between the parties; and when the Dictionary' was on the point of appearing, Lord Chesterfield wrote two witty and highly laudatory papers upon it in the ' World,' strongly but delicately recommending the expected work to all readers and all purchasers. Johnson's pride took fire, and he wrote that letter which is so well known, and has been so 5 much admired for its indignant and sarcastic tone, but which everything considered, is to be reckoned among the outrages committed by the irritability of the literary temperament. Nor can anything be more humbling if it be not even ridiculous enough at once to bring the sublime of the epistle down to a very ordinary level, than the unhappy 10 Note which Mr. Boswell's candour and love of accuracy has subjoined, — that Johnson once confessed to Mr. Langton his having received ten pounds from the Earl, but as that was so inconsiderable a sum, he thought the mention of it could not properly find a place in a letter of the kind this was' referring to the passage which speaks very incor- 15 rectly of his having received from Lord Chesterfield 'not one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour' [p. 21, 1. 17.] It seems almost as incorrect to say, that he had never received one smile of favour; for it is certain that he had been admitted to his society and politely treated. He described him [once] as of 'exquisitely 20 elegant manners, with more knowledge than what he expected, and as having conversed with him upon philosophy and literature.' The letter which he wrote appears to have been treated with indifference, if not with contempt, by the Noble Secretary of State; for he showed it to anyone that asked to see it, and let it lie on his table open that all might 25 read who pleased. The followers of Johnson quote this as a proof of his dissimulation; possibly he overdid it; but they should recollect how little anyone was likely to feel severely hurt by such a composition, when he could with truth mention, even if he should not choose to do so, that he had given the writer ten pounds without giving him the least 30 offence." Men of Letters of Time of George III, Works of Lord Brougham, 1855, pp. 327–28.]

February 7, 1755.

MY LORD: I have been lately informed by the proprietor of "The World," that two papers in which my dictionary 35 is recommended to the public, were written by your lordship. To be so distinguished is an honor, which, being very little accustomed to favors from the great, I know not well how tc receive, or in what terms to acknowledge.

When, upon some slight encouragement I first visited your

lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself "Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre": that I might obtain that regard for which I saw 5 the world contending; but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I 10 could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work through 15 difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.

20

The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and found him a native of the rocks.

Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached the ground encumbers him with help? The notice 25 which you have been pleased to take of my labors, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where 30 no benefit has been received, or be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron, which Providence has enabled me to do for myself.

Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favorer of learning, I shall not be disappointed 35 though I should conclude, if less be possible, with less; for I have been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which

I once boasted myself with so much exultation, my lord, your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.

VI.

T. B. ALDRICH

To William Winter.1

[Edwin Booth died June 8, 1893. He was buried in Mt. Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge, Mass. For years Mr. Aldrich, Mr. Winter, 5 and Edwin Booth had been close friends.]

PONKAPOG, MASS., June 12, 1893.

DEAR WILL: We reached Mount Auburn a few minutes before sunset. Just as Edwin was laid in the grave, among the fragrant pine boughs which lined it, and softened its cru- 10 elty, the sun went down. I never saw anything of such heart-breaking loveliness as this scene. There in the tender afterglow two or three hundred men and women stood silent, with bowed heads. A single bird, in a nest hidden somewhere near by, twittered from time to time. The soft June air, blowing 15 across the upland, brought with it the scent of syringa blossoms from the slope below. Overhead and among the trees the twilight was gathering. "Good-night, sweet Prince!” I said, under my breath, remembering your quotation. Then I thought of the years and years that had been made rich with 20 his presence, and of the years that were to come,for us not many, surely, and if there had not been a crowd of people, I would have buried my face in the greensward and wept, as men may not do, and women may. And thus we left him.

1 Reprinted by permission of T. B. Aldrich.

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Some day, when I come to New York, we must get together in a corner at The Players and talk about him, his sorrows and his genius, and his gentle soul.

Ever affectionately,

TOм.

VII.

MRS. E. B. BROWNING

To the Emperor Napoleon III.

[This letter, written after Mrs. Browning had been deeply stirred by reading the poems in Victor Hugo's “ Contemplations," was found, after her death, among her papers. An endorsement stated that it was never sent. Hugo, because of his opposition to the schemes of Louis 10 Napoleon, was put at the head of the list of proscribed persons when the coup d'état of 1857 changed the President into Napoleon III. Hugo first fled to Brussels, whence he issued within a year his “Histoire d'une Crime," an account of the coup d'état, and his "Napoleon le Petit," a scathing arraignment of the Emperor. As a consequence of 15 the sensation caused by the second book, Hugo was obliged to leave Belgium for Jersey. He lived on this island and the neighboring Guernsey till his return to France after the fall of the Empire, in September, 1870. He refused to take advantage of two amnesties, in 1859 and 1869, because he denied the right of an usurper to pardon, just as he had 20 denied his right to condemn.]

[APRIL, 1857.]

SIRE, I am only a woman, and have no claim on your Majesty's attention except that of the weakest on the strongest. Probably my very name as the wife of an English poet, 25 and as named itself a little among English poets, is unknown to your Majesty. I never approached my own sovereign with a petition, nor am skilled in the way of addressing kings. Yet having, through a studious and thoughtful life, grown used to great men (among the dead, at least), I cannot feel 30 entirely at a loss in speaking to the Emperor Napoleon.

And I beseech you to have patience with me while I supplicate you. It is not for myself nor for mine.

5

I have been reading with wet eyes and a swelling heart (as many who love and some who hate your Majesty have lately done) a book called the 'Contemplations' of a man who has sinned deeply against you in certain of his political writings, and who expiates rash phrases and unjustifiable statements in exile in Jersey. I have no personal knowledge of this man; I never saw his face; and certainly I do not come now to make his apology. It is, indeed, precisely because 10 he cannot be excused that, I think, he might worthily be forgiven. For this man, whatever else he is not, is a great poet of France, and the Emperor, who is the guardian of her other glories, should remember him and not leave him out. Ah, sire, what was written on 'Napoleon le Petit' does not 15 touch your Majesty; but what touches you is, that no historian of the age should have to write hereafter, 'While Napoleon III reigned, Victor Hugo lived in exile.' What touches you is, that when your people count gratefully the men of commerce, arms, and science secured by you to France, no 20 voice shall murmur, 'But where is our poet?' What touches you is, that, however statesmen and politicians may justify his exclusion, it may draw no sigh from men of sentiment and impulse, yes, and from women like myself. What touches you is, that when your own beloved young prince 25 shall come to read these poems (and when you wish him a princely nature, you wish, sire, that such things should move him), he may exult to recall that his imperial father was great enough to overcome this great poet with magnanimity. Ah, sire, you are great enough! You can allow for the 30 peculiarity of the poetical temperament, for the temptation of high gifts, for the fever in which poets are apt to rage and suffer beyond the measure of other men. You can consider that when they hate most causelessly there is a divine love in them somewhere; and that when they see most falsely 35 they are loyal to some ideal light. Forgive this enemy, this