Samuel Johnson （b. 1709,d. 1784）. This remarkable man was born in Lichfield,Staffordshire,England. He was the son of a bookseller and stationer. He entered Pembroke College,Oxford,in 1728;but his poverty compelled him tleave at the end of three years. Soon after his marriage,in 1736,he opened a private school,but obtained only three pupils,one of whom was David Garrick,afterwards a celebrated actor. In 1737,he removed tLondon,where he resided most of the rest of his life. The most noted of his numerous literary works are his "Dictionary," the first one of the English language worthy of mention,"The Vanity of Human Wishes," a poem,"The Rambler," "Rasselas," "The Lives of the English Poets," and his edition of Shakespeare. An annual pension of 300 pounds was granted him in 1762.
In person,Johnson was heavy and awkward;in manner,boorish and overbearing;but his learning and his great powers caused his company tbe sought by many eminent men.
1.Obidah,the son of Abnesina,left the caravansary1 early in the morning,and pursued his journey through the plains of Hindostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest;he was animated with hope;he was incited by desire;he walked swiftly forward over the valleys,and saw the hills gradually rising before him.
2.As he passed along,his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise;he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze,and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices;he sometimes contemplated towering height of the oak,monarch of1Caravansary,a kind of inn in the East,where caravans （or large companies of traders） rest at night.the hills;and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose,eldest daughter of the spring;all his senses were gratified,and all care was banished from his heart.
3.Thus he went on,till the sun approached his meridian,and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength;he then looked round about him for some more commodious path. He saw,on his right hand,a grove that seemed twave its shades as a sign of invitation;he entered it,and found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not,however,forget whither he was traveling,but found a narrow way,bordered with flowers,which appeared thave the same direction with the main road,and was pleased,that,by this happy experiment,he had found means tunite pleasure with business,and tgain the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues.
4.He,therefore,still continued twalk for a time,without the least remission of his ardor,except that he was sometimes tempted tstop by the music of the birds,which the heat had assembled in the shade,and sometimes amused himself with picking the flowers that covered the banks on each side,or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last,the green path began tdecline from its first tendency,and twind among the hills and thickets,cooled with fountains,and murmuring with waterfalls.
5.Here Obidah paused for a time,and began tconsider whether it was longer safe tforsake the known and common track;but,remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence,and that the plain was dusty and uneven,he resolved tpursue the new path,which he supposed only tmake a few meanders1,in compliance with the garieties of the ground,and tend at last in the common road.
6.Having thus calmed his solicitude,he renewed his pace,though he suspected he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined him tlay hold on every new object,and give way tevery sensation that might soothe or divert him. He listened tevery1Meanders,windings,turnings.
echo,he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect,he turned aside tevery cascade,and pleased himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees,and watered a large region,with innumerable circumvolutions1.
7.In these amusements,the hours passed away uncounted;his deviations2 had perplexed his memory,and he knew not toward what point ttravel. He stood pensive and confused,afraid tgforward lest he should gwrong,yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty,the sky was overspread with clouds,the day vanished from before him,and a sudden tempest gathered round his head.
8.He was now roused by his danger ta quick and painful remembrance of his folly;he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted ;he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him tseek shelter in the grove,and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle ttrifle. While he was thus reflecting ,the air grew blacker and a clap of thunder broke his meditation.
9.He now resolved tdwhat remained yet in his power;ttread back the ground which he had passed,and try tfind some issue where the wood might open intthe plain. He prostrated himself upon the ground,and commended his life tthe Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and tranquillity,and pressed on with his saber in his hand;for the beasts of the desert were in motion,and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage,and fear,and ravage,and expiration3;all the horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded him;the winds roared in the woods,and the torrents tumbled from the hills.
10.Thus,forlorn and distressed,he wandered through the wild without knowing whither he was going or whether he was every1 Circumvolutions,windings or flowings around. 2Deviations,wanderins from one’s course.
3Expiration,death.
moment drawing nearer tsafety or tdestruction. At length,not fear but labor began tovercome him;his breath grew short,and his knees trembled,and he was on the point of lying down,in resignation this fate,when he beheld,through the brambles,the glimmer of a taper. He advanced toward the light,and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit,he called humbly at the door,and obtained admission. The old man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself,on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude.
11.When the repast was over,"Tell me," said the hermit,"by what chance thou hast been brought hither;I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of this wilderness,in which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey,without any concealment or palliation1.
12."Son," said the hermit,"let the errors and follies,the dangers and escapes,of this day,sink deep intyour heart. Remember,my son,that human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth,full of vigor,and full of expectation;we set forward with spirit and hope,with gayety and with diligence,and travel on awhile in the straight road of piety toward the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our fervor,and endeavor tfind some mitigation2 of our duty,and some more easy means of obtaining the same end.
13."We then relax our vigor,and resolve nlonger tbe terrified with crimes at a distance,but rely upon our own constancy,and venture tapproach what we resolve never ttouch. We thus enter the bowers of ease,and repose in the shades of security. Here the heart softens,and vigilance subsides;we are then willing tinquire whether another advance can not be made,and whether we may not at least turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation;we enter them,but enter timorous and trembling,and always hope tpass through them without losing1Palliation,concealment of the most blamable circumstances of an offence. 2Mitigation,abatement,the act of rendering less severe.the road of virtue,which we for a while keep in our sight,and twhich we propose treturn.
14."But temptation succeeds temptation,and one compliance prepares us for another;we,in time,lose the happiness of innocence,and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention,and quit the only adequate1 object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business,immerge ourselves in luxury,and rove through the labyrinths2 of inconstancy till the darkness of old age begins tinvade us,and disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror,with sorrow,and with repentance;and wish,but tooften vainly wish,that we had not forsaken the paths of virtue.
15."Happy are they,my son,whshall learn,from thy example,not tdespair,but shall remember that though the day is past,and their strength is wasted,there yet remains one effort tbe made;that reformation is never hopeless,nor sincere endeavors ever unassisted;that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors;and that he whimplores strength and courage from above,shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Gnow,my son,tthy repose: commit thyself tthe care of Omnipotence;and when the morning calls again ttoil,begin anew thy journey and thy life."1Adequate,fully sufficient.2Labyrinth,a place full of winding passages.