It is the practical test of
how far the philosophy of his life has been a sound one. Hume saw
death afar, and met it with unostentatious calm. Johnson's mind
flinched from that dread opponent. His letters and his talk during
his latter years are one long cry of fear. It was not cowardice, for
physically he was one of the most stout-hearted men that ever lived.
There were no limits to his courage. It was spiritual diffidence,
coupled with an actual belief in the possibilities of the other
world, which a more humane and liberal theology has done something
to soften. How strange to see him cling so desperately to that crazy
body, with its gout, its asthma, its St. Vitus' dance, and its six
gallons of dropsy! What could be the attraction of an existence
where eight hours of every day were spent groaning in a chair, and
sixteen wheezing in a bed? "I would give one of these legs," said
he, "for another year of life." None the less, when the hour did
at last strike, no man could have borne himself with more simple
dignity and courage. Say what you will of him, and resent him how
you may, you can never open those four grey volumes without getting
some mental stimulus, some desire for wider reading, some insight
into human learning or character, which should leave you a better
and a wiser man.
IV.
Next to my Johnsoniana are my Gibbons--two editions, if you please,
for my old complete one being somewhat crabbed in the print I could
not resist getting a set of Bury's new six-volume presentment of the
History.
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