[Illustration: THE OLD PALACE, RICHMOND. _From “Greater London.”_ (_See post. p. 281._)] [Illustration: decorative border] _The Antiquarian Magazine & Bibliographer._ [Illustration] Dr. Johnson. BY THE EDITOR. IF there be truth in the old saying, _Inter arma silent leges_, it is not less true that _inter arma silent Musæ_. When the attention of the public is taken up with “wars and rumours of wars,” abroad or at home, and when at home political parties have broken out into open strife, there is no chance for the Muses or their votaries to get a hearing. To no other cause can I ascribe the fact that my countrymen and countrywomen made no response, or next to none, when they were lately asked by the Mayor of Lichfield, Dr. Johnson’s native city, whether the centenary of his death should be celebrated, and if so, then how? For the last three months and more the English world has been so occupied with the _pros_ and _cons_ of Mr. Gladstone’s Franchise Bill, that to the above appeal society has turned a deaf ear. I regret it, but I am scarcely surprised. We have not forgotten to observe the centenary of Robert Raikes, as the reputed founder of Sunday-schools; it is not so very long since the centenary of Robert Burns was celebrated, not by the Scottish people only, but by Englishmen, at the Crystal Palace and elsewhere; but, shame to write and to say it, there is no response when Englishmen are asked to commemorate the author of the first really good English Dictionary, the author of the best collection of Lives of our English Poets, the man who almost in defiance of the law, and at the risk of a prosecution, first really called into existence the practice of reporting the Debates of Parliament; the greatest practical philosopher and teacher of the last century; the man who first raised and ennobled the profession of the pen; and the man who twice at least stood up, as few have stood up, on behalf of that profession, firstly, when he flung back with contempt the tardily offered favour and “patronage” of Lord Chesterfield, and, secondly, when he knocked down the insolent publisher, Thomas Osborne, in his own shop, with one of his own folio volumes. Is not such a man, I ask, deserving of a Centenary celebration from his brethren of the pen, or, let me say, rather from his sons and disciples?