red with
particular prejudices. He was pleased with the minister in the isle of
Skie, and loved him so much, that he began to wish him not a
presbyterian. To that body of dissenters his zeal for the established
church, made him, in some degree, an adversary; and his attachment to a
mixed and limited monarchy, led him to declare open war against what he
called a sullen republican. He would rather praise a man of Oxford than
of Cambridge. He disliked a whig, and loved a tory. These were the
shades of his character, which it has been the business of certain
party-writers to represent in the darkest colours.

Since virtue, or moral goodness, consists in a just conformity of our
actions to the relations, in which we stand to the supreme being and to
our fellow-creatures, where shall we find a man who has been, or
endeavoured to be, more diligent in the discharge of those essential
duties? His first prayer was composed in 1738; he continued those
fervent ejaculations of piety to the end of his life. In his Meditations
we see him scrutinizing himself with severity, and aiming at perfection
unattainable by man. His duty to his neighbour consisted in universal
benevolence, and a constant aim at the production of happiness. Who was
more sincere and steady in his friendships? It has been said, that there
was no real affection between him and Garrick. On the part of the
latter, there might be some corrosions of jealousy. The character of
Prospero, in the Rambler, No. 200, was, beyond all question, occasioned
by Garrick's ostentatious display of furniture and Dresden china. It was
surely fair to take, from this incident, a hint for a moral essay; and,
though no more was intended, Garrick, we are told, remembered it with
uneasiness. He was also hurt, that his Lichfield friend did not think so
highly of his dramatic art, as the rest of the world. The fact was,
Johnson could not see the passions, as they rose, and chased one
another, in the varied features of that expressive face; and, by his own
manner of reciting verses, which was wonderfully impressive, he plainly
showed, that he thought, there was too much of artificial tone and
measured cadence, in the declamation of the theatre. The present writer
well remembers being in conversation with Dr. Johnson, near the side of
the scenes, during the tragedy of King Lear: when Garrick came off the
stage, he said, "You two talk so loud, you destroy all my feelings."
"Prithee," replied Johns