1: When Johnson's Idolaters are hard pressed concerning his injustice in those _fallacious_ though _able_ pages;--when they are reminded that he there tells us the perusal of Milton's Paradise Lost is a _task_, and never a _pleasure_;--reminded also of his avowed contempt of that exquisite Poem, the LYCIDAS;--of his declaration that Dryden's absurd Ode on the death of Mrs. Anne Killegrew, written in Cowley's _worst_ manner, is the _noblest_ Ode in this Language;--of his disdain of GRAY as a _lyric_ Poet; of the superior respect he pays to _Yalden_, _Blackmore_, and _Pomfret_;--When these things are urged, his Adorers seek to acquit him of _wilful_ misrepresentation by alledging that he wanted ear for lyric numbers, and taste for the _higher_ graces of POETRY:--but it is impossible so to believe, when we recollect that even his _prose_ abounds with poetic efflorescence, metaphoric conception, and harmonious cadence, which in the highest degree adorn it, without diminishing its strength. We must look for the source of his injustice in the envy of his temper. When Garrick was named a Candidate for admission into the Literary Club, Dr. Johnson told Mr. Thrale he would black-ball him. “_Who_, Sir? Mr. Garrick! Companion of your Youth! your acknowledged Friend!” “Why, Sir, I love my little David better than any, or all of his Flatterers love him; but surely we ought to sit in a Society like ours, 'unelbow'd by a Gamester, Pimp, or PLAYER.” See Supplement to Dr. Johnson's Letters, published by Mrs. Piozzi. The blended hypocrisy and malice of this sally show the man. Johnson knew, at times, how to coax without sincerity as well as to abuse without justice. His seeming fondness for Mrs. C---- of Lichfield, on his visits to that City, and the contempt with which he spoke of her to her Townspeople, was another instance of the same nature.
ON THE POSTHUMOUS FAME OF DOCTOR JOHNSON.
Well it becomes thee, Britain, to avow JOHNSON's high claims!--yet boasting that his fires Were of _unclouded_ lustre, TRUTH retires Blushing, and JUSTICE knits her solemn brow; The eyes of GRATITUDE withdraw the glow His moral strain inspir'd.--Their zeal requires That thou should'st better guard the sacred Lyres, Sources of thy bright fame, than to bestow Perfection's wreath on him, whose ruthless hand, Goaded by jealous rage, the laurels tore, That JUSTICE, TRUTH, and GRATITUDE demand Should deck those Lyres till Time shall be no more.-- A radiant course did Johnson's Glory run, But large the spots that darken'd on its Sun.