In the number of men who dishonour their own genius, ought to be ranked Dr Samuel Johnson; for his abilities and learning are not accompanied by candour and generosity. His life of Pomfret concludes with this maxim, that 'he who pleases many, must have merit;' yet, in defiance of his own rule, the Doctor has, a thousand times, attempted to prove, that they who please many, have _no_ merit. His invidious and revengeful remark on Chesterfield, would have disgraced any other man. He said, and nobody but himself would have said it, that Churchill was a shallow fellow. And he once told some of his admirers, that SWIFT was a _shallow_, a _very shallow_ fellow: reminding us of the Lilliputian who drew _his_ bow to Gulliver[3]. For the memory of this man, who may be classed with Cato and Phocion, the Doctor feels no tenderness or respect. And for that[4], and other critical blasphemies, he has undergone innumerable floggings. No writer of this nation has made more noise. None has discovered more contempt for other men's reputations, or more confidence in his own. I would humbly submit a few hints for his improvement, if he be not 'too old to learn.' And, whatever freedoms I take, the Doctor himself may be quoted as a precedent for insolent invective, and brutal reproach. He has told us[5], that 'the two lowest of all human beings are, a scribbler for a party, and a commissioner of excise.' This very man was himself the hired scribbler of a party; and why should a commissioner of excise be one of the meanest of mankind? In the preface to his octavo Dictionary, the Doctor affirms, that, 'by the labours of all his predecessors, not even the _lowest_ expectation can be gratified.' The author of a revisal of Shakespeare[6] attacks (he says) with '_gloomy malignity_, as if he were dragging to justice an assassin or incendiary. He bites like a viper, and would be glad to leave inflammations and gangrene behind him.' For this shocking language, which could have been answered by nothing but a blow, the _primum mobile_, perhaps, was, that the critic had dedicated his book to Lord Kaims, (a Scotsman, and another very _shallow_ fellow) 'as the truest judge, and most intelligent admirer of Shakespeare.' His treatment of Colley Cibber is, if possible, worse. That great ornament of the stage was a man of genius, at least equal to Dr Johnson--but they had a quarrel, and though Cibber has been more than twenty years buried, the Doctor, in his life of Pope, studies to revenge it. His expressions are gross. 'In the Dunciad, among other _worthless_ scribblers he (Pope) had mentioned _Cibber_. The dishonour of being shewn as _Cibber's_ antagonist could never be compensated by the victory. _Cibber_ had nothing to lose--The shafts of satire were directed in vain against _Cibber_, being repelled by the impenetrable impudence,' &c.[7] We have been deafened about the Doctor's private virtues; of which these passages are a very poor evidence.