Wishes"; after these, perhaps, but at an interval, Rasselas. We know and estimate Johnson much less by his writings than by his talk; when we turn to his writings, it is rather to supplement our knowledge of the mind seen in his talk; to win further light, if possible, on the sources of that extraordinary influence which he undoubtedly wielded over the best of his contemporaries.
And then we are met by that curious phenomenon in English prose, Johnson's literary style. The first thing which strikes one about it is that it is so inferior, as a rule, to his best utterances in conversation; it frequently lacks their terseness, their point and vigour; it is generally ponderous, often involved, artificial, tedious—though, like his talk, it is invariably clear. The most obvious and frequent fault is the see-saw of long words, in balanced clauses; thus, where it would be enough to say, "from childhood to old age," Johnson says (in Rasselas), "from the sprightliness of infancy to the despondency of decrepitude"; or he speaks of "that levity and cheerfulness which disencumber all minds from awe and solicitude, invite the modest to freedom, and exalt the timorous to confidence." This style is of course least happy when it is too grand for the subject; as when, after criticising the windows in some Scotch houses, he apologises for noticing such trifles:—"These diminutive observations seem to take away something from the dignity of writing, and are never communicated but with hesitation, and a little fear of abasement and contempt." It is
