The Portland daily press., 1881-08-20
THE PRESS.
At 1.-THE Literary Club"

y. II. !
What expression is there in that face we
next look at! How its features vary with the
varying sentiments that fit, chasing one an
other, over his counteGancel He is dressed as
man Of fashion, embroidered neck-cloth trim
wig, and laced ruffies to his shirt-front and
sleeves. This is David Garrick, the greatest
actor, both in tragedy and comedy, of his day,
and one of the sprightliest of boon companions
by turns elegant, caustic, bland and witty. ga
salad" Goldsmith called him, coil, vinegar,
sugar and saltness." He and the great Doctor
were towns-fellows. and came to London to-
gether, and had many quarrel through life,
but their little sparrings left no bitterness be-
hind in either
Now pass little on, and look at that middle
aged man with roundish and somewhat flo
rid face one who looks as if he could enjoy his
glass and take his faig proportion without ex-
ceeding. His lips are full and his nose some
what lumpish, he wears glasses and carries an
ear-trumpet, but withal he has lively. intelli-
gent aspect to which his deafness gives GER
tain gentleness Of expression. His brow,
though low, is broad. He has gray eyebrows
and gray hair. Cor he wears no wig, white
IlOAn blCh II Gtdi, tDS ldilpeIS Vi WHICH
turned down at the collar, show the white lin
ing. One glance tells you that he is Sir JOSH
ia Reynolds, the greatest painter of his day;
the first President of the Royal Academy, who
gets h urdIed guineas and more for picture
and is making Thousands yearly. A man of
philosop hical penetration, and nice observer
of manners. He it was who first preached the
project Of the CLUB 10 the great Doctor, the
Romulus of this grand literary empire
Pause well as you look at him who next
meets your eye, for he is a great man; he sits
erect and firm, his head thrown somewhat
back as if conscious of his intellectual strength
Bis face is one that painter would find it
hard adequately to portray, for its expression
is constantly varying, but full OF benevolence;
now darkened by the shadow of deep thought,
now marked by vigorous intellect, softened by
sensiblity. This is Edmund Burke, one of the
foremost men Of his age-orator, philosopher,
politician, statesman and author. He has al
ready taken his place among the leading men
Of the Senate, and his fame has passed beyond
the confines of the British dominions. The
greatest master of eloquence that England has
seen, the most profound of the philosophic
stat esmen of modern times; sin aptitude of
comprehension and richness of imagination
superior to every orator ancient and moderni,
upon whatever subject he speaks, and he
speaks upon all, lie excels as if it had formed
his particular study Well, we must not lin
ger even in our contemplation of Burke, for
one catches our eye who sits fidgeting and
shifting on his chair as if ready to explode
with some remark, whether timely or not.
What q contrast TO his fellow-countryman flor
they are both irishmen) that we have just been
contemplating. A head round almost as a
globe, deeply marked with smallpox, his COM
plexion pale, his forehead and upper lip pro-
Jecting, an Informed, clumsy figure, an air of
seif-concelt that is amusing, yet shyness be-
traying consciousness thar he is an object of
ridicule, still there is ever an expression of
brightness and genius, of kindness and good
nature that charms you. He is dressed in the
height of the fashion, in the best suit that Mr..
William Firby, at the Harrow, in Water lane,
the fashionable tailor, can turn out-bloom-
colored laced coat, bloom-colored silk breeches
and full-dress professional wig. Need we
say that this is Oliver Godsmith-M D., as
he says-poet, novelist and dramatist-now in
the height OF his fame; the target for every
one; yet everyone loves him. Simple as a
child, vain as a peacock, good-natured yet
lrasclble, sensitive yet forgying, Jealous of his
own rights, yet approaching those of others.
One other we notice as he sits somewhat re-
tired but sufficiently near to the great burly
man whom we have followed from Fleet-st
on whom he gazes with admiring devotion
He has crooked nose, bag cheeks, coarsely
protraded shelf mouth and fat developed chin,
and is dressed foppishly, with very conspicu-
GUS ruffles over his hands. There is nothing
about his appearance that attracts you except
that he is fashionably dressed, but in his air
and expression you see Servility and impu-
denee and you set him down as one who
would take any amount of snubbing from
great men, and give any amount of it to little
ones. This is Mr.. James Boswell, of whom
we shall know more by-and-by, a young Scot
fish lawyer, who has fastened himself on the
great DIR. johnson as a parasitic animalcule
ON some huge animal. He is a coxcomb, a
bore; weak vain, pushing, curious, garrul-
ous." This is great night for him, for he
has just recently attained the summit of his
ambition, and has been forced into the club bv
his all-powerful patron. Boswell himself tells
the story OF his admission with an utter uncon-
seriousness OF the degradation it involved that
is charming. Sir" said johnson, "you got
into our club by showing what a man can DO
Several of the members wished to keep YOU
out. Burke told me he doubted if you were
BIT for it, Boswell answers: "They were
afraid OF you, sir as it was you who proposed
me. Sir, they knew if they refused you
they'd probably never have got in another.
I'd have kept them all out" And very thank
fal the world should be that he was admitted
to record what took place at those celebrated
symposia. He is now watching the Doctor.
now he eats, how he drinks, how he mutters,
how he rolls his head about, what he saws,
how he says it, to whom he says it; SO that
when he goes home tonight he may put it all
down in his journal
And this great man-who is he but DR., Sam
uel johnson, the most eminent literary man of
his day; photographer essayist. moralist, phil
osopher, critic, poet! Let us look at the out
ward man as he sits before US, with all his
sympatnies and antipathies, his attractions and
repulsions, his amenity and his rudeness his
tenderness and his savageness, his outbursts of
temper and his ready placabiity-"in the
brown coat with the metal buttons. and the
shirt which ought to be at wash, blinking.
putting, rolling his head, drumming with his
fingers, tearing his meat like tiger, and swal-
lowing his tea in oceans" AS vet there is NOT
much said remark here and there, wise or
witty or commonplace-for the great Doctor.
who always leads the conversation, loves NOT
to talk much while eating, "For nv part"
he once said, 81 mind my belly very studiously
and very carefully, for look upon it that he
who does not mind his belly will hardly mind
anything else" And so he pays little or no
attention to what is said around. Now his eyes
are fixed on his plate, into which he peers for
he IS short-sighted, and he is eating with such
fierce intensity that the veins of his forehead
are swollen, and the perspiration stands in
beads on his brow. He is devouring a veal pie
with plums and sugar, which exhales an odor
too strong for the nostrils of those who sit near
him. Beauclerk asks him, with sly humor.
how he likes it. His reply is a grunt, and a
demand for second supply. The tankard of ]
ale passes him untouched for he never drinks
fermented liquors; nor does the wine-bottle at
tract him. He makes up, however for his
blDulous shortcomings by the quantity which
ne eats with great voracity and speed, habit
ne mas acquired in his early days of privation.