acquaintance.  In the winter of 1749 he formed a club, which met weekly at a “famous beef-steak house” in Ivy Lane.  Among its members were Hawkins, afterwards his biographer, and two friends, Bathurst a physician, and Hawkesworth an author, for the first of whom he entertained an unusually strong affection.  The Club, like its more famous successor, gave Johnson an opportunity of displaying and improving his great conversational powers.  He was already dreaded for his prowess in argument, his dictatorial manners and vivid flashes of wit and humour, the more effective from the habitual gloom and apparent heaviness of the discourser.

The talk of this society probably suggested topics for the Rambler, which appeared at this time, and caused Johnson’s fame to spread further beyond the literary circles of London.  The wit and humour have, indeed, left few traces upon its ponderous pages, for the Rambler marks the culminating period of Johnson’s worst qualities of style.  The pompous and involved language seems indeed to be a fit clothing for the melancholy reflections which are its chief staple, and in spite of its unmistakable power it is as heavy reading as the heavy class of lay-sermonizing to which it belongs.  Such literature, however, is often strangely popular in England, and the Rambler, though its circulation was limited, gave to Johnson his position as a great practical moralist.  He took his literary title, one may say, from the Rambler, as the more familiar title was derived from the Dictionary.

The Rambler was published twice a week from March 20th, 1750, to March 17th, 1752.  In five numbers alone he received assistance from friends, and one of these, written by Richardson, is said to have been the only number which had a large sale.  The circulation rarely exceeded 500, though ten English editions were published in the author’s lifetime, besides Scotch and Irish editions.  The payment, however, namely, two guineas a number, must have been welcome to Johnson, and the friendship of many distinguished men of the time was a still more valuable reward.  A quaint story illustrates the hero-worship of which Johnson now became the object.  Dr. Burney, afterwards an intimate friend, had introduced himself to Johnson by letter in consequence of the Rambler, and the plan of the Dictionary.  The admiration was shared by a friend of Burney’s, a Mr. Bewley, known—­in Norfolk at least—­as the “philosopher of Massingham.”  When Burney at last gained the honour of a personal interview, he wished to procure some “relic” of Johnson for his friend.  He cut off some bristles from a hearth-broom in the doctor’s chambers, and sent them in a letter to his fellow-enthusiast.  Long afterwards Johnson was pleased to hear of this simple-minded homage, and not only sent a copy of the Lives of the Poets to the rural philosopher, but deigned to grant him a personal interview.