such men as Samuel Johnson would be a wild chaos of
tasks undone. But since Nature has never sent but one such man, and more
than a century has passed since his death and we know not yet with whom to
compare him, we need have no fears. The world is held in place through the
opposition of forces: and the body of every healthy man is the
battle-ground of animal organisms that match strength against strength.
So, too, a healthy society always has these active and sturdy organisms,
which set in play other forces that hold in check their seeming excess.
That the Divine Energy should incarnate itself and find expression in the
form of a man, and that this man should inspire others to think and write,
to do and dare, is a subject the contemplation of which should make us
stand uncovered. The companionship of Johnson inspired Reynolds to better
painting, Garrick to stronger acting, Burke to more profound thinking--and
hundreds of others, too, quenched their thirst at the rock which he smote
whenever he discoursed or wrote.

Sympathy is the first essential to insight. So with sympathy, I pray,
behold this blundering giant, and you will see that the basis of his
character was a great Sincerity. He was honest--doggedly honest--and saw
with flashing vision the thing that was; and thither he followed,
crowding, pushing, knocking down whatsoever opinion or prejudice was in
the way. And so he ever struggled forward. But hate him not, for he is thy
brother--yea! he is brother to all who strive and reach forward toward the
Ideal. Shining through dust and disorder, now victorious, now eclipsed in
deepest gloom, in him is the light of genius; and this is never base, but
at the worst is admirable, lovable with pity. There was pride in his
heart, but no vanity; and he should be loved for this if for no other
reason: he had the courage to make an enemy. In his great heart were wild
burstings of affection, and a hunger for love that only the grave
requited. There, too, were fierce flashes of wrath, smothered in an hour
by the soft dew of pity. His faults and follies were manifold, as he often
lamented with tears; but the soul of the man was sublime in its
qualities--worldwide in its influence.

THOMAS B. MACAULAY

The perfect historian is he in whose work the character and
spirit of the age is exhibited in miniature. He relates no fact,
he attributes no expression to his characters, which is not
authenticated by suffi