s had written bad
odes, bad tragedies, bad comedies; he had, moreover, a larger share than
most men of those infirmities and eccentricities which excite laughter;
and Addison's power of turning either an absurd book or an absurd man
into ridicule was unrivalled. Addison, however, serenely conscious of
his superiority, looked with pity on his assailant, whose temper,
naturally irritable and gloomy, had been soured by want, by controversy,
and by literary failures.

But among the young candidates for Addison's favor there was one
distinguished by talents from the rest, and distinguished, we fear, not
less by malignity and insincerity. Pope was only twenty-five. But his
powers had expanded to their full maturity; and his best poem, the Rape
of the Lock, had recently been published. Of his genius, Addison had
always expressed high admiration. But Addison had early discerned, what
might indeed have been discerned by an eye less penetrating than his,
that the diminutive, crooked, sickly boy was eager to revenge himself on
society for the unkindness of nature. In the Spectator, the Essay on
Criticism had been praised with cordial warmth; but a gentle hint had
been added, that the writer of so excellent a poem would have done well
to avoid ill-natured personalities. Pope, though evidently more galled
by the censure than gratified by the praise, returned thanks for the
admonition, and promised to profit by it. The two writers continued to
exchange civilities, counsel, and small good offices. Addison publicly
extolled Pope's miscellaneous pieces; and Pope furnished Addison with a
prologue. This did not last long. Pope hated Dennis, whom he had injured
without provocation. The appearance of the Remarks on Cato gave the
irritable poet an opportunity of venting his malice under the show of
friendship; and such an opportunity could not but be welcome to a nature
which was implacable in enmity, and which always preferred the tortuous
to the straight path. He published, accordingly, the Narrative of the
Frenzy of John Dennis. But Pope had mistaken his powers. He was a great
master of invective and sarcasm; he could dissect a character in terse
and sonorous couplets, brilliant with antithesis; but of dramatic talent
he was altogether destitute. If he had written a lampoon on Dennis, such
as that on Atticus or that on Sporus, the old grumbler would have been
crushed. But Pope writing dialogue resembled--to borrow Horace's imagery
and his