Vir excellentissime, nostræ reipublicæ princeps, te ex animo salutamus, ac virum tantum, bonisque omnibus tam probatum, nostris adesse comitiis gaudemus.

Virum tibi conjunctissimum, patriæque et virtutis fautoribus carissimum, ac, dum vixerit, integritatis, prudentiæ, omnisque virtutis exemplum, in sedes altiores arcessitum, tecum lugemus. Sed bonorum animis, omnium desiderio, "Manet mansurumque est quidquid in eo amavimus, quidquid admirati sumus. Placide quiescat."

Præclara quidem nostræ reipublicæ felicitas videtur, quum inter tam multos virtute eximios nemo ob amorem erga illam insignem se reddere potest; quum omnia prospere pulchreque eveniunt. Florentibus rebus, summâ hu jus reipublicæ tranquilitate, summâ concordiâ, respublica mihi quidem et aliis multis ut confido carissima tuis auspiciis evasit nova; * olim quidem terris nunc re et legibus a vobis disjuncta; ut aliam sese libertatis vindicem exhibeat, alium amicitiæ vinculum adjiciat. Perduret atque valeat. Vale, vir excellentissime.

Et tu, honoratissime, cui virticem ætate provecto albentem civiles usque ambiunt honores; et vos, Conciliarii, Curatoresque honorandi, quibus faven tibus et adjuvantibus, vigent res summa nostraque Academia, valete.

Vale et tu, Præses reverende et, si mihi liceat, carissime, cujus præsidic lumen veritatis, patrum auspiciis in nostræ Academiæ penetralibus olim ac censum, fulsit fulgetque novo semper purioreque splendore. Esto sempiter

num.

Valete Professores eruditissimi ac præstantissimi! Quibus eloquemur verbis quantâ observantiâ vos habemus, quam gratis animis vestrûm in nos assiduorum laborum, curæque vigilantis recordamur? Sit vobis hoc excel sum et pene divinum munus et præmium. Omnibus qui merentur certissime eveniet.

Amici sodalesque carissimi, iterum denique, post aliquod temporis inter vallum, convenimus, ut his sedibus amatis, quas veluti beatorum insulas dolentes reliquimus, nostræ custodibus juventutis merito honoratis, nobis invicem et illis valedicemus. Quis enim, quum temporis inter camænas et cum amicis acti reminiscitur, dolorem non sentiat quod his omnibus nimium cito sese eripere, marique incerto ac tumultuoso se committere oporteat, nunquam rediturum, nunquam sodalium ora jucunda aspecturum! Interjecto jam nunc brevi tantum triennio, multos optime dilectos oculis animoque frustra requirimus.

Quid ego non audio tantum? Eorum quos inter-lectissimos habuimus, alter morti occubuit, alter in terris externis abest. Quid illos aut alios quos amavimus a me nominari necesse sit? Quisque vestrum eos requirit, quisque desiderat. Valeant omnes qui absunt, et vos, amici fratresque, valete!

Vos quoque valete, omnes qui adestis, -senes atque juvenes, quibus for tuna fida et quibus perfida, matronæ virginesque, quibus sit decor quibus que desit; -vobis adsint ante omnia virtus,

"Lis nunquam, toga rara, mens quieta,
Vires ingenuæ, salubre corpus;

Quod sitis esse velitis, nihilque malitis."'

* Anno 1820, resp. Maine a rep. Mass. se separavit.

XCVI.

A BOWDOIN PRIZE DISSERTATION.

Example.

Essay on the Literary Character of Dr. Samuel Johnson.

While an author is living, it is not extraordinary that mankind should form an erroneous estimate of his works. The influence which prejudice and partiality often possess over the minds of his contemporaries, is incom patible with a correct decision of his merits. It is not until time has effaced the recollection of party feelings, when the virtues and foibles of the man are forgotten, and the warm emotions of friendship or resentment are no longer felt, that the merit of an author can be fairly ascertained. So variable is public opinion, which is often formed without examination, and liable to be warped by caprice, that works of real merit are frequently left for posterity to discover and admire, while the pompous efforts of impertinence and folly are the wonders of the age. The gigantic genius of Shakspeare so far surpassed the learning and penetration of his times, that his productions were then little read and less admired. There were few who could understand, and still fewer who could relish the beauties of a writer whose style was as various as his talents were surprising. The immortal Milton suffered the mortification of public neglect, after having enriched the literature of his country with a poem, which has since been esteemed the most beautiful composition in his language; and his poetical talents, which entitled him to a reputation the most extensive and gratify ing, could scarcely procure for him, in his own times, a distinction above contemporary authors who are now forgotten. Ignorance and interest, envy and political rancor, have concealed from public notice works, which he enlightened intelligence of after ages have delighted to rescue from oblivion; and it is no less common for posterity to forget ephemeral productions, which were the admiration of the day in which they were pro

duced.

In a retrospect of the literature of any age, the mind views the respective authors as a group of statues, which a cusory glance of the eye discovers at a distance; and although, on a nearer examination, it could admire the features and beauties discoverable in those of a diminutive appearance, yet the energetic expression and lofty attitude of some who overtop the rest, exclusively attract our notice and command attention. Perhaps there has been no age concerning which this remark is more justly applicable, than the eighteenth century. In that period, a most numerous army of authors took the field, greater perhaps in number, but not exceeding in height of stature, excellence of skill, or brilliance of achievement, the great men of the three preceding centuries.

In contemplating this collection of writers, the attention is necessarily withdrawn from those over whom the towering genius of Dr. Johnson seems to bend, and is attracted by the colossal statue which represents the gigantic powers of his mind. Whether we regard the variety of his talents, the soundness of his judgment, the depth of his penetration, the acuteness of his sagacity, the subtleness of his reasoning faculty, or the extent of his knowledge, he is equally the subject of astonishment and admiration.

It will not, perhaps, be hazardous to affirm, that within the range of an

cient and modern history, it is difficult, if not impossible, to point out a single individual, in whom was discoverable so various a combination of literary accomplishments. It may also be safely affirmed, that he seemed to possess a mind which actually contained a greater and more variegated mass of knowledge than any other person has been known to possess. It will not, however, be surprising, that his productions excited the wonder and astonishment of mankind, when we reflect, that he had a memory which at any moment could furnish him with all that he had ever read, and a judg ment which could exactly combine and compare, analyze and aggregate, the most subtle reasoning, and a love of learning never satiated by indul gence. A clear head and nice discrimination, a logical method and mathe matical precision, rendered him one of the most powerful reasoners of his age. A character so eminent, it is not likely could pass his own times without much animadversion and much praise. As he was the most conspicuous literary man of his nation, it is not matter of suprise, that we find written of him more than it would be safe implicitly to credit, and presumption universally to disbelieve. Soon after his death, he was very justly compared to the sick lion in the fable, whom, while living, few had the temerity to attack, but against whom, when in the defenceless state of a corse, all in whom the malignancy of envy, or the voice of prejudice, or the excitement of resentment existed, united their assaults with rancor and bitterness. In many, the gratification of these feelings was like the fury of canine madness. They bit with the mordacity of the viper; but the impassive metal rendered retributive justice to their efforts, and the good sense of mankind reprobated their folly.

It is a delightful employment to trace through the stages of infantine imbecility, the growth of a genius, which, in the progressive gradations of its maturity, expands like the majestic branches of "the Pride of the Forest," by slow degrees, and native hardihood, acquiring strength and enlargement, and becoming at last a sublime emblem of independence, of fortitude, and durability. The development of Dr. Johnson's mind, is a subject, from the contemplation of which, we may derive much pleasure and improvement. It was not like a sickly and tender plant, to be nursed with the most anxious solicitude. It possessed a native vigor and energy, which neither the disadvantages of an unpropitious culture could retard, nor the blasts of adverse fortune could depress. The tempestuous storms, to which a nature less hardy would have yielded, it bore with inflexible firmness; and, like a rock in the midst of the ocean, just protending above the waves, by which it is sometimes overflowed, and at the refluence of the billows, with haughty pride becomes again visible, it withstood the conflict of contending elements. Undaunted by difficulties, from which a mind not underserving of respect would involuntarily have recoiled, we observe it, in the progress of his life, stemming the current of adversity, rather in the pride of triumph, than in the humiliation of despondence. In following him through the dangers and hardships which he too frequently had to encounter, we may observe how wonderfully his mind gained efficiency by resistance; and, like an impetuous torrent, overleaping the barriers of its course, with renovated strength he overwhelmed opposition.

The ninth year of the eighteenth century gave birth to the man, who was afterwards to become the glory of his country, the champion of his language, and the honor and ornament of the literature of his age. Among some of the biographers of Dr. Johnson, we discover a disposition to indulge in tales of absurdity; ascribing to him a jingle of boyish rhymes at age of three years, and leading readers to suppose him to have mounteċ his Pegasus before he was entirely out of the cradle. Little appears to have been known respecting his early childhood, and much less with re gard to the progress he made in learning under his earliest teachers, both of which were perhaps of no consequence; stories of such strange precocity usually carry with themselves their own refutation. The earliest intelli

the

gence, upon which we may rely, informs us, that Johnson, while at the Litchfield school, had a standing scarcely respectable. The only talent by which he was then in any wise distinguished, was a remarkable tenacity of memory. This, it will be seen, was of the utmost importance to him. After a preparatory course in classical literature, we find him, at the age of nineteen, entered as a commoner in Pembroke College, Oxford, assisting the studies of a young gentleman, by whose aid he was maintained. The performance which first brought him into notice, was the translation of Pope's "Messiah " into Latin, which possessed no other poetical merit than purity of diction. Circumstances occurred, which deprived him of the only support upon which he relied; the gentleman under his charge changing his plan of education. After various discouragements, and embarrassments in his pecuniary resources, he was compelled to quit the university, where his residence, with little interruption, had been continued nearly three years. Having endeavored to obtain the means of living by assisting at a public school, in a short time he relinquished an employment, which yield ed him little pleasure, and which became the more irksome from a disgust he had taken with the person by whom it was patronized. It was at this period, that a resort to his pen became necessary for the support of his life. A translation of a voyage to Abyssinia, by Jerome Lobo, a Portuguese missionary, it is believed, was the first literary effort by which he attempted to raise a revenue. In this production, Johnson discovers much of that purity and energy of diction, by which he was afterwards distinguished. An easy flow of language, with a strength of expression, gave a dignity to the translated author he did not naturally possess. The flexibility and harmony of the English tongue added an importance and interest to the performance, to which, for its subsequent reputation, it was much indebted.

In March, 1737, Johnson, in company with David Garrick, made his entry into London, each to try his fortune on the extensive theatre of the metropolis. The former, hitherto the child of disaster and disappontment, determined to enlarge the sphere in which to crowd his way; and both were equally undaunted by the failure of their schemes.

The biographers of Johnson are unable to fix with certainty the period at which the Tragedy of "Irene " was finished. Though there appears some evidence of its completion prior to his arrival in London, it was doomed, if written at that time, to slumber in obscurity, until the fortune and friend ship of Garrick, who, in 1747, became one of the managers of Drury Lane Theatre, enabled him to produce it on the stage. With respect to the merits of this production, an observation which was judiciously applied to Addison's "Cato," may, with equal justice, be made: "It wants much of that contrivance and effect, which is best understood by those who are skilled in writing for the stage." It is, in a great measure, destitute of that style, and those incidents, which would render it interesting to an audience; and will much better delight a reader in the retirement of the closet, than the confused assemblage of the theatre. The language is dignified and forci ble, and the sentiments worthy of its author. Literary men, who are pleased with "chill philosophy," and "unaffecting elegance," will admire it; readers of taste will be delighted with the beauty of some of its sentiments, and many elegant passages which it contains, which will long preserve it from oblivion. Garrick, upon being asked why he did not produce another tragedy from his Litchfield friend, replied, "when Johnson writes tragedy, passion sleeps, and declamation roars.' Johnson himself appears to have been in some degree sensible of the truth of such a remark, as this was his first and only attempt. Having had a run of thirteen nights, Irene was never after revived.

About the year 1738, we find him again invoking his muse, in an imita tion of Juvenal's Third Satire, to which he gave the name of "London." It has been thought, that, under the name of Thales, he addresses his friend Savage, whose life he subseqently wrote, and with whom he had previously

passed many of his dissipated hours. Savage was a man of very great genius, but of an irregular and dissipated life, from the contamination of which, nothing but good principles, deep rooted, which he had early imbibed, could have preserved the morals of Johnson.

If not among the most important of his efforts, this poem, and "The Vanity of Human Wishes," another similar to it, in imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal, may be esteemed among his most happy attempts. The spirit and energy with which he wrote, fully equals the poignancy of the Roman satirist. Juvenal and Johnson were both engaged in the cause of virtue, and the poetic fire and sarcastic severity of the imitation is well worthy of the original. The lines of the English author flow with all that grace and dignity with which the Latin poet abounds. That he should have written with the same ardor and animation, is natural; and the accu satorial strain of invective in which he writes, does ample justice to the censorial department of the satirist. It is related that Mr. Pope, after read ing his "London," observed, in allusion to the passage from Terence, which was once applied to Milton, "Ubi, ubi est, diu celari non potest,” mark which proved truly prophetic.

-a re

It is a melancholy reflection, that the superior talents of this eminent writer, at the age of thirty, were scarcely able to provide him with an in come adequate to his wants. Being bred to no profession, he was com pelled to resort to his pen as a last resource. Many of his schemes in pub lication failed for want of encouragement, and others, in which he succeed ed, proved of little benefit to him. We find some of his fugitive pieces at this time appearing in the "Gentleman's Magazine," and among them several very masterly touches in biographical delineation. In biography, Johnson peculiarly excelled. The Lives of the Poets," which he at a much later period sent into the world, will remain a lasting monument of his genius, and critical sagacity. Few perhaps, more feelingly illustrated Juvenal's axiom,

"Haud facile emergunt, quorum virtutibus obstat
Res angusta domi."

But the independence of his spirit, and the native energy of his mind, ren dered him little sensible to the sombre shades by which fortune had surrounded him.

His parliamentary speeches, which appeared about this time, are a model of purity of diction, copiousness of language, and flowing eloquence. In reflecting how scanty were the materials from which they were written, our surprise and admiration are equally excited. His biographers relate, that frequently he was only informed who were the speakers, the order in which they spoke, and the sides they took. At best, the notes which were pro cured were of but little use to him; and it is well known, he was but once in Parliament-house for this purpose. We are charmed with the dignity and energy which these speeches possess. Without disparagement, some of them may be compared to the ancient specimens of the Grecian and Roman orators. In force of style, harmony of diction, and copiousness of expression, they equal any instances of ancient or modern eloquence.

There is no view in which Johnson appears less advantageous than as a political writer. His warmest friends are ready to acknowledge, that his reputation would have suffered no loss, had he never meddled with politics. His arguments, indeed, were ingenious; but strong prejudices and partiali ties gave to his pen a direction which his understanding could not approve, and, in moments of cooler reflection, his conscience must have condemned. With the sentiments of a warm tory and rigid high-churchman, his charac ter was frequently exposed to much severity of aspersion; but, possessed with the genius and reputation of the greatest scholar of his age, and the virtues of a man, over whom morality and religion had much influence, he might well defy the attacks of his enemies.