and poetical. No man, indeed, was better calculated to transfuse the stern invective, the sublime philosophy, and nervous painting of Juvenal, than our author; and his London, whilst it rivals the original in these respects, is, at the same time, greatly superior to it in purity of illustration, and harmony of versification. The felicity with which he has adapted the imagery and allusions of the Latin poem to modern manners, vices, and events; and the richness and depth of thought which he exhibits when the hint is merely taken from the Roman bard, or when he chooses altogether to desert him, are such as to render this satire the noblest moral poem in our language.

At the period when Johnson wrote his London, he must, from his peculiar circumstances, have been prone to imbibe all the warmth and indignation of the ancient satirist, who depicts in the boldest colours the unmerited treatment to which indigence is subjected, and the multiform oppressions arising from tyranny and ill-acquired wealth. He was, indeed, at this time, "steeped up to the lips in poverty," and was likewise a zealous opponent of what he deemed a corrupt administration. It is impossible to read the following passage, one of the finest in the poem, and especially its concluding line, which the author distinguished by capitals, without deeply entering into, and severely sympathising with, the feelings and sufferings of the writer.

By numbers here from shame or censure free,
All crimes are safe but hated poverty.
This, only this, the rigid law pursues,
This, only this, provokes the snarling muse.
The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak
Wakes from his dream, and labours for a joke;
With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest;
Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart,
Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.

Has Heaven reserv'd, in pity to the poor,
No pathless waste, or undiscover'd shore?
No secret island in the boundless main?
No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?
Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore,
And bear oppression's insolence no more.
This mournful truth is every where confess'd,
Slow rises worth, by poverty depress'd.

Of the energy and compression which characterize the sentiment and diction of "London," this last line is a striking example; for the original, though strong in its expression, is less terse and happy:

The next poem of distinguished merit which Johnson produced, was the Prologue for the opening of Drury-lane Theatre in 1747. His friend, and former pupil, David Garrick, had this year obtained the office of joint patentee and manager of Drury-lane; and the prologue of Johnson, whilst it traced with skill the varied fortunes of the stage and of dramatic taste, was intended as a compliment to the new manager, under whose direction it was predicted that the reign of Nature and of Sense would revive. The commencement of these verses, which delineates the genius of Shakspeare, is, in point of invention and enthusiasm, the first that poetry has produced upon the subject; the tribute of Gray does not exceed it. In prose, the portrait of our great Dramatist by Dryden was unrivalled, until Mr. Morgann, in his "Essay on the dramatic character of Sir John Falstaff," produced a delineation, the vivacity and discrimination of which demand almost unqualified praise. With what a vivid spirit of animation has he clothed the following prediction, alluding to Voltaire, who, in the arrogance of criticism, had termed the immortal poet a barbarian! He exclaims, "Whatever may be the neglect of some, or the censure of others, there are those who firmly believe that this wild and uncultivated Barbarian has not obtained one half of his fame. When the hand of time shall have brushed off his present editors and commentators, and when the very name of Voltaire, and even the memory of the language in which he has written, shall be no more, the Apalachian mountains, the banks of the Ohio, and the plains of Sciola, shall resound with the accents of this Barbarian. In his native tongue he shall roll the genuine passions of nature; nor shall the griefs of Lear be alleviated, or the charms and wit of Rosalind be abated, by time."

In the commencement of the year 1749, nearly eleven years after the production of his "London," our author published his second imitation of the Roman Satirist, entituled The Vanity of Human Wishes, being the tenth satire of Juvenal imitatéd. For this poem, though his literary fame had considerably increased in the space which had elapsed between the two performances, he received from Dodsley but fifteen guineas. If with this sum, for a piece of no great length, he was satisfied, he certainly was not, and had no reason to be, with the general remuneration of his labours; and in the poem before us, he has drawn in one line, and in his strongest manner, the usual fate of literary labour:

Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes,
And pause awhile from letters, to be wise;

There mark what ills the scholar's life assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the gaol.

The Vanity of Human Wishes, the subject of which is in a great degree founded on the ALCIBIADES OF PLATO, possesses not the point and fire which animates the " London." It breathes, however, a strain of calm and dignified philosophy, much more pleasing to the mind, and certainly much more consonant to truth, than the party exaggeration of the prior satire. The poet's choice of modern examples, in place of those brought forward by the ancient bard, is happy and judicious; and he has every where availed himself, and in a style the most impressive, of the solemnity, the pathos, and sublime morality of the christian code. In consequence of this substitution of a purer system of ethics, and of a striking selection of characters, among which that of Charles of Sweden is conspicuously eminent, the whole has the air of an original, and, to be understood, requires not to be collated with its prototype.

To enter into competition with the tenth satire of Juvenal, which is, without doubt, the most perfect composition of its author, was a daring and a hazardous attempt. Dryden had led the way, and, though occasionally successful, has failed to equal the general merit of the Latin poem. The imitation of Johnson, on the