He

Johnson, it need hardly be said, has not Goldsmith's exquisite fineness of touch and delicacy of sentiment. is often ponderous and verbose, and one feels that the mode of expression is not that which is most congenial; and yet the vigour of thought makes itself felt through rather clumsy modes of utterance. Here is one of the best passages, in which he illustrates the vanity of mili tary glory:

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,
How just his hopes let Swedish Charles decide;
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,

No dangers fright him and no labours tire;
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,
Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain;
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;
Behold surrounding kings their powers combine,

And one capitulate, and one resign:

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain.
"Think nothing gain'd," he cries, " till nought remain ;
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,
And all be mine beneath the polar sky ?"

The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,

And Winter barricades the realms of Frost.

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay-
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day!
The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait,
While ladies interpose and slaves debate -
But did not Chance at length her error mend?

Did no subverted empire mark his end?

Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?

Or hostile millions press him to the ground f

His fall was destined to a barren strand,

A petty fortress and a dubious hand;

He left the name at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral and adorn a tale.

The concluding passage may also fitly conclude this survey of Johnson's writings. The sentiment is less gloomy than is usual, but it gives the answer which he would have given in his calmer moods to the perplexed riddle of life; and, in some form or other, it is, perhaps, the best or the only answer that can be given :

Where, then, shall Hope and Fear their objects find?
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,

Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?

Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise?

No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?

Inquirer cease; petitions yet remain

Which Heaven may hear, nor deem religion vain ;
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice

Safe in His power whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious prayer.
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest,
Secure whate'er He gives-He gives the best.
Yet when the scene of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions and a will resign'd;
For Love, which scarce collective men can fill;
For Patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill;
For Faith, that panting for a happier seat,
Counts Death kind nature's signal of retreat.

These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain,

These goods He grants who grants the power to gain,

With these Celestial Wisdom calms the mind,

And makes the happiness she does not find.

THE END.

EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY

GRAY