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his colouring receives a tinge from prejudice, and his judgment is insensibly warped by the particularity of his private opinion.

His character as a poetical biographer has been given by his townsman, Dr. Newton, in his posthumous works, if not with his power, with his decision and severity of censure.

Dr. Johnson's Lives of the Poets afford much amusement, but candour was hurt and offended at the malevolence that preponderated in every part. Never was any biographer more sparing of his praises, or more abundant in his censures. He delights more in exposing blemishes, than in recommending beauties; slightly passes over excellencies, enlarges upon imperfections; and not content with his own severe reflections, revives old scandal, and produces large quotations from the long forgotten works of former critics.'

As a critic, he is entitled to the praise of being the greatest that our nation has produced. This praise he has merited by his preface to Shakespeare, and the detached pieces of criticism which appear among his works; but his critical powers shine with more concentrated radiance in the Lives of the Poets. Of many passages in these compositions it is not hyperbolical to affirm, that they are executed with all the skill and penetration of Aristotle, and animated and embellished with all the fire of Longinus. The Paradise Lost,' is a poemįwhich the mind of Milton only could have produced; the criticism upon it is such, as perhaps, the pen of Johnson only could have written. His estimate of Dryden and Pope challenges Quintilian's remarks upon Demosthenes and Cicero, and rivals the finest specimens of elegant composi

tion and critical acuteness in the English language.— But though Johnson is entitled to this high eulogium, yet in many instances it is evident, that an affectation of singularity, or some other principle, not immediately visible, frequently betrays him into a dogmatical spirit of contradiction to received opinion. Of this there needs no further proof than his almost uniform attempt to depreciate the writers of blank verse, and his degrading estimate of the admirable compositions of Prior, Hammond, Collins, Gray, Shenstone, and Akenside. In his judgment of these poets, he may be justly accused of being warped by prejudice, resolutely blind to merit.

Miss Seward, the poetess of Litchfield, who has delineated his literary character, observes that when his attention was called to modern writings, particularly if they were celebrated, and not written by any of his little Senate,' he generally listened with angry impatience; No Sir, I shall not read the book,' was his common reply. He turned from the compositions of rising genius with visible horror, which too plainly proved that envy was the bosom serpent of this literary despot, whose life had been unpolluted by licentious crimes, and who had some great and noble qualities, accompanying a stupendous reach of understanding.'

As a moralist his periodical papers are distinguished from those of other writers who derived celebrity from similar publications. He has neither the wit nor the graceful ease of Addison, nor has he the humour and classic suavity of Goldsmith. His powers are of a more grave, energetic and distinguished kind than any of his competitors, and if he entertains us less, he instructs us more. He shews himself master of all the recesses of the human mind, able to detect

vice when disguised in its most specious form, and equally possessed of a corrosive to eradicate, or a lenitive to assuage the follies and sorrows of the heart. But his genius was only formed to chastise graver faults, which require to be touched with an heavier hand. His Rambler furnishes such an assemblage of discourses on practical religion and moral duty, of critical investigation, and allegorical and oriental tales, that no mind can be thought very deficient, that has by constant study and meditation assimilated to itself all that may be found there. Every page of the Rambler shews a mind teeming with classical illusion and poetical imagery, illustrations from other writers are upon all occasions so ready, and mingle so easily with the periods, that the whole appears of one uniform vivid texturé.

Mrs. Piozzi in her Anecdotes, speaking of this production, has these words; that piety which dictated the Rambler, will be for ever remembered, for ever I think revered. That ample repository of religious truth, moral wisdom, and accurate critiscism, breathes indeed the genuine emanations of its great author's mind, expressed too in a style so natural to him, and so much like his common mode of conversing, that I was myself but little astonished when he told me that he had scarcely read over one of those inimitable essays before they went to the press.'

Mr. Murphy observes, that the Rambler may be considered as Johnson's great work. It was the basis of that high reputation which went on increasing to the end of his days. In this collection, Johnson is the great moral teacher of his countrymen: his essays form a body of ethics: the observations on life and manners are acute and instructive; and the pa

pers proffessedly critical, serve to promote the cause of literature. It must, however be acknowledged, that a settled gloom hangs over the author's mind, and all the essays, except eight or ten, coming from the same fountain head, no wonder that they have the raciness of the soil from which they sprung. Of this uniformity Johnson was sensible; he used to say, that if he had joined a friend or two, who would have been able to intermix papers of a sprightly turn, the collection would have been more miscellaneous, and by consequence more agreeable to the generality of readers.

The serious papers in his Idler, though inferior to those in the Rambler in sublimity and splendour, are distinguished by the same dignified morality and solemn philosophy, and lead to the same great end of diffusing wisdom, virtue and happiness. The humorous papers are light and lively, and more in the manner of Addison.

Of the Idler Mr. Murphy observes, that in order to be consistent with the assumed character, it is written with abated vigour, in a style of ease and unlaboured elegance. It is the Odyssey after the Iliad. Intense thinking would not become the Idler. The first number presents a well drawn portrait of an idler, and from that character no deviation could be made. Accordingly Johnson forgets his austere manner, and plays us into sense. He still continues his lectures on human life; but he adverts to common occurrence, and is often content with the topics of the day.'

As a novelist, he displays in the oriental tales in the Rambler, an unbounded knowledge of men and manners; but his capital work in this department of literature is his Rasselas. None of his writings have been

so extensively diffused over Europe. The language enchants us with harmony, the arguments are acute and ingenious, and the reflection novel, yet just. It astonishes by the sublimity of its sentiments, and the fertility of its instructions, and delights in the abundance and propriety of its images. The fund of

thinking which it contains, is such that almost every sentence of it may furnish a subject of long meditation; but it is not without its faults, being barren of interesting incidents and destitute of originality or distinction of characters. There is little difference in the manner of thinking and reasoning of the philosopher and the female, of the prince and the waiting woman.

Mr. Murphy comments on this novel in the following manner. 'Rasselas is undoubtedly both elegant and sublime. It is a view of human life displayed, it must be owned, in gloomy colours. The author's natural melancholy, depressed at the time by the approaching dissolution of his mother, darkened the picture. He who reads the heads of the chapters, will find that it is not a course of adventures that invites him forwards, but a discussion of interesting questions; Reflections on Human Life: the History of Imlac; the man of Learning; a Dissertation on Poetry; the character of a Wise and Happy Man, &c. It is by pictures of life and profound moral reflection that expectation is engaged and gratified throughout the work.' Mr. Murphy concludes his observations with these words. It is remarkable, that the vanity of human pursuits was, about the same time, the subject that employed both Johnson and Voltaire; but Candide is the work of a lively imagination, and Rasselas with all its splendour of eloquence, exhibits a gloomy picture.

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