he did not, it was a great shame.  That he was indebted to Sir Joshua in a small loan is apparent from the fact that it was one of his three dying requests to that great man that he should release him from it, as, of course, the most amiable of painters did.  The other two requests, it will be remembered, were to read his Bible, and not to use his brush on Sundays.  The good Sir Joshua gave the desired promises with a full heart, for these two great men loved one another; but subsequently discovered the Sabbatical restriction not a little irksome, and after a while resumed his former practice, arguing with himself that the Doctor really had no business to extract any such promise.  The point is a nice one, and perhaps ere this the two friends have met and discussed it in the Elysian fields.  If so, I hope the Doctor, grown “angelical,” kept his temper with the mild shade of Reynolds better than on the historical occasion when he discussed with him the question of “strong drinks.”

Against Garrick, Johnson undoubtedly cherished a smoldering grudge, which, however, he never allowed any one but himself to fan into flame.  His pique was natural.  Garrick had been his pupil at Edial, near Lichfield; they had come up to town together with an easy united fortune of fourpence—­“current coin o’ the realm.”  Garrick soon had the world at his feet and garnered golden grain.  Johnson became famous too, but remained poor and dingy.  Garrick surrounded himself with what only money can buy, good pictures and rare books.  Johnson cared nothing for pictures—­how should he? he could not see them; but he did care a great deal about books, and the pernickety little player was chary about lending his splendidly bound rarities to his quondam preceptor.  Our sympathies in this matter are entirely with Garrick; Johnson was one of the best men that ever lived, but not to lend books to.  Like Lady Slattern, he had a “most observant thumb.”  But Garrick had no real cause for complaint.  Johnson may have soiled his folios and sneered at his trade, but in life Johnson loved Garrick, and in death embalmed his memory in a sentence which can only die with the English language:—­“I am disappointed by that stroke of death which has eclipsed the gayety of nations, and impoverished the public stock of harmless pleasure.”

Will it be believed that puny critics have been found to quarrel with this colossal compliment on the poor pretext of its falsehood?  Garrick’s death, urge these dullards, could not possibly have eclipsed the gayety of nations, since he had retired from the stage months previous to his demise.  When will mankind learn that literature is one thing, and sworn testimony another? ...