August 4th, 2020

Poetical Review of the Literary and Moral Character of Dr. Johnson by John Courtenay

By nature's gifts ordain'd mankind to rule,
He, like a Titan, form'd his brilliant school,
And taught congenial spirits to excel,
While from his lips impressive wisdom fell.

Our boasted Goldsmith felt the sovereign sway,
To him we owe, his sweet but nervous lay;
To Fame's proud cliff he bade our Raphael rise,
Hence Reynold's pen, with Reynold's pencil vies;
With Johnson's flame melodious Burney glows,
While the grand strain, in smoother cadence flows.
And thou, Malone, to critic learning dear,
Correct and elegant, refin'd tho' clear,
By studying him, first form'd that classic taste,
Which high in Shakespeare's fame thy statue place.
Near Johnson Steevens stands on scenic ground
Acute, laborious, fertile, and profound;
Ingenious Hawkesworth to this school we owe,
And scarce the pupil from the tutor know:
Here early parts accomplish'd Jones sublimes,
And science blends with Asia's lofty rhimes.

Amidst these rhimes, can Boswell be forgot,
Scarce by North Britons now esteem'd a Scot,
Who to the sage, devoted from his youth,
Imbib'd from him the sacred love of truth;
The keen research, the exercise of mind,
And that best art, the art to know mankind.

Nor was his energy confin'd alone
To friends around his philosophic throne,
Its influence wide improv'd our letter'd isle,
And lucid vigour mark'd the general style.

James Boswell on Samuel Johnson

"Dr. Samuel Johnson's character, religious, moral, political, and literary, nay his figure and manner, are, I believe, more generally known than those of almost any man; yet it may not be superfluous here to attempt a sketch of him. Let my readers then remember that he was a sincere and zealous christian, of high church of England and monarchical principles, which he would not tamely suffer to be questioned steady and inflexible in maintaining the obligations of piety and virtue, both from a regard to the order of society, and from a veneration for the Great Source of all order; correct, nay stern in his taste; hard to please, and easily offended, impetuous and irritable in his temper, but of a most humane and benevolent heart; having a mind stored with a vast and various collection of learning and knowledge, which he communicated with peculiar perspicuity and force, in rich and choice expression. He united a most logical head with a most fertile imagination, which gave him an extraordinary advantage in arguing; for he could reason close or wide, as he saw best for the moment. He could, when he chose it, be the greatest sophist that ever wielded a weapon in the schools of declamation; but he indulged this only in conversation; for he owned he sometimes talked for victory; he was too conscientious to make errour permanent and pernicious, by deliberately writing it. He was conscious of his superiority. He loved praise when it was brought to him; but was too proud to seek for it. He was somewhat susceptible of flattery. His mind was so full of imagery, that he might have been perpetually a poet. It has been often remarked, that in his poetical pieces, which it is to be regretted are so few, because so excellent, his style is easier than in his prose. There is deception in this: it is not easier, but better suited to the dignity of verse; as one may dance with grace, whose motions, in ordinary walking, in the common step, are awkward. He had a constitutional melancholy, the clouds of which darkened the brightness of his fancy, and gave a gloomy cast to his whole course of thinking: yet, though grave and awful in his deportment, when he thought it necessary or proper, he frequently indulged himself in pleasantry and sportive sallies. He was prone to superstition, but not to credulity. Though his imagination might incline him to a belief of the marvellous and the mysterious, his vigorous reason examined the evidence with jealousy. He had a loud voice, and a slow deliberate utterance, which no doubt gave some additional weight to the sterling metal of his conversation. His person was large, robust, I may say approaching to the gigantick, and grown unwieldy from corpulency. His countenance was naturally of the cast of an ancient statue, but somewhat disfigured by the scars of that evil, which, it was formerly imagined, the royal touch could cure. He was now in his sixty-fourth year, and was become a little dull of hearing. His sight had always been somewhat weak; yet, so much does mind govern, and even supply the deficiency of organs, that his perceptions were uncommonly quick and accurate. His head, and sometimes also his body shook with a kind of motion like the effect of a palsy: he appeared to be frequently disturbed by cramps, or convulsive contractions, of the nature of that distemper called St. Vitus's dance. He wore a full suit of plain brown clothes, with twisted hair-buttons of the same colour, a large bushy greyish wig, a plain shirt, black worsted stockings, and silver buckles. Upon this tour, when journeying, he wore boots, and a very wide brown cloth great coat, with pockets which might have almost held the two volumes of his folio Dictionary; and he carried in his hand a large English oak stick. Let me not be censured for mentioning such minute particulars. Every thing relative to so great a man is worth observing. I remember Dr. Adam Smith, in his rhetorical lectures at Glasgow, told us he was glad to know that Milton wore latchets in his shoes, instead of buckles. When I mention the oak stick, it is but letting Hercules have his club; and, by-and-by, my readers will find this stick will bud, and produce a good joke." James Boswell on Samuel Johnson

collapse of the Capitalist System

It is 12:46 PM Tuesday afternoon in the death flow. It is a cool cloudy sunny day. It has been a normal day for me. I did just notice that I am tired and would like to lay down somewhere dark. I am depressed. I do not feel good these days. I am sick of the world. I am sick of America. There is no where to hide. There is no where to escape from all the shit going on in America and the world. I am sick of the OVID-19 plague. I am sick of being labeled white and a male. I am a Christian created in the image of God. I am being conformed to the image of Christ. I am not of this world. I am going to Heaven someday. I am not going to die, but will live forever.

I got up this morning around 6:20 AM. I got up to find Carol baking cookies. Tomorrow she takes meal over to a family that attends her church. She baked cookies to take tomorrow to this family. Carol likes cooking meals for people. I ate three cookies while waking up to existence in the Dead Zone. As I ate cookies I had a cup of coffee. Next I took my coffee over to our main computer I checked for e-mail and then looked at the News.

After messing with our main computer I wrote in my paper diary and cooked eggs for Carol and I for breakfast. After breakfast I looked at my books on Samuel Johnson and then decided to go pick up a prescription and while out to check out local thrift stores for used books. I found these used books today to Add to our library-

'The White Rock: An Exploration of the Inca Heartland' By Hugh Thomson

'NW' A Novel By Zadie Smith

'21: The Final Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey' By Patrick O'Brian Including facsimile of the manuscript

'In the Heart of the Sea: The Epic True Story That Inspired Moby-Dick' By Nathaniel Philbrick

'Atlantic: The Last Great Race Of Princes' By Scott Cookman

'The Tsar Of Love And Techino' A Novel By Anthony Marra

'Still Life' A Novel By A. S. Byatt

'The Longest Silence: A Life in Fishing' By Thomas McGuane

'A Lexicon Of Marxist-Leninist Semantics' Editor Raymond S. Sleeper

'The Imperial Rockefeller: A Biography of Nelson A. Rockefeller' By Joseph E. Persico

'David Rockefeller: Memoirs' David Rockefeller

'Warfare And The Third Reich: The Rise And Fall Of Hitler's Forces' Consultant Editor Christopher Chant

When I got home it was around 11:30 AM. Carol was cleaning the house when I got home. She just left to go to a funeral. I am running on empty.

Last night I read till 11:30 PM a biography on Samuel Johnson by Peter Martin. I think I received the biography by Peter Martin yesterday afternoon. I recently had ordered Peter Martin's biography on James Boswell.

Well I will close to feel sick.
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