nson might easily, in a
few months, have made himself well acquainted with every old play that
was extant. But it never seems to have occurred to him that this was
a necessary preparation for the work which he had undertaken. He would
doubtless have admitted that it would be the height of absurdity in a
man who was not familiar with the works of Aeschylus and Euripides to
publish an edition of Sophocles. Yet he ventured to publish an edition
of Shakspeare, without having ever in his life, as far as can be
discovered, read a single scene of Massinger, Ford, Decker, Webster,
Marlow, Beaumont, or Fletcher. His detractors were noisy and scurrilous.
Those who most loved and honoured him had little to say in praise of
the manner in which he had discharged the duty of a commentator. He
had, however, acquitted himself of a debt which had long lain on his
conscience; and he sank back into the repose from which the sting of
satire had roused him. He long continued to live upon the fame which
he had already won. He was honoured by the University of Oxford with a
Doctor's degree, by the Royal Academy with a professorship, and by the
King with an interview, in which his Majesty most graciously expressed
a hope that so excellent a writer would not cease to write. In the
interval, however, between 1765 and 1775 Johnson published only two or
three political tracks, the longest of which he could have produced in
forty-eight hours, if he had worked as he worked on the life of Savage
and on Rasselas.

But, though his pen was now idle, his tongue was active. The influence
exercised by his conversation, directly upon those with whom he lived,
and indirectly on the whole literary world, was altogether without a
parallel. His colloquial talents were indeed of the highest order. He
had strong sense, quick discernment, wit, humour, immense knowledge of
literature and of life, and an infinite store of curious anecdotes. As
respected style, he spoke far better than he wrote. Every sentence which
dropped from his lips was as correct in structure as the most nicely
balanced period of the Rambler. But in his talk there was no pompous
triads, and little more than a fair proportion of words in "osity" and
"ation". All was simplicity, ease, and vigour. He uttered his short,
weighty, and pointed sentences with a power of voice, and a justness
and energy of emphasis, of which the effect was rather increased than
diminished by the rollings of his huge for