There are twelve volumes altogether, and hey, I just finished number four! 1/3 of the way done! The Works of Samuel Johnson: With an Essay on His Life and Genius, by Arthur Murphy. Volume 4 (1792), another entry on Harold Bloom's Western Canon list, did not disappoint.
This volume is particularly fun -- it is made up of the first 70 entries in The Rambler, a bi-weekly periodical written and published by Johnson from 1750-1752. The essays, each about 5-10 pages long, are easily digestible comments on modern society and tidbits of advice on how to best live ones life. Some of the most amusing entries are written in the guise of devoted readers asking Mr. Johnson for some of his sage advice. Like much of Johnson, there is a combination of confidence, humor, and observation that make these moral essays not only fun to read, but, with some exceptions, still pretty good life advice.
Take this, for example, from No. 68 "Every man chiefly happy or miserable at home. The opinion of servants not to be despised.":
"This remark may be extended to all parts of  life.  Nothing is to 
be estimated by its effect upon common eyes and common ears.  A 
thousand miseries  make silent and invisible inroads on mankind, and  
the heart feels innumerable throbs, which never break  into complaint.  
Perhaps, likewise, our pleasures are  for the most part equally secret, 
and most are borne  up by some private satisfaction, some internal  
consciousness, some latent hope, some peculiar prospect,  which they 
never communicate, but reserve for solitary  hours, and clandestine 
meditation. 
The main of life is, indeed, composed of 
small  incidents and petty occurrences; of wishes for objects  not 
remote, and grief for disappointments of no fatal  consequence; of 
insect vexations which sting us  and fly away, impertinences which buzz 
awhile about  us, and are heard no more; of meteorous pleasures  which 
dance before us and are dissipated; of compliments  which glide off the 
soul like other musick,  and are forgotten by him that gave, and him 
that  received them....
The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness  to those hours, which
 splendour cannot gild, and  acclamation cannot exhilarate; those soft 
intervals  of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to  his natural
 dimensions, and throws aside the ornaments  or disguises, which he 
feels in privacy to be  useless incumbrances, and to lose all effect 
when  they became familiar.  To be happy at home is the  ultimate result
 of all ambition, the end to which  every enterprise and labour tends, 
and of which every  desire prompts the prosecution." 
Pretty spot on for something written 250 years ago....
Or look at this one, which is almost a perfect description of certain politicians that I can't wait to stop hearing about (from No. 11 "The folly of anger. The misery of a peevish old age."):
"There is in the world a certain class of mortals,  known, and 
contentedly known, by the appellation  of passionate men, who imagine 
themselves entitled  by that distinction to be provoked on every slight 
 occasion, and to vent their rage in vehement and  fierce vociferations,
 in furious menaces and  licentious reproaches.  Their rage, indeed, for
 the most  part, fumes away in outcries of injury, and  protestations of
 vengeance, and seldom proceeds to actual  violence, unless a drawer or 
linkboy falls in their way;  but they interrupt the quiet of those that 
happen  to be within the reach of their clamours, obstruct the course of conversation, and disturb the  enjoyment of society. 
Men
 of this kind are sometimes not without  understanding or virtue, and 
are, therefore, not always  treated with the severity which their 
neglect of the  ease of all about them might justly provoke; they  have 
obtained a kind of prescription for their folly,  and are considered by 
their companions as under a  predominant influence that leaves them not 
masters  of their conduct or language, as acting without  consciousness,
 and rushing into mischief with a mist  before their eyes; they are 
therefore pitied rather  than censured, and their sallies are passed 
over as  the involuntary blows of a man agitated by the  spasms of a 
convulsion."
I could go on quoting all day, because Samuel Johnson is nothing if he is not deliciously quotable, but instead I'll leave you with a few more of my favorite entries worth reading in their entirety:
No. 16 "The dangers and miseries of literary eminence"
No. 34 "The uneasiness and disgust of female cowardice"
No. 39 "The unhappiness of women whether single or married"
No. 45 "The causes of disagreement in marriage"
No. 50 "A virtuous old age always reverenced"
No 59. "An account of Suspirius the human screech-owl"
Lucky for me, the next volume is even more of The Rambler! Slow and steady gonna win this race...

 
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