Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield, Staffordshire, on the 18th of September 1709, and was baptized the same day.  His father was Michael Johnson, a bookseller and stationer, and his mother, Sarah Ford.  Samuel was the first-born of the family.  Nathaniel, who died in his twenty-fifth year, was the second and the last.  Johnson very early began to manifest both his peculiar prejudices and his peculiar powers.  When a mere child, we see him in Lichfield Cathedral, perched on his father’s shoulders, gazing at Sacheverel, the famous Tory preacher.  We hear him, about the same time, roaring to his mother, who had given him, a minute before, a collect in the Common Prayer-Book to get by heart as his day’s task,—­“Mother, I can say it already!” His first teacher, Dame Oliver, a widow, thought him, as she well might, the best scholar she ever had.  From her he passed into the hands of one Tom Brown, an original, who once published a spelling-book, and dedicated it “to the Universe!”—­without permission, we presume.  He began to learn Latin first with a Mr Hawkins, and then with a Mr Hunter, head-master of Lichfield,—­a petty tyrant, although a good scholar, under whom, to use Gay’s language, Johnson was

“Lash’d into Latin by the tingling rod.”

At the age of fifteen, he was transferred to Stourbridge school, and to the care of a Mr Wentworth, who “taught him a great deal.”  There he remained twelve months, at the close of which he returned home, and for two years lived in his father’s house, in comparative idleness, loitering in the fields, and reading much, but desultorily.  In 1728, being flattered with some promises of aid from a Shropshire gentleman, named Corbet, which were never fulfilled, he went to Oxford, and was entered as a commoner in Pembroke College.  His father accompanied and introduced him to Dr Adams, and to Jorden, who became his tutor, recommending his son as a good scholar and a poet.  Under Jorden’s care, however, he did little except translate Pope’s “Messiah” into Latin verse,—­a task which he performed with great rapidity, and so well, that Pope warmly commended it when he saw it printed in a miscellany of poems.  About this time, the hypochondriac affection, which rendered Johnson’s long life a long disease, began to manifest itself.  In the vacation of 1729, he was seized with the darkest despondency, which he tried to alleviate by violent exercise and other means, but in vain.  It seems to have left him during a fit of indignation at Dr Swinfen (a physician at Lichfield, who, struck by the elegant Latinity of an account of his malady, which the sufferer had put into his hands, showed it in all directions), but continued to recur at frequent intervals till the close of his life.  His malady was undoubtedly of a maniacal cast, resembling Cowper’s, but subdued by superior strength of will—­a Bucephalus, which it required all the power of a Johnson to back and bridle.  In his early days, he had been piously inclined, but after his ninth year, fell into a state of indifference to religion.  This continued till he met, at Oxford, Law’s “Serious Call,” which, he says, “overmatched” and compelled him to consider the subject with earnestness.  And whatever, in after years, were the errors of his life, he never, from that hour, ceased to have a solemn sense of the verities of the Christian religion.