ON AUTHORS AND BOOKS, NO. 5.

As a writer of dedications, Samuel Johnson was the giant of his time.
He once said to Boswell, the subject arising at a dinner-party, "Why,
I have dedicated to the royal family all round,"--and the _honest
chronicler_ proves that he spoke advisedly.

Compositions of this nature admit much variety of character. A
dedication may be the pure homage which we owe to merit, or the
expression of gratitude for favours received, or a memorial of
cherished friendship; and such dedications, in point of motive,
are beyond the reach of censure--I may fairly assert, are very
commendable. Nevertheless, Johnson left no compositions of either
class: "the _loftiness_ of his mind," as Boswell gravely states,
"prevented him from ever dedicating in his own person."

A more equivocal sort of dedication also prevailed. A book was
supposed to require the prefix of some eminent name as its patron,
in order to ensure its success. Now the author, though very capable
of writing with propriety on his chosen theme, might be unequal to
the courtly style which dedicators were wont to display, and as the
_complement_ was to be returned _substantially_, he might be tempted
to employ a superior artist on the occasion. It was chiefly under such
circumstances that the powers of Johnson were called into action. By
what arguments the stern moralist would have endeavoured to justify
the deception, for it deserves no better name, is more than I can
undertake to decide, and I submit the query to his enthusiastic
admirers.

To the dedications enumerated by the faithful Boswell, and by his