Lichfield and Uttoxeter - Page 2

funereal weed, out of the graves of two princely
brothers, sons of a pagan king of Mercia, who were converted by St. Chad,
and afterwards martyred for their Christian faith. Nevertheless, I was
but little interested in the legends of the remote antiquity of
Lichfield, being drawn thither partly to see its beautiful cathedral, and
still more, I believe, because it was the birthplace of Dr. Johnson, with
whose sturdy English character I became acquainted, at a very early
period of my life, through the good offices of Mr. Boswell. In truth, he
seems as familiar to my recollection, and almost as vivid in his personal
aspect to my mind's eye, as the kindly figure of my own grandfather. It
is only a solitary child,--left much to such wild modes of culture as he
chooses for himself while yet ignorant what culture means, standing on
tiptoe to pull down books from no very lofty shelf, and then shutting
himself up, as it were, between the leaves, going astray through the
volume at his own pleasure, and comprehending it rather by his
sensibilities and affections than his intellect,--that child is the only
student that ever gets the sort of intimacy which I am now thinking of,
with a literary personage. I do not remember, indeed, ever caring much
about any of the stalwart Doctor's grandiloquent productions, except his
two stern and masculine poems, "London," and "The Vanity of Human
Wishes"; it was as a man, a talker, and a humorist, that I knew and loved
him, appreciating many of his qualities perhaps more thoroughly than I do
now, though never seeking to put my instinctive perception of his
character into language.

Beyond all question, I might have had a wiser friend than he. The
atmosphere in which alone he breathed was dense; his awful dread of death
showed how much muddy imperfection was to be cleansed out of him, before
he could be capable of spiritual existence; he meddled only with the
surface of life, and never cared to penetrate further than to ploughshare
depth; his very sense and sagacity were but a one-eyed clear-sightedness.
I laughed at him, sometimes, standing beside his knee. And yet,
considering that my native propensities were towards Fairy Land, and also
how much yeast is generally mixed up with the mental sustenance of a
New-Englander, it may not have been altogether amiss, in those childish
and boyish days, to keep pace with this heavy-footed traveller and feed
on the gross diet that he carried in his knapsack. It is wholesome food
even now. And, then, how English! Many of the latent sympathies that
enabled me to enjoy the Old Country so well, and that so readily
amalgamated themselves with the American ideas that seemed most adverse
to them, may have been derived from, or fostered