Chapter III: Part 3

'When the Doctor comes to his _learned_ definitions, he outdoes, if possible, his oenigmatical ones. Network is "any thing _reticulated_ or _decussated_ at equal distances." A nose is "the prominence on the face which is the organ of scent, and the emunctory of the brain."--The heart is "the muscle which by its contraction and dilatation propells the blood through the course of circulation, and is therefore considered as the source of vital motion."--Now let any person consider for whom such strange definitions can possibly be intended. To give instruction to the ignorant they certainly are not designed; neither can they give satisfaction to the learned, because they are not accurate. The nose, for instance, he says is the emunctory of the brain; but every anatomist knows that it performs no such office, neither hath the nose any communication with the brain, but by means of its nerves.--Yet this dictionary is reckoned the best English one extant. What then must the rest be; or what shall we think of those who mistake a book, stuffed with such stupid assemblages of words, for a _learned_ composition? Definitions undoubtedly are necessary, but not such as give us no information, or lead us astray. Neither can any thing shew the sagacity, or strength of judgment, which a man possesses, more clearly than his being able to define exactly what he speaks about; while such blundering descriptions as these, above quoted, shew nothing but the Doctor's insignificance[121].'

That the courteous reader may be qualified to judge for himself, I shall now insert a variety of quotations from this wonderful, amazing, admirable, astonishing, incomparable, immortal, and inimitable book. Too much cannot be said in its praise. I shall however let it speak for itself. Every page, indeed, is so pregnant with superexcellent beauties, that in selecting them, the critic's situation resembles that of the schoolman's ass between two bundles of hay; his only difficulty is where to begin. The pious husband of Bathsheba had asked 'What is MAN?' But let it be told in Rome, and published in the streets of Paris, to the honour of the English nation, that her greatest philosopher has received 300l. a-year for informing us that--

MAN is a 'Human being. 2. Not a woman. 3. Not a boy. 4. _Not a beast._' Woman. 'The female of the human race.' Boy. '1. A male child; not a girl. 2. One in the state of _adolescence_.' Girl. 'A young woman or child.' (_Female_ child he should have said.) Damsel. 'A young gentlewoman; a wench; a country lass.' Lass. 'A girl; a maid; A young woman.' Wench. '1. A young woman. 2. A young woman in contempt. 3. A strumpet.' Strumpet. 'A whore, a prostitute.' Whore. '1. A woman who converses unlawfully with men; a fornicatress; an adultress; a strumpet. 2. a prostitute; a woman who receives men for money.' To whore, _v. n._ (from the noun) 'To converse unlawfully with the other sex.' To whore, _v. a._ 'To corrupt with regard to chastity.' Whoredom, _s._ (from whore) 'Fornication.' (Here follow several other definitions on the same pure subject, which every body understands as well as Dr Johnson.) Young. 'Being in the first part of life. _Not old._' Youngster, younker. 'A young person.' (I pass by _ten_ other articles, about _youthful_ compounded of _youth_ and _full_, &c. &c. because young people are in no danger of thinking themselves old.) Yuck, _s._ (_jocken_, Dutch.) 'Itch,' Old. 'Past the middle part of life; _not young_; not new; ancient; not modern. OF OLD. Long ago; from ancient times.' Hum, interj. 'A sound implying doubt and deliberation, _Shakespeare_.' Fiddlefaddle, _s._ (a cant word) 'Trifles.' Fiddlefaddle, _a._ 'Trifling; giving trouble.'

(----His own example strengthens all his laws,
Sam is himself the true sublime he draws.)

Fiddler, _s._ (from _fiddle_) 'A musician, one that plays upon a fiddle.' Here follow fiddlestick, compounded of fiddle and stick, and warranted an English word by Hudibras; and Fiddle-string, _s._ (Fiddle and string) 'the string of a fiddle. _Arbuthnot._' Sheep's eye. '_A modest and diffident look, such as lovers cast at their mistresses._' Love. 'Lewdness.' And _thirteen_ other explanations. _Lovemonger._ 'One who deals in affairs love.' (Besides about twenty other articles concerning this subject of equal obscurity and importance.) Sweetheart. 'A lover or mistress.' Mistress. 'A woman beloved and courted; a whore, a concubine.' Wife. 'A woman that has a husband.' A Runner. 'One who runs.' Husband. 'The _correlative_ to wife.' Shrew. '_A peevish, malignant, clamorous, spiteful, vexatious, turbulent woman._' Scold. '_A clamorous, rude, mean, low, foul mouthed woman._' Henpecked, _a._ (_hen_ and _pecked_) 'Governed by the wife.' Strap. 'A narrow long slip of cloth or _leather_.' Whip. 'An instrument of correction _tough_ and _pliant_.' Cuckingstool, _s._ 'An engine invented for the punishment of scolds and _unquiet_ women.' Cuckoldom. 'The state of a cuckold.' (Cuckold, _s._ Cuckold, _v. a._ Cuckoldy, _a._ and Cuckoldmaker, _s._ (compounded of _cuckold_, and _maker_) I leave out, as the reader is, perhaps, already initiated in the mysteries of that subject.) Arse, _s._ 'The buttocks' To hang an arse. 'To be tardy, sluggish' Buttock. 'The rump, the part near the _tail_' Rump. '1. The end of the backbone. 2. The buttocks.' Thimble. 'A metal cover by which women (yea and _taylors_ too Doctor) secure their fingers from the needle.' Needle. 'A small instrument pointed at one end to pierce cloth, and _perforated_ at the other to receive the thread.' Gunpowder. '_The powder put into guns to be fired._' Maidenhead. Maidenhode. Maidenhood. 'Virginity, virgin purity, freedom from contamination.' Oh, _interj_ 'An exclamation denoting pain, sorrow, or surprise.' Hope '_That which gives_ HOPE. _The object of_ HOPE.' Fear. '1. Dread; horror; apprehension of danger. 2. Awe; dejection of mind. 3. Anxiety, solicitude,' &c. Impatience. 'Heat of passion; _inability_ to suffer delay, eagerness.' Virgin. '_A woman not a mother._' Virginity. 'Maidenhead; unacquaintance with man.' Fart. 'Wind from behind. _Suckling_' To fart. 'To break wind behind. _Swift._' Marriage. 'The act of uniting a man and woman for life.' Repentance. 'Sorrow for any thing past.' Kiss. 'Salute given by joining lips.' Kisser. 'One that Kisses.' To piss, _v. n._ 'To make water. _L'Estrange._' Piss _s._ (from the verb) 'Urine; animal water. _Pope._' Pissburnt, _a._ 'Stained with urine.' Pedant. 'A man vain of _low_ knowledge.'

Of these extracts, I suppose opinion is uniform. Every man who reads them, reads them with contempt. To tell us that a _man_ is not a _beast_, seems to be an insult, rather than a definition. To say, that _young_ is _not old_, and, that _old_ is _not young, of old_, &c. is to say nothing at all. There is a medium; there is a state between these periods of life. And his definitions convey no meaning; for a man may be _not old_ tho' he is _not young_. Many articles, such as whoring, whoremaster, whoremonger, whorishly, &c. are as indecent, as they are impertinent, and seem only designed to divert school boys. Hum, Yuck, Fiddle, Fiddler, Fiddlefaddle, _s._ Fiddlefaddle, _a._ Fiddlestick, Fiddlestring, Thimble, Needle, Gunpowder, Hope, O, and O--and Oh, and twenty-eight or thirty explanations of the particle _on_, are left without remark to the reader's penetration. Some are well enough acquainted with a _maidenhead_, and such as are not, will be no wiser by reading Dr Johnson: For he says, That it is _virginity_, and that again is explained (like more than half the words in his book) by the word it explains. Neither can a _maidenhead_ ensure freedom from _pollution_; for a girl may be polluted, without losing her _maidenhead_; and on the other hand, the Doctor dare not say that a _married_ woman is, for that reason, _polluted_. Love, he calls _lewdness_, and he may as well say, that _light_ is _darkness_. His admirers will answer, that he also gives the right meaning; but let them tell, why he gave any besides the right meaning, and why he collected such a load of blunders into his book. Or since he did collect them, why he did not mark them down as wrong. For in the preface to his octavo, he tells us, that it is written for 'explaining terms of science.' But to select twenty barbarous misapplications of a word, is not explaining the word, but only _confusion worse confounded_. Indeed that whole preface is a piece of the most profound nonsense, which ever insulted the common sense of the world. A virgin, is _a woman not a mother_. But many wives, and many concubines too, have never propagated the species, though they had (as Othello says) a thousand times committed the act of shame. From this literary chaos, a foreigner would be apt to imagine that _they_ were _virgins_.

Corking pin. 'A pin of the largest size.' Bum. '_The part upon which we sit._' Butter. 'An _unctuous_ substance.' Buttertooth. '_The_ great broad foretooth.' Off. prep. '_Not on._' Potato. 'An _esculent_ root.' Turnip. 'A white _esculent_ root.' Parsley, 'A plant.' Parsnep. 'A plant.' Colliflower. '_Cauliflower._' Cauliflower. 'A species of _cabbage_.' Cabbage. 'A plant.' Pit. 'A hole in the ground.' Pin. 'A short wire, with a sharp point, and round head, used by women to fasten their cloaths.' Plate. 'A small shallow vessel of metal (or of stone or wood Doctor) on which meat is eaten.' Play. '_Not work._' Poker. 'The iron bar with which _men_ stir the fire.' Pork. 'Swine's flesh _unsalted_.' (Here you may find _Porker_, _Porkeater_, _Porket_, _Porkling_, with all their derivations, definitions, and authorities.) Porridge. 'Food made by boiling meat in water.' Porridge-pot, (_porridge_ and _pot_) 'The pot in which meat is boiled for a family.' Porringer, (from _porridge_) 'a vessel in which broth is eaten.' Part. '_Some thing less than the whole._' And _thirteen_ other _ramifications_. Pulse. '_Oscillation_; _vibration_.' Puff. 'A quick blast with the mouth.' Vid. in same page, Pudding, _s._ from the _Swedish_, (which is a mistake, for it is from the French _boudin_) _Pudding Pie_, from _Pudding_ and _Pie_, and _Pudding-time_, from _Pudding_ and _time_. Puddle, _s._ Puddle, _v. a._ & Puddly, &c. Shadow. '_Opacity_, darkness, _Shade._' Shade. 'The cloud or _opacity_ made by interception of the light.' Darkness. 'Obscurity. _Umbrage._' Shadiness, 'The state of being _shady_; _umbrageousness_.' Shady. 'Full of _shade_; MILDLY _gloomy_.'

(No light, but rather darkness visible.)

Sevenscore. 'Seven times twenty.' Shadowy. 'Dark, _opake_.' To yawn. 'To gape, to _oscitate_,' Yawn, _s._ '_Oscitation_, HIATUS.' Yea. 'Yes.' Yes, 'A term of affirmation, the affirmative particle opposed to _no_.' See also in the same place, Yest. Year. (12 months) Yesterday, _s._ The day last past, the next day before to-day. Yesterday, _ad._ Yesternight, _s._ Yesternight, _ad._ Yet, _con._ Yet, _ad._ Nine times explained. Vent. 'A small _aperture_; a hole; a _spiracle_.' Wind. 'A _flowing_ wave of air; _flatulence_; windiness.' Winker. 'One who winks.' To wink. 'To shut the eyes.'

(No, Sir, unless you open them again directly.)

Window. 'An _aperture_ in a building by which air and light are _intromitted_.' _N. B._ Almost the whole of the same page is daubed over with such jargon. Said. 'Aforesaid.' Scoundrel. 'A mean rascal; a low petty villain.' Rascal. 'A mean fellow; a scoundrel.' Villain. 'A wicked wretch.' Wretch. 'A miserable mortal.' No, _ad._ 'The word of refusal. 2. The word of denial.' No, _a._ '1. Not any; NONE. 2. _No one_; NONE: _not any one_.' (Had this word _none_ altered its meaning, before the Doctor got to the end of the line?) Nobody. (_No_ and _body_) 'No one; not any one.' (See also Nod, _v. a._ Nod, _s._ Nodder. Noddle. Noddy, &c.) None. '1. Not one. 2. Not any. 3. Not other.' Nothing. '_Negation_ of being; not any thing,' and _seventeen_ other definitions. Afore. (_a_ and _fore_) '_before_, nearer in place to any thing.'

'There is a certain line, beyond which, if ridicule attempts to go, it becomes itself ridiculous, and there is a sphere of criticism in that particular region, in which, if the critic plays his batteries on too _contemptible_ objects, he must unavoidably depart from his proper dignity, and must himself be an object of the raillery he would convey[122].'

HEAR THE DOCTOR ON MUSIC.

Music. '1. The science of _harmonical_ sounds. 2. Instrumental, or vocal _harmony_.' Harmony. 'Just proportion of sound.' Melody. 'Music; _harmony_ of sound.' Tune. '_Tune_ is a diversity of notes put together.' _Locke_, _Milton_, _Dryden_. Tenour, _s._ 'A _sound_ in music.'

One requires little skill in music to see that the Doctor knows nothing of that science. He confounds _melody_ with _harmony_; the one consisting in a succession of agreeable sounds, and the other arising from coexisting sounds. His account of a _tune_ is curious. And we may say in his own stile, that his dictionary is 'a diversity of _words_ put together.' His numerous omissions on this head will neither afflict, nor surprise us; but we must be mortified and amazed to reflect on the partial and injurious distribution of fame. For his book exhibits in every page, perhaps without a single exception, a variety of errors and absurdities. They are clear to the darkest ignorance. They are level to the lowest understanding, and yet our language is exhausted in praise of _their_ author. _Pronis animis audiendum!_

Poem. 'The work of a poet; a _metrical_ composition.' Poet. 'An inventor; an author of fiction; a writer of poems; one who writes in measure.' Poetess. 'A _she_ poet.' Poetry. '_Metrical_ composition; the art or practice of writing poems. 2. Poems, poetical pieces.' _To circumscribe poetry by a_ DEFINITION _will only shew the narrowness of the definer_[123]. Tragedy. 'A dramatic representation of a _serious_ action.' Comedy. 'A dramatic representation of the _lighter faults_ of mankind.' Eclogue. 'A pastoral poem, so called, because Virgil called his pastorals eclogues.' Tragic-comedy. 'A drama compounded of _merry_ and _serious_ events.' Farce. 'A dramatic representation written _without_ regularity.' Elegy. '1. A mournful song. 2. A funeral song. 3. A short poem, without points or turns.' Idyl. 'A small short poem.' Epigram. 'A short poem terminating in a _point_.' Epic, _a._ 'Narrative; comprising narrations, not acted, but rehearsed. It is usually supposed to be heroic.' Epistle. 'A letter;' and a letter again is 'an epistle.' Ode. 'A poem written to be _sung_ to music; a lyric poem.' Ballad. 'A song.' Song. 'A poem to be _modulated_ by the voice.' Catch. 'A song sung in _succession_.'

I believe that Dr Johnson has written better verses than any man now alive in England. He is said to be the first critic in that country, and therefore we had the highest reason to expect elegant entertainment and philosophical instruction, when the poet and critic was to speak in his own character.

But here, as in the rest of this work, the native vigour of his mind seems entirely to leave him. We look around us in vain for the well known hand of the Rambler, for the sensible and feeling historian of Savage, the caustic and elegant imitator of Juvenal, the man of learning, and taste, and genius. The reader's eye is repelled from the Doctor's pages, by their hopeless sterility, and their horrid nakedness.

Most of the definitions in this work may be divided into three classes; the erroneous, oenigmatical, and superfluous. And of the nineteen last quoted, every one comes under some, or all of these heads.

A poem is said to be the work of a _poet_: And so were Dryden's prefaces. Again it is _a metrical composition_. No age had ever a greater profusion of rhimes than the present. In Oxford there are two thousand persons all of whom can occasionally make verses. Yet in this abundance of _metrical composition_, we have very few poems.

A poet is--1. '_An inventor_,' but so was Tubal Cain. 2. '_An author of fiction_,' but so was Des Cartes. 3. '_A writer of poems_;' but as he has not been able to point out what a poem is, the definition goes for nothing. 4. 'One who writes _in measure_.' But in Cowley's life, the Doctor himself speaks of men, who thought they were writing _poetry_, when they were only writing _verses_. We are still exactly where we set out.

The third definition is superfluous, and the fourth is very clumsy. The fifth and sixth are still worse, for comedy[124] is frequently very _serious_ and tender, as well as tragedy; and that again represents the _lighter_ faults of mankind, as well as comedy. By the way, what are these _lighter_ faults, which our comedy is said to represent. In our comic scenes, adultery, and profaneness, appear to be the chief pulse of merriment. What the Doctor says of a farce is not true, nor is elegy _always_ mournful[125]. What can he mean by a poem without points or turns? An Idyll is a small short poem. An Epigram is a _short_ poem; but so is an Epitaph, or a Sonnet, and often an Ode, a Fable, &c. An Epigram terminates in a _point_. Wonderful! Of the rest of these definitions, the reader will determine whether they be not every one of them pitiful; and if it was possible for the Doctor, or any other man, to convey _less_ information, on so plain a subject.

'In comparing this with other dictionaries of the same kind, it will be found that the senses of each word are more _copiously_ enumerated, and more _clearly_ explained[126].'

Of his _clear_ and _copious_ explanations, here is an additional specimen.

Beast. 'An animal distinguished from birds, insects, fishes, and man.' It is also distinguished from _reptiles_, though the Doctor cannot tell us _how_. A Reptile is (but sometimes only) '_An animal that creeps upon many feet_.' A Snail is 'A slimy animal that creeps upon plants.' Many animals creep on plants besides a Snail. He dare not venture to say that a Snail is _a Reptile_, for he had said that a Reptile creeps upon many feet, and a Snail has none. Locke is quoted to prove that a _Bird_ is a _fowl_, and we are edified by hearing that a _fowl_ is a '_bird_, or a _winged_ animal.' But this may be the butterfly, the bat, or the flying fish. He should have said a _feathered_ animal. We are informed from Creech and Shakespeare, that a fish is _an animal that inhabits the water_. But besides amphibious animals, from the crocodile down to the water-mouse, we have seen _Erucae Aquaticae_, or Water Caterpillars, which are truly aquatic animals, yet are perfectly different from all fish. Insects are 'so called from a separation in the middle of their bodies, whereby they they are cut into two parts, which are joined together by a small ligature, as we see in common flies.'

_Quere._ How many insects answer this description?

Dr. Johnson had certainly no great occasion to quote Peacham and Swift before he durst tell us, (as he does) that a _Lily_ is a _flower_, and _Posteriors_ the _hinder_ parts. He forgot to introduce the Dean when affirming, that a T----d is _excrement_; but both Pope and Swift (among others) are cited for P--ss and F--t.

His learning and his ignorance amaze us in every page. Pox are, '1. _Pustules_; _efflorescencies_; _exanthematous_ eruptions. 2. The venereal disease.' A particular species of it _only_. The first part of this _clear_ explanation would puzzle every old woman in England, though most of them know more of small pox than the Rambler himself.

Day. '1. The time between the rising and the setting of the sun, called the _artificial_ day. 2. The time from noon to noon, called the _natural_ day.' Natural. 'What is produced by nature,' therefore as the day from sunrise to sunset is 'produced by nature,' _that_, and that only, must be the _natural_ day. Artificial. 'Made by _art_, not natural, fictitious, not genuine.' The day from noon to noon is certainly _not_ natural, and of consequence, _that_, and that only, must be the _artificial_ day.

Night is, '1. The time of darkness. 2. The time between sunset, and sunrise.' When the Doctor acquires the first elements of geography, he will learn, that in no climate of the world is the time between sunset and sunrise all of it a time of _darkness_. Even at the equator, night does not succeed till half an hour after sunset. If he has ever seen the sun rise here, he must also have seen that we have always day light long before the sun appears. In June our nights are never entirely dark. Neither is _night_, when it really comes on, constantly the 'time of darkness,' for the Doctor may frequently see to read his own mistakes by moonshine. Of this profound period, the first part contradicts the second, and every body sees the absurdity of both. What are we to think of such a definer of 'scientific terms,' when his errors have not even the negative merit of consistency.

Snowbroth, _s._ (_snow_ and _broth_) 'very cold liquor.' And Shakespeare is quoted; but when the poet said[127] that the blood of an old courtier was as cold as _Snowbroth_, he meant _melted snow_. Now it is somewhat odd that every body can see Shakespeare's idea exactly, except this learned commentator. Lion. 'The fiercest and most magnanimous of four-footed beasts.' But fierceness cannot consist with magnanimity[128]. Other animals exceed the Lion in fierceness; and a Horse, an Elephant, or a Dog, equal his magnanimity. This definition contains nothing but a glaring contradiction, of which neither end is true! Thunder 'Thunder is a most _bright flame_ rising on a sudden, moving with great violence, and with a very _rapid_ velocity, through the air, _according_ to any determination, and commonly ending with a loud noise or rattling.' _Shakespeare._ _Milton._

It is needless to say that the learned and ingenious Pensioner has confounded thunder with lightning. The inelegance and tautology of this definition I pass by; but why should he profane the names of Milton and Shakespeare to support such monstrous nonsense?

Stone. 'Stones are bodies insipid, hard, not _ductile_ or _malleable_, nor _soluble_ in water.' This definition answers wood, or glass, or the bones of an animal. One. 'Less than two; single; denoted by an unit.' _Raleigh._

Without consulting Raleigh, we know that a man may have 'less than _two_' guineas in his pocket, and yet have more than _one_. But still we are not sure, that he has even a single farthing. One is _single_, but we are only where we started, for _single_ (_more Lexiphanico_) is '_one_, not double; not more than one.' The matter is little mended, when he subjoins that one is _that which is expressed by an unit_, for this may be the numerator of _any_ fraction. Take his book to pieces, put it into the scales of common sense, and see how it kicks the beam.

A circle is, '1. A line continued till it ends where it began. 2. The space inclosed in a _circular_ line. 3. A round body, an orb.'

The first of these definitions does not distinguish a circle from a triangle, or any other plain figure. He might have found a circle properly defined in Euclid, and a hundred other books. What are we to think of the rest of his mathematical definitions? Well, but he clears up this point, for a circle is 'the _space inclosed_ in a _circular_ line,' The third definition is no less erroneous than the second, for if a man were to mention the circle of the earth, we could not suspect that he meant the globe itself.

Botany and the electrical fluid, are not inserted. Electricity he terms _a property_ in bodies. From this expression, and from all he says on the subject, we can ascertain his ignorance of that most curious and important branch of natural philosophy. _Electricity_ in general signifies 'the operations of a very subtile fluid, commonly invisible, but sometimes the object of our sight and other senses. It is one of the chief agents employed in producing the phaenomena of nature.' Its identity with lightning was discovered in 1752, three years before the publication of Dr. Johnson's folio dictionary. For the author then to talk of it as 'a _peculiar_ property, supposed once to belong chiefly to amber,' is shameful. It shews us the depth of his learning, and the degree of attention which he thought proper to bestow on his _great_ work.

Elasticity. 'Force in bodies, by which they endeavour to _restore_ themselves.' To what? To their former figure, after some external pressure? And without adding some words like these the definition conveys no meaning.

Of Water, we get a very long winded account, which neither Dr. Johnson nor any body else can comprehend, for he sinks into mere jargon. Canst thou conceive (gentle reader) what are 'small, _smooth_, hard, _porous_, spherical particles' of water! _Water_, says Newton, 'is a fluid tasteless salt, which nature changes by heat, into vapour, and by cold into ice, which is a hard fusible brittle stone, and this stone returns into water by heat[129].' Boerhaave calls water, 'a kind of glass that melts at a heat any thing greater than 32 degrees of Farenheit's thermometer. The boundary between water and ice[130].'

Claw. 'The _foot_ of a beast or bird armed with sharp nails.' Nail. 'The talons of birds or beasts.' Talon. 'The claw of a bird of prey.' _Dict. 4th edit._

Here a _nail_ is _talons_; Talons are a _claw_; and a claw is said to be a _foot_ (alias a _nail_) armed with _nails_. The quotations are literal and complete. The words are all plain English. And if you cannot comprehend _a nail armed with nails_, wait upon Dr. Johnson, and perhaps he will explain it.

Legion. 'A body of Roman soldiers, consisting of about _five_ thousand.'

This is not accurate. The number of men in a Roman legion rose by degrees from about 3200 to about 7000.

Decemvirate. 'The dignity and office of the _ten_ governors of Rome.' Tribune. 'An officer of Rome chosen by the people.' Censor. 'An officer of Rome, who had the power of correcting manners.' Consul. 'The chief magistrate in the Roman republic.'

Wherein did the Decemviri differ from the King, the Consul, the Dictator, the Triumvir, the Military Tribune, the Caesar, and the Emperor, for all these were likewise 'Governors of Rome?' The Decemviri were also an inferior set of men appointed to take care of the Sybil's books, to conduct colonies, &c. So that this definition is very incompleat. A Tribune was 'chosen by the people.' But this does not distinguish him from many other magistrates. The Censor had 'the power of correcting manners;' but he had other powers beside that, and every magistrate had that power as well as he, though it was a province more peculiarly his. The Censor is an officer still known in Venice, and in countries where the liberty and abuse of the press are unknown, the licensers of books are called Censors, though the Doctor does not give us these two explanations of the word. A Consul is 'the chief magistrate in the Roman republic.' He was a magistrate long after the republic was dissolved; for Caligula made his horse a Consul! But tho' the Consul was commonly _one_ of the chief magistrates in Rome, he was never the _chief_, as the Doctor roundly expresses it, for he had always a colleague. The Censor was at least his equal, and the Dictator was by law his superior. What we learn of the Centurion, the Triumvir, and the Lictor, is very trifling. Innumerable words which puzzle the plain reader of a Roman historian are wanting, such as an AEdile, a Praetor, a Quaestor, a Caesar, a Military Tribune, the Hastati, Principes, Triarii, Velites, the Labarum, or Imperial Standard, the Balistae, the Balearians, &c. A _Maniple_ is 'a small band of soldiers.' And a Cohort is 'a troop of soldiers, containing about 500 foot.' A Cohort was in general the tenth part of the foot in a Roman Legion, consequently their number varied, and the Praetorian Cohort, or that to which the standard was intrusted, contained, at least in latter ages, many more men than any of the rest. But in the very page where this concise author thus blunders about a Cohort, he takes care to tell us, that _Coition_, is _copulation_; _the act of generation_. That cold is '_not hot_, not warm, chill, having sense of cold, having cold qualities.' That _coldly_ is '_without heat_.' that coldness is '_want of heat_;' and a heap of similar jargon. Blot. 'A blur.' Blur. 'A blot.'

The Doctor's admirers will answer, that in so large a work there was no room for full definitions. I reply, that his account of Whipgrafting, of Will-with-a-Wisp, of a Wood-louse, and of the Stool of Repentance, are very full; that if he was to say no more of a Roman Consul, he should have said nothing at all; but that there are other books of the same kind, and of half the price too, which find room for copious and useful definitions. Pardon's dictionary is not much less than the Doctor's octavo, though its price is only six shillings; (7th edition) and of many useful articles, such as the Roman Legion, there is a very clear and full explanation. Besides which, it contains a description of the counties, the cities, and the market towns in England; and in the end of the book there is inserted a list of near 7000 proper names, none of which are to be found in the Doctor's dictionary. With what then has Dr. Johnson filled his book? With words of his own coining, with roots, and authorities often ridiculous, and always useless; or with definitions impertinent and erroneous. A Bashaw he calls 'the viceroy of a province;' and he might as well have said that every man in England is six feet high. A Condoler is 'one who _compliments_ another upon his misfortunes.'

From the Rambler's _accurate_ and _profound_ knowledge of anatomy, we must form very high expectations as to his knowledge of medicine, and we are not disappointed; for ARTHRITIS is 'the Gout' and the GOUT is 'Arthritis; a _periodical_ disease attended with great pain.' The first part of this definition is not true; and the second will not distinguish the Gout from the Gravel, the Tooth-ach, &c. &c. GRAVEL is 'sandy matter concreted in the kidneys,' and as often in the bladder too. His account of a Gonnorhoea is no less incomplete. A _Headach_ is 'a pain in the head.' _Jaundice_ is 'a distemper from obstructions of the glands of the liver, which prevent the gall being duly separated from the blood.' The Doctor seems to have borrowed his system of anatomy from the antients; for the moderns have discovered that the liver (which he ingeniously calls 'one of the entrails') is itself an indivisible gland. The Jaundice arises from an obstruction in the biliary ducts. Tympany is 'a kind of obstructed _flatulence_, that swells the body like a drum.' _Flatulence_ is not inserted; but Flatulency is said to be 'windiness; fulness of wind.' And what does he mean by an obstructed fullness of wind, or by his elegant simile of a drum? His descriptions of the Rickets, Rupture, Rheumatism, Scrophula, Dropsy, Scurvy, &c. are equally perspicuous and perfect. The Doctor had no great occasion to attest, that '_the_ English dictionary was written with little assistance of the _learned_[131].' For in almost every department of learning, from astronomy down to the first principles of grammar, his ignorance seems amazing. His book is a mass of words without ideas. Through the whole there runs a radical corruption of truth and common sense. It is most astonishing that the _Idler_ has hardly ever been attacked in this quarter by any of his innumerable invidious and inveterate enemies.

I anticipate the answer of his admirers, viz. That 'the _nature_ of his work did not admit of a copious explanation for every word.' But let them first tell why he gave such a strange jumble of quotations, to support a word of which he himself knows not the meaning, and are we to be told that the _nature_ of _any_ work whatever, can entitle its author to write nonsense, or to write on a subject of which he knows nothing. Indeed the Doctor himself has repeatedly declared, that his book is deformed by a profusion of errors, and those who decline to credit my assertion, ought, PERHAPS, to credit _his own_. He says, 'I cannot hope, in the warmest moments to preserve so much caution through so long a work, as not OFTEN _to sink into negligence_, or to obtain so much knowledge of all its parts as not FREQUENTLY _to fail by ignorance_. I expect that sometimes the desire of accuracy will urge me to superfluities, and sometimes the fear of prolixity betray me to _omissions_; that in the extent of such variety, I shall be OFTEN _bewildered_, and in the mazes of such _intricacy_[132], be _frequently entangled_, &c.[133]' Here is a beautiful confession, which he afterwards recants: for 'despondency has never so far prevailed, as to depress me to _negligence_,' &c.[134] But his recantation is in effect immediately _re-recanted_, and we are informed, 'That a few _wild blunders_, and RISIBLE _absurdities_, from which no work of such multiplicity was ever free, _may_ for a time furnish folly with laughter, and harden ignorance into contempt[135].' That this distrust of his own merit did not arise from want of pride or vanity we discover within a few lines: For 'in this work' (_the_ English dictionary, as its author modestly terms it) 'when it shall be found that _much is omitted_, let it not be forgotten that _much_ likewise _is performed_. If our language is not here fully displayed, I have only failed in an attempt, which no human powers have hitherto completed.--I may surely be contented without the praise of perfection, which _if_ I could obtain, in this gloom of solitude' (_London_, or its neighbourhood) 'what would it avail me[136]?' And again, 'I have devoted this book, the labour of years, to the honour of my country[137].' _Item._ 'I cannot but have some degree of parental fondness.' But after all this parental fondness, this zeal for the honour of his country, the Doctor's extraordinary preface concludes in perhaps the most extraordinary language that ever flowed from an author's pen. 'Success and miscarriage are _empty sounds_, I therefore dismiss it' (his dictionary) 'with frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or _hope_ from censure, or from praise.' All this is surely despicable. The booksellers had paid their workman on the nail, or the Doctor would have had something to hope and fear. But an honest and sensible tradesman, though paid before-hand, will always wish and endeavour to please his employers. From this writer's own words, it would appear that he is incapable of a sentiment so generous.

Bawd 'A Procurer, or Procuress.' To bawd, _v. n._ 'To procure.' Bawdily (from _bawdy_) 'obscenely.' Bawdiness (from _bawdy_) 'obsceneness.' Bawdry, _s._ '1. A wicked practise of procuring and bringing whores and _rogues_ together. 2. Obscenity.' Bawdy, _a._ (from _bawdy_) 'Obscene, unchaste.' Bawdyhouse. 'A house where traffic is made by wickedness and debauchery.' Baggage. 'A worthless woman.' Bitch. '1. The female of the _canine_ kind. 2. A name of reproach for a woman.' Blackguard[138]. 'A dirty fellow.' Block. 'A Blockhead.' Blockhead. 'A stupid fellow; a dolt; a man without parts,' Blunderer. 'A blockhead.' Blockhead 'A stupid fellow' Bloodletter. '_A Phlebotomist._' Suds. '_A Lixivium_ of soap and water.' Sun. 'The luminary that makes the day.'

_The_ English dictionary is prodigiously defective--_Nervi desunt._ It has no force of thought. This wilderness of words displays a mind, patient, but almost incapable of reasoning; ignorant, but oppressed by a load of frivolous ideas; proud of its own powers, but languishing in the last stage of hopeless debility. We have long extolled it with the wildest luxuriance of adulation, and we pretend to despise the worshippers of _the golden calf_.

No man has done more honour to England, than Mr Locke. What would he have said or thought, had Dr Johnson's dictionary been published in his days? We can easily determine his opinion from several passages in his works. I select the following, because it is both short and decisive; and he who feels any respect for Mr Locke will retain little for the author of the Rambler. His words are these: 'If any one asks _what this solidity is_[139], I send him to his senses to inform him. Let him put a flint, or a football between his hands, and then endeavour to join them _and he will know_. If he thinks this not a sufficient explication of _solidity_, what it is, and wherein it consists, I promise to tell him, what it is, and wherein it consists, when he tells me, what _thinking_ is, or wherein it consists, or explains to me what _extension_ or _motion_ is, which perhaps seems much easier. The simple ideas we have are such as experience teaches them us; but _if, beyond that, we endeavour by words to make them clearer_ in the mind, we shall succeed no better, than if we went about to clear up the darkness of a blind man's mind by talking, and discourse into him the ideas of light and colours[140].'

In the title page of his octavo, we learn, that 'the words are deduced from their originals.' And in the preface, he adds, that 'the etymologies and derivations, whether from foreign languages or native roots, are more diligently traced, and more distinctly noted, than in other dictionaries of the same kind.' Mr Whitaker assures us that in this single article the Doctor has committed upwards of _three thousand_ errors: And the historical pioneer produces abundant evidence in support of his assertion[141]. But independent of this curious circumstance, let us ask the Doctor what he means by crouding such trifles into an abstract, which is, he says, intended for those who are 'to gain degrees of knowledge suitable to lower characters, or necessary to the common business of life.' To tell such people, that the word _porridgepot_ is compounded of _porridge_, and _pot_, is to insult their understandings; and of his Greek and Saxon roots, not one individual in a thousand can read even a single letter. The preface commences with a pitiful untruth. Having mentioned the publication of his folio dictionary, he subjoins, 'it has _since_ been considered that works of that kind are by no means necessary for the bulk of readers.' Here he would insinuate that the _abstract_ was an _after-thought_: But every body sees, that its publication was delayed, only to accelerate the sale of his folio dictionary. There is not room now left, to dissect every sentence in the preface to his octavo. I shall therefore conclude that subject with one particular, wherein the Doctor's taste, learning, and genius, blaze in their meridian.

In the title page to his octavo dictionary, we are informed, that the words are 'authorised by the names of the writers in whose works they are found.' And this tale is repeated at greater length in the preface, where 'it will be found that truth requires him to say less[142]': For under letter A only, there are between four and five hundred words, for which the _Idler_ has not assigned any authority--and of these one hundred and eighty are to be found in no language under heaven. He boasts indeed that his dictionary 'contains many words not to be found in any other.' But it also contains many words, not to be found at all in any other book. If we compute that letter A has a thirteenth part of these _recruits_, we shall find that the whole number scattered through his compilation exceeds two thousand. A purchaser of his _abstract_ has a title to ask the Doctor, why the work is loaded with such a profusion of trash, which serves only to testify the folly of him who collected or created it. Men of eminent learning have been consulted, who disown all acquaintance (in English) with most articles in the following list:

Abacus, Abandonement, Abarticulation, Abcedarian, Abcedary, Aberrant, Aberuncate, Abject, _v. a._ Ablactate, Ablactation, Ablation, Ablegate, Ablegation, Ablepsy, Abluent, Abrasion, Abscissa, Absinthiated, Abitention, Absterge, Accessariness, Accidentalness, Accipient, Acclivious, Accolent, Accompanable, Accroach, Accustomarily, Acroamatical, Acronycal, Acroters, or Acroteria, Acuate, Aculerate, Addulce, Addenography, Ademption, Adiaphory, Adjectitious, _Adition_, Abstergent, Acceptilation, Adjugate, Adjument, Adjunction, Adjunctive, Adjutor, Adjutory, Adjuvant, Adjuvate, Admensuration, Adminicle, Adminicular, Admix, Admonishment, _Admurmuration_, Adscititious, Adstriction, Advesperate, Adulator, Adulterant, Adulterine, Adumbrant, Advolation, Advolution, Adustible, Aerology, Aeromancy, Aerometry, Aeroscopy, Affabrous, Affectuous, Affixion, Afflation, Afflatus, Agglomerate, Agnation, Agnition, Agreeingness, Alate, Abb, Alegar, Alligate, Alligation, Allocution, Amalgmate, Amandation, Ambidexterity, Ambilogy, Ambiloquous, Ambry, Ambustion, Amende, Amercer, Amethodical, _Amphibological_, _Amphibologically_, Amphisch, Amplificate, Amygdalate, Amygdaline, Anacamptick, Anacampticks, _Anaclacticks_, Anadiplosis, Anagogetical, Anagrammatize, Anamorphosis, Anaphora, Anastomosis, Anastrope, Anathematical, Androgynal, Androgynally, Androgynus, Anemography, Anemometer, _Anfractuousness_, Angelicalness, _Angiomonospermous_, Angularity, Angularness, Anhelation, Aniented, Anileness, Anility, Animative, Annumerate, Annumeration, Annunciate, Anomalously, Ansated, Antaphroditick, Antapoplectick, Antarthritick, Antasthmatick, Anteact, Auscultation, Antemundane, Antepenult, Antepredicament, Anthology, Anthroposophy, Anthypnotick, Antichristianity, Auxiliation, Antinephritick, Antinomy, Antiquatedness, Apert, Apertly, Aphilanthrophy, Aphrodisiacal, Aphrodosiack, Apocope, Apocryphalness, Apomecometry, Appellatory, Apsis, Aptate, Aptote, Aqua, Aquatile, Aqueousness, Aquose, Aquosity, Araignee, Aratory, Arbuscle, Archchanter, Archaiology, Archailogick, Archeus, Arcuation, Arenose, Arenulous, Argil, Argillaceous, Argute, Arietate, Aristocraticallness, Armental, Armentine, Armigerous, Armillary, Armipotence, Arrentation, Arreptitious, Arrison, Authentickness, Arrosion, Articular, Articulateness, Austral, Arundinaceous, Arundineous, Asbestine, Ascriptitious, Asinary, Asperation, Asperifolious, Aspirate, _v. a._ Assassinator, Assumptive, Astonishingness, Astrography, Attiguous, Attinge, Aucupation, Avowee.

Of these words about forty only are proper, yet though they are so, and though they are frequently to be found in the best authors, yet the Doctor has not given any authority for them. His reading therefore must have been very circumscribed, or his negligence very great. Is the word _Avowee_, for instance, one of those which 'are however, to be yet considered as resting only upon the credit of former dictionaries[143].' Besides these forty, there are under letter A, some hundreds of the most common words, for which no author's name is quoted. A gross omission according to the plan which he lays down.

Let us put the case, that a foreigner sits down to compose a page of English, by the help of Dr Johnson's work. The strange combinations of letters (for I dare not call them words) which swell his book to its present bloated size, are not marked with an asterisk, to distinguish them as barbarous: The novice would therefore adopt a stile unknown to any native of England. Here is a short specimen of what he would say.

'An _Admurmuration_ has long wandered about the world, that the pensioner's political principles are _anfractuous_. Their _anfractuousness_, their _insipience_, and their _turpitude_, are no longer _amphibological_. His _nefarious repercussion_ of _obloquy_ must _contaminate_, and _obumbrate_, and who can tell but it may even _aberuncate_ his _feculent_ and _excrementitious celebrity_. His _perspicacity_ will see without _comity_, or _hilarity_, that his character as an author and a gentleman, requires _resuscitation_, for it is neither _immane_ nor _immarcessible_. This is a _homogeneous_ truth[144]. Let him distend, like the _flaccid_ sides of a football[145], his _sal_, his _sapience_, and his powers of _ratiocination_. The _mellifluous_ and _numerose cadence_ of _equiponderant_ periods cannot ensure him from a _luxation_, a _laceration_, and a _resiliency_ of his _adminicular concatenation_ with the _rugged mercantile_ race[146]. The loss of this _adscititious adminicle_ would make the sage's _impeccable_, but _lugubrious_ bosom vibrate with the horrors of _dilution_ and _dereliction_. His organs of vision would gush with _salsamentarious_ torrents of spherical particles, of equal diameters, and of equal specific gravities, as Dr Cheyne observes--their smoothness--their sphericity--their frictions, and their hardness,'[147] &c.

To the last edition (the 4th) of the folio dictionary, there is prefixed an advertisement, from which I have extracted a few lines: 'Finding my dictionary about to be reprinted, I have endeavoured by a revisal to make it less reprehensible. I will not deny that I found _many parts requiring emendation_, and _many more capable of improvement_. _Many faults_ I have corrected, some superfluities I have taken away, and some deficiencies I have supplied. I have methodised some parts that were _disordered_, and illuminated some that were _obscure_. Yet the changes or additions bear a very small proportion to the whole.' That his improvements, bear a very small proportion to the quantity of errors still in his book is true, for after a long and painful search, I have only been able to trace out ONE alteration. The word _Gazetteer_ is now defined without that insolent scurrility formerly quoted. But in this correct edition, thunder continues to be a _most bright flame_. Whig is still the name of a faction; and a Tory is said to be an adherent to the antient constitution of England. Oats, Excise, _Monarch_, &c. are all in the same stile. Nowise, _n. s._ '(_no_ and _wise_: this is commonly spoken and written by IGNORANT BARBARIANS, _noways_). Not in any manner, or degree.' Theorem, _n. s._ 'A position laid down as an acknowledged truth.'

Here a schoolboy can detect the Doctor's ignorance, for every body knows that this word has the _opposite_ meaning, which is indeed evident from the quotations that are intended to exemplify it.

'Having found this the head _theorem_ of all their discourses, we hold it necessary that the _proofs_ thereof be weighed.' _Hooker._ 'Here are three _theorems_, that from thence we may draw some conclusions[148].' _Dryden._ No words can paint the Doctor's want of attention.

To piss, _v. n._ (pisser Fr. pissen Dutch) 'To make water. I charge the _pissing_ conduit run nothing but claret. _Shakespeare._ One ass pisses, the rest _piss_ for company. _L'Estrange._ The wanton boys _piss_ upon your grave. _Dryden._' Whoredom, _n. s._ (from _whore_) 'Fornication. Some let go _whoredom_ as an indifferent matter. _Hale._' Whorish, _a._ (from whore) 'Unchaste, incontinent. By means of a _whorish_ woman a man is brought to a piece of bread. _Proverbs._ I had as lief you should tell me of a mess of _porridge_[149].'

The reader has seen what a profusion of low, and even blackguard expressions are to be met with in the Doctor's celebrated work. I shall now give an additional specimen of his _great_ work; and if, like some American savages, we cannot count our fingers, Dr Johnson himself will teach us how to do it; for he tells us, on _Shakespeare's_ authority, that two is, 'one and one,' Pope and Creech are quoted to prove, that three is, 'two and one.' Four is, 'two and two;' and, if you have the least doubt that 'four and one' make five, or that five is, 'the half of ten,' you will be silenced by the name of Dryden. Six is, 'twice three, one more than five.' Seven is, 'four and three, one more than six.' Eight is, 'twice four, a word of number.' Nine is, 'one more than eight.' Ninth is, 'that which precedes the tenth.' Ten is, 'the decimal number, twice five.' Tenth is, 'first after the ninth, the ordinal of ten.' Eleven is, 'ten and one.' Eleventh is, 'the next in order to the tenth, and is derived from eleven.' Twelve is, 'two and ten;' and twelfth, 'second after the tenth, the ordinal of twelve.' Thirteen is, 'ten and three.' Fourteen is, 'four and ten.' Fifteen is, 'five and ten.' Fifteen, 'the ordinal of fifteen, the fifth after the tenth;' and, if you entertain any suspicion as to the verity of these definitions, read over Boyle, Brown, Dryden, Moses, Raleigh, Sandys, Shakespeare, and Bacon. Thirdly is, in the 'third place.' Thrice, 'three times,' threefold, 'thrice repeated, consisting of three.' Threepence, (_three_ and _pence_) 'a small silver coin, valued at thrice a penny.' Threescore, a. (_three_ and _score_) 'thrice twenty, sixty.' Pope, Raleigh, Wiseman, Shakespeare, Brown, Dryden, and Spencer, are cited to convince you, that these explanations are accurate. And the other articles of numeration, with all their derivations, definitions, and the passages which are quoted to support them, would fill a sixpenny pamphlet. And this is one recipe for making a book worth four guineas!

A farthing is, 'the fourth part of a penny, and a penny is, _a small coin_[150], of which twelve make a shilling.' A shilling is 'now twelve pence.' A Pound is, 'the sum of twenty shillings;' and, if thou hast forgot the worth of a Guinea, know that it is 'a gold coin, valued at one and twenty shillings;' for Dryden, Locke, and Cocker, have said all this. A Punk is, 'a whore, a common prostitute;' and a Puppy is, 'a whelp, the progeny of a bitch, a name of contemptuous reproach to a man.' To _Mew_ is, 'to cry as a cat.' To Kaw is, 'to cry as a Raven, Crow, or Rook; and the cry of a Raven or Crow (and he might have added, of a Jack Daw too) is kaw.'

'There are men (says Dr Johnson) who claim the name of authors, merely to disgrace it, and fill the world with volumes, only to bury letters in their own rubbish. The traveller who tells, in a pompous Folio, that he saw the _Pantheon_ at _Rome_, and the _Medicean Venus_ at _Florence_; the natural historian, who, describing the productions of a narrow island, recounts all that it has in common with every other part of the world; the collector of antiquities, that accounts every thing a curiosity, which the ruins of Herculaneum happen to emit, though an instrument already shown in a thousand repositories, or a cup common to the antients, the moderns, and all mankind, may be justly censured as the persecutors of students, and the _thieves_ of that time, which never can be restored[151].'

The traveller who visits Rome and Florence, and gives an account of what he saw to the world, without describing the Pantheon and the Medicean Venus, will, very properly, be censured as an ignorant and tasteless wanderer. The historian who describes an island, whether wide or narrow, ought to begin by telling if it produces water, grass, wood, and corn. A sword, a bow, and a dagger, are common to the antients, the moderns, and almost all mankind; yet, if any Roman military weapon were discovered in the ruins of Herculaneum, it would deservedly be the object of curiosity, and a collector of antiquities might describe it without being censured, in Dr Johnson's polite style, as a _thief of time_. Of this passage, however, the leading idea is just; and, had the Doctor been able to express himself with precision, it would have served, in an admirable manner, to delineate the character of the author of those passages which we have just now been reading from his Dictionary.

A Puppy is said to be, 'the progeny of a bitch,' but so is the bitch herself. Repleviable is, 'what may be _replevined_.' Repair is, 'reparation;' and reparation is, 'the act of repairing.' A Republican is, 'one who thinks a commonwealth, without monarchy, the best government.' But this is only half a definition; for every subject of a republic, is a republican, whether he think it the best government or not. Republican, a. (from republic) is, 'placing the government in the people.' Is Venice under the government of the people? It is curious enough to hear such an author as Ben Johnson cited to prove what a republic is. The reader will compute what title the Doctor has to the character given him by a late writer, viz. that 'his great learning and genius render him one of the most _shining_ ornaments of the present age.' A Looking-glass is, 'a glass which shews forms reflected;' but so will a common glass bottle; though we never term it a looking-glass. He says it is compounded of _look_ and _glass_; but, if the reader happens to think it is derived from _looking_ and _glass_, the Doctor cannot confute him. A knave is, 'a petty rascal, a scoundrel.' A _Loon_ is, 'a sorry fellow, a scoundrel.' A _Looby_ is, 'a lubber, a clumsy clown.' A _Lubber_ is, 'a sturdy drone, an idle, fat, bulky _losel_, a booby.' A _Losel_ is, 'a scoundrel, a sorry worthless fellow.' A _Lubbard_ is, 'a lazy sturdy fellow.' A _Booby_ is--but you must know what it is, while you read, in these elegant definitions, the taste and genius of Dr Johnson. He says, that Bone is, 'the solid parts of the body of an animal.' Are not the fat and the muscles also solid? A Volume is, 'something rolled or convolved;' and so is a barrel, a foot-ball, and a blanket. But a volume is likewise '_as much as seems convolved at once_;' an expression hardly intelligible; and it is a book. A Book, we are told, is, 'a volume, in which we read or write;' and whether we read and write in it or not.

'V has two powers expressed in English by two characters, v, consonant, and u, vowel.' One would think these were two different letters, as much as any others in the alphabet. The same remark applies to letters I and J, which the Doctor has blended. It is remarkable that this _English_ Dictionary begins with a _Latin_ word; and the Doctor has inserted it without giving an authority.