_(For the Mirror)_
It perhaps is not generally known, that the residence of the great
"leviathan of literature," situate in Bolt-court, Fleet-street, was
consumed by the fire which destroyed Messrs. Bensley's premises a few
years ago; and that there are now no ostensible traces of the doctor's
city retreat, save the site. The only vestige of the house is a piece of
grotesquely carved wood, which ornamented the centre of the doorway, and
which is now in possession of a gentleman in the neighbourhood. Part of
the new printing-office, belonging to Messrs. Mills and Co., occupies a
portion of the site, and the remainder forms a receptacle for coals. As
if learning loved to linger amidst the forsaken haunts of departed
genius, the place is still the scene of those efforts in propagating
knowledge, without which it would be a sealed book. When looking upon the
scene which has been consecrated by the presence and labours, the joys
and sorrows, of such a man, how interesting are our reflections, marred
as they may be by mournful impressions of "the mutability of human
affairs." We feel a romantic regret that the genius of Johnson could not
bestow an imperishability upon the spot; and preserve it from the
casualties and decay of fire, and storm, and time. Here the unfortunate
Savage has held his intellectual "_noctes_" and enlivened the old
moralist with his mad philosophy. It was from this mansion that "the
Bastard" roused the doctor on the memorable night (or morn) when they set
out on one of those frolicsome perambulations, which genius, in its
weakness and misgivings, sometimes indulges, and which was worthy of the
days of modern Corinthianism. We can imagine the sleepy, solemn face of
Johnson, the meagre phiz of Savage, and the more rotund features of
Boswell, around the board, and the doctor's beloved tea-kettle singing
its harmonious and solacing solo on the blazing "ingle." Inspecting more
minutely the features of the visionary picture, we might behold the
oracle of learning when about to deliver his opinion, perhaps, on the
artificial fire of Gray, or the feeling and simplicity of Goldsmith: his
opening eyes and unclosing lips; the "harsh thunder" of his
articulation, and the horrisonous stamp of his ample foot, impress us
with the same reverence which was felt by his literary visitants. It was
here, doubtless, where the Herculean task of compiling his dictionary was
achieved; the monotony of which was relieved by writing the periodical
papers of his Guardian, and the more flowery composition of poetry and
biography. But he is gone, and though the mist of years may obscure his
personal history, and vicissitudes annihilate his household memorials,
yet his morality and piety, his unparalleled labour and patient
endurance, but chief of all, his brilliant and versatile genius, will
perish but with the annals of humanity. His fame
"From sire to son shall speed; from clime to clime,
Outstripping death upon the wings of time!"
** H.
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