of the Queensberrys and Lepels. To
Johnson, however, whose passions were strong, whose eyesight was too
weak to distinguish ceruse from natural bloom, and who had seldom or
never been in the same room with a woman of real fashion, his Titty,
as he called her, was the most beautiful, graceful, and accomplished
of her sex. That his admiration was unfeigned cannot be doubted; for
she was as poor as himself. She accepted, with a readiness which did
her little honor, the addresses of a suitor who might have been her
son. The marriage, however, in spite of occasional wranglings, proved
happier than might have been expected. The lover continued to be under
the illusions of the wedding-day till the lady died, in her
sixty-fourth year. On her monument he placed an inscription, extolling
the charms of her person and of her manners; and when, long after her
decease, he had occasion to mention her, he exclaimed, with a
tenderness half ludicrous, half pathetic, "Pretty creature!"

His marriage made it necessary for him to exert himself more
strenuously than he had hitherto done. He took a house in the
neighborhood of his native town and advertised for pupils. But
eighteen months passed away, and only three pupils came to his
academy. Indeed, his appearance was so strange, and his temper so
violent, that his school-room must have resembled an ogre's den. Nor
was the tawdry, painted grandmother whom he called his Titty well
qualified to make provision for the comfort of young gentlemen. David
Garrick, who was one of the pupils, used, many years later, to throw
the best company of London into convulsions of laughter by mimicking
the endearments of this extraordinary pair.

At length Johnson, in the twenty-eighth year of his age, determined to
seek his fortune in the capital as a literary adventurer. He set out
with a few guineas, three acts of the tragedy of "Irene" in
manuscript, and two or three letters of introduction from his friend
Walmesley.

Some time appears to have elapsed before Johnson was able to form any
literary connection from which he could expect more than bread for the
day which was passing over him. He never forgot the generosity with
which Hervey, who was now residing in London, relieved his wants
during this time of trial. "Harry Hervey," said the old philosopher,
many years later, "was a vicious man; but he was very kind to me. If
you call a dog Hervey, I shall love him." At Hervey's table Johnson
sometimes en