r matched him in talk; and
Burke, we imagine, although profounder in thought, more varied in
learning, and more brilliant in imagination, seldom fairly pitted
himself against Johnson. He was a younger man, and held the sage in
too much reverence to encounter him often with any deliberate and
determined purpose of contest. He frequently touched the shield of the
general challenger, not with the sharp, but with the butt-end of his
lance. He said, on one occasion, when asked why he had not talked more
in Johnson's company, "Oh! it is enough for me to have rung the
bell to him!"

In all Johnson's works you see the traces of the triumphant
conversationalist--of one who has met with few to contradict, and
scarcely one to rival him. Hence the dogmatic strength and certainty,
and hence, too, the one-sidedness and limitation of much of his
writings. He does not "allow for the wind." He seems to anticipate no
reply, and to defy all criticism. One is tempted to quote the words of
Solomon, "He that is first in his own cause seemeth just, but his
neighbour cometh and searcheth him." No such searching seems ever to
have entered into Johnson's apprehensions. His sentences roll forth
like the laws of the Medes and Persians; his praise alights with the
authoritativeness of a sun-burst on a mountain; summit; and when he
blames, he seems to add, like an ancient doomster, the words, "I
pronounce for doom." With Burke, it was very different. Accustomed to
parliamentary debate in its vicissitudes and interchange--gifted, too,
with a prophetic insight into coming objections, which "cast their
shadows before," and with an almost diseased subtlety of thinking, he
binds up his answers to opponents with every thesis he propounds; and
his paragraphs sometimes remind you of the plan of generals in great
emergencies, putting foot soldiers on the same saddles with
cavalry--they seem to _ride double_.

This is not the place, nor have we room, to dilate on Johnson's
obvious merits and faults--his straight-forward sincerity--his strong
manly sense--the masterly force with which he grasps all his
subjects--the measured fervour of his style--the precision and
vivacity of his shorter sentences--the grand swell and sonorousness of
his longer; on his frequent monotony--his _sesguipedalia verba_--the
"timorous meaning" which sometimes lurks under his "boldest words;" or
on the deep _chiaroscuro_ which discolours all his pictures of man,
nature, society, an