He went on, after a little practice, with
as much facility as if it was his native tongue. One sentence this
writer well remembers. Observing that Fontenelle, at first, opposed the
Newtonian philosophy, and embraced it afterwards, his words were:
"Fontinellus, ni fallor, in extrema senectute, fuit transfuga ad castra
Newtoniana."
We have now travelled through that part of Dr. Johnson's life, which was
a perpetual struggle with difficulties. Halcyon days are now to open
upon him. In the month of May, 1762, his majesty, to reward literary
merit, signified his pleasure to grant to Johnson a pension of three
hundred pounds a year. The earl of Bute was minister. Lord Loughborough,
who, perhaps, was originally a mover in the business, had authority to
mention it. He was well acquainted with Johnson; but, having heard much
of his independent spirit, and of the downfal of Osborne, the
bookseller, he did not know but his benevolence might be rewarded with a
folio on his head. He desired the author of these memoirs to undertake
the task. This writer thought the opportunity of doing so much good the
most happy incident in his life. He went, without delay, to the
chambers, in the Inner Temple lane, which, in fact, were the abode of
wretchedness. By slow and studied approaches the message was disclosed.
Johnson made a long pause: he asked if it was seriously intended: he
fell into a profound meditation, and his own definition of a pensioner
occurred to him.
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