dies of Sophocles and Euripides are cold as the Irene.

Entirely do I believe, that the pride of Johnson, wounded by the ill success of that work, was the reason why he did not often throw the splendours of his imagination into verse. Nor less is it probable, that this mortification whetted the fangs of his envy against the whole poetic race.

It is, with exact veracity, asserted by the Colonel, in this dialogue, that Johnson had no empire over the risible ideas, through the course of his compositions. That, in conversation, he was by no means deficient in that power, the colloquial records of that wonderful man bear ample testimony. But, totally forsaking his pen, from which also scarce any thing pathetic ever descended, he certainly could never have been esteemed a great dramatic writer, amongst a people accustomed to the wit, the humour, and spirit of Shakespeare, and to the impassioned tenderness of Otway. But then, it is only over the gay and the commiserating sensations of his readers that Johnson wanted empire. The assertion, therefore, appears to me too general, that he had no dominion over the passions; and that the simile of a king without subjects cannot strictly be applicable to him. That, as a poet, he is able to rouse and

fire, though not to exhilarate and melt the soul, his character of Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, in the Vanity of Human Wishes, bears resistless proof.

If want of the pathetic powers necessarily render a man a "miserable poet," I apprehend Juvenal, and even Pindar, resign their laurels, since scholars tell me there is not a gleam of pathos in all their writings.

Johnson's Satires prove that he had nervous and harmonious versification at command. The Colonel grants him a quick and vigorous imagination, elevated sentiments, striking imagery, and splendid language. Of the author who possessed those great essentials, it is surely not too much to say that he might, had he chosen it, have been perpetually a poet-a stern and gloomy one certainly; but yet a poet, a sublime poet, however the want of tender sensibilities might have closed all the pathetic avenues against his muse.

I think it possible to make fine poems of most of the Ramblers, were they put into equally good verse with Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes; yet I know not if verse could improve them. You are conscious how warm an admirer I have ever been of his best style in prose; that, for abstract disquisition, I think it not only nervous,

but graceful and harmonious in the first degree; and that even the most beautiful poetry is not more gratifying to my ear than the rich and finelyrounded periods of Johnson's essays.

In these, your exquisite dialogues, the critical arms of the Goliath are most ably and justly turned upon himself. Every one of the Colonel's remarks on his criticisms are so convincing, that nothing less than the weakest and most superstitious idolatry can be insensible of their truth. Indeed, I have always despised the admirers of Johnson as an equitable critic, assured that they had not strength of understanding to think, or sensibility to feel for themselves; puppets to be danced upon the intellectual wires at the whistle of a great name, and by the hand of an envious sophist.

Considering this work as an whole, I am convinced it will be of inestimable value to poetic literature. It is the kind of composition for which my heart panted. Justice did very loudly demand that the bloody inquisitor himself should bleed.

And now let me thank you for the kind notice you have taken of my Ode on General Elliot's return from Gibraltar. The hackneyed nature of military victories; the unapproachable happiness with which you had pourtrayed the picturesque

feature of the Gibraltar defence; and, in short, self-distrust of all sorts, combated my gratitude to the truly great General for his kindness to my Relation on my account, and combated it so long as to leave me only a very few days for the composition of my poem. By the narrow straight, as to time, into which this struggle had driven me, I was deprived of the power to solicit your previous criticisms, or that of any other lettered correspondent. However, it has pleased the hero whom it celebrates; and it obtains your warm praise. Thus successful, I can never repent sending it forth to run the gauntlet of review and magazine criticism, or perhaps abuse, or to meet the frost of their faint commendations.

My kind friends, Mr and Mrs Whalley met me at Ludlow thus early, on their return from the Continent. Ludlow is the most beautiful town I ever beheld, in a country which unites the mountainous graces of the least barren part of the peak, with the rich cultivation of the midland counties. The pleasure of exploring its romantic and lovely scenery, was heightened by the consciousness of being on classic ground, beneath the ivy-mantled ruins of that castle, where the Masque of Comus had been written, and first performed; that we walked

"Amid the winding lanes, and alleys green,
Dingles, and bushy dells of that wild wood;
And scal'd with eager step the hilly crofts;
And stray'd o'er banks where fair Sabrina sits
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
The loose train of her amber-dropping hair
Twisting with braids of lillies."

Doubtless I have wearied you by the length of my epistle, though I sat down resolved to follow your laconic example; but, fascinated by the consciousness of addressing you, I knew not how or when to take my hand from the paper; yet you, amid the exhaustless riches of your imagination, plead poverty of subject. But be still, thou repining heart of mine; stifle thy selfish regrets; and, with a sincere benediction on thy favourite bard, that health, peace, and fame may long be his arrest the pen thou art so prone to lead through thy mazes, governing it, as thou dost, with resistless despotism!