"Then prompt no more the follies you decry, As Tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die: 'Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence Of rescued Nature and reviving Sense: To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show, For useful Mirth and salutary Woe: Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age And Truth diffuse her radiance from the Stage." Garrick must have been proud to act under such banner of song as that. The tragedy of _Irene_ came to its first representation a short time afterward; and surely it would have been worth one's while to see the stout, awkward gerund-grinder of forty, slipping into a side-box, or even behind {97} the scenes "in a scarlet waistcoat, with rich gold lace and a gold-laced hat!" The play, however, did not prove a great success either then or thereafter. The Dictionary, for which proposals had already been issued, promised better things. That Dictionary did ultimately give him a great lift--as it has to a good many, since. The ponderous volume furnished very many New England households seventy years ago; and I can remember sitting upon it, in my child-days, to bring my head properly above the level of the table. An immense and long-continued toil went to the Dictionary. Lord Chesterfield,[25] the finished orator and the elegant man--not unwilling to have so great a work bear his name--called attention to the book and the author, when nearly ready; but Johnson was too sore with hope deferred to catch {98} that bait; he writes an indignant letter (not published until 1790) to the elegant Chesterfield:-- "Seven years have now passed, my Lord, since I waited in your outward-rooms, or was repulsed from your door--during which time I have been pushing on my work, thro' difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favor.... The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labors--had it been early--had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary [his wife dead now] and cannot impart it, till I am known and do not want it." This does not show the stuff which went to the making of such a man as Walpole! The _Rambler_, too, it must be remembered, is making its periodic visits in those early days of the Dictionary toil. Heavy it is, like the master; and his prejudices as arrant Churchman and sturdy Tory do indeed break through its piled-up pages; but never insidiously: he sounds a trumpet before he strikes. Perhaps a little over-fond of trumpeting; loving so much his long sonorous roll of Ciceronian vocables.