ard one of the royal attendants say to another, "He is not
afraid!" Turning round upon them, he said: "And why should the pleasing
face of a gentleman frighten me? I have looked on the faces of angry
men, and yet have not been afraid beyond measure." When the Reformer,
worn-out by excess of labour and anxiety, was at length laid to his
rest, the Regent, looking down into the open grave, exclaimed, in words
which made a strong impression from their aptness and truth--"There lies
he who never feared the face of man!"

Luther also was thought by some to be a mere compound of violence and
ruggedness. But, as in the case of Knox, the times in which he lived
were rude and violent; and the work he had to do could scarcely have
been accomplished with gentleness and suavity. To rouse Europe from its
lethargy, he had to speak and to write with force, and even vehemence.
Yet Luther's vehemence was only in words. His apparently rude exterior
covered a warm heart. In private life he was gentle, loving, and
affectionate. He was simple and homely, even to commonness. Fond of all
common pleasures and enjoyments, he was anything but an austere man,
or a bigot; for he was hearty, genial, and even "jolly." Luther was the
common people's hero in his lifetime, and he remains so in Germany to
this day.

Samuel Johnson was rude and often gruff in manner. But he had been
brought up in a rough school. Poverty in early life had made him
acquainted with strange companions. He had wandered in the streets with
Savage for nights together, unable between them to raise money enough
to pay for a bed. When his indomitable courage and industry at length
secured for him a footing in society, he still bore upon him the scars
of his early sorrows and struggles. He was by nature strong and robust,
and his experience made him unaccommodating and self-asserting. When
he was once asked why he was not invited to dine out as Garrick was,
he answered, "Because great lords and ladies did not like to have their
mouths stopped;" and Johnson was a notorious mouth-stopper, though what
he said was always worth listening to.

Johnson's companions spoke of him as "Ursa Major;" but, as Goldsmith
generously said of him, "No man alive has a more tender heart; he has
nothing of the bear about him but his skin." The kindliness of Johnson's
nature was shown on one occasion by the manner in which he assisted a
supposed lady in crossing Fleet Street. He gave her his arm, and le