tague force
itself upon me? Such were the transitions of the ancients, which now
seem abrupt, because the intermediate idea is lost to modern
understandings.'

But the extract had better end, for there are, (I fear) 'modern
understandings who will not perceive the intermediate idea' between
Shakspeare and Mrs. Montague, and to whom even the name of Branghton will
suggest no meaning.

Johnson's literary fame is, in our judgment, as secure as his character.
Like the stone which he placed over his father's grave at Lichfield, and
which, it is shameful to think, has been removed, it is 'too massy and
strong' to be ever much affected by the wind and weather of our literary
atmosphere. 'Never,' so he wrote to Mrs. Thrale, 'let criticisms operate
upon your face or your mind; it is very rarely that an author is hurt by
his critics. The blaze of reputation cannot be blown out; but it often
dies in the socket. From the author of _Fitzosborne's Letters_ I cannot
think myself in much danger. I met him only once, about thirty years
ago, and in some small dispute soon reduced him to whistle.' Dr. Johnson
is in no danger from anybody. None but Gargantua could blow him out, and
he still burns brightly in his socket.

How long this may continue who can say? It is a far cry to 1985. Science
may by that time have squeezed out literature, and the author of the
_Lives of the Poets_ may be dimly remembered as an odd fellow who lived
in the Dark Ages, and had a very creditable fancy for making chemical
experiments. On the other hand, the Spiritualists may be in possession,
in which case the Cock Lane Ghost will occupy more of public attention
than Boswell's hero, who will, perhaps, be reprobated as the profane
utterer of these idle words: 'Suppose I know a man to be so lame that he
is absolutely incapable to move himself, and I find him in a different
room from that in which I left him, shall I puzzle myself with idle
conjectures, that perhaps his nerves have by some unknown change all at
once become effective? No, sir, it is clear how he got into a different
room--he was _carried_.'

We here part company with Johnson, bidding him a most affectionate
farewell, and leaving him in undisturbed possession of both place and
power. His character will bear investigation, and some of his books
perusal. The latter, indeed, may be submitted to his own test, and there
is no truer one. A book, he wrote, should help us either to