It is remarkable, that the pomp of diction, which has been objected to Johnson, was first assumed in the Rambler.  His Dictionary was going on at the same time, and, in the course of that work, as he grew familiar with technical and scholastic words, he thought that the bulk of his readers were equally learned; or, at least, would admire the splendour and dignity of the style.  And yet it is well known, that he praised, in Cowley, the ease and unaffected structure of the sentences.  Cowley may be placed at the head of those who cultivated a clear and natural style.  Dryden, Tillotson, and sir William Temple followed.  Addison, Swift, and Pope, with more correctness, carried our language well nigh to perfection.  Of Addison, Johnson was used to say, “he is the Raphael of essay writers.”  How he differed so widely from such elegant models, is a problem not to be solved, unless it be true, that he took an early tincture from the writers of the last century, particularly sir Thomas Browne.  Hence the peculiarities of his style, new combinations, sentences of an unusual structure, and words derived from the learned languages.  His own account of the matter is:  “When common words were less pleasing to the ear, or less distinct in their signification, I familiarized the terms of philosophy, by applying them to popular ideas.”  But he forgot the observation of Dryden:  “If too many foreign words are poured in upon us, it looks, as if they were designed, not to assist the natives, but to conquer them.”  There is, it must be admitted, a swell of language, often out of all proportion to the sentiment; but there is, in general, a fulness of mind, and the thought seems to expand with the sound of the words.  Determined to discard colloquial barbarisms and licentious idioms, he forgot the elegant simplicity that distinguishes the writings of Addison.  He had, what Locke calls, a round-about view of his subject; and, though he never was tainted, like many modern wits, with the ambition of shining in paradox, he may be fairly called an original thinker.  His reading was extensive.  He treasured in his mind whatever was worthy of notice, but he added to it from his own meditation.  He collected, “quae reconderet, auetaque promeret.”  Addison was not so profound a thinker.  He was “born to write, converse, and live with ease;” and he found an early patron in lord Somers.  He depended, however, more upon a fine taste than the vigour of his mind.  His Latin poetry shows, that he relished, with a just selection, all the refined and delicate beauties of the Roman classics; and, when he cultivated his native language, no wonder that he formed that graceful style, which has been so justly admired; simple, yet elegant; adorned, yet never over-wrought; rich in allusion, yet pure and perspicuous; correct, without labour; and though, sometimes, deficient in strength, yet always musical.  His essays, in general, are on the surface of life; if ever original, it was in pieces of humour.  Sir Roger de Coverly, and the