have said, his door opened. Nothing was capable of impeding his progress. He leaped over the hillocks, tombstones, ditches, and every thing that stood in his way. Never was terror so thoroughly implanted in the heart of a human being. He had not been half a minute out, however, when his ears were saluted with one of the stranger's horrible laughs, and with his still more horrible "Brush away." In another moment he heard footsteps coming after him, which made him accelerate his speed. It was to no purpose; the steps behind gained upon him, and, on looking back he beheld, to his horror, the fat man-his face covered with soapsuds-the towel tucked under his chin, his hat off, and the horseman's pistol in his hand. He laughed, and roared out Brush away,' as he pursued the wretched shaver, with a speed miraculous for a man of his unwieldy size. The moon, which shone brightly at this time, rendered every object tolerably distinct. Pushed to desperation, the barber turned his footsteps to the tower of the steeple, the door of which stood wide open. He entered, and attempted to close it behind him. It was too late; the other was close at his heels, and forced himself in. There was no time to be lost. Our fugitive mounted the stair of the tower, and ascended with the rapidity of lightning. There was a door nine stories up, which opened on an outside terrace upon the top. Could he only gain this, all would be well, as he could lock the door outwardly, and exclude his pursuer from coming farther. His exertions to achieve this were tremendous, but without much success, for, about a yard behind him, he heard the steps and unnatural laugh, and" Brush away," of the stranger. He even saw the light of his phosphorescent eye, glaring upon the dark stair of the tower, as he came behind him. Every effort was in vain. The barber mounted the topmost step and pushed through the door; the fat man did the same. They were now on the terrace-above them rose the church spire to a hundred and thirty feet-below them yawned a gulf of as many more! The first salutation of the stranger to his companion was a hideous laugh, followed by "Brush away! nothing like shaving!" The barber, meanwhile, stood as far removed from him as he could; the monument of pale despair. His teeth chattered, his knees knocked together, and he knelt down with the agony of terror. "Ha, ha!" exclaimed his tormentor; " what dost thou think now, old boy? Brush away; come, give me a scrubbing till six in the morning-only five hours more-nothing like a lit tle wholesome exercise." He concluded with one of his in tolerable laughs. "Brush away," continued he, holding his sides and laughing at the mortal fear of the barber. "Out with thy latherbox and thy brush, man; where are they, old beard-scraper?" "I have thrown them away," muttered the terrified shaver. "Thrown them away! Dunder and Blixum, then I have a good mind to throw thee away also! A toss from the tower would be a mighty pretty thing to look at in such a fine moonlight morning." So saying he took hold of the barber by the nose, as he knelt for mercy, lifted him up with perfect ease, and held him at arm's length over the terrace. The poor man's alarm at being poised by the beak over such a tremendous gulf may be better conceived than described. He kicked, and threw out his long arms to and fro, like a spider on the rack. He roared aloud for mercy as well as his pinched nose would admit of promised to shave his honour to the last moment of his life-mentioned the destitute condition in which his wife and family would be left by his death, and made use of every tender argument to soften the heart. It was in vain— the fat man was not to be moved; for, in the midst of one of the most eloquent appeals, he opened his thumb and fore finger by which the barber was held. The nose slipped down from between them, and its owner, body and soul, tumbled headlong through the abyss of a space, a descent of one hundred and thirty feet. Down, down, down he went, whirling round about like a shuttlecock, sometimes his feet being upwards, sometimes his head. During these multiplied circumgyrations, he had occasional glimpses of his adversary above him. There he beheld him leaning over the terrace, with his soapy face and the towel before him, holding his sides and laughing with inconceivable vigour-while every now and then he could hear the hated" Brush away," coming from his lips. But the most dreadful of all the scenes which greeted him was the glare of his ghastly eyes, which shot down spectral glances, and seemed like sepulchral lights to illuminate him on his descent. Dreadful were the feelings of the barber as he approached the ground. His frame shuddered convulsively-his breath came fast he felt almost suffocated, and drew himself into the smallest possible dimensions, like a snail within his shell. The fatal moment came at last when he was to be dashed in pieces, but, contrary to the laws of gravitation, the nearer he approached the earth the more slow his descent became. On the Writings and Conversations of Dr. Johnson. 197 At last it was so gentle, that he seemed to be sustained in air. Some good angel had caught him in his fall, and, instead of being shivered to atoms, he was borne, as on the wings of light and music to the ground. On turning round he felt some gentle one reposing beside him. It was his wife.-Worthy couple! they were snug in bed together; and the barber found, to his inexpressible satisfaction, that he had been dreaming! For the Port Folio. ON THE WRITINGS AND CONVERSATION OF DR. JOHNSON. Few authors, in modern times, have been more liberally honoured with the applause of the public than Dr. Johnson. He has gained full credit for all the learning, and all the merit which he ever possessed. The authority of his name has given a sanction and a currency to his opinions, which cannot be obtained by a less fortunate or a less popular writer. Hence many of his readers and admirers receive his opinions, and admit his assertions, without due examination; nay, even with implicit confidence in their truth. But we shall find that he has advanced opinions, in his writings, which are not infallible; and has even sometimes defended them by sophistical arguments. Nor are these fallacious opinions always innocent. Indeed error is seldom harmless in its consequences, however trifling and insignificant it may at first appear. History informs us that the most important events have often arisen from very small causes. We know that, in conversation, Johnson often defended a bad cause, either to display his ingenuity in debate, or to hear what arguments his opponent was able to adduce on the side of truth. "We know that Cicero and Johnson," says D'Israeli, considered their eloquence as a deceptive art. It was indifferent to them which side of a subject they adopted. In reading their elaborate works, our ear is more frequently gratified by the magnificence of their diction than our heart penetrated by the pathetic enthusiasm of their sentiments.The sophistry of Johnson, in conversation, seems to have been his favourite amusement. But Cicero is more censurable, since in the most solemn acts of life, and before the tribunal of justice, he confesses to have protected and saved the life of many a criminal by the power of his eloquence." D'Israeli's Miscellanies. "Johnson seems to have been addicted to the silly egotism 198 On the Writings and Conversations of Dr. Johnson. of exulting in his intellectual strength, and contended, in most of his extemporary conflicts, more for victory than truth." Life of W. Melmoth. Johnson was not a man of general knowledge, and therefore we may reasonably suppose that he would sometimes err either through ignorance or prejudice. But we should hardly suspect that a man so famous for morality and love of truth, would attempt to establish a false position by means of delusive argument. It will be difficult, however, to exculpate him from the charge of artifice and deception in some instances. Haley, and other writers, have exposed several false sentiments in Johnson's writings; and many more might be detected by an acute observer, whose curiosity should lead him to examine them with close attention. I will examine the following passage in Johnson's Life of Milton, because it has deceived some readers, and has been quoted as authority by scholars, who deem literature more useful and advantageous to mankind than philosophy. "But the truth is," says Johnson, "that the knowledge of external nature, and the sciences which their knowledge requires or includes, are not the great or the frequent business of the human mind. Whether we provide for action or conversation, whether we wish to be useful or pleasing, the first requisite is the religious and moral knowledge of right or wrong; the next is an acquaintance with the history of mankind, and with those examples, which may be said to embody truth, and prove by events the reasonableness of opinions.Prudence and justice are virtues and excellencies of all times and of all places; we are perpetually moralists, but we are geometricians only by chance. Our intercourse with intellectual nature is necessary; our speculations upon matter are voluntary and at leisure. Physiological learning is of such rare emergence, that one man may know another half his life without being able to estimate his skill in hydrostaticks or astronomy; but his moral and prudential character immediately appears." Johnson's Life of Milton. It will be difficult to find a passage of equal length so obscure, so erroneous, or so incorrectly expressed. It is clear that the writer did not understand the whole of his subject. I suspect some typographical error in the first sentence, for it is so obscure, that I am doubtful whether I understand the author's meaning as it stands in the above quotation. I suppose Johnson intended to convey the sentiment which may be intelligibly expressed as follows. "The knowledge of external nature, and the sciences by which external nature may be explained, are not the great or the frequent business of the human mind." If this be his meaning, nothing but common observation is required to demonstrate his mistake. The knowledge of external nature constitutes the great and daily business of most part of mankind. The principal arts of life, those by which we procure food, clothing, and shelter, depend upon our knowledge of external nature. Agriculture, manufactures, and commerce are the foundation of civilized society. But these depend upon our knowledge of external nature. “All," says one of the greatest and best men of the age, "all that tends to the security and comfort of mankind is derived from the arts, and these depend upon the knowledge of the powers of nature, with which we are conversant." By the assistance of chemistry, mathematics, and physics we obtain our knowledge of natural objects, and apply this knowledge to the practical use of life. I recommend to the reader the charming address to Philosophy, at the conclusion of "Summer," in Thomson's Seasons, which affords a complete refutation of Johnson's silly sophism. Thomson was a philosopher as well as a poet. "Without thee what were unenlightened man? A savage, roaming through the woods and wilds F. N. (To be continued.) AMERICAN CANALS. THE following table, which has been prepared from official documents, for the New York Öbserver, contains a brief view of the routes, dimensions, and cost, of all the important canals, whether completed, in progress, or contemplated, in the United States, and the adjacent British North American provinces. They show that there are now actually completed within the limits of the United States, exclusive of improved river navigation, 690 miles of canal, with 2645 feet of lockage, constructed at an expense of 14,500,000 dollars; and there are now in progress, and to a considerable extent, under contract, 828 miles of canal, with 3,611 feet of lockage, to be completed in a few years, at an estimated expense of 10,250,000 dollars; making in all, completed and in progress, 1518 miles of canal, with 6256 feet of lockage, at an expense of 24,750,000 dollars. If to these we should add the canals seriously contemplated, and which will probably be completed in ten years, the whole length of canal line would be extended to at least 3000 miles. In England there are more than one hundred canals, extending 2680 miles, constructed at an expense of 132,000,000 dollars, and yielding an average income of ten per cent on the capital invested. England has been more than fifty years completing this extensive line of inland navigation. The people of the United States, will probably have completed a line equally extensive in less than 20 years from the time they commenced. |