He seizes and alternately
quits the clue of reason, lest it should involve him in the labyrinths of
endless error: he wants confidence in himself and his fellows. He dares
not trust himself with the immediate impressions of things, for fear of
compromising his dignity; or follow them into their consequences, for fear
of committing his prejudices. His timidity is the result, not of
ignorance, but of morbid apprehension. "He runs the great circle, and is
still at home." No advance is made by his writings in any sentiment, or
mode of reasoning. Out of the pale of established authority and received
dogmas, all is sceptical, loose, and desultory: he seems in imagination to
strengthen the dominion of prejudice, as he weakens and dissipates that of
reason; and round the rock of faith and power, on the edge of which he
slumbers blindfold and uneasy, the waves and billows of uncertain and
dangerous opinion roar and heave for evermore. His Rasselas is the most
melancholy and debilitating moral speculation that ever was put forth.
Doubtful of the faculties of his mind, as of his organs of vision, Johnson
trusted only to his feelings and his fears. He cultivated a belief in
witches as an out-guard to the evidences of religion; and abused Milton,
and patronised Lauder, in spite of his aversion to his countrymen, as a
step to secure the existing establishment in church and state. This was
neither right feeling nor sound logic.

The most triumphant record of the talents and character of Johnson is to
be found in Boswell's Life of him. The man was superior to the author.
When he threw aside his pen, which he regarded as an incumbrance, he
became not only learned and thoughtful, but acute, witty, humorous,
natural, honest; hearty and determined, "the king of good fellows and wale
of old men." There are as many smart repartees, profound remarks, and keen
invectives to be found in Boswell's "inventory of all he said," as are
recorded of any celebrated man. The life and dramatic play of his
conversation forms a contrast to his written works. His natural powers and
undisguised opinions were called out in convivial intercourse. In public,
he practised with the foils on: in private, he unsheathed the sword of
controversy, and it was "the Ebro's temper." The eagerness of opposition
roused him from his natural sluggishness and acquired timidity; he
returned blow for blow; and whether the trial were of argument or wit,
none of his rivals could bo