The man who wrote these lines was in every way inferior to him against whom they were levelled; certainly inferior to him in talent, though it perhaps may be conceded that he excelled him in vice, power of abuse, and ill-nature. Paul the tailor was to Churchill, the reverend bruiser, what Cobbett was to Hunt. The first had argument in his assertions; the latter had as little logic as humanity. Paul, too, had taste, and imitated only models of the rarest beauty; and this imitation was better than a low originality without taste at all. His thoughts were marked by a manly strength, and his phrases abound in a rich vein of poetical expression. His quarry was folly wherever found, and particularly “the big, rich, mighty dunces of the State.” Not that dunces, as he said, were to be found there only:— “Dulness no more roosts only near the sky, But senates, drawing-rooms, with garrets vie; Plump Peers and breadless bards alike are dull, St. James’s and Rag Fair club fool for fool.” And here is a pattern of the fashion after which Paul laid his yard about the ears of one who was “by birth a senator, by fate a fool:”— “Full placed and pension’d, see Horatio stands! Begrimed his face, unpurified his hands. To decency he scorns all nice pretence, And reigns firm foe to cleanliness and sense. How did Horatio Britain’s cause advance! How shines the sloven and buffoon of France! In senates now, how scold, how rave, how roar, Of treaties run the tedious train-trow o’er! How blunder out whate’er should be conceal’d, And how keep secret what should be reveal’d! True child of dulness! see him, Goddess, claim Power next thyself, as next in birth and fame.” The author was a persecuted man, rather that he was considered a tailor, who had no authority to sit at home and comment on what was done “i’ the Capitol,” than that he was a satirist. Pope was more severe; but Pope was a gentleman, and was held unassailable. If Paul was prosecuted, it was that Pope, in the penalties inflicted on the humbler bard, might see the perils which did himself environ. Poor Paul nevertheless grumbled at being thus made a scapegoat, and he said thereupon:— “Pope writes unhurt; but know ’tis different quite To beard the lion, and to crush the mite. Safe may he dash the statesman in each line; Those dread his satire who dare punish mine!”