English; the structure of his sentences is French. Now the French structure and the English structure may, in the nature of things, be equally good. But if you allow that the English language is established, he is wrong. My name might originally have been Nicholson, as well as Johnson; but were you to call me Nicholson now, you would call me very absurdly."-(Note by Translator.)

† Author of Sketches of Corsica, probably better known as Johnson's biographer.

me, in Alexander Dow's presence, at least twelve portions of the MS. in the original Erse. Some of them appeared to be very old. Clever men of my acquaintance that understand the language have compared them with the translation; and one must either believe the absurdity that Macpherson wrote the original text as well, or give up disputing the evidence. Macpherson recited some passages of it to me. The language sounded melodious enough, but pompously plaintive and guttural, like all the languages of uneducated races.-Yours, &c.,

HELFRICH PETER STURZ.

The Battle of Grochow.
BY ERNEST JONES.

What sound is that I hear?
It comes so full and deep,

As though its tones of wrath and fear
Would wake a world from sleep!

'Tis POLAND for liberty striking!
Hark! her blows fall stern,

'Mid hills that reel, and skies that burn!
Hark! how her thunder-song

Rolls the rent plains along,

As the cannon shout forth with a joyous sound,
Till they raise a response from the rocking ground!

What gleams by the elder-wood's verge?
'Tis the flash of the kossinier*

As he charges, by Szembek led,

With a shout of joy and a clang of fear:
While the Polish battalions in battle emerge,
And hallow the ground with their dead!

Scytheman.

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