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 REVISED EDITION WITH HELPS TO STUDY 
 
 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 ON 
 ADDISON AND oJOHNSON 
 
 EDITED FOR SCHOOL USE 
 BY 
 
 ALPHONSO G. NEWCOMER 
 
 SOMETIME PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, LELAXD STANFORD UNIVERSITY 
 
 SCOTT. FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
 CHICAGO NEW Y^ORK 
 
Copyright 1903, 1920 
 By Scott, Foresmax and Company 
 
 MAR 29 1920 
 
 aOBERT O LAW COMPANY. 
 PRINTERS AND BINDERS. CHICAGO. 
 
 ©CU566246 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Julius Caesar and Lord Macaulay have been 
 much abused writers. They did not mean to 
 write immortal works, least of all did they mean 
 to write immortal exercises for the school-room. 
 But when a man writes — Just as he would fight, 
 on the field of battle or in the political arena — 
 with what Quintilian describes as "force, point, 
 and vehemence of style," he must expect the 
 school-boy to devour his pages. This is right, — 
 this is not abuse; the abuse is done when live 
 literature is transformed into dead rhetoric, a 
 thing for endless exercises in etymologies and con- 
 structions, until the very name of the author 
 becomes odious. Perhaps it is late for this com- 
 plaint ; we flatter ourselves that we are coming to 
 reason and balance in our methods. Certainly I 
 should not try to discourage study, and liberal 
 study, of the meclianics^,of composition. And 
 there is no better medium for such study than 
 Macaiilay's Essays. But I trust that every teacher 
 to whom the duty of conducting such study falls 
 will not at the same time forget that literature is 
 an art which touches life very closely, and has ita 
 springs far back in the human spirit. 
 
 7 
 
8 PREFACE 
 
 With the hope of encouraging this attitude I 
 have ventured to assume the responsibility of 
 setting afloat one more annotated text of Macau- 
 lay. Realizing that, in dealing with the work of 
 a writer whose affiliations with literature are 
 chiefly formal (Introduction, 19), there is no 
 escape from considerations of style, I have frankly 
 put the matter foremost. But I have tried to 
 take a broad view of its significance, and in partic- 
 ular I have tried to do Macaulay justice. Alto- 
 gether too many pupils have carried away from the 
 study of him the narrow idea that his great 
 achievement consisted in using one or two very 
 patent (but, if they only knew it, very petty) rhetor- 
 ical devices. It has been the primary aim- of my 
 Introduction to set these matters in their right 
 perspective. I have not outlined specific methods 
 of study, which are to be found everywhere by 
 those who value them, but both Introduction and 
 Notes contain many suggestions. It seems better 
 to stop at this. Even the few illustrations I have 
 used have been preferably drawn from essays not 
 here printed. No editor should wish to take from 
 teacher or pupil the profit of investigation or the 
 stimulus of discovery. 
 
 There is another matter in which I should like 
 to counsel vigilance, and that is the habit of 
 requiring pupils to trace allusions, quotations, etc. 
 The practice has been much abused, and a warning 
 seems especially necessary in the study of a writer 
 
PREFACE 9 
 
 like Macaulay, who crowds his pages with instances 
 and illustrations. It is profitable to follow him in 
 the process of bringing together a dozen things to 
 enforce his point, but it is not profitable to reverse 
 the process and allow ourselves to be led away from 
 the subject in hand into a multitude of unrelated 
 matters. Such practices are ruinous to the intel- 
 lect. We must concentrate attention, not dissi- 
 pate it. Only when we fail to catch the full 
 significance of an allusion, should we look it up. 
 Then we must see' to it that we bring back from 
 our research just what occasioned the allusion, just 
 what bears on the immediate passage. Other facts 
 will be picked up by the way and may come use- 
 ful in good time, but for the purpose of our pres- 
 ent study we should insist on the vital relation of 
 every fact contributed. 
 
 So earnest am I upon this' point that I must 
 illustrate. At one place Macaulay writes: *'Do 
 we believe that Erasmus and Fracastorius wrote 
 Latin as well as Dr. Eobertson and Sir Walter 
 Scott wrote English? And are there not in the 
 Dissertation on India, the last of Dr. Robertson's 
 works, in Waverley, in Marmion, Scotticisms at 
 which a London apprentice would laugh?" Why 
 should we be told (to pick out one of these half- 
 dozen allusions) that Dr. Robertson's first name was 
 William, that he lived from 1721 to 1793, and 
 that he wi'ote such and such books? With all 
 respect for the memory of Dr Robertson, I submit 
 
30 PREFACE 
 
 that this is not the place to learn about him and 
 his histories. Macaulay's allusion to him is not 
 explained in the least by giving his date. Yet 
 there is something here to interpret, simple though 
 it be. Let us put questions until we are sure that 
 the pupil understands that Dr. Robertson, being a 
 Scot, could not write wholly idiomatic English — 
 English, say, of the London type — and that this is 
 one illustration of the general truth that a man 
 can write with purity only in his native tongue. 
 It is such exercises in interpretation that I should 
 like to see substituted for the disastrous game of 
 hunting allusions. 
 
 I cannot flatter myself that I have achieved con- 
 sistency in my own notes and glossary. To recur 
 to the illustration above, I have omitted the name 
 of Dr. Robertson, because Macaulay seems to telJ 
 us enough about him, while I have added a few 
 words about Fracastorius in order that he may be 
 to the reader something more than a name. But 
 I cannot help suspecting that it is a waste of 
 energy for any one to try to impress even this name 
 on his mind, and I should be quite satisfied that a 
 pupil of mine should never look it up, provided 
 he had alertness enough to see that Fracastorius 
 wrote in Latin though he was not a Roman, and 
 discrimination enough to feel that there are other 
 allusions of an entirely different character which 
 must be looked up. 
 
 The glossary aims to include only names and 
 
PREFACE 11 
 
 terms not familiar or easily found (provided they 
 need explaining), and also names which, though 
 easily found, call for some special comment. In 
 general, when allusions are self-explaining, we 
 should rest content with our text. 
 
 The text adopted is that of Lady Trevelyan's 
 edition, with very slight changes in spelling, punc- 
 tuation, and capitals. A. G. ]^, 
 
 Stanford University, January, 1903. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface ... o .... 7 
 
 Introduction 15 
 
 Chronology and Bibliography 43 
 
 The Essays: 
 
 The Life and "Writings of Addison .... 45 
 
 Samuel Johnson 170 
 
 Notes . '. o . 231 
 
 Glossary 244 
 
 \ 
 Appendix : 
 
 Helps to Study 251 
 
 Theme Subjects " •/ ^^^ 
 
 Selections for Class Heading . . / 257 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 When, in 1825, Francis Jeffrey, Editor of the 
 Edinhiirgh Review^ searching for *'some clever 
 
 l.MacaulaysAd-y^^^g.^ian ^^^ WOuld WritC for 
 
 vent in the Edin- lis, "laid his hands iipon Thomas 
 burgh Review, g^bington Macaulaj, he did not 
 know that he was marking a red-letter day in the 
 calendar of English journalism. Through the two 
 decades and more of its existence, the Revieio had 
 gone on serving its patrons with tne respectable 
 dulness of Lord Brougham and the respectable 
 vivacity of its editor, and the patrons had appar- 
 ently dreamed of nothing better until the 
 momentous August when the young Fellow of 
 Trinity, not yet twenty-five, flashed upon its pages 
 with his essay on Milton. And for the next two 
 decades the essays that followed from the same pen 
 became so far the mainstay of the magazine that 
 booksellers declared it *'sold, or did not sell, 
 according as there were, or were not, articles by 
 Mr. Macaulay." Yet Jeffrey was not without 
 some inkling of the significance of the event, for 
 upon receipt of the first manuscript he wrote to its 
 author the words so often quoted: "The more I 
 think, the less I can conceive where you picked 
 
 15 
 
16 MACAULAY'S ESSA'SH 
 
 np that style." Thus early was the finger of 
 criticism pointed toward the one thing that has 
 always been most conspicuously associated with 
 Macanlay's name. 
 
 English prose, at this date, was still clinging to 
 
 the traditions of its measured eighteenth-century 
 
 stateliness. But the life had 
 
 2. Effect on Proso. 
 
 nearly gone out of it, and the 
 formalism which sat so elegantly upon Addison 
 and not uneasily upon Johnson had stiffened into 
 pedantry, scarcely relieved by the awkward 
 attempts of the younger journalists to give it spirit 
 and freedom. It was this languishing prose which 
 Macaulay, perhaps more than any other one writer, 
 deserves the credit of rejuvenating with that 
 wonderful something which Jeffrey was pleased 
 to call "style." Macaulay himself would certainly 
 have deprecated the association of his fame with a 
 mere synonym for rhetoric,^ and we should be 
 wronging him if we did not hasten to add that 
 style, rightly understood, is a very large and 
 significant thing, comprehending, indeed, a man's 
 whole intellectual and emotional attitude toward 
 those phases of life with which he comes into con- 
 tect. It is the man's manner of reacting upon the 
 world, his manner of expressing himself to the 
 world ; and the world has little beyond the man- 
 ner of a man's expression by which to judge of the 
 man himself. But a good style, even in its nar- 
 row sense of a good command of language, of a 
 
INTRODUCTION < 17 
 
 masterly and individual manner of presenting 
 thought, is yet no mean accomplishment, and if 
 Macaulay had done nothing else than revivify 
 English prose, which is, just possibly, his most 
 enduring achievement, he would have little reason 
 to complain. AYhat he accomplished in this 
 direction and how, it is our chief purpose here to 
 explain. In the meantime we shall do well to 
 glance at his other achievements and take some 
 note of his equipment. 
 
 Praed has left this description of him: **There 
 
 came up a short, manly figure, marvelously upright, 
 
 with a bad neckcloth, and one 
 
 3. The Man. ^ -, . ■, . 
 
 hand m his waistcoat-pocket. 
 We read here, easily enough, brusqueness, pre- 
 cision without fastidiousness, and self-confidence. 
 These are all prominent traits of the man, and 
 they all show in his work. Add kindness and 
 moral rectitude, which scarcely show there, and 
 humor, which shows only in a somewhat unpleasant 
 light, and you have a fair portrait. Now these are 
 manifestly the attributes of a man who knows 
 what worldly comfort and physical well-being are, 
 a man of good digestive and assimilative powers,' 
 well-fed, incapable of worry, born to succeed. 
 
 In truth, Macaulay was a man of remarkable 
 vitality and energy, and though he died too early 
 — at the beginning of his sixtieth year — he began 
 his work young and continued it with almost 
 unabated vigor to the end. But his **work" (as 
 
18 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 we are in the habit of naming that which a man 
 ioaves behind him), volnminous as it is, represents 
 only one side of his activity. There was the 
 early-assumed burden of repairing his father's 
 broken fortunes, and providing for the family of 
 younger brothers and sisters. The burden, it is 
 true, was assumed with characteristic cheerfulness 
 — it could not destroy for him the worldly comfort 
 we have spoken of — but it entailed heavy responsi- 
 bilities for a young man. It forced him to seek 
 salaried positions, such as the post of commissioner 
 of bankruptcy, when he might have been more 
 congenially employed. Then there were the many 
 years spent in the service of the government as a 
 Whig member of the House of Commons and as 
 Cabinet Minister during the exciting period of the 
 Heform Bill and the Anti-Corn-Law League, with 
 all that such service involved — study of politics, 
 canvassing, countless dinners, public ^nd private, 
 speech-making in Parliament and out, reading and 
 making reports, endless committee meetings, end- 
 less sessions. There Avere the three years and a 
 half spent in India, drafting a penal code. And 
 there was, first and last, the acquisition of the 
 knowledge that made possible this varied activity, 
 — the years at the University, the study of law and 
 jurisprudence, the reading, not of books, but of 
 entire national literatures, the ransacking of 
 libraries and the laborious deciphering of hundreds 
 of manuscripts in the course of historical 
 
INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 xesearch. Perhaps we fall into Macaulay's trick 
 of exaggeration, but it is not easy to exaggerate the 
 mental feats of a man who could carry in his 
 memory works like Paradise Lost and Pilgrim'' s 
 Progress and who was able to put it on record 
 that in thirteen months he had read thirty clas- 
 sical authors, most of them entire and many, of 
 them twice, and among them such voluminous 
 writers as Euripides, Herodotus, Plato', Plutarch, 
 Livy, and Cicero. Nor was the classical literature 
 a special field; Italian, Spanish, French, and the 
 Avildernesses of the English drama and the Eng- 
 lish novel (not excluding the "trashy") were al] 
 explored. We may well be astounded that the 
 man who could do all these things in a lifetime 
 of moderate compass, and who was besides such a 
 tireless pedestrian that he was "forever on his feet 
 indoors as well as out," could find time to produce 
 so much literature of his own. 
 
 That literature — so to style the body of work 
 
 which has survived him — divides itself into at least 
 
 five divisions. There are, first, 
 
 4. His Work. , -r^ i . i i t \ 
 
 the Essays, which he produced 
 at intervals all through life. There are the 
 Speeches which were delivered on the floor of 
 Parliament between his first election in 1830 and 
 Ms last in 1852, and which rank very high in that 
 grade of oratory which is just below the highest. 
 There is the Indian Penal Code, not altogether his 
 own work and not literature of course, yet praised 
 
20 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 by Justice Stephen as one of the most remarkable 
 and satisfactory instruments of its kind ever 
 drafted. There are the Poems, published in 
 1842, adding little to his fame and not a great 
 deal to English literature, yet very respectable 
 achievements in the field of the modern romantic 
 ballad. Finally, there is the unfinished Historj; of 
 England from the Accession of James the Second, 
 his last, his most ambitious, and probably, all 
 things considered, his most successful work. 
 
 The History and Essays comprise virtually all of 
 this product that the present generation cares to 
 6. History of read. Upon the History, indeed, 
 England. Macaulay staked his claim to 
 future remembrance, regarding it as the great work 
 of his life. He was exceptionally well equipped 
 for the undertaking. He had such a grasp of uni- 
 versal history as few men have been able to secure, 
 and a detailed knowledge of the period of English 
 history under contemplation equalled by none. 
 But he del?.yed the undertaking too long, and he 
 allowed his time and energy to be dissipated in 
 obedience to party calls. Death overtook him in 
 the midst of his labors. Even thus, it is clear 
 that he underestimated the magnitude of the task 
 he had set himself. Eor he proposed to cover a 
 period of nearly a century and a half; the four 
 volumes and a fraction which he completed actually 
 cover about fifteen years. His plan involved too 
 much detail. It has boon railed pictorial history 
 
INTRODUCTION 21 
 
 writing, and such it was. History was to be as 
 vital and as human as romance. It was to be in 
 every sense a restorai ion of the life of the past. 
 Macaulay surely succeeded in this aim, as his 
 fascinating third chapter will always testify; 
 whetiier the aim were a laudable one, we cannot 
 stop here to discuss. Historians wtll continue to 
 point out the defects of the work, its diffu^eness, 
 its unphilosophical character, perhaps its partisan 
 spirit. But it remains a magnificent fragment, and 
 it will be read by thousands who could never be 
 persuaded to look into dryer though possibly 
 sounder works. Indeed, there is no higher tribute 
 to its greatness than the objection that has some- 
 times been brought against it, namely, that it 
 treats a comparatively unimportant era of Eng- 
 land's history with such fulness and brilliance, and 
 has attracted to it so many readers, that the other 
 erfls are thrown sadly out of perspective. 
 
 But Macaulay's name is popularly associated 
 
 with that body of Essays which in bulk alone 
 
 (always excepting Sainte- 
 
 6. Essays. -o ,\ i ^ A 
 
 Beuve s) are scarcely exceeded 
 by the product of any other essay-writer in an 
 essay-writing age. And the popular judgmenx 
 which has insisted upon holding to this sup- 
 posedly ephemeral work is not far wrong. With 
 all their faults upon them, until we have something 
 better in kind to replace them, we cannot consent 
 to let them go. In one sense, their range is not 
 
22 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 wide, for they fall naturally into but two divisions, 
 the historical and the critical. To these Mr. 
 Morison would add a third, the controversial, 
 comprising the four essays on Mill, Sadler, 
 Southey, and Gladstone ; but these are comparatively 
 unimportant. In another sense, however, their 
 range is very 'wide. For each one gathers about a 
 central subject a mass of details that in the hands 
 of any other writer would be bewildering, while 
 the total knowledge that supports the bare arrays 
 of fact and perpetual press of allusions betrays a 
 scope that, to the ordinary mind, is quite beyond 
 comprehension. 
 
 And the more remarkable must this work appear 
 when we consider the manner of its production. 
 Most of the essays were published anonymously in 
 the Edinhurgli Revieio, a few early ones in 
 Knight's Quarterly Magazine, five (those on 
 Atterbury, Bunyan^ Goldsmith, Johnson, and 
 Pitt), written late in life, in the Encyclopcedia- 
 Britannica. The writing of them v^as always an 
 avocation with Macaulay, never a vocation. Those 
 produced during his parliamentary life were usually 
 .written in the hours between early rising and 
 Dreakfast. Some were composed at a distance 
 from his books. He scarcely dreamed of their 
 living beyond the quarter of their publication, cer- 
 tainly not beyond the generation for whose enter- 
 tainment they were written with all the devices to 
 oatch applause and all the disregard of permanent 
 
INTRODUCTION 23 
 
 merit which writing for such r. purpose invites. 
 He could scarcely be induced, even after they were 
 pirated and republished in America, to reissue 
 them in a collected edition, with his revision and 
 under his name. These facts should be remem- 
 bered in mitigation of the severe criticism to which 
 they are sometimes subjected. 
 
 Between the historical and the critical essays we 
 are not called upon to decide, though the decision 
 is by no means difficult. Macaulay was essentially 
 a historian, a story-teller, and the historical essay, 
 or short monograph on the events of a single period 
 that usually group themselves about some great 
 statesman or soldier, he made peculiarly his .own. 
 He did not invent it, as Mr. Morison points out, 
 but he expanded and improved it until he "left it 
 complete and a thing of power." Fully a score of 
 his essays — more than half the total number — are 
 of this description, the most and the best of them 
 dealing with English history. Chief among them 
 are the essays on Hallam, Temple, the Pitts, Clive, 
 and Warren Hastings. The critical essays — upon 
 Johnson, Addison, Bunyan, and other men of 
 letters — are in every way as admirable reading as 
 the historical. They must take a lower rank only 
 because Macaulay lacked some of the prime 
 requisites of a successful critic — broad and deep 
 sympathies, refined tastes, and nice perception of 
 the more delicate tints and shadings thai count for 
 almost everything in a work of hif^h art. His 
 
^4 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 critical judgments are likely to be blunt, positive, 
 and superficial. But they are never actually shal- 
 low and rarely without a modicum of truth. And 
 they are never uninteresting. For, true to his 
 narrative instinct, he always interweaves biog- 
 raphy. And besides, the essays have the same 
 rhetorical qualities that mark with distinction 
 all the prose he has written, that is to say, the 
 same masterly method and the same compelling 
 style. It is to this method and style, that, after 
 our rapid review of Macaulay's aims and accom- 
 plishments, we are now ready to turn. 
 
 There were two faculties of Macaulay's mind 
 that set his work far apart from other work in 
 
 7. Organizing the samc field — the faculties of 
 Faculty. organization and illustration. 
 He saw things in their right relation and he knew 
 how to make others see them thus. If he was 
 describing, he never thrust minor details into the 
 foreground. If he was narrating, he never "got 
 ahead of his story." The importance of this is not 
 sufficiently recognized. Many writers do not know 
 what organization means. They do not know that 
 in all great and successful literary work it is nine- 
 tenths of the labor. Y'et consider a moment. 
 History is a very complex thing: diners events may 
 be simultaneous in their occurrence ; or one crisis 
 may be slowly evolving from many causes in many 
 places. It is no light task to tell these things one 
 after another and yet leave a unified impression, to 
 
INTRODUCTION 25 
 
 
 
 take np a dozen new threads in succession without 
 tangling them and without losing the old ones, and 
 to lay them all down at the right moment and 
 without confusion. Such is the narrator's task, 
 and it was at this task that Macaulay proved him- 
 self a past master. He could dispose of a number 
 of trivial events in a single sentence. Thus, for 
 example, runs his account of the dramatist 
 Wycherley's naval career: "He embarked, was 
 present at a battle, and celebrated it, on his 
 return, in a copy of verses too bad for the bell- 
 man." On the other hand, when it is a question 
 of a great crisis, like the impeachment of Warren 
 Hastings, he knew how to prepare for it with 
 elaborate ceremony and to portray it in a scene of 
 the highest dramatic power. 
 
 This faculty of organization shows itself in what 
 we technically name structure; and logical and 
 rhetorical structure may be studied at their very best 
 in his work. His essays are perfect units, made 
 up of many parts, systems within systems, that 
 play together without clog or friction. You can 
 take them apart like a watch and put them 
 together again. But try to rearrange the parts and 
 the mechanism is spoiled. Each essay has its 
 subdivisions, which in turn are groups of para- 
 graphs. And each paragraph is a unit. Take the 
 first paragraph of the essay on Milton : the word 
 ma7iuscript appears in the first sentence, and it 
 reappears in the last ; clearly the paragraph deals 
 
26 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 with a single very definite topic. And so with all. 
 Of course the unity manifests itself in a hundred 
 ways, but it is rarely wanting. Most frequently it 
 takes the form of an expansion of a topic given in 
 the first sentence, or a preparation for a topic to 
 be announced only in the last. These initial and 
 final sentences — often in themselves both aphoristic 
 and memorable — serve to mark with the utmost 
 clearness the different stages in the progi'ess of the 
 essay. 
 
 Illustration is of more incidental service, but as 
 used by Macaulay becomes highly organic. For 
 
 8. luustrating bis illustratious are not far- 
 Facuity. fetched or laboriously worked 
 out. They seem to be of one piece with his story 
 or his argument. His mind was quick to detect re- 
 semblances and analogies. He was ready with a 
 comparison for everything, sometimes with half a 
 dozen. For example, Addison's essays, he has 
 occasion to say, were different every day of the week, 
 and yet, to his mind, each day like something — 
 like Horace, like Lucian, like the "Tales of 
 Scheherezade. " He draws long comparisons 
 between Walpole and Townshend, between Con- 
 greve and Wycherley, between Essex and Villiers, 
 between the fall of the Carlovingians and the fall 
 of the Moguls. He follows up a general statement 
 with swarms of instances. Have historians been 
 given to exaggerating the villainy of Machiavelli? 
 Macaulay can name you half a dozen who did so. 
 
INTRODUCTION 27 
 
 Did the writers of Charles's faction delight in mak- 
 ing their opponents appear contemptible? "They 
 have told us that Pym broke down in a speech, 
 that Ireton had his nose pulled by Hollis, that the 
 Earl of Northumberland cudgelled Henry Marten, 
 that St. John's manners were sullen, that Vane 
 had an ugly face, that Cromwell had a red nose." 
 Do men fail when they quit their own province for 
 another? Newton failed thus ; Bentley failed ; Inigo 
 Jones failed ; Wilkie failed. In the same way he 
 was ready with quotations. He writes in one of 
 his letters: *'It is a dangerous thing for a man 
 with a very strong memory to read very much. I 
 could give you three or four quotations this 
 moment in support of that proposition ; but I will 
 bring the vicious propensity under subjection, if I 
 can." Thus we see his mind doing instantly and 
 involuntarily what other minds do with infinite 
 pains, bringing together all things that have a 
 likeness or a common bearing. 
 
 Both of these faculties, for organization and for 
 
 illustration, are to be partially explained by his 
 
 marvelous memory. As we have 
 
 9. Memory. *^ 
 
 seen, he read everything, and he 
 seems to have been incapable of forgetting any- 
 thing. The immense advantage which this gave 
 him over other men is obvious. He who carries 
 his library in his mind wastes no time in turning 
 up references. And surveying the whole field of 
 his knowledge at once, with outlines and details 
 
28 MACAL^LAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 all in immediate range, lie should be able to see 
 things in their natural perspective. Of course it 
 does not follow that a great memory will always 
 enable a man to systematize and synthesize, but it 
 should make it easier for its possessor than for other 
 men, while the power of ready illustration which 
 it affords him is beyond question. 
 
 It is precisely these talents that set Macaulay 
 among the simplest and clearest of writers, and 
 
 10. Clearness and that aCCOUUt for mucll of his 
 
 Simplicity. popularity. People found that in 
 taking up one of his articles they simply read on 
 and on, never puzzling over the meaning of a 
 sentence, getting the exact force of every state- 
 ment, and following the trend of thought with 
 scarcely a mental effort. And his natural gift of 
 making things plain he took pains to support by 
 various devices. He constructed his sentences 
 after the simplest normal fashion, subject and 
 verb and object, sometimes inverting for emphasis, 
 but rarely complicating, and always reducing 
 expression to the barest terms. He could write, 
 for example, "One advantage the chaplain had," 
 but it is impossible to conceive of his writing, 
 *'Now amid all the discomforts and disadvantages 
 with which the unfortunate chaplain was sur- 
 rounded, there was one thing which served to offset 
 them, and which, if he chose to take the oppor_ 
 tunity of enjoying it, might well be regarded as a 
 positive advantage." One will search his pages in 
 
INTRODUCTION 29 
 
 vain -for loose, trailing clauses and involved con- 
 structions. His vocabulary was of the same simple 
 nature. He had a complete command of ordinary 
 English and contented himself with that. He 
 rarely ventured beyond the most abridged diction- 
 ary. An occasional technical term might be re- 
 quired, but he was shy of the unfamiliar. He 
 would coin ,no words and he would use no 
 archaisms. Foreign words, when fairly naturalized, 
 he employed sparingly. "We shall have no dis- 
 putes about diction," he wrote to Napier, Jeffrey's 
 successor; "the English language is not so poor 
 but that I may very well find in it the means of 
 contenting both you and myself." 
 
 Now all of these things are wholly admirable, 
 
 and if they constituted the sum total of Macaulay's 
 
 method, as they certainly do con- 
 
 11. Force. . . n . » „ , « -, 
 
 stitute the chief features of it, we 
 should pass our word of praise, and have done. 
 But he did not stop here, and often, unfortun- 
 ately too of ten, these things are not thought of at 
 all by those who profess to speak knowingly of his 
 wonderful "style." For in addition to clearness he 
 sought also force, an entirely legitimate object in 
 itself and one in which he was merely giving way to 
 his oratorical or journalistic instinct. Only, his 
 fondness for effect led him too far and into various 
 mannerisms, some of which it is quite impossible 
 to approve. There is no question that they are 
 powerfully effective, as they were meant to be. 
 
30 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 often rightly so, and they are exceedingly interest- 
 ing to study, but for these very reasons the student 
 needs to be warned against attaching to them an 
 undue importance. 
 
 Perhaps no one will quarrel with his liking for 
 
 the specific and the concrete. This indeed is not 
 
 mannerism. It is the natural 
 
 12. Concreteness. . . . 
 
 working of the imag,inative mind, 
 of the picturing faculty, and is of the utmost value 
 in forceful, vivid writing. The "ruffs and peaked 
 beards of Theobald's" make an excellent passing 
 allusion to the social life of the time of Queen 
 Elizabeth and James the First. The manoeuvres 
 of an army become intensely interesting when we 
 see it "pouring through those wild passes which, 
 worn by mountain torrents and dark with jungle, 
 lead down from the table-land of Mysore to the 
 plains of the Carnatic." A reference to the 
 reputed learning of the English ladies of the six- 
 teenth century is most cunningly put in the picture 
 of "those fair pupils of Ascham and Aylmer who 
 compared, over their embroidery, the styles of 
 Isocrates and Lysias, and who, while the horns 
 were sounding, and the dogs in full cry, sat in the 
 lonely oriel, with eyes riveted to that immortal 
 page which tells how meekly the first great martyr 
 of intellectual liberty took the cup from his Aveep- • 
 ing gaoler." But when his eagerness for the con- 
 cretely picturesque leads him to draw a wholly 
 imaginary picture of how it may have come ^bout 
 
INTRODUCTION 31 
 
 that Addison had Steele arrested for debt, we are 
 quite ready to protest. 
 
 His tendency to exaggerate, moreover, and his 
 
 love of paradox, belong in a very different 
 
 category. Let the reader count 
 
 13. Exaggeration. ^ , '^ / ^ , . 
 
 the strong words, superlatives, 
 universal propositions, and the like, employed in a 
 characteristic passage, and he will understand at 
 once what is meant. In the essay on Frederic the 
 Great we read: *'No sovereign has ever taken 
 possession of a throne by a clearer title. All the 
 politics of the Austrian cabinet had, during twenty 
 years, been dhected to one single end — the settle- 
 ment of the succession. From every person whose 
 rights could be considered as injuriously affected, 
 renunciations in the most solemn form had been 
 obtained." And not content with the ordinary 
 resources of language, he has a trick of raising 
 superlativ^es themselves, as it were, to the second 
 or third power. "There can be little doubt that 
 this great empire was, even in its best days, far 
 worse governed than the worst governed parts of 
 Europe now are." "What the Italian is to the 
 Englishman, what the Hindoo is to the Italian, 
 what the Bengalee is to other Hindoos, that was 
 Nuncomar to other Bengalees." It is evident that 
 this habit is a positive vice. He tried to excuse it 
 on the ground that there is some inevitable loss in 
 the communication of a fact from one mind to 
 another, and that over -statement is necessary to 
 
S2 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 correct the error. But the argument is fallacious. 
 Macaulay did not have a monopoly ot the imagi- 
 native faculty: other men are as much given to 
 exaggeration as he, and stories, as they pass from 
 mouth to mouth, invariably "grow." 
 
 His constant resort to antithesis to point his 
 statements is another vice. "That government," 
 14. Antithesis and he writes of the English rule in 
 Balance. India, "opprcssivo as the most 
 oppressive form of barbarian despotism, was strong 
 with all the strength of civilization." Again: 
 "The Puritan had affected formality; the comic 
 poet laughed at decorum. The Puritan had 
 frowned at innocent diversions; the comic poet 
 took under his patronage the most flagitious 
 excesses. The Puritan had canted; the comic 
 poet blasphemed." And so on, through a para- 
 graph. Somewhat similar to this is his practice of 
 presenting the contrary of a statement before pre- 
 senting the statement itself, of telling us, for 
 example, what might have been expected to happen 
 before telling us what actually did happen. It is 
 to be noticed that, accompanying this use of 
 antithesis and giving it added force, there is 
 usually a balance of form, that is, a more or less 
 exact correspondence of sentence structure. Given 
 one of Macaulay 's sentences presenting the first 
 part of an antithesis, it is sometimes possible to 
 foretell, word for word, what the next sentence 
 will be. Such mechanical \^Titincr is cortainlv not 
 
INTRODUCTION 33 
 
 to be commended as a model of style. Of course 
 it is the abuse of these things and not the mere use 
 of them that constitutes Macaulay's vice. 
 
 There are still other formal devices which he 
 
 uses so freely that we are justified in calling them 
 
 mannerisms. One of the most 
 
 16. Minor Devices. . -it 
 
 conspicuous is the short sentence, 
 the blunt, unqualified statement of one thing at a 
 time. No one who knows Macaulay would hesitate 
 over the authorship of the following: "The shore 
 was rocky: the night was black: the wind was 
 furious : the waves of the Bay of Biscay ran high. ' ' 
 . The only wonder is that he did not punctuate it 
 with four periods. He would apparently much 
 rather repeat his subject and make a new sentence 
 than connect his verbs. Instead of writing, "lie 
 coaxed and wheedled," he is constantly tempted 
 to write, "He coaxed, he wheedled," even though 
 the practice involves prolonged reiteration of one 
 form. The omission of connectives — ^rhetorical 
 "asyndeton" — becomes itself a vice. The ands^ 
 tJiens^ there/ores^ lioiuevers^ the reader must supply 
 for himself. This demands alertness and helps to 
 sustain interest; and while it may occasion a 
 momentary perplexity, it will rarely do so when the 
 reader comes to know the style and to read it with 
 the right swing. But it all goes to enforce what 
 Mr. John Morley calls the "unlovely staccato" of 
 the style. It strikes harsh on the ear and on the 
 brain, and from a piquant stimulant becomes an 
 
34 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 intolerable weariness. Separate things get 
 emphasis, but the nice gradations and relations ar< 
 sacrificed. 
 
 After all, though we stigmatize these things as 
 ** devices," intimating that they were mechanical 
 and arbitrary, we must res^wc 
 
 16. Dogrmatism. "^ \ ° 
 
 them as partly temperamental. 
 Macaulay's mind was not subtle in its working and 
 was not given to making nice distinctions. H( 
 cared chiefly for bold outlines and broad effects. 
 Truth, to his mind, was sharply defined from false- 
 hood, right from wrong, good from evil. Every- 
 thing could be divided from everything else, 
 labeled, and pigeon-holed. And he was very 
 certain, in the fields which he chose to enter, that 
 he knew where to draw the dividing lines. Posi- 
 tiveness, self-confidence, are written all over his 
 work. Set for a moment against his method the 
 method of Matthew Arnold. This is how Arnold 
 tries to point out a defect in modern English 
 society: "And, owing to the same causes, doco 
 not a subtle criticism lead us to make, even on the 
 good looks and politeness of onr aristocratic class, 
 and even of. the most fascinating half of that class, 
 the feminine half, the one qualifying remark, that 
 in these charming gifts there should perhaps be, 
 for ideal perfection, a shade more soul?'''' l^ote 
 the careful approach, the constant, anxious qualifi- 
 cation, working up to a climax in the almost 
 painful hesitation of "a shade — more — soul.^^ 
 
INTRODUCTION 35 
 
 Imagine, if you can, Macaulay, the rongh rider, 
 he of the "stamping emphasis," winding into a 
 truth like that. But indeed it is quite impossible 
 to imagine Macaulay 's having any truth at all to 
 enunciate about so ethereal an attribute as this 
 same soul. 
 
 We have come well into the region of Macau] ay's 
 defects. Clearness, we have seen, he had in a 
 
 17. Ornament, remarkable degree. Force he also 
 Rhythm. [^^^^ jj^ g^ remarkable degree, 
 though he frequently abused the means of display- 
 ing it. But genuine beauty, it is scarcely too 
 much to say, he had not at all. Of course, much 
 depends upon our definitions. We do not mean to 
 deny to his wi'itings all elements of charm. The 
 very ease of his mastery over so many resources of 
 composition gives pleasure to the reader. His 
 frequent picturesqueness we have granted. He 
 can be genuinely figurative, though his figures 
 often incline to showiness. And above all he has 
 a certain sense for rhythm. He can write long, 
 sweeping sentences — periods that rise and descend 
 with the feeling, and that come to a stately or 
 graceful close. The sentence cited above about 
 the learning of women in the sixteenth century 
 may be taken as an example. Or read the sketch 
 of the Catholic Church in the third paragraph of 
 the essay on Von Eanke's History of the Popes, or 
 the conclusion of the essay on Lord Holland, or 
 better still the conclusion of the somewhat juvenile 
 
36 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 essay on Mitford's Greece, with its glowing trib- 
 ute to Athens and its famous picture of the "single 
 naked fisherman washing his nets in the river of 
 the" ten thousand masts." But at best it is the 
 rhythm of mere declamation, swinging and 
 pompous. There is no fine flowing movement, 
 nothing like the entrancing glides of a waltz or the 
 airy steps of a minuet, but only a steady march to 
 the interminable and monotonous beat of the 
 drum. For real music, sweetness, subtle and 
 involved harmony, lingering cadences, we turn to 
 any one of a score of prose writers — Sir Thomas 
 Browne, Addison, Burke, Lamb, De Quincey, Haw- 
 thorne, Euskin, Pater, Stevenson — before we turn 
 to Macaulay. Nor is there any other mere grace 
 of composition in which he can be said to excel. 
 
 There is no blame in the matter. We are only 
 trying to note dispassionately the defects as well 
 
 18. Tempera- as the excellenccs of a man who 
 
 mental Defects, ^g^g -j^q^ ^ uuivcrsal gCuiuS. It 
 
 would be easy to point out much greater defects 
 than any yet mentioned, defects that go deeper 
 than style. One or two indeed we are obliged to 
 mention. There is the strain of coarseness often 
 to be noted in his wTiting, showing itself now in an 
 abusive epithet, now in a vulgar catch -word, now 
 in a sally of humor bordering on the ribald. It is 
 never grossly offensive, but it is none the less 
 wounding to a delicate sensibility. Then there is 
 the Philistine attitude, which Mr. Arnold spent su 
 
INTRODUCTION 37 
 
 much of his life in combating, the attitude of the 
 complacent, self-satisfied Englishman, who sees in 
 the British constitution and the organization of the 
 British empire the best of all possible governments, 
 and in the material and commercial progress of the 
 age the best of all possible civilizations. And 
 there is the persistent refusal to treat questions of 
 really great moral significance upon any kind of 
 moral basis. The absolute right or wrong of an 
 act Macaulay will avoid discussing if he possibly 
 can, and take refuge in questions of policy, of sheer 
 profit and loss. We shall not blame him severely 
 for even these serious shortcomings. On the first 
 point we remember that he was deliberately play- 
 ing to his audience, consciously writing down to 
 the level of his public. On the second we realize 
 that he was a practical politician and that he never 
 could have been such with the idealism of a Car- 
 lyle or a Euskin. And on the third we remember 
 that his own private life was one of affectionate 
 sacrifice and his public life absolutely stainless. 
 He could vote away his own income when moral 
 conviction demanded it. Besides, even when 
 he was only arguing, **policy" was always on the 
 side of the right. What blame is left? Only, 
 this — that he should have pandered to any 
 public, compromising his future fame for an 
 ephemeral applause, and that he should have so far 
 wronged the mass of his readers as to suppose that 
 arguments based upon policy would be more 
 
38 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 acceptable to them than arguments based upon 
 sound moral principles. That he was something of 
 a Philistine and not wholly a "child of light," may- 
 be placed to his discount but not to his discredit. 
 The total indictment is small and is mentioned 
 here only in the interests of impartial criticism. 
 
 It remains only to sum up the literary signifi- 
 cance of Macaulay's work. Nearly all of that 
 19. Literary work, WO must remember, lies 
 Significance, outside of the field of what we 
 know as "pure literature." Pure literature — 
 poetry, drama, fiction — is a pure artistic or imagi- 
 native product with entertainment as its chief aim. 
 Though it may instruct incidentally, it does not 
 merely inform. It is the work of creative genius. 
 Macaulay's essays were meant to inform. Char- 
 acters and situations are delineated in them, but 
 not created. History and criticism are often not 
 literature at all. They become literature only 
 by revealing an imaginative insight and clothing 
 themselves in artistic form. Macaulay's essays 
 have done this ; they engage the emotions as well 
 as the intellect. They were meant for records, 
 for storehouses of information ; but they are also 
 Tj^orks of art, and therefore they live intact while 
 the records of equally industrious but leSs gifted 
 historians are revised and replaced. Thus by their 
 artistic quality, style in a word, they are removed 
 from the shelves of history to the shelves of litera- 
 ture. 
 
INTRODUCTION 39 
 
 It becomes plain, perhaps, why at the outset we 
 spoke of style. One hears little about Shaks- 
 pere's style, or Scott's, or Shelley's. Where there 
 are matters of larger interest — character, dra- 
 matic situations, ' passion, lofty conceptions, 
 abstract truth^there is little room for attention to 
 so superficial a quality, or rather to a quality that 
 has some such superficial aspects. But in the 
 work of less creative writers, a purely lit'erary inter- 
 est, if it be aroused at all, must centre chiefly in 
 this. And herein lies Macaulay's significance to 
 the literary world to-day. 
 
 Upon the professional writers of that world, 
 
 as distinct from the readers, his influence has been 
 
 20. Influence on uo Icss than profouud, partly for 
 
 Journalism. ^^^1^ -^^^ chicfly, wc think (Mr. 
 
 Morley notwithstanding), for good. His name 
 was mentioned at the beginning of our sketch in 
 connection with journalism. It is just because 
 the literary development of our age has moved so 
 rapidly along this line, that Macaulay's influence 
 has been so far-reaching. The journalist must 
 have an active pen. He cannot indulge in medi- 
 tation while the ink dries. He cannot stop to 
 arrange and rearrange his ideas, to study the 
 cadence of his sentences, to seek for the unique or 
 the suggestive word. What Macaulay did was to 
 furnish the model of just such a style as would 
 meet this need — ready, easy, rapid, yet ne er loose 
 or obscure. He seems to have found his vay by 
 
40 MACAULAY'S i:SSAYS 
 
 instinct to all those expedients which make writing 
 easy — short, direct sentences, commonplace words, 
 constant repetition and balance of form, adapted 
 quotations, and stock phrases from the Bible or 
 Prayer-Book or from the language of the profes- 
 sions, politics, and trade. This style he impressed 
 upon a generation of journalists that was ready to 
 receive it and keenly alive to its value. 
 
 The word journalist is scarcely broad enough to 
 cover the class of writers here meant. For the 
 class includes, in addition to the great "press 
 tribe" from editor to reporter and reviewer, every 
 writer of popular literature, every one who appeals 
 to a miscellaneous public, who undertakes to 
 make himself a medium between special intelli- 
 gence and general intelligence. And there are 
 thousands of these writers to-day — in editorial 
 chairs, on magazine staffs, on political, educa- 
 tional, and scientific commissions — who are con- 
 sciously or unconsciously employing the convenient 
 instrument which Macaulay did so much toward 
 perfecting seventy-five years ago. The evidence 
 is on every hand. One listens to a lecture by a 
 scientist who, it is quite possible, never read a 
 paragraph of Macaulay, and catches, before long, 
 words like these: "There is no reversal of 
 nature's processes. The world has come from a 
 condition of things essentially different from the 
 present. It is moving toward a condition of things 
 essentially different from the present." Or one 
 
INTRODUCTION 41 
 
 turns to an editorial in a daily paper and reads 
 *'It will be ever thus with all the movements in 
 this country to which a revolutionary interpreta- 
 tion can be attached. The mass and body of the 
 people of the United States are a level-headed, 
 sober-minded people. They are an upright and a 
 solvent people. They love their government. 
 They are proud of their government. Its credit is 
 dear to them. Enlisted in its cause, party lines 
 sag loose upon the voters or disappear altogether 
 from their contemplation." The ear-marks are 
 very plain to see. 
 
 We would not 'make the mistake of attributing 
 too many and too large effects to a single cause. 
 Life and art are very complex matters and the 
 agencies at work are quite beyond our calculation. 
 There is always danger of exaggerating the impor- 
 tance of a single influence. The trend of things is' 
 not easily disturbed — the history of the world never 
 yet turned upon the cast of a die or the length of a 
 woman's nose. In spite of Jeffrey's testimony — and 
 it cannot be lightly brushed aside — we are not ready 
 to give Macaulay the whole credit for inventing this 
 style. Nor do we believe that journalism would be 
 materially different from what it is to-day, even 
 though Macaulay had never written a line. But it 
 does not seem too much to admit that the first 
 vigorous impulse came from him and that the 
 manner is deservedly associated with his name. 
 
 In itself, as has been pointed out, it is not a 
 
42 MACAULAY'S ESS/YS 
 
 bep-ntiful thing. It is a thing of mannerisms, and 
 these we have not hesitated to call vices. From 
 the point of view of literature they are vices^ 
 blemishes on the face of true art. But the style 
 is useful none the less. The ready writer is not 
 concerned about beauty, he does not profess to be 
 an artist. He has intelligence to convey, and the 
 simplest and clearest medium is for his purpose the 
 best. He will continue to use this serviceable 
 medium nor trouble himself about its "unlovely 
 staccato" and its gaudy tinsel. Meanwhile the 
 literary artist may pursue his way in search of a 
 more elusive music and a more iridescent beauty, 
 satisfied with the tithe of Macaulay's popularity if 
 only he can attain to some measure of his own ideals. 
 
 But Macaulay himself should be remembered for 
 his real gi'eatness. The facile imitator of the 
 
 21. Real Great- tricks of his pcu sliould bcwarc 
 ness. of ^\^Q ingratitude of assuming 
 
 that these were the measure of his mind. These 
 vices are virtues in their place, but they are not 
 high virtues, and they are not the virtues that made 
 Macaulay great. His greatness lay in the qualities 
 that we have tried to insist upon from the first, 
 qualities that are quite beyond imitation, the power 
 of bringing instantly into one mental focus the accu- 
 mulations of a prodigious memory, and the range of 
 vision, the gi'asp of detail, and the insight into men, 
 measures, and events, that enabled him to reduce 
 to beautiful order the chaos of human history. 
 
CHRONOLOGY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 1800. Macaulay born, Oct. 35, at Rothley Temple, 
 
 Leicestershire. 
 1818. Entered Trinity College, Cambridge. (B. A., 
 
 1822; M. A., 1825.) 
 
 1823. Began contributing to Knight's Quarterly Maga- 
 
 zine. 
 
 1824. Elected Fellow of Trinity. 
 
 1825. Began contributing to Edinburgh Review. 
 
 1826. Called to the Bar. 
 
 1830. Entered Parliament. 
 
 1831. Speeches on Reform Bill. 
 
 1834. Went to India as member of the Supreme Coun- 
 cil. 
 
 1837. Indian Penal Code. 
 
 1838. Returned to England. Tour in Italy. 
 
 1839. Elected to Parliament for Edinburgh. Secretary 
 
 at War. 
 
 1842. Lays of Ancient Rome. 
 
 1843. Collected edition of Essays. 
 
 1848. History of England, vols. i. and ii. (Vols. iii. 
 
 and iv. 1855; vol. v. 1861.) 
 1852. Failure in health. 
 1857. Made Baron Macaulay of Rothley. 
 1859. Died Dec. 28. (Interred in Westminster Abbey. ) 
 The standard edition of Macaulay's works is that 
 edited by his sister, Lady Trevelyan, in eight volumes, 
 and published at London, 1866 ; reprinted at New York, 
 by Harper Bros. The authorized biography is that by his 
 nephew, G. O. Trevelyan, a book which is exceedingly 
 interesting and which takes high rank among English 
 
 43 
 
44 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 biographies. J. Cotter Morison's life in the English 
 Men of Letters series is briefer, is both biographical and 
 critical, and is in every way an admirable work. There 
 are also the articles in the EncyclopcBdia Britannica, by 
 Mark Pattison, and in the Dictionary of National 
 Biography, by Mr. Leslie Stephen. The best critical 
 essays are those by Mr. Leslie Stephen in Hours in a 
 Library, by Mr. John Morley in Miscellanies, and by 
 Walter Bagehot in Literary Studies, 
 
THE LIFE AND WETTINGS 
 OF ADDISON" 
 
 The Life of Joseph Addison. By Lucy Aikin. 2 vols., 
 8vo. London: 1843. ' . 
 
 Some reviewers are of opinion that a lady who 
 dares to publish a book renounces by that act the 
 franchises appertaining to her sex, and can claim 
 no exemption from the utmost rigor of critical 
 
 6 procedure. From that opinion we dissent. We 
 admit, indeed, that in a country which boasts of 
 many female wi'iters, eminently qualified by their 
 talents and acquirements to influence the public 
 mind, it would be of most pernicious consequence 
 
 10 that inaccurate history or unsound philosophy 
 should be suffered to pass uncensured, merely 
 because the offender chanced to be a lady. But 
 we conceive that, on such occasions, a critic would 
 do well to imitate the courteous knight who found 
 
 15 himself compelled by duty to keep the lists against 
 Bradamante. He, we are told, defended success- 
 fully the cause of which he was the champion ; but 
 before the fight began, exchanged Balisarda for a 
 
 45. 
 
46 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 less deadly sword, of which he carefully blunted 
 the point and edge. 
 
 Nor are the immunities of sex the only immu- 
 nities which Miss Aikin may rightfully plead. 
 Several of her works, and especially the very s 
 pleasing Memoirs of the Eeign of James the First, 
 have fully entitled her to the privileges enjoyed by 
 good writers. One of those privileges we hold to 
 be this, that such writers, Avhen, either from the 
 unlucky choice of a subject, or from the indo- lo 
 lence too .often produced by success, they happen to 
 fail, shall not be subjected to the severe discipline 
 which it is sometimes necessary to inflict upon 
 dunces and impostors, but shall merely be re- 
 minded by a gentle touch, like that with which 15 
 the Laputan flapper roused his dreaming lord, 
 that it is high time to wake. 
 
 Our readers will probably infer from what we 
 have said that Miss Aikin' s book has disappointed 
 us. The truth is, that she is not well acquainted 20 
 with her subject. 'No person who is not familiar 
 with the political and literary history of England 
 during the reigns of William the Third, of Anne, 
 and of George the First, can possibly write a good 
 life of Addison. Now, we mean no reproach to 25 
 Miss Aikin, and many will think that we pay her a 
 compliment, when we say that her studies have 
 taken a different direction. She is better acquainted 
 with Shakespeare and Ealeigh, than with Con- 
 greve and Prior ; and is far more at home among so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 47 
 
 the ruffs and peaked beards of Theobald's than- 
 among the Steenkirks and flowing periwigs which 
 surrounded Queen Anne's tea-table at Hampton. 
 She seems to have written about the Elizabethan 
 
 5 age, because she had read much about it; she 
 seems, on the other hand, to have read a little 
 about the age of Addison, because she had deter- 
 mined to write about it. The consequence is that 
 she has had to describe men and things without 
 
 10 having either a correct 'or a vivid idea of tliem, and 
 that she has often fallen into errors of a very 
 serious kind. The reputation w^hich Miss Aikin 
 has justly earned stands so high, and the charm of 
 Addison's letters is so gi-eat, that a second edition 
 
 15 of this work may probably be required. If so, we 
 hope that every paragraph will be revised, and 
 that every date and fact about which there can be 
 the smallest doubt will be carefully verified. 
 
 To Addison himself we are bound by a sentiment 
 
 20 as much like affection as any sentiment can be, 
 which is inspired by one who has been sleeping a 
 lumdred and twenty years in Westminster Abbey. 
 We trust, however, that this feeling will not betray 
 us into that abject idolatry which we have often 
 
 25 had occasion to reprehend in others, and which 
 seldom fails to make both the idolater and the idol 
 ridiculous. A man of genius and virtue is but a 
 man. All his powers cannot be equally developed*, 
 nor can we expect from him perfect self-knowl- 
 
 80 edge. We need not, therefore, hesitate to admit 
 
48 MACAU LAY'S ES&AiS 
 
 .that Addison has left ns some compositions which 
 do not rise ahove mediocrity, some heroic poems 
 hardly equal to Parnell's, some criticism as super- 
 ficial as Dr. Blair's, and a tragedy not very much 
 better than Dr. Johnson's. It is praise enough to 5 
 say of a writer that, in a high department of 
 literature, in which many eminent writers have 
 distinguished themselves, he has had no equal; 
 and this may with strict justice be said of Addison. 
 
 As a man, he may not have deserved the ado- lo 
 ration which he received from those who, bewitched 
 by his fascinating society, and indebted for all the 
 comforts of life to his generous and delicate friend- 
 ship, worshipped him nightly in his favorite temple 
 at Button's. But, after full inquiry and impartial 15 
 reflection, we have long been convinced that he 
 deserved as much love and esteem as can be justly 
 claimed by any of our infirm and erring race. 
 Some blemishes may undoubtedly be detected in his 
 character ; but the more carefully it is examined, 20 
 the more it will appear, to use the phrase of the old 
 anatomists, sound in the noble parts, free fiom all 
 taint of perfidy, of cowardice, of cruelty, of ingrati- 
 tude, of envy, Men may easily be named in whom 
 some particular good disposition has been more 25 
 conspicuous than in Addison. But the* just har- 
 mony of qualities, the exact temper between the 
 stern and the humane virtues, the habitual ob- 
 servance of every law, not only of moral rectitude, 
 but of moral grace and dignity, distinguish him so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 40 
 
 from all men who have been tried by equally 
 strong temptations, and about whose conduct we 
 possess equally full information. 
 
 His father was the Eeverend Lancelot Addison, 
 
 5 who, though eclipsed by his more celebrated son, 
 made some figure in the world, and occupies with 
 credit two folio pages in the Biographia Britan- 
 nica. Lancelot was sent up as a poor scholar from 
 Westmoreland to Queen's College, Oxford, in the 
 
 10 time of the Commonwealth; made some progress 
 in learning; became, like most of his fellow-stu- 
 dents, a violent Eoyalist ; lampooned the heads of 
 the university, and was forced to ask pardon on 
 his bended knees. When he had left college he 
 
 15 earned a humble subsistence by reading the liturgy 
 of the fallen church to the families of those sturdy 
 squires whose manor-houses were scattered over 
 the Wild of Sussex. After the Restoration his 
 loyalty was rewarded with the post of chaplain to 
 
 20 the garrison of Dunkirk. When Dunkirk was 
 sold to France he lost his employment. But 
 Tangier had been ceded by Portugal to England as 
 part of the marriage portion of the Infanta Cathar- 
 ine; and to Tangier Lancelot Addison was sent. 
 
 25 A more miserable situation can hardly be con- 
 ceived. It was difficult to say whether the unfortu- 
 nate settlers were more tormented by the heats or 
 by the rains, by the soldiers within the wall or by 
 the Moors without it. One advantage the chaplain 
 
 80 had. He enjoyed an excellent opportunity of 
 
50 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 studying the history and manners of Jews and 
 Mahometans; and of this opportunity he appears 
 to have made excellent use. On his return to , 
 England, after some years of banishment, he pub- 
 lished an interesting volume on the Polity and 5 
 Religion of Barbary, and another on the Hebrew 
 Customs and the State of Babbinicai Learning. 
 He rose to eminence in his profession, and became 
 one of the royal chaplains, a Doctor of Divinity, 
 Archdeacon of Salisbury, and Dean of Lichfield, lo 
 It is said that he would have been made a bishop 
 after the Revolution if he had not given offence to 
 the government by strenuously opposing, in the 
 Convocation of 1689, the liberal policy of William 
 and Tillotson. ^ is 
 
 In 1672, not long after Dr. Addison's return 
 from Tangier, his son Joseph was born. Of 
 Joseph's childhood we know little. He learned 
 his rudiments at schools in his father's neighbor- 
 hood, and was then sent to the Charter House. 20 
 The anecdotes which are popularly related about 
 his boyish tricks do not harmonize very well with 
 what we know of his riper years. There remains 
 a tradition that he was the ringleader in a barring 
 out, and another tradition that he ran away from 25 
 school and hid himself in a wood, where he fed on 
 berries and slept in a hollow tree, till after a long 
 search he was discovered and brought home. If 
 these stories be true, it would be curious to know 
 by what moral discipline so mutinous and enter- so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 51 
 
 prising a lad was transformed into the gentlest and 
 most modest of men. 
 
 We have abundant proof that, whatever Joseph's 
 pranks may have been, he pursued his studies 
 
 5 vigorously and successfully. At fifteen he was 
 not only fit for the university, but carried thither 
 a classical taste and a stock of learning which 
 would have done honor to a Master of Arts. He 
 was entered at Queen's College, Oxford; but he 
 
 10 had not been many months there when some of his 
 Latin verses fell by accident into the hands of Dr. 
 Lancaster, Dean of Magdalene College. The 
 young scholar's diction and versification were 
 already such as veteran professors might envy. 
 
 15 Dr. Lancaster was desirous to serve a boy of such 
 promise; nor was an opportunity long wanting. 
 The Revolution had just taken place ; and nowhere 
 had it been hailed with more delight than at 
 Magdalene College. That great and opulent cor- 
 
 20 poration had been treated by James and by his 
 chancellor with an insolence and injustice which, 
 even in such a prince and in such a minister, may 
 justly excite amazement, and which had done 
 more than even the prosecution of the bishops to 
 
 85 alienate the Church of England from the throne. 
 A president, duly elected, had been violently ex- 
 pelled from his dwelling: a Papist had been set 
 over the society by a royal mandate : the Fellows, 
 who, in conformity with their oaths', had refused 
 
 30 to submit to this usurper, had been driven forth 
 
52 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 from tlieir quiet cloisters and gardens, to die of 
 want or to live on charity. But the day of redress 
 and retribution speedily came. The intruders were 
 ejected : the venerable House was again inhabited 
 by its old inmates: learning flourished under the 5 
 rule of the wise and virtuous Hough; and with 
 learning Avas united a mild and liberal spirit too 
 often wanting in the princely colleges of Oxford. 
 In consequence of the troubles through which the 
 society had passed, there had been no valid elec- lo 
 tion of new members during the year 1688. In 
 1689, therefore, there was twice the ordinary num- 
 ber of vacancies ; and thus Dr. Lancaster found 
 it easy to procure for his young friend admittance 
 to the advantages of a foundation then generally 15 
 esteemed the wealthiest in Europe. 
 
 At Magdalene Addison resided during teh years. 
 He was at first one of those scliolars who are called 
 Demies, but was subsequently elected a fellow. 
 
 , His college is still proud of his name; his portrait 2{ 
 still hangs in the hall ; and strangers are still told 
 
 '^'^that his favorite walk was under the elms which 
 fringe the meadow on the banks of the Cherwell. 
 It is said, and is highly probable, that he was dis- 
 tinguished among his fellow-students by the deii- 25 
 cacy of his feelings, by the shyness of his manners, 
 and by the assiduity with which he often prolonged 
 his studies far into the night. It is certain that 
 his reputation for ability and learning stood high. 
 Many years later the ancient doctors of Magdalene 90 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 5^1 
 
 continued to talk in their common room of his 
 boyish compositions, and expressed their sorrow 
 that no copy of exercises so remarkable had been 
 preserved. It is proper, however, to remark that 
 
 5 Miss Aikin has committed the error, very par- 
 donable in a lady, of overrating Addison's classical 
 attainments. In one department of learning, 
 indeed, his proficiency was such as it is hardly pos- 
 sible to overrate. His knowledge of the Latin 
 
 10 poets, from Lucretius and Catullus down to Clau- 
 dian and Prudentius, was singularly exact and pro- 
 found. He understood them thoroughly, entered 
 into their spirit, and had the finest and most 
 discriminating perception of all their peculiarities 
 
 15 of style and melody ; nay, he copied their manner 
 with admirable skill, and surpassed, we think, all 
 their British imitators who had preceded him, 
 Buchanan and Milton alone excepted. This is high 
 praise ; and beyond this we cannot with justice go. 
 
 20 It is clear that Addison's serious attention during 
 his residence at the university was almost entirely 
 concentrated on Latin poetry, and that, if he did 
 not wholly neglect other provinces of ancient 
 literature, he vouchsafed to them only a cursory 
 
 25 glance. He does not appear to have attained more 
 than an ordinary acquaintance with the political 
 and moral writers of Eome; nor was his own 
 Latin prose by any means equal to his Latin verse. 
 His knowledge of Greek, though doubtless such as 
 
 80 was in his time thought respectable at Oxford, was 
 
54 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 evidently less than that which many lads now carry 
 away every year from Eton and Eugby. A mi- 
 nute examination of his works, if we had time to 
 make such an examination, would fully bear out 
 these remarks. We will briefly advert to a few of 8 
 the facts on which our judgment is grounded. 
 ^^ Great praise is due to the Notes which Addison 
 appended to his version of the second and third 
 books of the Metamorphoses. Yet those notes, 
 while they show him to have been, in his own lo 
 domain, an accomplished scholar, show also how 
 confined that domain was. They are rich in 
 apposite references to Virgil, Statins, and Clau- 
 dian; but they contain not a single illustration 
 drawn from the Greek poets. Now, if in the is 
 whole compass of Latin literature there be a pas- 
 sage which stands in need of illustration drawn 
 from the Greek poets, it is the story of Pentheus in 
 the third book of the Metamorphoses. Ovid was 
 indebted for that story to Euripides and Theoc- 20 
 ritus, both of whom he has sometimes followed 
 minutely. But neither to Euripides nor to Theoc- 
 ritus does Addison make the faintest allusion ; and 
 we, therefore, believe that we do not wrong him 
 by supposing that he had little or no knowledge of 35 
 their works. 
 
 His travels in Italy, again, abound with classical 
 quotations, happily introduced; but scarcely one 
 of those quotations is in prose. He draws more 
 illustrations from Ausonius and Manilius than from so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 55 
 
 Cicero. Even his notions of the political and mili- 
 tary affairs of the Romans seem to be derived from 
 poets and poetasters. Spots made memorable by 
 events which have changed the destinies of the 
 
 5 world, and which have been worthily recorded by 
 great historians, bring to his mind only scraps of 
 some ancient versifier. In the gorge of the Apen- 
 nines he naturally remembers the hardships which 
 Hannibal's army endured, and proceeds to cite, 
 
 10 not the authentic narrative of Poly bins, not the 
 picturesque narrative of Livy, but the languid 
 hexameters of Silius Italicus. On the banks of 
 the Rubicon he never thinks of Plutarch's lively 
 description, or of the s-tern conciseness of the 
 
 15 Commentaries, or of those letters to Atticus which 
 
 so forcibly express the alternations of hope and 
 
 fear in a sensitive mind at a great crisis. His only 
 
 authority for the events of the civil war is Lucan. 
 
 All the best ancient works of art at Rome and 
 
 20 Florence are Greek. Addison saw them, how- 
 ever, without recalling one single verse of Pindar, 
 of Callimachus, or of the Attic dramatists; but 
 they brought to his recollection innumerable pas- 
 sages of Horace, Juvenal, Statins, and Ovid. 
 
 25 The same may be said of the Treatise on 
 Medals In that pleasing work we find about 
 three hundred passages extracted with great judg- 
 ment from the Roman poets ; but we do not recol- 
 lect a single passage taken from any Roman orator 
 
 80 or historian ; and we are confident that not a lin© 
 
56 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 is quoted from any Greek writer. No person, who 
 had derived all his information on the subject of 
 medals from Addison, would suspect that the 
 Greek coins were in historical interest equal, and 
 in beauty of execution far superior, to those of 6 
 Rome. 
 
 If it were necessary to find any further proof 
 that Addison's classical knowledge was confined 
 within narrow limits, that proof would be fur- 
 nished by his Essay on the Evidences of Christi- lo 
 anity. The Roman poets throw little or no light 
 on the literary and historical questions which he is 
 under the necessity of examining in that essay. 
 He is, therefore, left completely in the dark; and 
 it is melancholy to see how helplessly he gropes his is 
 way from blunder to blunder. He assigns, as 
 grounds for his religious belief, stories as absurd as 
 that of the Cock-Lane ghost, and forgeries as rank 
 as Ireland's Vortigern; puts faith in the lie about 
 the Thundering Legion; is convinced that Tiber- 20 
 ins moved the senate to admit Jesus among the 
 gods; and pronounces the letter of Agbarus, King 
 of Edessa, to be a record of great authority. Nor 
 were these errors the etiects of superstition ; for to 
 superstition Addison was by no means prone. The 25 
 truth is, that he was writing about what he did not 
 understand. 
 
 Miss Aikin has discovered a letter from which it 
 appears that, while Addison resided at Oxford, he 
 was one of several writers whom the booksellers 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 57 
 
 engaged to make an English version of Herodotus ; 
 and she infers that he must have been a good 
 Greek scholar. We can allow very little weight to 
 this argument, when we consider that his fellow- 
 
 5 laborers were to have been Boyle and Blackmore. 
 Boyle is remembered chiefly as the nominal author 
 of the worst book on Greek history and philology 
 that ever was printed ; and this book, bad as it is, 
 Boyle was unable to produce without help. Of 
 
 10 Blackmore 's attainments in the ancient tongues, 
 it may be sufficient to say that, in his prose, he has 
 confounded an aphorism with an apophthegm, and 
 that when, in his verse, he treats of classical sub- 
 jects, his habit is to regale his readers with four 
 
 15 false quantities to a page. 
 
 It is probable that the classical acquirements of 
 Addison were of as much service to him as if they 
 had been more extensive. The world generally 
 gives its— admiration, not to the man who does 
 
 20 what nobody else even attempts to do, but to the 
 man who does best what multitudes do well. ") 
 Bentley was so immeasurably superior to all the 
 other scholars of his time that few among them 
 could discover his superiority. But the accom- 
 
 25 plishment in which Addison excelled his contem- 
 poraries was then, as it is now, highly valued and 
 assiduously cultivated at all English seats of learn- 
 ing. Everybody who liad been at a public school 
 had written Latin verses ; many had vrritten such 
 
 80 verses with tolerable success, and were quite able 
 
58 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 to appreciate, though by no means able to' rival, 
 the skill with which Addison imitated Virgil. His 
 lines on the Barometer and the Bowling Green 
 were applauded by hundreds, to whom the Disser- 
 tation on the Epistles of Phalaris was as unintel- 5 
 ligible as the hieroglyphics on an obelisk. 
 
 Purity of style, and an easy flow of numbers, 
 are common to all Addison's Latin poems. Our 
 favorite piece is the Battle of the Cranes and 
 Pygmies ; for in that piece we discern a gleam of lo 
 the fancy and humor which many years later 
 enlivened thousands of breakfast -tables. Swift 
 boasted that he was never known to steal a hint ; 
 and he certainly owed as little to his predecessors 
 as any modern writer. Yet we cannot help sus- is 
 pecting that he borrowed, perhaps unconsciously, 
 one of the happiest touches in his Voyage of Lilli- 
 put fi'om Addison's verses. Let our readers judge. 
 
 "The Emperor," says Gulliver, "is taller by 
 about the breadth of my nail than any of his 20 
 court, which alone is enough to strike an awe into 
 the beholders." 
 
 About thirty years before Gulliver's Travels 
 appeared, Addison wrote these lines : — 
 
 "Jamque acies inter medias sese arduus infert 25 
 
 Pygmeadum ductor, qui, majestate verendus, 
 Incessuque gravis, reliquos supereminet omnes 
 Mole gigantea, mediamque exsurgit in ulnam." 
 
 The Latin poems of Addison were greatly and 
 justly admired both at Oxford and Cambridge, 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 59 
 
 before his name had ever been heard by the wits 
 who thronged the coffee-houses round Drury-Lane 
 Theatre. In his twenty-second year he ventured 
 to appear before the public as a writer of English 
 5 verse. He addressed some complimentary lines to 
 Dry den, who, after many triumphs and many 
 reverses, had at length reached a secure and lonely 
 eminence among the literary men of that age. 
 Dryden appears to have been much gratified by the 
 
 10 young scholar's praise; and an interchange of 
 civilities and good offices followed. Addison was 
 probably introduced by Dryden to Congreve, and 
 was certainly presented by Congreve to Charles 
 Montague, who was then Chancellor of the 
 
 15 Exchequer, and leader of the Whig party in the 
 House of Commons. 
 
 At this time Addison seemed inclined to devote 
 himself to poetry. He published a translation of 
 part of the fourth Georgic, Lines to King 
 
 20 William, and other performances of equal value; 
 that is to say, of no value at all. But in those 
 da3^s, the public was in the habit of receiving with 
 applause pieces which would now have little chance 
 of obtaining the Newdigate prize or the Seatonian 
 
 25 prize. And the reason is obvious. The heroic 
 couplet was then the favorite measure. The art 
 of arranging words in that measure, so that the 
 lines may flow smoothly, that the accents may fall 
 correctly, that the rhymes may strike the ear 
 
 30 strongly, and that there may be a pause at the end 
 
00 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 of every distich, is an art as mechanical as that of 
 mending a kettle or shoeing a horse, and may be 
 learned by any Imman being who has sense enough 
 to learn anything. But, like other mechanical 
 arts, it was gradually improved by means of many 5 
 experiments and many failures. It was reserved 
 for Pope to discover the trick, to make himself 
 complete master of it, and to teach it to everybody 
 else. From the time when his Pastorals appeared, 
 heroic versification became matter of rule and com- lo 
 pass ; and, before long, all artists were on a level. 
 Hundreds of dunces wbo never blundered on one 
 happy thought or expression were able to write 
 reams of couplets which, as far as euphony was 
 concerned, could not be distinguished from those 15 
 of Pope himself, and which very clever writers of 
 the reign of Charles the Second, — Rochester, for 
 example, or Marvel, or Oldham, — would have con- 
 templated with admiring despair. 
 
 Ben Jonson was a great man, Hoole a very 20 
 small man. But Hoole, coming after Pope, had 
 learned how to manufacture decasyllabic verses, 
 and poured them forth by thousands and tens of 
 thousands, all as well turned, as smooth, and as 
 like each other as the blocks which have passed 25 
 through Mr. Brunei's mill in the dockyard at 
 Portsmouth. Ben's heroic couplets resemble 
 blocks rudely hewn out by an unpractised hand 
 with a blunt hatchet. Take as a specimen his 
 translation of a celebrated passage in the ^neid : — 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 61 
 
 **This child our parent earth, stirred up with spite 
 Of all the gods, brought forth, and, as some write, 
 She was last sister of that giant race 
 That sought to scale Jove's court, right swift of pace, 
 6 And swifter far of wing, a monster vast 
 
 And dreadful. Look, how many plumes are placed 
 On her huge corpse, so many waking eyes 
 Stick underneath, and, which may stranger rise 
 In the report, as many tongues she wears." 
 
 IQ Compare with these jagged misshapen distichs 
 the neat fabric which Hoole's machine produces in 
 unlimited abundance. We take the first lines on 
 which we open in his version of Tasso. They are 
 neither better nor worse than the rest : — 
 
 15 "0 thou, whoe'er thou art, whose steps are led, 
 
 By choice or fate, these lonely shores to tread, 
 No greater wonders east or west can boast 
 Than yon small island on the pleasing coast. 
 If e'er thy sight would blissful scenes explore, 
 
 20 The current pass, and seek the further shore." 
 
 Ever since the time of Pope there has been a 
 glut of lines of this sort; and we ai'e now as little 
 disposed to admire a man for being able to write 
 them, as for being able to write his name. Bat in 
 
 25 the days of William the Third such versification 
 was rare; and a rhymer who had any skill in it 
 passed for a great poet, just as in the dark ages a 
 person who could write his name passed for a great 
 clerk. Accordingly, Duke, Stepney, Granville, 
 
 30 Walsh, and others whose only title to fame was 
 
62 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 that they said in tolerable metre what might have 
 been as well said in prose, or what was not worth 
 saying at all, were honored with marks of distinc- 
 tion which ought to be reserved for genius. "With 
 these Addison must have ranked, if he had not 6 
 earned true and lasting glory by performances 
 which very little resembled his juvenile poems. 
 ^. Dry den was now busied with Virgil, and ob- 
 tained from Addison a critical preface to the 
 Georgics. In return for this service, and for lo 
 other services of the same kind, the veteran poet, 
 in the postscript to the translation of the ^neid, 
 complimented his young friend with great liber- 
 ality, and indeed with more liberality than sin- 
 cerity. He affected to be afraid that his own 15 
 performance would not sustain a comparison with 
 the version of the fourth Georgic, by "the most 
 ingenious Mr. Addison of Oxford." "After his 
 bees," added Dryden, "my latter swai-m is scarcely 
 .worth the hiving." 20 
 
 The time had now arrived when it was necessary 
 for Addison to choose a calling. Everything 
 seemed to point his course towards the clerical pro- 
 fession. His habits were regular, his opinions 
 orthodox. His college had large ecclesiastical 25 
 preferment in its gift, and boasts that it has given 
 at least one bishop to almost every see in England. 
 Dr. Lancelot Addison held an honorable place in 
 the church, and had set his heart on seeing his 
 son a clergyman. It is clear, from some expressions so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 63 
 
 in the young man's rhymes, that his intention was 
 to take orders. But Charles Montague interfered. 
 Montague had first brought himself into notice by 
 verses, well-timed and not contemptibly written, 
 5 but never, we think, rising above mediocrity. 
 Fortunately for himself and for his country, he 
 early quitted poetry, in which he could never have 
 attained a rank as high as that of Dorset or Roch- 
 ester, and turned his mind to official and par- 
 
 10 liamentary business. It is written that the 
 ingenious person who undertook to instruct 
 Rasselas, prince of Abyssinia, in the art of flying, 
 ascended an eminence, waved his wings, sprang 
 into the air, and instantly dropped into the lake. 
 
 15 But it is added that the wings, which were unable 
 to support him through the sky, bore him up 
 effectually as soon as he was in the water. This 
 is no bad type of the fate of Charles Montague, 
 and of men like him. When he attempted to soar 
 
 20 into the regions of poetical invention, he alto- 
 gether failed; but, as soon as he had descended 
 from that ethereal elevation into a lower and 
 grosser element, his talents instantly raised him 
 above the mass. He became a distinguished finan- 
 
 S5 cier, debater, courtier, and pai'ty leader. He still 
 retained his fondness for the pursuits of his early 
 days ; but he showed that fondness not by wearying 
 the public with his own feeble performances, bu> 
 by discovering and encouraging literary excellence 
 
 80 in others. A crowd of wits and poets, who would 
 
64 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 easily have vanquished him as a competitor, 
 revered him as a judge and a patron. In his plans 
 for the encouragement of learning, he was cor- 
 dially supported by the ablest and most virtuous 
 of his colleagues, the Lord Chancellor Somers. s 
 Though both these great statesmen had a sincere 
 love of letters, it was not solely from a love of 
 letters that they were desirous to enlist youths of 
 high intellectual qualifications in the public serv- 
 ice. The Eevolution had altered the whole sys- w 
 tern of government. Before that event the press 
 had been controlled by censors, and the parliament 
 had sat only two months in eight years. Now the 
 press was free, and had begun to exercise unprece- 
 dented influence on the public mind. Parliament is 
 met annually, and sat long. The chief power in 
 the state had passed to the House of Commons. 
 At such a conjuncture, it was natural that literary 
 and oratorical talents should rise in value. There 
 was danger that a government whicli neglected 20 
 such talents might be subverted by them. It was, 
 therefore, a profound and enlightened policy which 
 led Montaoaie and Somers to attach such talents to 
 the Whig party, by the strongest ties both of inter- 
 esi and of gratitude. 2£ 
 
 It is remarkable that, in a neighboring country, 
 we have recently seen similar effects follow from 
 similar causes. The Eevolution of July 1830 
 established representative government in France. 
 The men of letters instantly rose to the highest im- st 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 65 
 
 • 
 portance in the state. At the present moment 
 most of the persons whom we see at the head both 
 of the Administration and of the Opposition, have 
 been professors, historians, journalists, poets. The 
 
 5 influence of the literary class in England, during 
 the generation which followed the Eevolution, was 
 gi*eat, but by no means so great as it has lately 
 been in France. For, in England, the aristocracy 
 of intellect had to contend with a powerful and 
 
 10 deeply rooted aristocracy of a very different kind. 
 France had no Somersets and Shrewsburies to keep 
 down her Addisons and Priors. 
 
 It was in the year 1699, when Addison had just 
 completed his twenty-seventh year, that the course 
 
 15 of his life was finally determined. Both the great 
 chiefs of the Ministry were kindly disposed 
 towards him. In political opinions he already 
 was, what he continued to be through life, a firm, 
 though a moderate Whig. He had addressed the 
 
 20 most polished and vigorous of his early English 
 lines to Somers, and had dedicated to Montague a ^ 
 Latin poem, truly Yirgilian, both in style and 
 rhythm, on the peace of Kyswick. The wish of 
 the young poet's great friends was, it should seem,. 
 
 25 to employ him in the service of the crown abroad. 
 But an intimate know^ledge of the French language 
 was a- qualification indispensable to a diplomatist ; 
 and this qualification Addison had not acquired. 
 It was, therefore, thought desirable that he should 
 
 80 pass some time on the Continent in preparing him- 
 
66 MAC AULA Y'S ESSAYS 
 
 self for official employment. His own means were 
 not such as would enable him to travel ; but a pen- 
 sion of three hundred pounds a year was procured 
 for him by the interest of the Lord Chancellor. 
 It seems to have been apprehended that some difS- 5 
 culty might be started by the rulers of Magdalene 
 College. But the Chancellor of the Exchequer 
 wrote in the strongest terms to Hough. The state 
 — such was the purport of Montague's letter — 
 could not, at that time, spare to the church such lo 
 a man as Addison. Too many high civil posts 
 were already occupied by adventurers, who, desti- 
 tute of every liberal art and sentiment, at once 
 pillaged and disgraced the country which they pre- 
 tended to serve. It had become necessary to is 
 recruit for the public service from a very different 
 class, from that class of which Addison was the 
 representative. The close of the Minister's letter 
 was remarkable. "I am called," he said, **an 
 enemy of the church. But I will never do it any 20 
 other injury than keeping Mr. Addison out of it." 
 This interference was successful; and, in the 
 summer of 1699, Addison, made a rich man by his 
 pension, and still retaining his fellowship, quitted 
 his beloved Oxford, and set out on his travels. He 25 
 crossed from Dover to Calais, proceeded to Paris, 
 and was received there with great kindness and 
 politeness by a kinsman of his friend Montague, 
 Charles Earl of Mandiester, who had just been 
 appointed Ambassador to the Court of France, ao 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 67 
 
 The countess, a Whig and a toast, was probably as 
 gracious as her lord ; for Addison long retained an 
 agreeable recollection of the impression which she' 
 at this time made on him, and, in some lively 
 5 lines written on the glasses of the Kit Cat Club, 
 described the envy which her cheeks, glowing with 
 the genuine bloom of England, had excited among 
 the painted beauties of Versailles. 
 
 Louis the Fourteenth was at this time expiating 
 
 10 the vices of his youth by a devotion which had no 
 root in reason, and bore no fruit of charity. The 
 servile literature of France' had changed its charac- 
 ter to suit the changed character of the prince. 
 No book appeared that had not an air* of sanctity. 
 
 15 Eacine, who was just dead, had passed the close of 
 his life in writing sacred dramas ; and Dacier was 
 seeking for the Athanasian mysteries in Plato. 
 Addison described this state of things in a short 
 but lively and graceful letter to Montague. 
 
 20 Another letter, written about the same time to the 
 Lord Chancellor, conveyed the strongest assurances 
 of gratitude and attachment. "The only return I 
 can make to your Lordship," said Addison, "will 
 be to apply myself entirely to my business." 
 
 25 With this view he quitted Paris and repaired to 
 Blois, a place where it was supposed that the 
 French language was spoken in its highest purity, 
 and where not a single Englishman could be 
 found. Here he passed some months pleasantly 
 
 80 and profitably. Of his way of lite at Blois, one of 
 
68 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 his associates, an abbe named Philippeaux, gave an 
 account to Joseph Spence. If this account is to 
 be trusted, Addison studied much, mused much, 
 talked little, had fits of absence, and either had no 
 love affairs, or was too discreet to confide them to 5 
 the abbe. A man who, even when surrounded by 
 fellow-countrymen and fellow-students, had always 
 been remarkably shy and silent, was not likely to 
 be loquacious in a foreign tongue, and among for- 
 eign companions. But it is clear from Addison's lo 
 letters, some of which were long after published in 
 the Guardian^ that, while, he appeared to be ab- 
 sorbed in his own meditations, he was really 
 observing French society with that keen and sly, . 
 yet not ill-natured side-glance, which was pecul- is 
 iarly his own. 
 
 From Blois he returned to Paris; and, having 
 now mastered the French language, found great 
 pleasure in the society of French philosophers and 
 poets. He gave an account in a letter to Bishop 20 
 Hough, of two highly interesting conversations, 
 one with Malebranche, the other with Boileau. 
 Malebranche expressed great partiality for the Eng- 
 lish, and extolled the genius of Newton, but shook 
 his head when Hobbes was mentioned, and was 25 
 indeed so unjust as to call the author of the 
 Leviathan a poor silly creature. Addison's mod- 
 esty restrained him from fully relating, in his 
 letter, the circumstances of his introduction to 
 Boileau. Boileau, having survived the friends 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 69 
 
 &,nd rivals of his youth, old, deaf, and melancholy, 
 lived in retirement, seldom went either to Com't ot 
 to the Academy, and was almost inaccessible to 
 strangers. Of the English and of English liter- 
 
 5 ature he knew nothing. He had hardly heard the 
 
 • name of Dryden. Some of our countrymen, in the 
 warmth of their patriotism, have asserted that this 
 ignorance must have been affected. We own that 
 we see no ground for such a supposition. English 
 
 10 literature was to the French of the age of Louis 
 the Fourteenth what German literature was to our 
 own gTandfathers. Very few^ we suspect, of the ac- 
 complished men Avho, sixty or seventy years ago, 
 used to dine in Leicester Square with Sir Joshua, 
 
 15 or at Streatham with Mrs. Thrale, had the slight- 
 est notion that AVieland was one of the first wits 
 and poets, and Lessing, beyond all dispute, the 
 first critic in Europe. Boileau knew just as little 
 about the Paradise Lost and about Absalom and 
 
 20 Achitophel; but he had read Addison's Latin 
 poems, and admired them greatly. They had 
 given him, he said, quite a new notion of the state 
 of learning and taste among the English. John- 
 son will have it that these praises were insincere. 
 
 a6 "Nothing," says he, ** is better known of Boileau 
 than that he had an injudicious and peevish con- 
 tempt of modern Latin ; and therefore his profes- 
 sion of regard was probably the effect of his civility 
 rather than approbation." Now, nothing is better 
 
 % known of Boileau than that he was singularly 
 
70 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 sparing of compliments. We do not remember 
 that either friendship or fear ever induced him to 
 bestow praise on any composition which he did not 
 approve. On literary questions, his caustic, dis- 
 dainful, and self-confident spirit rebelled against s 
 that authority to which everything else in France • 
 bowed down. He had the spirit to tell Louis the 
 Fourteenth firmly and even rudely, that his maj- 
 esty knew nothing about poetry, and admired 
 verses which were detestable. What was there in lo 
 Addison's position that could induce the satirist, 
 whose stern and fastidious temper had been the 
 dread of two generations, to turn sycophant for the 
 first and last time? Nor was Boileau's contempt 
 of modern Latin either injudicious or peevish. 15 
 He thought, indeed, that no poem of the first 
 order would ever be written in a dead language. 
 And did he think amiss? Has not the experience 
 of centuries confirmed his opinion? Boileau also 
 thought it probable that, in the best modern 20 
 Latin, a writer of the Augustan age would Tiave 
 detected ludicrous improprieties. And who can 
 think otherwise? What modern scholar can 
 honestly declare that he sees the smallest impurity 
 in the style of Livy? Y^et is it not certain that, 25 
 in the style of Livy, PoUio, whose taste had been 
 formed on the banks of the Tiber, detected the 
 inelegant idiom of the Po? Has any modern 
 scholar understood Latin better than Frederic the 
 Great understood French? Y"et is it not notorious so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 71 
 
 that Frederic the Great, after reading, speaking, 
 writing French, and nothing but French, during 
 more than half a century, after unlearning his 
 mother tongue in order to learn French, after liv- 
 
 5 ing familiarly during many years with French 
 associates, could not, to the last, compose in 
 French, without imminent risk of committing 
 some mistake which would have moved a smile in 
 the literary circles of Paris? Do we believe that 
 
 10 Erasmus and Fracastorius wrote Latin as well as 
 Dr. Eobertson and Sir Walter Scott wrote Eng- 
 lish? And are there not in the Dissertation on In- 
 dia, the last of Dr.^Eobertson's works, inAVaverley, 
 in Marmion, Scotticisms at which a London 
 
 15 apprentice would laugh? But does it follow, 
 because we think thus, that we can find nothing to 
 admire in the noble alcaics of Gray, or in the play- 
 ful elegiacs of Vincent Bourne? Surely not. Nor 
 was Boileau so ignorant or tasteless as to be incapa- 
 
 20 ble of appreciating good modern Latin. In the 
 very letter to which Johnson alludes, Boileau says, 
 *'N"e croyez pas pourtant que je veuille par la 
 bldmer les vers Latins que vous m'avez envoy es 
 d'un de vos illustres academiciens. Je les ai 
 
 25 trouves fort beaux, et dignes de Vida et de San- 
 nazar, mais non pas d'Horace et de Virgile." 
 Several poems in modern Latin have been praised 
 by Boileau quite as liberally as it was his habit to 
 praise anything. He says, for example, of the 
 
 30 Pere Fraguier's epigrams, that Catullus seems to 
 
72 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 have come to life again. But the best proof that 
 Boileau did not feel the nndiscerning contempt for 
 modern Latin verses which has been imputed to 
 him, is that he wrote and published Latin verses 
 in several metres. Indeed, it happens, curiously R 
 enough, that the most severe censure ever pro- 
 nounced by him on modern Latin is conveyed in 
 Latin hexameters. We allude to the fragment 
 which begins : — 
 
 "Quid numeris iterum me balbutire Latiuis, 10 
 
 Longe Alpes citra natum de patre Sicambro, 
 Musa, jubes?" 
 
 For these reasons we feel assured that the praise 
 which Boileau bestowed on the MacliincB Oesticul- 
 antes^ and ih.Q Gerano-PygmcBomoMliia^ was is 
 sincere. He certainly opened himself to Addison 
 with a freedom which was a sure indication of 
 esteem. Literature was the chief subject of con- 
 versation. The old man talked on his favorite 
 theme much and well, — indeed, as his young 20 
 hearer thought, incompax-ably well. Boileau had 
 undoubtedly some of the qualities of a great critic. 
 He wanted imagination; but he had strong sense. 
 His literary code was formed on narrow principles ; 
 but in ajDplying it he showed great judgment and 25 
 penetration. In mere style, abstracted from the 
 ideas of which style is the garb, his taste was 
 excellent. He was well acquainted with the great 
 Greek writers, and, though unable fully to appreci- 
 •ate their creative genius, admired the majestic 3C 
 
LIFE AND WRITiNGS OF ADDISON 73 
 
 simplicity of their manner, and had learned from 
 them to despise bombast and tinsel. It is easy, we 
 think, to discover in the Spectator and the Guard- 
 ian traces of the influence, in part salutary and 
 
 5 in pai't pernicious, which the mind of Boileau had 
 on the mind of Addison. 
 
 While Addison was at Paris, an event took 
 place which made that capital a disagreeable 
 residence for an Englishman and a Whig. 
 
 10 Charles, second of the name, King of Spain, died, 
 and bequeathed his dominions to Philip, Duke of 
 Anjou, a younger son of the Dauphin. The King 
 of France, in direct violation of his engagements, 
 both with Great Britain and with the States 
 
 15 General, accepted the bequest on behalf of his 
 grandson. The house of Bourbon was at the sum- 
 mit of human grandeur. England had been out- 
 witted, and found herself in a situation at once 
 degrading and perilous. The people of France, 
 
 20 not presaging the calamities by which they were 
 destined to expiate the perfidy of their sovereign, 
 went mad with pride and delight. Every man 
 looked as if a gi'eat estate had just been left him. 
 "The French conversation," said Addison, "begins 
 
 25 to grow insupportable; that which was before the 
 vainest nation in the world, is now worse than 
 ever." Sick of the arrogant exultation of the 
 Parisians, and probably foreseeing that the peace 
 between France and England could not be of long 
 
 30 duration, he set off for Italy. 
 
74 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 In December, 1700, he embarked at Marseilles. 
 As he glided along the Ligurian coast, he was 
 delighted by the sight of myrtles and olive-trees, 
 ■vwhich retained their verdure under the winter 
 solstice. Soon, however, he encountered one of 5 
 the black storms of the Mediterranean. The 
 captain of the ship gave up all for lost, and con- 
 fessed himself to a capuchin who happened to be 
 on board. The English heretic, in the meantime, 
 fortified himself against the terrors of death with lo 
 devotions of a very different kind. How strong an 
 impression this perilous voyage made on him 
 appears from the ode, "How are thy servants 
 1)1 est, Lord!" which was long after published in 
 the Spectator. After some days of discomfort and is 
 danger, Addison was glad to land at Savona, and 
 to make his way, over mountains where no road 
 had yet been hewn out by art, to the city of 
 Genoa. 
 
 At Genoa, still ruled by her own doge, and by 20 
 the nobles whose names were inscribed on her 
 Book of Gold, Addison made a short stay. He 
 admired the narrow streets overhung by long lines 
 of towering palaces, the walls rich with frescoes, 
 the gorgeous temple of the Annunciation, and the 25 
 tapestries whereon were recorded the long glories 
 of the house of Doria. Thence he hastened to 
 Milan, where he contemplated the Gothic magnifi- 
 cence of the cathedral with more wonder than 
 pleasure. He passed Lake Benacus while a gale 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 75 
 
 was blowing, and saw the waves raging as they 
 raged when Virgil looked upon them. At Venice, 
 then the gayest spot in Europe, the traveller spent 
 the Carnival, the gayest season of the year, in the 
 5 midst of masks, dances, and serenades. Here he 
 was at once diverted and provoked by the absurd 
 dramatic pieces which then disgraced the Italian 
 stage. To one of those pieces, however, he was 
 inde-bted for a valuable hint. He was present 
 
 10 when a ridiculous play on the death of Cato was 
 performed. Cato, it seems, was in love with a 
 daughter of Scipio. The lady had given her heart 
 to Caesar. The rejected lover determined to de- 
 stroy himself. He appeared seated in his library, a 
 
 15 dagger in his hand, a Plutarch and a Tasso before 
 him; and, in this position, he pronounced a 
 soliloquy before he struck the ]>\ow. We are sur- 
 prised that so remarkable a circumstance as this 
 should have escaped the notice of all Addison's 
 
 20 biographers. There cannot, we conceive, be the 
 smallest doubt that this scene, in spite of its ab- 
 surdities and anachronisms, struck the traveller's 
 imagination, and suggested to him the thought of 
 bringing Cato on the English stage. It is well 
 
 25 known that about this time he began his tragedy, 
 and that he finished the first four acts before he 
 returned to England. 
 
 On his way from Venice to Eome, he was drawn 
 some miles out of the beaten road by a wish to see 
 
 80 the smallest independent state in Europe. Od a 
 
76 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 rock where the snow still lay, though the Italian 
 spring was now far advanced, was perched the 
 little fortress of San Marino. The roads which 
 led to the secluded town were so bad that few 
 travellers had ever visited it, and none had ever 5 
 published an account of it. Addison could not 
 suppress a good-natured smile at the simple man- 
 ners and institutions of this singular community. 
 But he observed, with the exultation of a Whig, 
 that the rude mountain tract which formed the lo 
 territory of the republic swarmed with an honest, 
 healthy, and contented peasantry, while the rich 
 plain which surrounded the metropolis of civil and 
 spiritual tyranny was scarcely less desolate than 
 the uncleared wilds of America. ' 15 
 
 At Eome Addison remained on his first visit only 
 long enough to catch a glimpse of St. Peter's and 
 of the Pantheon. His haste is the more extra- 
 ordinary because the Holy Week was close at hand. 
 He has given no hint which can enable us to pro- 20 
 nounce why he chose to fly from a spectacle which 
 every year allures from distant regions persons of 
 far less taste and sensibility than his. Possibly, 
 travelling, as he did, at the charge of a government 
 distinguished by its enmity to the Church of 25 
 Rome, he may have thought that it would be im- 
 prudent in him to assist at the most magnificent 
 rite of that church. Many eyes would be upon 
 him, and he might find it difficult to behave in 
 such a manner as to give offence neither to his 99 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 77 
 
 patrons in England, nor to those among whom he 
 resided. Whatever his motives may have been, he 
 turned his back on the most august and affecting 
 ceremony which is known among men, and posted 
 
 5 along the Appian way to Naples. 
 
 Naples was then destitute of what are now, per- 
 • haps, its chief attractions. The lovely bay and the 
 awful mountain were indeed there; but a farm- 
 house stood on the theatre of Herculaneum, and 
 
 10 rows of vines grew over the streets of Pompeii. 
 The temples of Passtum had not indeed been hid- 
 den from the eye of man by any great convulsion 
 of nature ; but, strange to say, their existence was 
 a secret even to artists and antiquaries. Though 
 
 » situated within a few hours' journey of a great 
 capital, where SaJvator had not long before 
 painted, and where Yico was then lecturing, those 
 noble remains were as little known to Europe as 
 the ruined cities overgrown by the forests of Yuca- 
 
 20 tan. What was to be seen at Naples Addison saw. 
 He climbed Vesuvius, explored the tunnel of 
 Posilipo, and wandered among the vines and 
 almond-trees of Capreje. But neither the wonders 
 of nature, nor those of art, could so occupy his 
 
 25 attention as to prevent him from noticing, though 
 cursorily, the abuses of the government' and the 
 misery of the people. The great kingdom which 
 had just descended to Philip the Fifth, was in a 
 state of paralytic dotage. Even Castile and Ara- 
 
 80 gon were sunk in wretchedness. Yet, compared 
 
78 MACAULAY'^ ESSAYS 
 
 with the Italian dependencies of the Spanish 
 crown, Castile and Aragon might be called pros- 
 perous. It is clear that all the observations which 
 Addison made in Italy tended to confirm him in 
 the political opinions which he had adopted at s 
 home. To the last he always spoke of foreign 
 travel as the best cure for Jacobitism. In his 
 Freeliolder t\ie Tory fox-hunter asks what travel- 
 ling is good for, except to teach a man to jabber 
 French and to talk against passive obedience. lo 
 
 From Naples, Addison returned to Rome by sea, 
 along the coast which his favorite Virgil had cele- 
 brated. The felucca passed the headland where 
 the oar and trumpet were placed by the Trojan 
 adventurers on the tomb of Misenus, and anchored 15 
 at night undm* the shelter of the fabled promontory 
 of Circe. The voyage ended in the Tiber, still 
 overhung with dark verdure, and still turbid with 
 yellow sand, as when it met the eyes of ^^neas. 
 From the ruined port of Ostia, the stranger hur- 20 
 ried to Eome ; and at Rome he remained during 
 those hot and sickly months, when, even in the 
 Augustan age, all who could make their escape fled 
 from mad dogs and from streets black with funer- 
 als, to gather the first figs of the season in the 25 
 country. It is probable that, when he, long after, 
 poured forth in verse his gratitude to t^e Provi- 
 dence which had enabled him to breathe unhurt 
 in tainted air, he was thinking of the August and 
 September which he passed at Rome. 86 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 79 
 
 ^ ijlt was not till the latter end of October that he 
 tore himself away from the masterpieces of ancient 
 and modern art which are collected in the city so 
 long the mistress of the world. He then journeyed 
 
 5 northward, passed tlu'ough Sienna, and for a 
 moment forgot his prejudices in favor of classic 
 architecture as he looked on the magnificent 
 
 . cathedral. At Florence he spent some days with 
 the Duke of Shrewsbury, who, cloyed with the 
 
 10 pleasures of ambition, and impatient of its pains, 
 fearing both parties, and loving neither, had deter- 
 mined to hide in an Italian retreat talents and 
 accomplishments which, if they had been united 
 with fixed principles and civil courage, might have 
 
 15 made him the foremost man of his age. These 
 days, we are told, passed pleasantly; and we can 
 easily believe it. For Addison was a delightful 
 companion when he was at his ease ; and the duke, 
 though he seldom forgot that he was a Talbot, had 
 
 20 the invaluable art of putting at ease all who came 
 near him. 
 
 Addison gave some time to Florence, and espe- 
 cially to the sculptures in the Museum, which he 
 preferred even to those of the Vatican. He then 
 
 25 pursued his journey through a country in which 
 the ravages of the last war were still discernible, 
 and in which all men were looking forward with 
 dread to a still fiercer conflict. Eugene had 
 already descended from the Rhaetian Alps, to dis- 
 
 30 pute with Catinat the rich plain of Lombardy. 
 
80 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 The faithless ruler of Savoy was still reckoned 
 among the allies of Louis. England had not yet 
 actually declared war against France: hut Man- 
 chester had left Paris ; and the negotiations which 
 produced the Grand Alliance against the house of 5 
 Bourbon were in progress. Under such circum- 
 stances, it was desirable for an English traveller to 
 reach neutral ground without delay. Addison 
 resolved to cross Mont Cenis. It was December; 
 and the road was very different from that which lo 
 now reminds the stranger of the power and genius 
 of Napoleon. The winter, however, was mild; 
 and the passage was, for those times, easy. To 
 this journey Addison alluded when, in the ode 
 which we have already quoted, he said that for i5 
 him the Divine goodness had warmed the hoary 
 Alpine hills. 
 
 It was in the midst of the eternal snow that he 
 composed his Epistle to his friend Montague, now 
 Lord Halifax. That Epistle, once widely re- 20 
 nowned, is now known only to curious readers, and 
 will hardly be considered by those to whom it is 
 known as in any perceptible degree heightening 
 Addison's fame. It is, however, decidedly superior 
 to any English composition which he had previously 25 
 published. Nay, we think it quite as good as any 
 poem in heroic metre which appeared during the 
 interval between the death of Dryden and the 
 publication of the Essay on Criticism. It con- 
 tains passages as good as the second-rate passages so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 8i 
 
 of Pope, and would have added to the reputation 
 of Parnell or Prior. 
 
 But, whatever be the literary merits or defects of 
 the Epistle, it undoubtedly does honor to the prin- 
 5 ciples and spirit of the author. Halifax had now 
 nothing to give. He had fallen from power, had 
 been held up to obloquy, had been impeached by 
 . the House of Commons, and, though his peers had 
 dismissed the impeachment, had, as it seemed,, 
 
 10 little ohance of ever again filling high office. The 
 Epistle, written at such a time, is one among many 
 proofs that there was no mixture of cowardice or 
 meanness in the suavity and moderation which dis- 
 tinguished Addison from all the other public men 
 
 15 of those stormy times. 
 
 At Geneva, the traveller learned that a partial 
 change of ministry had taken place in England, and. 
 that the Earl of Manchester had become Secretary of 
 State. Manchester exerted himself to serve his; 
 
 20 young friend. It was thought advisable that an 
 English agent should be near the person of Eugene 
 in Italy ; and Addison, whose diplomatic education 
 was now finished, was the man selected. He was 
 preparing to enter on his honorable functions, 
 
 25 when all his prospects were for a time darkened by 
 
 the death of William the Third. 
 -^ ^ Anne had long felt a strong aversion, personal, 
 political, and religious, to the Whig party. That 
 aversion appeared in the first measures of her 
 
 80 reign. Manchester was deprived of the seals, 
 
8^ MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 after he had held them only a few weeks. Neither 
 Somers nor Halifax was sworn of the Privy Coun- 
 cil. Addison shared the fate of his three patrons. 
 His hopes of employment in the public service 
 were at an end ; his pension was stopped ; and it 5 
 was necessary for him to support himself by his 
 own exertions. He became tutor to a young Eng- 
 lish traveller, and appears to have rambled with 
 his pupil over great part of Switzerland and Ger- 
 many. At this time he wrote his pleasing treatise lo 
 on Medals. It was not published till after his 
 death ; but several distinguished scholars saw the 
 manuscript, and gave just praise to the grace of the 
 style, and to the learning and ingenuity evinced by 
 the quotations. 15 
 
 From Germany, Addison repaired to Holland, 
 where he learned the melancholy news of his 
 father's death. After passing some months in the 
 United Provinces, he returned about the close of 
 the year 1703 to England. He was there cordially 20 
 received by his friends, and introduced by them 
 into the Kit Cat Club, a society in which were col- 
 lected all the various talents and accomplishments 
 which then gave lustre to the Whig party. 
 
 Addison was, during some months after his f)5 
 return from the Continent, hard pressed by pecun- 
 iary dijBficulties. But it was soon in the power of 
 his noble patrons to serve him effectually. A 
 political change, silent and gradual, but of the 
 highest importance, was in daily progress. The 3t» 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 83 
 
 accession of Anne had been hailed by the Tories 
 with transports of joy and hope ; and for a time it 
 seemed that the Whigs had fallen never to rise 
 again. The throne was surrounded by men sup- 
 
 5 posed to be attached to the prerogative and to the 
 
 church; and among these none stood so high in 
 
 the favor of the sovereign as the Lord-Treasurer 
 
 Godolphin and the Captain-General Marlborough. 
 
 The country gentlemen and country clergymen 
 
 10 had fully expected that the policy of these min- 
 isters would be directly opposed to that which had 
 been almost constantly followed by William; that 
 the landed interest would be favored at the expense 
 of trade ; that no additions would be made to the 
 
 15 funded debt; that the privileges conceded to 
 Dissenters by the late king would be curtailed, if 
 not withdrawn ; that the war with France, if there 
 mast be such a war, would, on our part, be almost 
 enthely naval; and that the government would 
 
 20 avoid close connections with foreign powers, and, 
 above all, with Holland. 
 
 But the country gentlemen and country clergy- 
 men were fated to be deceived, not for the last 
 time. The 'prejudices and passions which raged 
 
 25 without control in vicarages, in cathedral closes, 
 and in the manor-houses of fox-hunting squires, 
 were not shared by the chiefs of the ministry. 
 Those statesmen saw that it was both for the pub- 
 lic interest, and for their own interest, to adopt a 
 
 30 Whig policy, at least as respected the alliances of 
 
84 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 the country and the conduct of the war. Bat, if 
 the foreign policy of the Whigs were adopted, it • 
 was impossible to abstain from adopting also their 
 financial policy. The natural consequences fol- 
 lowed. The rigid Tories were alienated from the 5 
 government. The votes of the Whigs became nec- 
 essary to it. The votes of the Whigs could be 
 secured only by further concessions ; and further 
 concessions the Queen was induced to make. 
 
 i '^ At the beginning of the year 1 704, the state of la 
 parties bore a close analogy to the state of parties 
 in 1826. In 1826, as in 1704, there was a Tory 
 ministry divided into two hostile sections. The 
 position of Mr. Canning and his friends in 1826 
 corresponded to that which Marlborough and is 
 Godolphin occupied in 1704. Nottingham . and 
 Jersey were in 1704 what Lord Eldon and Lord 
 Westmoreland were in 1826. The Whigs of 1704 
 were in a situation resembling that in which the 
 Whigs of 1826 stood. In 1704, Somers, Halifax, 20 
 
 . Sunderland, Cowper, were not in office. There 
 was no avowed coalition between them and the 
 moderate Tories. It is probable that no direct 
 communication tending to such a coalition had 
 yet taken place ; yet all men saw that such a coali- 25 
 tion was inevitable, nay, that it was already half 
 formed. Such, or nearly such, was the state of 
 things when tidings arrived of the great battle 
 fought at Blenheim on the 13th August, 1704. 
 By the Whigs th^ news was hailed with transports 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 85 
 
 of joy and pride. No fault, no cause of quarrel, 
 could be remembered by them against the com- 
 mander whose genius had, in one day, changed the 
 face of Europe, saved the Imperial throne, hum- 
 5 bled the house of Bourbon, and secured the Act of 
 Settlement against foreign hostility. The feeling 
 of the Tories was very different. They could not 
 indeed, without imprudence, openl}^ express regret 
 at an event so glorious to their country; but their 
 10 congratulations were so cold and sullen as to give deep 
 disgust to the victorious general and his friends. 
 
 Godolphin was not a reading man. Whatever 
 time he could spare from business he was in the 
 habit of spending at Xewmarket or at the card- 
 is table. But he was not absolutely indifferent to 
 poetry ; and he was too intelligeilt an observer not 
 to perceive that literature was a formidable engine 
 of political warfare, and that the great Whig leaders 
 had strengthened their party and raised their char- 
 20 acter by extending a liberal and judicious patronage 
 to good writers. He was mortified, and not with- 
 out reason, by the exceeding badness of the poems 
 which appeared in honor of the battle of Blenheim. 
 One of those poems has been rescued from oblivion 
 25 by the exquisite absurdity of three lines : — 
 
 "Think of two thousand gentlemen at least, 
 And each man mounted on his capering beast ; 
 Into the Danube they were pushed by shoals." * 
 
 Where to procure better verses the treasurer did 
 80 not know. He understood how to negotiate a 
 
86 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 loan, or remit a subsidy; he was also well versed in 
 the history of running horses and fighting cocks ; 
 but his acquaintance among the poets was very 
 small. He consulted Halifax ; but Halifax affected 
 to decline the office of adviser. He had, he said, 5 
 done his best, when he had power, to encourage 
 men whose abilities and acquirements might do 
 honor to their country. Those times were over. 
 Other maxims had prevailed. Merit was suffered 
 to pine in obscurity ; and the public money was lo 
 squandered on the undeserving. "I do know," 
 he added, "a gentleman who would celebrate the 
 battle in a manner worthy of the subject, but I 
 will not name him." Godolphin, who was an 
 expert at the soft answer which turneth away is 
 wrath, and who was under the necessity of paying 
 court to the Whigs, gently replied that there was 
 too much ground for Halifax's complaints, but 
 that what was amis; should in time be rectified, 
 and that in the meantime the services of a man 20 
 such as Halifax had described should be liberally 
 rewarded. Halifax then mentioned Addison; 
 but, mindful of the dignity as well as of the 
 pecuniary interest of his friend, insisted that the 
 minister should apply in the most courteous man- 25 
 ner to Addison himself; and this Godolphin prom- 
 ised to do. 
 
 * Addison then occupied a garret up three pair 
 of stairs, over a small shop in the Hay market. In 
 this humble lodging he was surprised, on the 39 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 87 
 
 morning which followed the conversation between 
 Godolphin and Halifax, by a visit from no less a 
 person than the Right Honorable Henry Boyle, 
 then Chancellor of the Exchequer, and afterwards 
 
 5 Lord Carleton, This high-born minister had been 
 sent by the Lord-Treasurer as ambassador to the 
 needy poet. Addison readily undertook the pro- 
 posed task, a task which, to so good a Whig, was 
 probably a pleasure. When the poem was little 
 
 10 more than half finished, he showed it to Godol- 
 phin, who was delighted with it, and particularly 
 with the famous similitude of the Angel. Addison 
 was instantly appointed Xo a commissionership 
 worth about two hundred pounds a year, and was 
 
 15 assured that this appointment was only an earnest 
 of greater favors. 
 
 The Campaign came fortli, and was as much 
 admired by < the public as by the minister. It 
 pleases us less on the whole than the Epistle to 
 
 20 Halifax. Yet it undoubtedly ranks high among 
 the poems which appeared during the interval 
 between the death of Dryden and the dawn of 
 Pope's genius. The chief merit of the Campaign, 
 we think, is that which was noticed by Johnson, 
 
 85 the manly and rational rejection of fiction. The 
 first great poet whose works have come down to us 
 sang of war long before war became a science or a 
 trade. If, in his time, there was enmity between 
 two little Greek towns, each poured forth . its 
 
 30 crowd of citizens, ignorant of discipline, and 
 
88 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 armed with implements of labor rudely turned into 
 weapons. On each side appeared conspicuous a 
 few chiefs, whose wealth had enabled them to pro- 
 cure good armor, horses, and chariots, and whose 
 leisure had enabled them to practise military exer- 5 
 cises. One such chief, if he were a man of great 
 strength, agility, and courage, would probably be 
 more formidable than twenty common men; and 
 the force and dexterity with which he flung his 
 spear might have no inconsiderable share in decid- lo 
 ing the event of the day. Such were probably the 
 battles with which Homer was familiar. But 
 Homer related the actions of men of a former 
 generation, of men who sprang from the gods, and 
 communed with the gods face to face ; of men, one 15 
 of whom could with ease hurl rocks which two 
 sturdy hinds of a later period would be unable even 
 to lift. He therefore naturally represented their 
 martial exploits as resembling in kind, but far sur- 
 passing in magnitude, those of the stoutest and 20 
 most expert combatants of his own age. Achilles, 
 clad in celestial armor, drawn by celestial coursers, 
 grasping the spear which none but himself could 
 raise, driving all Troy and Lycia before him, and 
 choking Scamander with dead, was only a magnifi- 25 
 cent exaggeration of the real hero, who, strong, 
 fearless, accustomed to the use of weapons, guarded 
 by a shield and helmet of the best Sidonian fabric, 
 and whu'led along by horses of Thessalian breed, 
 struck down with his own right arm, foe after foe. m 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON SI- 
 
 In all rude societies similar notions are found. 
 There are at this day countries where the Life 
 guardsman Shaw would be considered ^s a mucL 
 greater warrior than the Duke of Wellington. 
 
 5 Bonaparte loved to describe the astonishment with 
 which the Mamelukes looked at his diminutive 
 figure. Mourad Bey, distinguished above all his 
 fellows by his bodily strength, and by the ski? 
 with which he managed his horse and his sabr^*, 
 
 10 could not believe that a man who was scarcely fivj 
 feet high, and rode like a butcher, could be the 
 greatest soldier in Europe. 
 
 Homer's descriptions of war had therefore as 
 <iuch truth as poetry requires. But truth was 
 
 15 altogether wanting to the performances of those 
 who, writing about battles which had scarcely any- 
 thing in common with the battles of his times, 
 servilely imitated his manner. The follj of Silius 
 Italicus, in particular, is positively nauseous. He 
 
 20 undertook to record in verse the vicissitudes of a 
 great struggle between generals of the first order ; 
 and his narrative is made up of the hideous wounds 
 which these generals inflicted with their, own 
 hands. Asdrubal flings a spear, which grazes the 
 
 25 shoulder of the consul Nero ; but Nero sends his 
 spear into Asdrubal 's side. Fabius slays Thuris 
 and Butes and Maris and Arses, and the long- 
 haired Adherbes, and the gigantic Thylis, and 
 Sapharus and Monaesus, and the trumpeter Mor- 
 
 80 inus. Hannibal runs Perusinus through the groin 
 
90 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS ■ 
 
 with a stake, and breaks the backbone of Telesinus 
 with a huge stone. This detestable fashion was j 
 copied in modern times, and continued to prevail 1 
 down to the age of Addison. Several versifiers 
 had described William turning thousands to flight 5 
 by his single prowess, and dyeing the Boyne with j 
 Irish blood. Nay, so estimable a writer as John 
 Philips, the author of the Splendid Shilling, repre- 
 sented Marlborough as having won the battle of 
 Blenh'feim merely by strength of muscle and skill in lo 
 fence. The following lines may serve as an 
 example : — 
 
 "Churchill, viewing where 
 The violence of Tallard most prevailed, 
 Came to oppose his slaughtering arm. With speed 15 
 Precipitate he rode, urging his way 
 O'er hills of gasping heroes, and fallen steeds 
 EoUing in death. Destruction, grim with blood, 
 Attends his furious course. Around his head 
 The glowing balls play innocent, while he 20 
 
 "With dire impetuous sway deals fatal blows 
 Among the flying Gauls. In Gallic blood 
 He dyes his reeking sword, and strews the ground 
 With headless ranks. What can they do? Or how 
 Withstand his wide-destroying sword?" 25 
 
 Addison, with excellent sense and taste, 
 departed from this ridiculous fashion. He 
 reserved his praise for the qualities which made 
 Marlborough truly great, — energy, sagacity, mili- 
 tary science. But, aboTC all, the poet extolled the so 
 firmness of that mind which, in the midst of con- 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 91 
 
 fusion, uproar, and slaughter, examined and dis- 
 posed everything with the serene wisdom of a 
 higher intelligence. 
 
 Here it was that he introduced the famous com- 
 
 5 parison of Marlborough to an Angel guiding the 
 whirlwind. We will not dispute the general jus- 
 tice of Johnson's remarks on this passage. But 
 we must point out one circumstance which appears 
 to have escaped all the critics. The extraordinary 
 
 10 effect which this simile produced when it first 
 appeared, and which to the following generation 
 seemed inexplicable, is doubtless to be chiefly 
 attributed to a line which most readers now 
 regard as a feeble parenthesis : — 
 
 15 "Such as, of late, o'er pale Britannia passed." 
 
 Addison spoke, not of a storm, but of the storm. 
 The great tempest of November, 1703, the only 
 tempest which in our latitude has equalled the 
 
 20 rage of a tropical hurricane, had left a dreadful 
 recollection in the minds of all men. No other 
 tempest was ever in this country the occasion of a 
 parliamentary addi-ess or of a public fast. Whole 
 fleets had been cast away. Large mansions had 
 
 25 been blown down. One prelate had been buried 
 beneath the ruins of his palace. London and Bris- 
 tol had presented the appearance of cities just 
 sacked. Hundreds of families were still in mourn- 
 ing. The prostrate trunks of large trees, and the 
 
 30 ruins of houses, still attested, in all the southern 
 
92 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 counties, the fury of the blast. The popularity 
 which the simile of the Angel enjoyed among 
 Addison's contemporaries, has always seemed to us 
 to be a remarkable instance of the advantage 
 which, in rhetoric and poetry, the particular has 5 
 over the general. 
 
 Soon after the Campaign, was published Addi- 
 son's !N"arrative of his Travels in Italy. The first 
 effect produced by this narrative was disappoint- 
 ment. The crowd of readers who expected politics lo 
 and scandal, speculations on the projects of Victor 
 Amadeus, and anecdotes about the jollities of con- 
 vents and amours of cardinals and nuns, were con- 
 founded by finding that the writer's mind was 
 much more occupied by the war between the is 
 Trojans and Eutulians than by the v/ar between 
 France and Austria; and that he seemed to have 
 heard no scandal of later date than the gallantries 
 of the Empress Faustina. In time, however, the 
 judgment of the many was overruled by that of 20 
 the few; and, before the book was reprinted, it 
 was so eagerly sought that it sold for five times the 
 original price. It is still read with pleasure: the 
 style is pure and flowing; the classical quotations 
 and allusions are numerous and happy ; and we are 25 
 now and then charmed by that singularly humane 
 and delicate humor in which Addison excelled all 
 men. Yet this agreeable work, even when con- 
 sidered merely as the history of a literary tour, 
 may justly be censured on account of its faults of so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 93 
 
 omission. We have already said that, though rich 
 in extracts from the Latin poets, it contains 
 scarcely any references to the Latin orators and 
 historians. We must add, that it contains little, 
 5 or rather no, information respecting the history 
 and literature of modern Italy. To the beat of our 
 remembrance, Addison does not mention Dante, 
 Petrarch, Box^caccio, Boiardo, Berni, Lorenzo de' 
 Medici, or Machiavelli. He coldly tells ns that at 
 
 10 Ferrara he saw the tomb of Ariosto, and that at 
 Venice he heai'd the gondoliers sing verses of 
 Tasso. But for Tasso and Ariosto he cared far 
 less than for Valerius Flaccus and Sidonius Apol- 
 linaris. The gentle flow of the Ticin brings a line 
 
 15 of Silius to his mind. The sulphurous steam of 
 Albula suggests to him several passages of Martial. 
 But he has not a word to say of the illustrious dead 
 of Santa Croce; he crosses the wood of Eavenna 
 without recollecting the Spectre Huntsman; and 
 
 20 wanders up and down Rimini without one thought 
 of Francesca. At Paris he had eagerly sought an 
 introduction to Boileau ; but he seems not to have 
 been at all aware that at Florence he was in the 
 vicinity of a poet with whom Boileau could not 
 
 25 sustain a comparison, of the greatest lyric poet of 
 modern times, Vincenzio Filicaja. This is the 
 more remarkable, because Filicaja was the favorite 
 poet of the accomplished Somers, under whose 
 protection Addison travelled, and to whom the 
 
 80 account of the Travels is dedicated. The truth is. 
 
94 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 that Addison knew little, and cared less, about tht 
 literature of modern Italy. His favorite models 
 were Latin. His favorite critics were French. 
 Half the Tuscan poetry that he had read seemed to 
 him monstrous, and the other half tawdry. 5 
 
 His Travels were followed by the lively opera of 
 Rosamond. This piece was ill set to music, and 
 therefore failed on the stage, but it completely suc- 
 ceeded in print, and is indeed excellent in its kind. 
 The smoothness with which the verses glide, and 10 
 the elasticity with which they bound, is, to our 
 ears at least, very pleasing. We are inclined to 
 think that if Addison had left heroic couplets to 
 Pope, and blank verse to Eowe, and had employed 
 himself in writing airy and spirited songs, his repu- 15 
 tation as a poet would have stood far higher than 
 it now does. Some years after his death, Rosa- 
 mond was set to new music by Doctor Arne; and 
 was performed with complete success. Several 
 passages long retained their popularity, and were 20 
 daily sung, during the latter part of George the 
 Second's reign, at all the harpsichords in England. 
 
 While Addison thus amused himself, his pros- 
 pects, and the prospects of his party, were con- 
 stantly becoming brighter and brighter. In the 25 
 spring of 1705 the ministers were freed from the 
 restraint imposed by a House of Commons in 
 which Tories of the most perverse class had the 
 ascendency. The elections were favorable to the 
 Whigs. The coalition which had been tacitly and 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 95 
 
 gradually formed was now openly avowed. The 
 Great Seal was given to Cowper. Somers and 
 Halifax were sworn of the Council. Halifax was 
 sent in the folloAving year to carry the decorations 
 5 of the order of the garter to the Electoral Prince of 
 Hanover, and was accompanied on this honorable 
 mission by Addison, who had just been made 
 Undersecretary of State. The Secretary of State 
 under whom Addison first served was Sir Charles 
 
 10 Hedges, a Tory. But Hedges was soon dismissed 
 to make room for the most vehement of Whigs, 
 Charles, Earl of Sunderland. In every department 
 of the .state, indeed, the High Churchmen were 
 compelled to give place to their opponents. At the 
 
 15 close of 1707, the Tories who still remained in 
 office I'rove to rally, with Harley at their head. 
 But the attempt, though favored by the Queen, 
 who had always been a Tory at heart, and who had 
 now quarrelled with the Duchess of Marlborough, 
 
 20 was unsuccessful. The time was not yet. The 
 Captain General was at the height of popularity 
 and glory. The Low Church party had a majority 
 in Parliament. The country squires and rectors, 
 though occasionally uttering a savage growl, were 
 
 25 for the most part in a state of torpor, which lasted 
 till they were roused into activity, and indeed into 
 madness, by the prosecution of Sacheverell. Har- 
 ley and his adherents were compelled to retire. 
 The victory of the Whigs was complete. At the 
 
 30 general election of 1708, their strength in the 
 
96 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 House of Commons became irresistible; and before 
 the end of that year, Somers was made Lord Presi- 
 dent of the Council, and Wharton Lord Lieutenant 
 of Ireland. 
 
 Addison sat for Malmsbury in the House of Com- 6 
 mons which was elected in 1708. But the House of 
 Commons was not the field for him. The bashful- 
 ness of his nature made his wit and eloquence use- 
 less in debate. He once rose, but could not 
 overcome his diffidence, and ever after remained lo 
 silent. Nobody can think it strange that a great 
 writer should fail as a speaker. But many, prob- 
 ably, will think it strange that Addison's failure as 
 a speaker should have had no unfavorable effect on 
 his success as a politician. In our time, a man of 15 
 high rank and great fortune might, though speak- 
 ing very little and very ill, hold a considerable 
 post. But it would now be inconceivable that a 
 mere adventurer, a man who, when out of office, 
 must live by his pen, should in a few years become 90 
 successively Undersecretary of State, Chief Secre- 
 tary for Ireland, and Secretary of State, without 
 some oratorical talent. Addison, without high 
 birth, and with little property, rose to a post which 
 dukes, the heads of the great houses of Talbot, as 
 Russell, and Bentinck, have thought it an honor 
 to fill. Without opening his lips in debate, he 
 rose to a post the highest that Chatham or Fox 
 ever reached. And this he did before he had been 
 nine years in Parliament. We must look for the 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 97 
 
 explanation of this seeming miracle to the peculiar 
 circumstances in which that generation was placed. 
 During the interval which elapsed between the 
 time when the Censorship of the Press ceased, and 
 5 the time when parliamentary proceedings began to 
 be freely reported, literary talents were, to a public 
 man, of much more importance, and oratorical 
 talents of much less importance, than in our time. 
 At present, the best way of giving rapid and wide 
 
 10 publicity to a fact or an argument is to 'introduce 
 that fact or argument into a speech made in Parlia- 
 ment. If a political tract were to appear superior 
 to the Conduct of the Allies, or to the best num- 
 bers of the Freeholder^ the circulation of such a 
 
 15 tract would be languid indeed when compared with 
 the circulation of every remarkable word uttered in 
 the deliberations of the legislature. A speech made 
 in the House of Commons at four in the morninsr 
 is on thirty thousand tables before ten. A speech 
 
 20 made on the Monday is read on the Wednesday by 
 multitudes in Antrim and Aberdeenshire. The 
 orator, by the help of the shorthand writer, has to 
 a great extent superseded the pamphleteer. It 
 was not so in the reign of Anne. The best speech 
 
 25 could then produce no effect except on those who 
 heard it. It was only by means of the press that 
 the ppinion of the public without doors could be 
 influenced ; and the opinion of the public without 
 doors could not but be of the highest impor- 
 
 50 tance in a country governed by parliaments, and 
 
98 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 indeed at that time governed by triennial parlia- 
 ments. The pen was, therefore, a more formida- 
 ble political engine than the tongue. Mr. Pitt 
 and Mr. Fox contended only in Parliament. But 
 Walpole and Pulteney, the Pitt and Fox of an 5 
 earlier period, had not done half of what was neces- 
 sai'y, when they sat down amidst the acclama- 
 tions of the House of Commons. They had still 
 to plead their cause before the country, and 
 this they could do only by means of the press. loJ 
 Their works are now forgotten. But it is certain j 
 that there were in Grub Street few more assidu- 
 ous scribblers of Thoughts, Letters, Answers, i 
 Remarks, than these two great chiefs of parties. ■ 
 Pulteney, when leader of the Opposition, and 15 
 possessed of thirty thousand a year, edited the 
 Craftsman. Walpole, though not a man of liter- 
 ai'y habits, was the author of at least ten pam- 
 phlets, and retouched and corrected many more. 
 These facts sufficiently show of how great impor- 20 
 tance literary assistance then was to the contending 
 parties. St. John was certainly, in Anne's reign, 
 the best Tory speaker; Cowper was probably the 
 best Whig speaker. But it may well be doubted 
 whether St. John did so much for the Tories as 25 
 Swift, and whether Cowper did so much for the 
 Whigs as Addison. When these things are duly 
 considered, it will not be thought strange that 
 Addison should have climbed higher in the state 
 •than any other Englishman has ever, by means 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 9(? 
 
 merely of literaiy talents, been able to climb. 
 Swift would, in all probability, have climbed as 
 high, if he had not been encumbered by his cas- 
 sock and his pudding sleeves. As far as the hom- 
 
 5 age of the great went, Swift had as much of it as if 
 
 he had been Lord-Treasurer. 
 
 ^ v^ To the influence which Addison derived from his 
 
 literary talents was added all the influence which 
 
 arises from character. The world, always ready to 
 
 10 think the worst of needy political adventurers, was 
 forced to make one exception. Eestlessness, vio- 
 lence, audacity, laxity of principle, are the vices 
 ordinarily attributed to that class of men. But 
 faction itself could not deny that Addison had, 
 
 15 through all changes of fortune; been strictly faith- 
 ful to his early opinions, and. to his early friends; 
 that his integrity was without stain ; that his whole 
 deportment indicated a fine sense of the becoming; 
 that in the utmost heat of controversy, his zeal was 
 
 20 tempered by a regard for truth, humanity, and 
 social decorum ; that no outrage could ever provoke 
 him to retaliation unworthy of a Christian and a 
 gentleman ; and that his , only faults were a too 
 sensitive delicacy, and a modesty which amounted 
 
 85 to bashfulness. 
 
 He was undoubtedly one of the most popular 
 men of his time ; and much of his popularity he 
 owed, we believe, to that very timidity which his 
 friends lamented. That timidity often prevented 
 
 80 him from exhibiting his talents to the best advan- 
 
100 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 tage. But it propitiated !N"emesis. It averted that 
 envy which would otherwise have been excited by 
 fame so splendid, and by so rapid an elevation. 
 No man is so great a favorite with the public as he 
 who is at once an object of admiration, of respect, t 
 and of pity; and such were the feelings which 
 Addison inspired. Those who enjoyed the privi- 
 lege of hearing his familiar conversation, declared 
 with one voice that it was superior even to his 
 writings. The brilliant Mary Montague said, that lo 
 she had known all the wits, and that Addison was 
 the best company in the world. The malignant 
 Pope was forced to own, that there was a charm in 
 Addison's talk which could be found nowhere else. 
 Swift, when burning with animosity against the 15 
 Whigs, could not but confess to Stella that, after 
 all, he had never known any associate so agreeable 
 as Addison. Steele, an excellent judge of lively 
 conversation, said, that the conversation of Addi- 
 son was at once the most polite, and the most 20 
 mirthful, that could be imagined; that it was 
 Terence and Catullus in one, heightened by an 
 e:^quisite something which was neither Terence 
 nor Catullus, but Addison alone. Young, an 
 excellent judge of serious conversation, said, that 25 
 when Addison was at his ease, he went on in a 
 noble strain of thought and language, so as to 
 chain the attention of every hearer. Nor were 
 Addison's great colloquial powers more admirable 
 than the courtesy and the softness of heart which so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 101 
 
 appeared in his conversation. At the same time, 
 it would be too much to say that he was wholly 
 devoid of the malice which is, perhaps, inseparable 
 from a keen sense of the ludicrous. He had one 
 
 5 habit which both Swift and Stella applauded, and 
 which we hardly know how to blame. If his first 
 attempts to set a presuming dunce right were ill 
 received, he changed his tone, "assented with civil 
 leer," and lured the flattered coxcomb deeper and 
 
 10 deeper into absurdity. That such was his practice 
 we should, we think, have guessed from his works. 
 The Tatler^s criticisms on Mr. Softly 's sonnet, and 
 the Sidectator'' s dialogue with the politician who is 
 so zealous for the honor of Lady Q — p — t — s, are 
 
 15 excellent specimens of this innocent mischief. 
 
 Such were Addison's talents for conversation. 
 But his rare gifts were not exhibited to crowds or 
 to strangers. As soon as he entered a large com- 
 pany, as soon as he saw an unknown face, his lips 
 
 20 were sealed, and his manners became constrained, 
 ^one who met him only in great assemblies would 
 have been able to believe that he was the same man 
 who had often kept a few friends listening and 
 laughing round a table, from the time when the 
 
 25 play ended, till the clock of St. Paul's in Covent 
 Garden struck four. Yet, even at such a table he 
 was not seen to the best advantage. To enjoy his 
 conversation in the highest perfection, it was nec- 
 essary to be alone with him, and to hear him, in 
 
 80 his own phrase, think aloud. "There is no such 
 
102 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 thing," he used to say, "as real conversation, but 
 between two persons.'' 
 
 This timidity, a timidity surely neither ungrace- 
 ful nor unamiable, led Addison into the two most 
 serious faults which can with justice be imputed to 5 
 him. He found that wine broke the spell which 
 lay on his fine intellect, and was therefore too 
 easil}^ seduced into convivial excess. Such excess 
 was in that age regai'ded, even by grave men, as 
 the most venial of all peccadilloes, and was so far 10 
 from being a mark of ill-breeding, that it was 
 almost essential to the character of a fine gentle- 
 man. But the smallest speck is seen on a. white 
 ground; and almost all the biographers of Addison 
 have said something about this failing. Of any 15 
 other statesman or writer of Queen Anne's reign, 
 we should no more think of saying that he some- | 
 times took too much wine, than that he wore a ^ 
 long wig and a sword. | 
 
 To the excessive modesty of Addison's nature we 20 
 must ascribe another fault which generally arises 
 from a very different cause. He became a little 
 too fond of seeing himself surrounded by a small 
 circle of admirers, to whom he was as a king, or 
 rather as a god. All these men were far inferior 25 
 to him in ability, and some of them had very seri- 
 ous faults. Nor did those faults escape his obser- 
 vation ; for, if ever there was an eye which saw 
 through and through men, it was the eye of Addi- 
 son. But with the keenest observation, and the 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON UVo 
 
 finest sense of the ridiculous, he" had a large 
 charity. The feeling with which he looked on 
 most of his humble companions was one of benevo- 
 lence, slightly tinctured with contempt. He was 
 
 5 at perfect ease in their company ; he was grateful 
 for their devoted attachment; and he loaded them 
 with benefits. Their veneration for him appears 
 to have exceeded that with which Johnson was 
 regarded by Boswell, or Warburton by Hurd. It 
 
 10 was not in the power of adulation to turn such a 
 head, or deprave such a heart, as Addison's. But 
 it must in candor be admitted that he contracted 
 some of the faults which can scarcely be avoided 
 by any person who is so unfortunate as to be the 
 
 15 oracle of a small literary coterie. 
 
 One member of this little society was Eustace 
 Budgell, a young Templar of some literature, and 
 a distant relation of Addison. There was at this 
 time no stain on the character of Budgell, and it is 
 
 20 not improbable -that his career would have been 
 prosperous and honorable, if the life of his cousin 
 had been prolonged. But, when the master was 
 laid in the grave, the disciple broke loose from all 
 restraint, descended rapidly from one degree of 
 
 25 vice and misery to another, ruined his fortune by 
 follies, attempted to repair it by crimes, and at 
 length closed a wicked and unhappy life by self- 
 murder. Yet, to the last, the wretched man, 
 gambler, lampooner, cheat, forger, as he was, 
 
 80 retained his affection and veneration for iVddison, 
 
104 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 and recorded those feelings' in the last lines which 
 he traced before he hid himself from infamy under 
 London Bridge. 
 
 Another of Addison's favorite companions was 
 Ambrose Philips, a good Whig and a middling 5 
 poet, who had the honor of bringing into fashion a 
 species of composition which has been called, after 
 his name, Namby Pamby. But the most remark- 
 able members of the little senate, as Pope long 
 afterwards called it, were Richard Steele and 10 
 Thomas Tickell. 
 
 Steele had known Addison from childhood. 
 They had been together at the Charter House and 
 at Oxford ; but circumstances had then, for a time, 
 separated them widely. Steele had left college 15 
 without taking a degi'ee, had been disinherited by 
 a rich relation, had led a vagrant life, had served 
 in the army, had tried to find the philosopher's 
 stone, and had written a religious treatise and 
 several comedies. He was one of those people so 
 whom it is impossible either to hate or to respect. 
 His temper was sweet, his affections warm, his 
 spirits lively, his passions strong, and his prin- 
 ciples weak. His life was spent in sinning and 
 repenting; in inculcating what was right, and 25 
 doing what was wrong. In speculation, he was a 
 man of piety and honor ; in practice he was much 
 of the rake and a little of the swindler. He was, 
 however, so good-natured that it was not easy to be 
 seriously angry with him, and that even rigid so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 105 
 
 • moralists felt more inclined to pity than to blame 
 him, when he diced himself into a spnnging-house 
 or drank himself into a, fever. Addison regarded 
 Steele with kindness not , unmingled with scorn, 
 
 5 tried, with little ' success, to keep him out of 
 scrapes, introduced him to the great, procured a 
 good place for him, corrected his plays, and, 
 though by no means rich, lent him large sums of 
 money. One of these loans appears, from a letter 
 
 !o dated in August, 1708, to have amounted to a 
 thousand pounds. These pecuniary transactions 
 probably led to frequent bickerings. It is said 
 that, on one occasion, Steele's negligence, or dis- 
 honesty, provoked Addison to repay himself by the 
 
 15 kelp of a bailiff. We cannot join with Miss Aikin 
 in rejecting this story. Johnson heard it from 
 Savage, who heard it from Steele. Few private 
 transactions which took place a hundred and 
 twenty years ago, are proved by stronger evidence 
 
 20 than this. But we can by no means agree with 
 those who condemn Addison's severity. The most 
 amiable of mankind may well be moved to indigna- 
 tion, when what he has earned hardly, and lent 
 with great inconvenience to himself, for the pur- 
 
 25 pose of relieving a friend in distress, is squandered 
 with insane profusion. We will illustrate our 
 meaning by an example which is not the less 
 striking because it is taken from fiction. Dr. 
 Harrison, in Fielding's Amelia, is represented as 
 
 80 the most benevolent of human beings ; yet he 
 
106 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 takes in execution, not only the goods, but the 
 person of his friend Booth. Dr. Harrison resorts 
 to this strong measure because he has been in- 
 formed that Booth, while pleading poverty as an 
 excuse for not paying just debts, has been buying 5 
 fine jewellery, and setting up a coach. No person 
 who is well acquainted with Steele's life and cor- 
 respondence can doubt that he behaved quite as ill 
 to Addison as Booth was accused of behaving to 
 Dr. Harrison. The real history, we have little 10 
 doubt, was something like this : — A letter comes to 
 Addison, imploring help in pathetic terms, and 
 promising reformation and speedy repayment. 
 Poor Dick declares that he has not an inch of 
 candle, or a bushel of coals, or credit with the 15 
 butcher for a shoulder of mu'tton. Addison is 
 moved. He determines to deny himself some 
 medals which are wanting to his series of the 
 Twelve Caesars ; to put off buying the new edition 
 of Bayle's Dictionary; and to wear his old sword 20 
 and buckles another year. In this way he manages 
 to send a hundred pounds to his friend. The next 
 day he calls on Steele, and finds scores of gentle- 
 men and ladies assembled. The fiddles are play- 
 ing. The table is groaning under champagne, 25 
 burgundy, and pyramids of sweetmeats. Is it 
 strange that a man whose kindness is thus abused, 
 should send sheriff's officers to reclaim what is due 
 to him? 
 
 Tickell was a young man, fresh from Oxford, so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 107 
 
 who had introduced himself to public notice by 
 •writing a most ingenious and graceful little poem 
 in praise of the opera of Eosamond. He deserved, 
 and at length attained, the first place in Addison's 
 5 friendship. For a time Steele and Tickell were on 
 good terms. But they loved Addison too much to 
 love each other, and at length became as bitter 
 enemies as the rival bulls in Virgil. 
 
 At the close of 1708 Wharton became Lord 
 
 10 Lieutenant of Ireland, and appointed Addison 
 Chief Secretary. Addison was consequently under 
 the necessity of quitting London for Dublin. 
 Besides the chief secretaryship, which was then 
 worth about two thousand pounds a year, he 
 
 15 obtained a patent appointing him keeper of the 
 Irish Records for life, with a salary of three or 
 four hundred a year. Budgell accompanied his 
 cousin in the capacity of private secretary. 
 
 Wharton and Addison had nothing in common 
 
 20 but Whiggism. The Lord Lieutenant was not 
 only licentious and corrupt, but was distinguished 
 from other libertines and jobbers by a callous im- 
 pudence which presented the strongest contrast to 
 the Secretary's gentleness and delicacy. Many 
 
 25 ^arts of the Irish administration at this time 
 appear to have deserved serious blame. But 
 against Addison there was not a murmur. He 
 long afterwards asserted, what all the evidence 
 which we have ever seen tends to prove, that 
 
 30 his diligence and integrity gained the friend- 
 
108 MACAULAY^S ESSAYS 
 
 ship of all the most considerable persons in 
 Ireland. 
 
 The parliamentary career of Addison in Ireland 
 has, we think, wholly escaped the notice of all his 
 biographers. lie was elected member for the s 
 borough of Cavan in the summer of 1709; and in 
 the journals of two sessions his name frequently 
 occurs. Some of the entries appear to indicate 
 that he so far overcame Jiis timidity as to make 
 speeches. Nor is this by any means improbable; lo 
 for the Irish House of Commons was a far less 
 formidable audience than the English House; and 
 many tongues which were tied by fear in the 
 greater assembly became fluent in the smaller. 
 Gerard Hamilton, for example, who, from fear of is 
 losing the fame gained by his single speech, sat 
 mute at Westminster during forty j^ears, spoke 
 with great effect, at Dublin when he was secretary 
 to Lord Halifax. 
 
 While Addison was in Ireland, an event occurred 20 
 to which he owes his high and permanent rank 
 among British writers. As yet his fame rested on 
 performances which, though highly respectable, 
 were not built for duration, and which would, if 
 he had produced nothing else, have noAV been 25 
 almost forgotten ; on some excellent Latin verses ; 
 on some English verses which occasionally rose 
 above mediocrity; and on a book of travels, agree- 
 ably written, but not indicating any extraordinary 
 powers of mind. These works showed him to be a so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 109 
 
 man of taste, sense, and learning. The time had 
 come when he was to prove himself a man of 
 genius, and to enrich our literature with composi- 
 tions which will live as long as the English lan- 
 5 guage. 
 
 In the spring of 1709 Steele formed a literary 
 project, of which he was far indeed from foresee- 
 ing the consequences. Periodical i^apers had 
 during many years been published in London. 
 
 10 Most of these were political ; but in some of them 
 questions of morality, taste, and love-casuistry had 
 been discussed. The literary merit of these works 
 was small indeed ; and even their names are now 
 known only to the curious. 
 
 15 Steele had be»n appointed Gazetteer by Sunder- 
 land, at the request, it is said, of Addison, and 
 thus had access to foreign intelligence earlier and 
 more authentic than was in those times within the 
 reach of an ordinary news-writer. This circum- 
 
 20 stance seems to have suggested to him the scheme 
 of publishing a periodical paper on a new plan. It 
 was to appear on the days on which the post left 
 London for the country, which were, in that 
 generation, the Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Satur- 
 
 85 days. It was to contain the foreign news, accounts 
 of theatrical representations, and the literary gossip 
 of Will's and of the Grecian. It was also to con- 
 tain remarks on the fashionable topics of the day, 
 compliments to beauties, pasquinades on noted 
 
 80 sharpers, and criticisms on popular preachers. 
 
110 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 4 
 
 The aim of Steele does not appear to have been at 
 first higher than this. He was not ill-qualified to 
 conduct the work which he had planned. His 
 public intelligence he di'ew from the best sources. 
 He knew the town, and had paid dear for his 5 
 knowledge. He had read much more than the 
 dissipated men of that time were in the habit of ' 
 reading. He was a rake among scholars, and a 
 scholar among rakes. His style was easy and not 
 incorrect ; and though his wit and humor were of lo 
 no high order, his gay animal spirits imparted to 
 his compositions an air of vivacity which ordinary 
 readers could hardly distinguish from comic 
 genius. His writings have been well compared to 
 those light wines which, though deficient in body is 
 and flavor, are yet a pleasant small drink, if not 
 kept too long, or carried too far. 
 
 Isaac BickerstafP, Esquire, Astrologer, was an 
 imaginary person, almost as well known in that 
 age as Mr. Paul Pry or Mr. Samuel Pickwick in 20 
 ours. Swift had assumed the name of Bickerstaff 
 in a satirical pamphlet against Partridge, the 
 maker of almanacs. Partridge had been fool 
 enough to publish a furious reply. Bickerstaff 
 had rejoined in a second pamphlet still more 25 
 diverting than the first. All the wits had 
 combined to keep up the joke, and the town was 
 long in convulsions of laughter. Steele deter- 
 mined to employ the name which this controversy 
 liad made popular; and in April, 1709, it was 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 111 
 
 announced that Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire, Astrolo- 
 ger, was about to publish a paper called the Tatler. 
 Addison had not been consulted about this 
 scheme; but as soon as he heard of it he deter- 
 
 5 mined to give his assistance. The effect of that 
 assistance cannot be better- described than in 
 Steele's own words. "I fared," he said, "like a 
 distressed prince who calls ii^ a powerful neighbor 
 to his aid. I was undone by my auxiliary. When 
 
 10 I had once called him in, I could not subsist with- 
 out dependence on him." "The paper," he says 
 elsewhere, "was advanced indeed. It was raised 
 
 ^^ to a greater thing than I intended it." 
 \j> It is probable that Addison, when he sent across 
 
 15 St. George's Chanael his first contributions to the 
 Tatler^ had no notion of the extent and variety of 
 his own powers. He was the possessor of a vast 
 mine, rich with a hundred ores. But he had 
 been acquainted only with the least precious part 
 
 20 of his treasures, and had hitherto contented him- 
 self with producing sometimes copper and some- 
 times lead, intermingled with a little silver. All 
 at once, and by mere accident, he had lighted on 
 an inexhaustible vein of the finest gold. 
 
 25 The mere choice and arrangement of his words 
 would have sufficed to make his essays classicpJ . For 
 never, not even by Dryden, not even by Temple, 
 had the English language been written with such 
 sweetness, grace, and facility. But this was the 
 
 80 smallest part of Addison's praise. Had he clothed 
 
^' 
 
 112 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 his thoughts in the half French style of Horace 
 Walpole, or in the half Latin style of Dr. John- 
 son, or in the half German jargon of the present 
 day, his genius would have triumphed over all 
 faults of manner. As a moral satirist he stands . 5 
 unrivalled. If ever ' the best Tatlers and Spec- 
 tators were equalled in their own kind, we should 
 be inclined to guess that it must have been by the 
 lost comedies of Menander. 
 
 In' wit, properly so called, Addison was not lo 
 inferior to Cowley or Butler. No single ode of 
 Cowley contains so many happy analogies as are 
 crowded into the lines to Sir Godfrey Kueller; and 
 we would undertake to collect from the Spectators 
 as great a number of ingenious illustrations as can 15 
 be found in Iludibras. The still higher faculty of 
 invention Addison possessed in still larger meas- 
 ure. The numerous fictions, generally original, 
 often wild and grotesque, but always singularly 
 graceful and happy, which are found in his essays, 20 
 fully entitle him to the rank of a great poet, a 
 rank to which his metrical compositions give him 
 no claim. As an observer of life, of manners, of 
 all the shades of human character, he stands in the 
 first class. And what he observed he had the art 25 
 of communicating in two widely different ways. 
 He could describe virtues, vices, habits, whims as 
 well as Clarendon. But he could do something 
 better. He could call human beings into exist- 
 ' ence, and make them exhibit themselves. If we 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 113 
 
 wish, to find anything more vivid than Addison's 
 best portraits, we must go either to Shakespeare or 
 to Cervantes. 
 
 But what shall we say of Addison's humor, of 
 
 5 his sense of the ludicrous, of his power of awaken- 
 ing that sense in others, and of drawing mirth from 
 incidents which occur every day, and from little 
 peculiarities of temper and manner, such as may 
 be found in every man? We feel the charm : we 
 
 10 give ourselves up to it ; but we strive in vain to 
 analyze it. 
 
 Perhaps the best way of describing Addison's 
 peculiar pleasantry is to compare it with the pleas- 
 antry of some other great satirists. The tln-ee 
 
 15 most eminent masters of the art of ridicule during 
 the eighteenth century, were, we conceive, Addi- 
 son, Swift, and Voltaire. Which of the three had 
 the greatest power of moving laughter may be 
 questioned. But each of them, within his own 
 
 20 domain, was supreme. 
 
 Voltaire is the prince of buffoons. His merri- 
 ment is without disguise or restraint. He gam- 
 bols; he grins.; he shakes his sides; he points the 
 finger; he turns up the nose; he shoots out the 
 
 25 tongue. , The manner of Swift is the very opposite 
 to this. He moves laughter, but never joins in it. 
 He appears in his works such as he appeared in 
 society. All the company are convulsed with 
 merriment, while the Dean, the author of all the 
 
 80 mirth, preserves an invincible gravity, and even 
 
114 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 sourness of aspect, and gives utterance to the most 
 eccentric and ludicrous fancies, with the air of a 
 man reading the commination service. 
 
 The manner of Addison is as remote from that 
 of Swift as from that of Voltaire. He neither 5 
 laughs out like the French wit, nor, like the Irish 
 wit, throws a double portion of severity into his 
 countenance while laughing inwardly; but pre- 
 serves a look peculiarly his own, a look of demure 
 serenity, disturbed only by an arch sparkle of the 10 
 eye, an almost imperceptible elevation of the brow, 
 an almost imperceptible curl of the lip. His tone 
 is never that either of a Jack Padding or of a 
 cynic. It is that of a gentjeman, in whom the 
 quickest sense of the ridiculous is constantly is 
 tempered by good nature and good breeding. 
 
 "We own that the humor of Addison is, in our 
 opinion, of a more delicious flavor than the humor 
 of either Swift or Voltaire. Thus much, at least, 
 is certain, that both Swift and Voltaire have.heen 20 
 successfully mimicked, and that no man has yet 
 been able to mimic Addison. The letter of the 
 Abbe Coyer to Pansophe is Voltaire all over, and 
 imposed, during a long time, on the Academicians 
 of Paris. There are passages in Arbuthnot's 25 
 satirical works which we, at least, cannot distin- 
 guish from Swift's best writing. But of the many 
 eminent jnen who have made Addison their 
 model, though several have copied his mere diction 
 vith happy effect, none have been able to catch so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON iio 
 
 the tone of his pleasantry. In the World, in the 
 Connoisseur, in the Mirror, in the Lounger, there 
 are numerous papers written in obvious imitation 
 of his Tatlers and Spectators. Most of these 
 
 5 papers have some merit ; many are very lively and 
 amusing; but there is not a single one which 
 could be passed off as Addison's on a critic of the 
 smallest perspicacity. 
 
 But that which chiefly distinguishes Addison 
 
 10 from Swift, from Voltaire, from almost all the 
 other great masters of ridicule, is the grace, the 
 nobleness, the moral purity, which we find even in 
 his merriment. Severity, gradually hardening and 
 darkening into misanthropy, characterizes the 
 
 15 works of Swift. The nature of Voltaire was, 
 
 indeed, not inhuman; but he venerated nothing. 
 
 „ Neither in the masterpieces of art nor in the purest 
 
 examples of virtue, neither in the Great First Cause 
 
 nor in the awful enigma of the grave, could he see 
 
 20 anything but subjects for drollery. The more 
 solemn and august the theme, the more monkey- 
 like was his grimacing and chattering. The 
 mirth of Swift is the mirth of Mephistopheles ; the 
 mirth of Voltaire is the mirth of Puck. If, as 
 
 85 Soame Jenyns oddly imagined, a portion of the 
 happiness of seraphim and just men made perfect 
 be derived from an exquisite perception of the 
 ludicrous, their mirth must surely be none other 
 than the mirth of Addison; a mirth consistent 
 
 so with tender compassion for all that is frail, and 
 
116 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 witK profound reverence for all that is sublime. 
 Nothing great, nothing amiable, no moral duty, 
 no doctrine of natural or revealed religion, has ever 
 been associated by Addison with any degrading 
 idea. His humanity is without a parallel in liter- ?> 
 ary history. The highest proof of virtue is to 
 possess boundless power without abusing it. No 
 kind of power is more formidable than the power 
 of making men ridiculous ; and that power Addi- 
 son possessed in boundless measure. How grossly lo 
 that power was abused by Swift and by Voltaire is 
 well known. But of Addison it may be confidently 
 affii'med that he has blackened no man's character, 
 nay, that it would be difficult, if not impossible, 
 to find in all the volumes which he has left us a 15 
 single taunt* which can be called ungenerous or 
 unkind. Yet he had detractors, whose malignity 
 might have seemed to justify as terrible a revenge * 
 as that which men, not superior to him in genius, 
 wreaked on Bettesworth and on Franc de Pompig- 20 
 nan. He was a politician; he was the best writer 
 of his party ; he lived in times of fierce excitement, 
 in times when persons of high character and station 
 stooped to scurrility such as is now practised only 
 by the basest of mankind. Yet no provocation 25 
 and no example could induce him. to return railing 
 for railing. 
 
 Of the service which his Essays rendered to 
 morality it is difficult to speak too highly. It is 
 true, that, when the Tatler appeared, that age of so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISOiN 117 
 
 outrageous profaneness and licentiousness which 
 followed the Restoration had passed away. 
 Jeremy Collier had shamed the theatres into some- 
 thing which, compared with the excesses of Ether - 
 
 5 ege and Wycherley, might be called decency. Yet 
 there still lingered in the public mind a pernicious 
 notion that there was some connection between 
 genius and profligacy; between the domestic vir- 
 tues and the sullen formality of the Puritans. 
 
 10 That error it is the glory of Addison to have dis- 
 pelled. He taught the nation that the faith and 
 the morality of Hale and T^illotson might be found 
 in company with wit more sparkling than the wit 
 of Congreve, and with humor richer than the 
 
 15 humor of Vanbrugh. So effectually, indeed, did 
 he retort on vice the mockery which had recently 
 been directed against virtue, that, since his time, 
 the open violation of decency has always been con- 
 sidered among us as the mark of a fool. And this 
 
 20 revolution, the greatest and most salutary ever 
 effected by any satirist, he accomplished, be it 
 remembered, without writing one personal lam- 
 poon. 
 
 In the early contributions of Addison to the 
 
 25 Tatler^ his peculiar powers were not fully ex- 
 hibited. Yet from the first, his superiority to all 
 his coadjutors was evident. Some of his later 
 Tatlers are fully equal to anything that he ever 
 wrote. Among the portraits, we most admire 
 
 80 Tom Folio, Ned Softly, and the Political Uphol- 
 
118 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS ^ 
 
 sterer. The proceedings of the Court of Honor, 
 the Thermometer of Zeal, the story of the Frozen 
 Words, the Memoh's of the Shilling, are excellent 
 specimens of that ingenious and lively species of 
 Action in which Addison excelled all men. There 8 
 is one still better paper of the same class. But 
 though that paper, a hundred and thirty-three 
 years ago, was probably thought as edifying as one 
 of Smalridge's sermons, we dare not indicate it to 
 the squeamish readers of the nineteenth century, lo 
 
 During the session of Parliament which com- 
 menced in November, 1709, and which the im- 
 peachment of Sacheverell has made memorable, 
 Addison appears to have resided in London. The 
 Tatler was now more popular than any periodical 15 
 paper had ever been ; and his connection with it 
 was generally known. It was not known, how- 
 ever, that almost everything good in the Tatler was 
 nis. The truth is, that the fifty or sixty numbers 
 which we owe to him were not merely the best, 20 
 but so decidedly the best that any five of them are 
 more valuable than all the two hundred numbers 
 in which he had no share. 
 
 He required, at this time, all the solace which 
 he could derive from literary success. The Queen 25 
 had always disliked the Whigs. She had during 
 some years disliked the Marlborough family. But, 
 reigning by a disputed title, she could not venture 
 directly to oppose herself to a majority of both 
 Houses of Parliament ; and, engaged as she was in so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 111) 
 
 a war on the event of whicli her own crown was 
 staked, she could not venture to disgrace a great 
 and successful general. But at length, in the year 
 1710, the causes which had restrained her from 
 
 6 showing her aversion to the Low Church party 
 ceased to operate. The trial of Sacheverell pro- 
 duced an outbreak of public feeling scarcely less 
 violent than the outbreaks which we can ourselves 
 remember in 1820, and in 1831. The country 
 
 10 gentlemen, the country clergymen, the rabble of 
 the towns, were all, for once, on the same side. 
 It was clear that, if a general election took place 
 before the excitement abated, the Tories would 
 have a majority. The services of Marlborough 
 
 15 had been so splendid that they were no longer 
 necessary. The Queen's throne was secure from 
 all attack on the part of Louis. Indeed, it seemed 
 much more likely that the English and German 
 armies would divide the spoils of Versailles and 
 
 JO Marli than that a Marshal of France would bring 
 back the Pretender to St. James's. The Queen, 
 acting by the advice of Harley, determined to dis- 
 miss her servants. In June the change com- 
 menced. Sunderland was the first who fell. The 
 
 85 Tories exulted over his fall. The Whigs tried, 
 during a few weeks, to persuade themselves that 
 her majesty had acted only from personal dislike to 
 the Secretary, and that she meditated no further 
 alteration. But, early in August, Godolphin was 
 
 30 surprised by a letter from Anne, which directed 
 
120 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 him to break his white staff. Even after this 
 event, the irresolution or dissimulation of Harley 
 kept up the hopes of the Whigs during another 
 month ; and then the ruin became rapid and vio- 
 lent. The Parliament was dissolved. The 5 
 ministers were turned out. The Tories were 
 called to office. The tide of popularity ran vio- 
 lently in favor of the High Church party. That 
 party, feeble in the late House of Commons, was 
 now irresistible. The power which the Tories had 10 
 thus suddenly acquired, they used with blind and 
 stupid ferocity. The howl which the whole pack 
 set up for prey and for blood appalled even him 
 who had roused and unchained them. When, at 
 this distance of time, we calmly review the conduct 15 
 of the discarded ministers, we cannot but feel a 
 movement of indignation at* the injustice with 
 which they were treated. No body of men had 
 ever administered the government with more 
 energy, ability, and moderation ; and their success 20 
 had been proportioned to their wisdom. They 
 had saved Holland and Germany. They had 
 humbled France. They had, as it seemed, all but 
 torn Spain from the house of Bourbon. They had 
 made England the first power in Europe. At 25 
 home they had united England and Scotland. 
 They had respected the rights of conscience and 
 the liberty of the subject. They retired, leaving 
 their country at the height of prosperity and 
 glory. And yet they were pursued to their retreat 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 121 
 
 by such a roar of obloquy as was never raised 
 against the government which threw away thirteen 
 colonies, or against the government which sent a 
 gallant army to perish in the ditches of Walcheren. 
 
 ^ None of the Whigs suffered more in the general 
 wreck than Addison. He had just sustained some 
 heavy pecuniary losses, of the nature cf which we 
 are imperfectly informed, when his secretaryship 
 was taken from him. He had reason to believe 
 
 10 that he should also be deprived of the small Irish 
 office which he held by patent. 'He had just 
 resigned his fellowship. It seems probable that 
 he had already ventured to raise his eyes to a great 
 lady, and that, while his political friends were in 
 
 15 power, and while his own fortunes were rising, he 
 had been, in the phrase of the romances which 
 were then fashionable, permitted to hope. But 
 Mr. Addison the ingenious writer, and Mr. Addi- 
 son the chief secretary, were, in her ladyship's 
 
 so opinion, two very different persons. All these 
 calamities united, however, could not disturb the 
 serene cheerfulness of a mind conscious of inno- 
 cence, and rich in its own wealth. He told his 
 friends, with smiling resignation, that they ought 
 
 25 to admire his philosophy ; that he had lost at once 
 his fortune, his place, his fellowship, and his mis- 
 tress ; that he must think of turning tutor again ; 
 and yet that his spirits were as good as ever. 
 
 He had one consolation. Of the unpopularity 
 
 80 which his friends had incurred, he had no share. 
 
122 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 Such was the esteem with which he was regarded 
 that, while the most violent measures were taken 
 for the purpose of forcing Tory members on Whig 
 corporations, he was returned to Parliament with- 
 out even a contest. Swift, who was now in Lon- 5 
 don, and who had already determined on quitting 
 the Whigs, wrote to Stella in these remarkable 
 words : "The Tories carry it among the new mem- 
 bers six to one. Mr. Addison's election has 
 passed easy and undisputed; and I believe if he i« 
 had a mind to be king he would hardly be 
 refused." 
 
 The good will with which the Tories regarded 
 Addison is the more honorable to him, because it 
 had not been purchased by any concession on his if 
 part. During the general election he published a 
 political journal, entitled the Wldg Examiner. 
 Of that journal it may be sufficient to say that 
 Johnson, in spite of his strong political prejudices, 
 pronounced it to be superior in wit to any of 20 
 Swift's writings on the other side. When it ceased 
 to appear. Swift, in a letter to Stella, expressed his 
 exultation at the death of so formidable an 
 antagonist. "He might well rejoice," says John- 
 son, "at the death of that which he could not have as 
 killed." "On no occasion," he adds, "was the 
 genius of Addison more vigorously exerted, and on 
 none did the superiority of his powers more evi- 
 dently appear." 
 
 The only use which Addison appears to have 8© 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 123 
 
 made of the favor with which he was regarded by 
 the Tories was to save some of his friends from the 
 general ruin of the Whig party. He felt himself 
 to" be in a situation which made it his duty to take 
 
 3 a decided part in politics. But the case of Steele 
 and of Ambrose Philips was different. For 
 Philips, Addison even condescended to solicit, 
 with what success we have not ascertained. Steele 
 held two places. He was Gazetteer, and he was 
 
 10 also a Commissioner of Stamps. The Gazette was 
 taken from him. But he was suffered to retain 
 his place in the Stamp Office, on an implied under- 
 standing that he should not be active against the 
 new government; and he was, during more than 
 
 15 two years, induced by Addison to observe this 
 armistice with tolerable fidelity. 
 
 Isaac Bickerstaff accordingly became silent upon 
 politics, and the article of news which had once 
 formed about one-third of his paper, altogether 
 
 20 disappeared. The Tatler had completely changed 
 its character. It was now nothing but a series of 
 essays on books, morals, and manners. Steele 
 therefore resolved to bring it to a close, and to 
 commence a new work on an improved plan. It 
 
 25 was announced that this new work would be pub- 
 lished daily. The undertaking was generally 
 regarded as bold, or rather rash; but the event 
 amply justified the confidence with which Steele 
 relied on the fertility of Addison's genius. On 
 
 80 the second of January, 1711, appeared the last 
 
124 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 Tatler. At the beginning of March following 
 appeared the first of an incomparable series of 
 papers, containing observations on life and liter- 
 ature by an imaginary spectator. 
 
 The Spectator himself was conceived and drawn 5 
 by Addison ; and it is not easy to doubt that the 
 portrait was meant to be in some features a like- 
 ness of the painter. The Spectator is a gentleman 
 who, after passing a studious youth at the univer- 
 sity, has travelled on classic ground, and has lo 
 bestowed much attention on curious points of 
 antiquity. He has, on his return, fixed his resi- 
 dence in London, and has observed all the forms of 
 life which are to be found in that great city; has 
 daily listened to the wits of Will's, has smoked is 
 with the philosophers of the Grecian, and has 
 mingled with the parsons at Child's, and with the 
 politicians at the St. James's. In the morning, ho 
 often listens to the hum of the Exchange ; in the 
 evening, his face is constantly to be seen in the pit 20 
 of Drury Lane Theatre. But an insurmountable 
 bashfulness prevents him from opening his mouth 
 except in a small circle of intimate friends. 
 
 These friends were first sketched by Steele. 
 Four of the club, the templar, the clergyman, the 25 
 soldier, and the merchant, were uninteresting fig- 
 ures, fit only for a background. But the other 
 two, an old country baronet and an old town rake, 
 though not delineated with a very delicate pencil, 
 had some good strokes. Addison took the rude so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 12o 
 
 outlines into his own hands, retouched them, 
 colored them, and is in truth the creator of the Sir 
 Roger de Coverley and the Will Honeycomb with 
 whom we are all familiar. 
 3 The plan of the Spectator must be allowed to be 
 both original and eminently happy. Every valu- 
 able essay in the series may be read ^^ith pleasure 
 separately ; yet the five or si^ hundred essays form 
 a whole, and a whole which has the interest of a 
 
 10 novel. It must be remembered, too, that at that 
 time no novel, giving a lively and powerful picture 
 of the common life and manners of England, had 
 appeared. Richardson was working as a composi- 
 tor. Fielding was robbing birds' nests. Smollett 
 
 15 was not yet born. The narrative, therefore, which 
 connects together the Spectator's essays, gave to 
 our ancestors their first taste of an exquisite and 
 untried pleasure. That narrative was indeed con- 
 structed with no art or labor. The events were 
 
 20 such events as occur every day. Sir Roger comes 
 up to town to see Eugenio, as the worthy baronet 
 always calls Prince Eugene, goes with the Specta- 
 tor on the water to Spring Gardens, walks among 
 the tombs in the Abbey, and is frightened by the 
 
 25 Mohawks, but conquers his apprehension so far as 
 to go to the theatre when the Distressed Mother is 
 acted. The Spectator pays a visit in the summer 
 to Coverley Hall, is charmed with the old house, 
 the old butler, and the old chaplain, eats a jack 
 
 90 caught by Will Wimble, rides to the assizes, and 
 
12G MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 
 hears a point of law discussed by Tom Tonchjo 
 At last a letter from the honest butler brings to the 
 club the news that Sir Roger is dead. Will 
 Honeycomb marries and reforms at sixty. The 
 club breaks up; and the Spectator resigns his 5 
 functions. Such events can hardly be said to form 
 a plot ; yet they are related with such truth, such 
 grace, such wit, such humor, such pathos, such 
 knowledge of the human heart, such knowledge of 
 the ways of the world, that they charm us on the lo 
 hundredth perusal. We have not the least doubt 
 that if Addison had written a novel, on an exten- 
 sive plan, it would have been superior to any that 
 we possess. As it is, he is entitled to be con- 
 sidered not only as the greatest of the English is 
 essayists, but as the forerunner of the great 'Eng- 
 lish novelists. 
 
 We say this of Addison alone; for Addison is 
 the Spectator. About three-sevenths of the work 
 are his ; and it is no exaggeration to say, that his se 
 worst essay is as good as the best essay of any of 
 his coadjutors. His best essays approach near to 
 absolute perfection; nor is their excellence more 
 wonderful than their variety. His invention never 
 seems to flag ; nor is he ever under the necessity of 25 
 repeating himself, or of wearing out a subject^ 
 There are no dregs in his wine. He regales us 
 after the fashion of that prodigal nabob who held 
 that there was only one good glass in a bottle. As 
 soon as we have tasted the first sparkling foam of §9 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 127 
 
 a jest, it is withdrawn, and a fresh draught of 
 nectar is at onr lips. On the Monday, we have an 
 allegory as lively and ingenious as Lucian's Auc- 
 tion of Lives ; on the Tuesday, an Eastern apologue 
 
 5 as richly colored as the Tales of Scheherezade ; on 
 the Wednesday, a character described with the 
 skill of La Bruyere; on the Thursday, a scene 
 from common life, equal to the best chapters in 
 the Vicar of Wakefield; on the Friday, some sly 
 
 10 Horatian pleasantry oil fashionable follies, — on 
 
 hoops, patches, or puppet-shows; and on the 
 
 Saturday, a religious meditation, which will bear a 
 
 comparison with the finest passages in Massillon. 
 
 It is dangerous to select where there is so much 
 
 15 that deserves the highest praise. We will venture, 
 however, to say, that any person who wishes to 
 form a just notion of the extent and variety of 
 Addison's powers, will do well to read at one sit- 
 ting the following papers : The two Visits to thq 
 
 20 Abbey, the visit to the Exchange, the Journal ot 
 the Eetired Citizen, the Vision of Mirza, thq 
 Transmigrations of Pug the Monkey, and the 
 Death of Sir Roger de Coverley. 
 
 The least valuable of Addison's contributions to 
 
 25 the Spectator are, in the judgment of our age, hi^ 
 critical papers. Yet his critical papers are always 
 luminous, and often ingenious. The very worst 
 of them must be regarded as creditable to him, 
 when the character of the school in which he had 
 
 80 been trained is fairly considered. The best of 
 
128 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 ^hem were much too good for his readers. In 
 truth, he was not so far behind our generation as 
 he was before his own. No essays in the Spectator 
 were more censured and derided than those in 
 which he raised his voice against the contempt . 
 with which our fine old ballads were regarded, and 
 showed the scoffers that the same gold which, 
 burnished and polished, gives lustre to the ^ncid 
 and the Odes of Horace, is mingled with the rude 
 dross of Chevy Chase. lo 
 
 It is not strange that the success of the Spectator 
 should have been such as no similar work has ever 
 obtained. The numjber of copies daily distributed 
 was at first three thousand. It subsequently 
 increased, and had risen to near four thousand i5 
 when the stamp tax was imposed. That tax was 
 fatal to a crowd of journals. The Spectator, how- 
 ever, stood its ground, doubled its price, and, 
 though its circulation fell off, still yielded a large 
 revenue both to the state and to the authors. For 20 
 particular papers, the demand was immense; of 
 some, it is .said, twenty thousand copies were 
 required. But this was not all. To have the 
 Spectator served up every morning with the bbhea 
 and rolls was a luxury for the few. The majority 20 
 were content to wait till essays enough had 
 appeared to form a volume. Ten thousand copies 
 of each volume were immediately taken off. and 
 new editions were called for. It must be remem- 
 bered, that the population of England was then sc 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 129 
 
 hardly a third of what it now is. The number of 
 Englishmen who were in the habit of reading, was 
 probably not a sixth of what it now is. A shop- 
 keeper or a farmer who found any pleasure in 
 
 5 literature, was a rarity. Nay, there was doubtless 
 more than one knight of the shire whose country 
 seat did not contain ten books, receipt-books and 
 books on farriery included. In these circumstan- 
 ces, the sale of the Spectator must be considered as 
 
 10 indicating a popularity quite as great as that of the 
 most successful works of Sir Walter Scott and Mr. 
 Dickens in our own time. 
 
 At the close of 1712 the Spectator ceased to 
 appear. It was probably felt that the shortfaced 
 
 15 gentleman and his club had been long enough 
 before the town ; and that it was time to withdraw 
 them, and to replace them by a new set of charac- 
 ters. In a few weeks the first number of the 
 Guardian was published. But the Guardian was 
 
 20 unfortunate both in its birth and in its death. It 
 began in dulness and disappeared in a tempest of 
 faction. The original plan was bad. Addison 
 contributed nothing till sixty-six numbers had 
 appeared ; and it .was then impossible to make the 
 
 25 Guardian what the Spectator had been. Nestor 
 Ironside and the Miss Lizards were people to whom 
 even he could impart no interest. He could only 
 furnish some excellent little essays, both serious 
 and comic ; and this ne did. 
 
 80 "Why Addison gave no assistance to the Guard- 
 
130 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS j 
 
 ian during the first two months of its existencGj 
 is a question which has puzzled the editors and 
 biographers, but which seems to us to admit of a 
 very easy solution. He was then engaged in bring- 
 ing his Cato on the stage. 6 ) 
 
 The fii'st four acts of this drama had been lying > 
 in his desk since his return from Italy. His 
 modest and sensitive nature shrank from the risk of 
 a public and shameful failure; and, though all 
 who saw the manuscript were loud in praise, some lo 
 thought it possible that an audience might become 
 impatient even of very good rhetoric, and advised 
 Addison to print the play without hazarding a 
 representation. At length, after many fits of 
 apprehension, the poet yielded to the urgency of 15 , 
 his political friends, who hoped that the public 
 would discover some analogy between the followers 
 of Caesar and the Tories, between Sempronius and 
 the apostate Whigs, between Cato, struggling to 
 the last for the liberties of Rome, and the band of 20 
 patriots who still stood firm round Halifax and 
 Wharton. 
 
 Addison gave the play to the managers of Drury 
 Lane Theatre, without stipulating for any advan- 1 
 tage to himself. They, therefore, thought them- 25 ! 
 selves bound to spare no cost in scenery and 
 dresses. The decorations, it is true, would not 
 have pleased the skilful eye of Mr. Macready. 
 Juba's waistcoat blazed with gold lace; Marcia's 
 hoop was worthy of a duchess on the birthday; and so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 131 
 
 Cato wore a wig worth fifty guineas. The pro- 
 logue was written by Pope, and is undoubtedly a 
 dignified and spirited composition. The part of 
 the hero was excellently played by Booth. Steele 
 s undertook to pack a house. The boxes were in a 
 blaze with the stars of the Peers in Opposition. 
 The pit was crowded with attentive and friendly 
 listeners from the Inns of Court and the literary 
 coffee-houses. Su- Gilbert Heathcote, Governor of 
 
 10^ the Bank of England, was at the head of a power- 
 ful body of auxiliaries from the city, warm men 
 and true Whigs, but better known at Jonathan's 
 and Garraway's than in the haunts of wits and 
 critics. 
 
 15 These precautions were quite superfluous. The 
 Tories, as a body, regarded Addison with no un- 
 kind feelings. Nor was it for their interest, pro- 
 fessing, as they did, profound reverence for law 
 and prescription, and abhorrence both of popular 
 
 20 insurrections and of standing armies, to appropri- 
 ate to themselves reflections thrown on the great 
 military chief and demagogue, who, with the sup- 
 • port of the legions and of the common people, 
 subverted all the ancient institutions of his coun- 
 
 25 try. Accordingly, every shout that was raised by 
 the members of the Kit Cat was echoed by the 
 High Chiu-chmen of the October; and the curtain 
 at length fell amidst thunders of unanimous 
 applause. 
 
 30 The delight and admiration of the town were 
 
132 MAC AUL AY'S ESSAYS 
 
 described by the Guardian in terms which we 
 might attribute to partiality, were it not that the 
 Examiner^ the organ of the ministry, held similar 
 language. The Tories, indeed, found much to 
 sneer at in the conduct of their opponents. 
 Steele had on this, as on other occasions, shown 
 mx)re zeal than taste or judgment. The honest 
 citizens who marched under the orders of Sir 
 Gibby, as he was facetiously called, probably knew 
 better when to buy and when to sell stock than* lo 
 svhen to clap and when to hiss at a play, and 
 incurred some ridicule by making the hypocritical 
 Sempronius their favorite, and by giving to his 
 insincere rants louder plaudits than they bestowed 
 on the temperate eloquence of Cato. Wharton, 15 
 too, who had the incredible effrontery to applaud 
 the lines about flying from prosperous vice and 
 from the power of impious men to a private station, 
 did not escape the sarcasms of those who justly 
 thought that he could fly from nothing more 20 
 vicious or impious than himself. The epilogue, 
 which was written by Garth, a zealous Whig, was 
 severely and not unreasonably censured as ignoble 
 and out of place. But Addison was described, 
 even by the bitterest Tory writers, as a gentleman 25 
 of wit and virtue, in whose friendship many per- 
 sons of both parties were happy, and whose name 
 ought not to be mixed up with factious squabbles. 
 \ Of the jests by which the triumph of the W^hig 
 party was disturbed, the most severe and happy m 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON lOD 
 
 was Bolingbroke's. Between two acts he sent for 
 Booth to his box, and presented him, before the 
 whole theatre, with a purse of fifty guineas for 
 defending the cause of liberty so well against a 
 
 5 perpetual Dictator. This was a pungent allusion 
 to the attempt which Marlborough had made, not 
 long before his fall, to obtain a patent creating 
 him Captain General for life. 
 
 It was April; and in April, a hundred and 
 
 10 thirty years ago, the London season was thought to 
 be far advanced. During a whole month, how- 
 ever, Cato was performed to overflowing houses, 
 and brought into the treasury of the theatre twice 
 the gains of an ordinary spring. In the summer 
 
 1.5 the Drury Lane company went down to the Act at 
 Oxford, and there, before an audience which 
 retained an affectionate remembrance of Addison's 
 accomplishments and virtues, his tragedy was 
 enacted during several days. The gownsmen 
 
 40 began to besiege the theatre in the forenoon, and 
 by one in the afternoon all the seats were filled. 
 
 About the merits of the ]3iece which had so 
 extraordinary an effect, the public, we suppose, 
 has made up its mind. To compare it with the 
 
 95 masterpieces of the Attic stage, with the great 
 English dramas of the time of Elizabeth, or even 
 with the productions of Schiller's manhood, would 
 be- absurd indeed; yet it contains excellent dia- 
 logue and declamation, and, among plays fashioned 
 
 m on the French model, must be allowed to rank 
 
134 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 high, — not indeed with Athalie or Saul, but, we 
 think, not below Cinna, and certainly above any 
 other English tragedy of the same school; above 
 many of the plays of Corneille ; above many of the 
 plays of Voltaire and Alfieri; and above some 5 
 plays of Eacine. Be this as it may, we have little 
 doubt that Cato did as much as the Tatlers^ Spec- 
 tators^ and Freeliolders united, to raise Addison's 
 fame among his contemporaries. 
 
 The modesty and good nature of the successful 10 
 dramatist had tamed even the malignity of faction. 
 But literary envy, it should seem, is a fiercer pas- 
 sion than party spirit. It was by a zealous Whig 
 that the fiercest attack on the Whig tragedy was 
 made. John Dennis published Eemarks on Cato, 15 
 which were written with some acuteness and with 
 much coarseness and asperity. Addison neither 
 defended himself nor retaliated. On many points 
 he had an excellent defence, and nothing would 
 have been easier than to retaliate ; for Dennis had 20 
 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 25 
 unrivalled. Addison, however, serenely conscious 
 of his superiority, looked with pity on his assail- 
 ant, whose temper, naturally irritable and gloomy, 
 had been soured by want, by controversy, and by 
 literary failures, M 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 135 
 
 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- 
 
 6 five. But his powers had expanded to their full 
 maturity; and his best poem, the Eape of the 
 Lock, had recently been published. Of his genius 
 Addison had always expressed high admiration. 
 But Addison had early discerned, what might, 
 
 10 indeed, have been discerned by an eye less pene- 
 trating than his, that the diminutive, crooked, 
 sickly boy was eager to revenge himself on society 
 for the unkindness of nature. In tl;o Spectator 
 the Essay on Criticism had been praised with cor- 
 
 15 dial 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 
 gi'atified by the praise, returned thanks for the 
 
 20 admonition, and promised to profit by it. The 
 two writers continued to exchange civilities, coun- 
 sel, and small good offices. Addison publicly 
 extolled Pope's miscellaneous pieces, and Pope 
 furnished Addison with a prologue. This did not 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 but be welcome to a nature which was implacable 
 
i;:g mac aul AY'S essays 
 
 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 
 H 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 gi'umbler would have been crushed. 
 But Pope writing dialogue resembled — to borrow 
 Horace's imagery and his own — a wolf, which, 
 instead of biting, should take to kicking, or a 
 monkey which should try to sting. The Narrative 
 is utterly contemptible. Of argument there is not 
 even the show, and the jests are such as, if they 
 were introduced into a farce, would call forth the 
 hisses of the shilling gallery. Dennis raves about 
 the drama, and the nurse thinks that he is calling 
 for a dram. "There is," he cries, "no peripetia 
 in the tragedy, no change of fortune, no change at 
 all." "Pray, good sir, be not angi-y," says the 
 old woman, "I'll fetch change." This is not 
 exactly the pleasantry of Addison. 
 
 There can be no doubt that Addison saw through 
 this officious zeal, and felt himself deeply aggrieved 
 by it. So foolish and spiteful a pamphlet could do 
 him no good, and, if he were thought to have any 
 hand in it, must do him harm. Gifted with 
 incomparable powers of ridicule, he had never, 
 
i^IFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 13? 
 
 even in self-defence, used those powers inhumanly 
 or uncourteously ; and he was not disposed to let 
 others make his fame and his interests a pretext 
 under which they might commit outrages from 
 5 which he had himself constantly abstained. He 
 accordingly declared that he had no concern in the 
 Narrative, that he disapproved of it, and that if 
 he answered the Remarks, he would answer them 
 like a gentleman; and he took care to communi- 
 
 10 cate this to Dennis. Pope was bitterly mortified, 
 
 and to this transaction we are inclined to ascribe the 
 
 hatred with which he ever after regarded Addison. 
 
 In September, 1713, the Guardian ceased to 
 
 appear. Steele had gone mad about politics. A 
 
 15 general election had just taken place • he had been 
 chosen member for Stockbridge, and he fully 
 expected to play a first part in Parliament. The 
 immense success of the Tatler and Spectator had 
 turned his head. He had been the editor of both 
 
 20 those papers, and was not aware how entirely they 
 owed their influence and popularity to the genius 
 of his friend. His spirits, always violent, were 
 now excited by vanity, ambition, and faction, to 
 such a pitch that he every day committed some 
 
 25 offence against good sense and good taste. All the 
 discreet and moderate members of his own party 
 regretted and condemned his folly. "I am in a 
 thousand troubles," Addison wrote, "about poor 
 Dick, and wish that his zeal for the public may not 
 
 so be ruinous to himself. But he has sent me word 
 
138 MAC AULA Y'S ESSAYS 
 
 that he is determined to go on, and that any advice 
 I may give him in this particular will have no 
 weight with him." 
 
 Steele set np a political paper called the Eng- 
 lishmaii, which, as it was not supported by contri- 5 
 butions from Addison, completely failed. By this 
 work, by some other writings of the same kind, 
 and by the airs which he gave himself at the first 
 meeting of the new Parliament, he made the Tories 
 so angry that they determined to expel him. The lo 
 Whigs stood by him gallantly, but were unable to 
 save him. The vote of expulsion was regarded by 
 all dispassionate men as a tyrannical exercise of the 
 power of the majority. But Steele's violence and 
 folly, though they by no means justified the steps 15 
 which his enemies took, had completely disgusted 
 his friends ; nor did he ever regain the place which 
 he had held in the public estimation. 
 
 Addison about this time conceived the design of 
 adding an eighth volume to the Spectator. In 20 
 June, 1714, the first number of the new series 
 appeared, and during about six months three 
 papers were published weekly. Nothing can be 
 more striking than the contrast between the Eng- 
 lislimaii and the eighth volume of the Spectator^ 35 
 between Steele without Addison and Addison with- 
 out Steele. The Englishman is forgotten: the 
 eighth volume of the Spectator contains, perhaps, 
 the finest essays, both serious and playiul, in the 
 English language. 89 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 130 
 
 Before this volume was completed, the death of 
 Anne produced an enth-e change in the administra- 
 tion of public affairs. The blow fell suddenly. 
 It found the Tory party distracted by internal 
 5 feuds, and unprepared for any great effort. 
 Harley had just been disgraced. Bolingbroke, it 
 was supposed, would be the chief minister. But 
 the Queen was on her death-bed before the white 
 staff had been given, and her last public act was to 
 
 10 deliver it with a feeble hand to the Duke of 
 Shrewsbury. The emergency produced a coalition 
 between all sections of public men who were 
 attached to the Protestant succession. George the 
 First was proclaimed without opposition. A coun- 
 
 15 cil, in which the leading whigs had seats, took the 
 direction of affairs till the new King should arrive. 
 The first act of the Lords Justices was to appoint 
 Addison their secretary. 
 
 There is an idle tradition that he was directed 
 
 20 to prepare a letter to the King, that he could not 
 satisfy himself as to the style of this composition, 
 and that the Lords Justices called in a clerk, who 
 at once did what was wanted. It is not strange 
 that a story so flattering to mediocrity should be 
 
 25 popular; and we are sorry to deprive dunces of 
 their consolation. But the truth must be told. 
 It was well observed by Sir James Mackintosh, 
 whose knowledge of these times was unequalled, 
 that Addison never, in any official document, 
 
 50 affected wit or eloquence, and that his despatches 
 
140 MAC AUL AY'S ESSAYS 
 
 are, without exception, remarkable for unpretend- 
 ing simplicity. Ever3'body who knows with what 
 ease Addison's finest essays were produced, must 
 be convinced that, if well-turned phrases had been 
 wanted, he would have had no difficulty in finding 5 
 them. We are, however, inclined to believe, that 
 the story is not absolutely without a foundation. 
 It may well be that iVddison did not know, till he 
 had consulted experienced clerks who remembered 
 the times when William the Third was absent on lo 
 the Continent, in what form a letter from the 
 Council of Regency to the King ought to be drawn. 
 We think it very likely that the ablest statesmen of 
 our** time. Lord John Russell, Sir Robert Peel, 
 Lord Palmerston, for example, w^onld, in similar 15 
 circumstances, be found quite as ignorant. Every 
 office has some little mysteries which the dullest 
 man may learn with a little attention, and which 
 the greatest man cannot possibly know by intui- 
 tion. One paper must be signed by the chief of 20 
 the department ; another by his deputy ; to a third 
 the royal sign-manual is necessary. One commu- 
 nication is to be registered, and another is not. 
 One sentence must be in black ink, and another 
 in red ink. If the ablest Secretary for Ireland 25 
 were moved to the India Board, if the ablest 
 President of the India Board were moved to the 
 War Office, he would require instruction on 
 points like these; and we do not doubt that 
 Addison required such instruction when he be- so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 141 
 
 came, for the first time, Secretary to the Lords 
 Justices. 
 
 George the First took possession of his kingdom 
 witliout opposition. A new ministry was formed, 
 
 5 and a new Parliament favorable to the Whigs 
 chosen. Sunderland was appointed Lord Lieuten- 
 ant of Ireland ; and Addison again went to Dublin 
 as Chief Secretary. 
 
 At Dublin Swift resided; and there was much 
 
 10 speculation about the way in which the Dean and 
 the Secretary would behave towards each other. 
 The relations which existed between these remark- 
 able men form an interesting and pleasing portion 
 of literary history. They had early attached them- 
 
 15 selves to the same political party and to the same 
 patrons. While Anne's Whig ministry was in 
 power, the visits of Swift to London and the 
 official residence of Addison in L'eland had given 
 them opportunities of knowing each other. They 
 
 20 were the two shrewdest observers of their age. But 
 their observations on each other had led them to 
 favorable conclusions. Swift did full justice to 
 the rare powers of conversation which were latent 
 under the bashful deportment of Addison. Addi- 
 
 25 son, on the other hand, discerned much good 
 nature under the severe look and manner of Swift ; 
 and, indeed, the Swift of 1708 and the Swift of 
 1738 were two very different men. 
 
 But the paths of the two friends diverged 
 
 80 widely. The Whig statesmen loaded Addison 
 
142 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 with solid benefits. They praised Swift, asked 
 him to dinner, and did nothing more for him. 
 His profession laid them under a difficulty. In 
 the state they could not promote him; and they 
 had reason to fear that, by bestowing preferment 5 
 in the church on the author of the Tale of a Tub, 
 they might give scandal to the public, which had 
 no high opinion of their orthodoxy. _ He did not 
 make fair allowance for the difficulties which pre- 
 vented Halifax and Somers from serving him, lo 
 thought himself an ill-used man, sacrificed honor 
 and consistency to revenge, joined the Tories, and 
 became their most formidable champion. He 
 soon found, however, that his old friends were 
 less to blame than he had supposed. The dislike is 
 with which the Queen and the heads of the church 
 regarded him was insurmountable ; and it was with 
 the greatest difficulty that he obtained an ecclesias- 
 tical dignity of no great value, on condition of 
 fixing his residence in a country which he de- 20 
 tested. 
 
 Difference of political opinion had produced, not 
 indeed a quarrel, but a coolness between Swift and 
 Addison. They at length ceased altogether to see 
 each other. Yet there was between them a tacit 25 
 compact like that between the hereditai'y guests in 
 the Iliad : — 
 
 'Ey;(6a 8' aWrlKiav aKeiitixeOa Koi Sl' o/uiiAou' 
 
 IIoAAoi fief yap e/Aol Tpies >cAetToi t' eTriKovpot, 
 
 KretVeiv, oy Ke 6e6<; ye TTopr] koX ttoctctI Ki^eiia, M 
 
 Tl«A\oi 5' av (Toi 'A\atol, efaipe'ju.ei' 6v /ce fivvijat. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON U3 
 
 It is not strange tliat Addison, who calumniated 
 and insulted nobody, should not have calumniated 
 or insulted Swift. But it is remarkable that 
 Swift, to whom neither genius nor virtue was 
 
 5 sacred, and who generally seemed to find, like most 
 other renegades, a peculiar pleasure in attacking 
 old friends, should have shown so much respect 
 and tenderness to Addison. • 
 
 Fortune had now changed. The , accession of 
 
 10 the house of Hanover had secured in England the 
 liberties of the people, and in Ireland the dominion 
 of the Protestant caste. To that caste Swift was 
 more odious than any other man. He was hooted 
 and even pelted in the streets of Dublin; and 
 
 15 could not venture to ride along the strand for his 
 health without the attendance of armed servants. 
 Many whom he had formerly served now libelled 
 and insulted him. At this time Addison arrived. 
 He had been advised not to show the smallest civil- 
 
 20 ity to the Dean of St. Patrick's. He had an- 
 swered, with admirable spirit, that it might be 
 necessary for men whose fidelity to their party was 
 suspected, to hold no intercourse with political 
 opponents; but that one who had been a steady 
 
 25 Whig in the worst times might venture, when the 
 good cause was triumphant, to shake hands with 
 an old friend who was one of the vanquished Tories. 
 His kindness was soothing to the proud and cruelly 
 wounded spirit of Swift ; and the two great satirists 
 
 30 resumed their habits of friendly intercourse. 
 
14-i MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 Those associates of Addison whose political 
 opinions agreed with his shared his good fortune. 
 He took Tickell with him to Ireland. He pro- 
 cured for Budgell a lucrative place in the same 
 kingdom. Ambrose Philips was provided for in 
 England. Steele had injured himself so much by 
 his eccentricity and perverseness, that he obtained 
 but a very small part of what he thought his due. 
 lie was, however, knighted; he had a place in the 
 household; and he subsequently received other 
 marks of favor from the court. 
 
 Addison did not remain long in Ireland. ' In 
 1715 he quitted his secretaryship for a seat at the 
 Board of Trade. In the same year his comedy of 
 the Drummer was brought on the stage. The 
 name of the author was not announced; the piece 
 was coldly received; and some critics have ex- 
 pfessed a doubt whether it were really Addison's. 
 To us the evidence, both external and internal, 
 seems decisive. It is not in Addison's best man- ao 
 ner; but it contains numerous passages which no 
 other writer known to us could have produced. It 
 was again performed after Addison's death, and, 
 being known to be his, was loudly applauded. 
 
 Towards the close of the year 1715, while the 25 
 Rebellion was still raging in Scotland, Addison 
 published the first number of a paper called the 
 Freeholder. Among his political works the Free- 
 holder is entitled to the first place. Even in the 
 Spectator there are few serious papers nobler than 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 145 
 
 the character of his friend Lord Somers, and cer- 
 tainly no satirical papers superior to those in which 
 the Tory fox-hunter is introduced. This charac- 
 ter is the original of Squire Western, and is drawn 
 
 5 with all Fielding's force, and with a delicacy of 
 which Fielding was altogether destitute. As none 
 of Addison's works exhibits stronger marks of his 
 genius than the Freeliolder^ so none does more 
 honor to his moral character. It is difficult to 
 
 10 extol too highly the candor and humanity of a 
 political writer whom even the excitement of civil 
 war cannot hurry into unseemly violence. Oxford, 
 it is well known, was then the stronghold of Tory- 
 ism. The High Street had been repeatedly lined 
 
 15 with bayonets in order to keep down the disaffected 
 gownsmen; and traitors pursued by the messen- 
 gers of the government had been concealed in the 
 garrets of, several colleges. Yet the admonition 
 which, even under such circumstances, Addison 
 
 20 addressed to the university, is singularly gentle,, 
 respectful, and even affectionate. Indeed, he 
 could not find it in his heart to deal harshly evert 
 with imaginary persons. His fox-hunter, though 
 ignorant, stupid, and violent, is at heart a good 
 
 25 fellow, and is at last reclaimed by the clemency of 
 the king. Steele was dissatisfied with his friend's 
 moderation, and, though he acknowledged that the 
 Freeliolder was excellently Avi'itten, complained 
 that the ministry played on a lute when it was 
 
 80 necessary to blow the trumpet. He accordingly 
 
146 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 determined to execute a flourish after his own 
 fashion, and tried to rouse the public spirit of the 
 nation by means of a paper called the Town Talk, 
 which is now as utterly forgotten as his English- 
 man^ as his Crisis, as his Letter to the Bailiff of 5 
 Stockbridge, as his Reader, in short, as everything 
 that he wrote without the help of Addison. 
 
 In the same year in which the Drummer was 
 acted, and in which the first numbers of the Free- 
 liolder appeared, the estrangement of Pope and 10 
 Addison became complete. Addison had from the 
 first seen that Pope was false and malevolent. 
 Pope had discovered that Addison was jealous. 
 The discovery was made in a strange manner. 
 Pope had written the Rape of the Lock, in two 15 
 cantos, without supernatural machinery. These 
 two cantos had been loudly applauded, and by 
 none more loudly than by Addison. Then Pope 
 thought of .the Sylphs and Gnomes, Ariel, Momen- 
 tilla, Crispissa, and Umbriel, and resolved to inter- 20 
 weave the Rosicrucianr mythology with the original 
 fabric. He asked Addison's advice. Addison said 
 that the poem as it stood was a delicious little 
 thing, and entreated Pope not to run the risk of 
 marring what was so excellent in trying to mend 25 
 it. Pope afterward^ declared that this insidious 
 counsel first opened his eyes to the baseness of him 
 who gave it. 
 
 Now there can be no doubt that Pope's plan was 
 most ingenious, and that he afterwards executed it so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON U7 
 
 with great skill and success. But does it neces- 
 sarily follow that Addison's advice was bad? And 
 if Addison's advice was bad, does it necessarily 
 follow that it was given from bad motives? If a 
 5 friend were to ask us whether we would advise him 
 to risk his all in a lottery of which the chances 
 were ten to one against him, we should do our 
 best to dissuade him from running such a risk. 
 Even if he were so lucky as to get the thirty thou- 
 
 10 sand pound prize, we should not admit that we had 
 counselled him ill ; and we should certainly think 
 it the height of injustice in him to accuse us of 
 having been actuated by malice. We think Addi- 
 son's advice good advice. It rested on a sound 
 
 15 principle, the result of long and wide experience. 
 The general rule undoubtedly is that, when a suc- 
 cessful work of imagination has been produced, it 
 should not be recast. We cannot at this moment 
 call to mind a single instance in which this rule 
 
 20 has been transgressed with happy effect, except the 
 instance of the Eape of the Lock. Tasso recast 
 his Jerusalem. Akenside recast his Pleasures of 
 the Imagination, and his Epistle to Curio. Pope 
 himself, emboldened no doubt by the success with 
 
 25 which he had expanded and remodelled the Rape 
 of the Lock, made the same experiment on the 
 Dunciad. All these attempts failed. Who was to 
 foresee that Pope would, once in his life, be able 
 to do what he could not himself do twice, and what 
 
 80 nobodv else has ever done? 
 
148 MAC AULA Y'S ESSAYS 
 
 Addison's advice was good. But had it been 
 bad, why should we pronounces it dishonest? Scott 
 tells us that one of his best friends predicted the 
 failure of Waverley. Herder adjured Goethe not 
 to take so unpromising a subject as Faust. Hume s 
 tried to dissuade Eobertson from writing the His- 
 tory of Charles the Fifth. Nay, Pope himself was 
 one of those who prophesied that Cato would 
 never succeed on the stage, and- advised Addison 
 to print it without risking a representation. But lo 
 Scott, Goethe, Eobertson, Addison, had the good 
 sense and generosity to give their advisers credit 
 for the best intentions. Pope's heart was not of 
 the same kind with theirs. 
 
 In 1715, while he was engaged in translating the is 
 Iliad, he met Addison at a coffee-house. Philips 
 and Budgell were there; but their sovereign got 
 rid of them, and asked Pope to dine with him 
 alone. After dinner, Addison said that he lay 
 under a difficulty which he wished to explain. 20 
 "Tickell," he said, "translated some time ago the 
 first book of the Iliad. I have promised to look it 
 over and correct it. I cannot, therefore, ask to 
 see yours, for that would be double-dealing." 
 Popp made a civil reply, and begged that his 25 
 second book might have the advantage of Addi- 
 son's revision. Addison readily agreed, looked 
 over the second book, and sent it back with warm 
 commendations. 
 
 Tickell's version of the first book appeared soon :^ 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 149 
 
 after this conversation. In the preface, all rivalry 
 was earnestly disclaimed. Tickell declared that he 
 should not go on with the Iliad. That enterprise 
 he should leave to powers which he admitted to be 
 
 5 superior to his own. His only view, he said, in 
 publishing this specimen was to bespeak the favor 
 of the public to a translation of the Odyssey, in 
 which he had made some progress. 
 
 Addison, and Addison's devoted followers, pro- 
 
 10 nounced both the versions good, but maintained 
 that Tickell's had more of the original. The 
 town gave a decided preference to Pope's. We do 
 not think it worth while to settle such a question 
 of precedence. Xeither of the rivals can be said 
 
 15 to have translated the Iliad, unless indeed, the 
 word translation be used in the sense which it 
 bears in the Midsummer Xight's Dream. When 
 Bottom makes his appearance with an ass's head 
 instead of his own, Peter Quince exclaims, "Bless 
 
 20 thee! Bottom, bless thee! thou art translated." 
 In this sense, undoubtedly, the readers of either 
 Pope or Tickell may very properly exclaim, "Bless 
 thee! Homer; thou art translated indeed." 
 
 Our readers will, we hope, agi'ee with us in 
 
 25 thinking that no man in Addison's situation could 
 have acted more fairly and kindly, both towards 
 Pope, and towards Tickell, than he appears to 
 have done. But an odious suspicion had sprung 
 up in the mind of Pope. He fancied, and he 
 
 80 soon firmly believed, that there was a deep con- 
 
150 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 spiracy against his fame and liis fortunes. The 
 work on which he had staked his reputation was 
 to be depreciated. The subscription, on which 
 rested his hopes of a competence, was to be 
 defeated. With this ^iew Addison liad made a 5 
 rival translation : Tickell had consented to father - 
 it; and the wits of Button's had united to puff it. 
 
 Is there any external evidence to support this 
 grave accusation? The answer is short. There is 
 absolutely none. lo 
 
 "Was there any internal evidence which proved 
 Addison to be the author of this version? Was it 
 a work which Tickell was incapable of producing? 
 Surely not. Tickell was a fellow of a college at 
 Oxford, and must be supposed to have been able to 15 
 construe the Jliad ; and he was a better versifier 
 than his friend. We are not aware that Pope pre- 
 tended to have discovered any turns of expression 
 peculiar to Addison. Had such turns of ex- 
 pression been discovered, they would be sufficiently 20 
 accounted for by supposing Addison to have cor- 
 rected his friend's lines, as he owned that he had 
 done. 
 
 Is there anything in the character of the accused 
 ■persons which makes the accusation probable? We 25 
 answer confidently — nothing. Tickell was long 
 after this time described by Pope himself as a very 
 fair and worthy man. Addison had been, during 
 many years, before the public. Literary rivals, 
 political opponents, had kept their eyes on him. 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 151 
 
 But neither envy nor faction, in their utmost 
 rage, had ever imputed to him a single deviation 
 from tjie laws of honor and of social morality. 
 Had he been indeed a man meanly jealous of 
 fame, and capable of stooping to base and 
 wicked arts for the purpose of injuring his com- 
 petitors, would his vices have remained latent 
 so long? He was a writer of tragedy: had he 
 ever injured Eowe? He was a writer of com- 
 edy : had he not done ample justice to Congreve, 
 and given valuable help to Steele? He was a 
 pamphleteer : have not his good nature and gener- 
 osity been acknowledged by Swift, his rival in 
 fame and his adversary in politics? 
 
 That Tickell should have been guilty of a villany 
 seems to us highly improbable. That Addison 
 should have been guilty of a villany seems to us 
 highly improbable. But that these two men 
 should have conspired together to commit a villany 
 seems to us improbable in a tenfold degree. All 
 that is known to us of their intercourse tends to 
 proTe, that it was not the intercourse of two 
 accomplices in crime. The3e are some of the lines 
 in which Tickell poured forth his sorrow t)ver the 
 coffin of Addison : — 
 
 "Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, 
 A task well suited to thy gentle mind ? 
 Oh, if sometimes thy spotless form descend, 
 To me thine aid, thou guardian genius, lend, 
 When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, 
 
\ 
 
 •J 
 
 152 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, 
 
 In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, 
 
 And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart ; 
 
 Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, 
 
 Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more." 5 
 
 Q In what words, we should like to know, did this 
 guardian genius invite his pupil to join in a plan 
 such as the editor of the Satirist would hardly 
 dare to -propose to the editor of the Age? 
 
 "VYe do not accuse Pope of bringing an accusation lo 
 which he knew to be false. AYe have not the 
 smallest doubt that he believed it to be true; and 
 the evidence on which he believed it he found 
 in his own bad heart. His own life was one long 
 series of tricks, as mean and as malicious as that of is 
 which he suspected Addison and Tickell. He was 
 all stiletto and mask. To injure, to insult, and to 
 save himself from the consequences of injury and 
 insult by lying and equivocating, was the habit of 
 his life. He published a lampoon on the Duke of 20 
 Chandos; he was taxed v/ith it; and he lied and 
 equivocated. He published a lampoon on Aaron 
 Hill; he was taxed with it; and he lied and 
 equivocated. He published a still fouler lampoon 
 on Lady Mary Wortley Montague; he was taxed 25 
 with it; and he lied with more than usual effront- 
 ery and vehemence. He puffed himself and 
 abused his enemies under feigned names. He 
 robbed himself of his own letters, and then raised 
 the hue and cry after them. Besides his frauds of se 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 153 
 
 malignity, of fear, of interest, and of vanity, there 
 were frauds which he seems to have committed 
 from love of fraud alone. He had a habit of 
 stratagem, a pleasure in outwitting all who came 
 5 near Jiim. Whatever his objoct might be, the 
 indirect road to it was that which he preferred. 
 For Bolingbroke, Pope undoubtedly felt as much 
 love and veneration as it was in his nature to feel 
 for any human being. Yet Pope was scarcely dead 
 10 when it was discovered that, from no motive except 
 the mere love of artifice, he had been guilty of an 
 act of gross perfidy to Bolingbroke. 
 
 Nothing was more natural than that such a man 
 as this should attribute to others that which he 
 15 felt within himself. A plain, probable, coherent 
 explanation is frankly given to him. * He is certain 
 that it is all a romance. A line of conduct 
 scrupulously fair, and even friendly, is pursued 
 towards him. He is convinced that it is merely a 
 20 cover for a vile intrigue by which he is to be dis- 
 graced and ruined. It is vain to ask him for 
 proofs. He has none, and wants none, except 
 those which he carries in his own bosom. 
 
 Whether Pope's malignity at length provoked 
 23 Addison to retaliate for the first and last time, 
 pannot now be known with certainty. We have 
 only Pope's story, which runs thus. A pamphlet 
 appeared containing some reflections which stung 
 Pope to the quick. What those reflections were, 
 80 and whether they were reflection^ of which he had 
 
154 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 a right to complain, we have now no means of 
 deciding The Earl of Warwick, a foolish and 
 vicious iad, who regarded Addison with the feel- 
 ings with which such lads generally regard their 
 best friends, told Pope, truly or falsely, that this 5 
 palnphlet had been written by Addison's direction. 
 When we consider what a tendency stories have to 
 grow, in passing even from one honest man to 
 another honest man, and when we consider that to 
 the name of honest man neither Pope nor the Earl lo 
 of Warwick had a claim, we are not disposed to 
 attach much importance to this anecdote. 
 
 It is certain, however, that Pope was furious. 
 He had already sketched the character of Atticus 
 in prose. Ii^ his anger he turned this prose into i« 
 the brilliant and energetic lines which everybody 
 knows by heart, or ought to know by heart, and 
 sent them to Addison. One charge which Pope 
 has enforced with great skill is probably not with- 
 out foundation. Addison was, we are inclined to 20 
 believe, too fond of presiding over a circle of 
 humble friends. Of the other imputations which 
 these famous lines are intended to convey, scarcely 
 one has ever been proved to be just, and some are 
 certainly false. That Addison was not in the 25 
 habit of *' damning with faint praise" appears 
 from innumerable passages in his writings, and 
 from none more than from those in which he 
 mentions Pope. And it is not merely unjust, but 
 ridiculous, to describe a man who made the fortune sc 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 155 
 
 of almost every one of his intimate friends, as *'so 
 obliging that he ne'er obliged." 
 
 That Addison felt the sting of Pope's satire 
 keenly, we cannot doubt. That he was conscious 
 
 5 of one of the weaknesses with which he was re- 
 proached is highly probable. But his heart, we 
 firmly believe, acquitted him of the gravest part of 
 the accusation. He acted like himself. As a 
 satirist he was, at his own weapons, more than 
 
 10 Pope's match, and he would have been at no loss 
 for topics. A distorted and diseased body, 
 tenanted by a yet more distorted and diseased 
 mind; spite and envy thinly disguised by senti- 
 ments as benevolent and noble as those which Sir 
 
 15 Peter Teazle admired in Mr. Joseph Surface; a 
 feeble, sickly licentiousness; an odious love of 
 filthy and noisome images; these were things 
 which a genius less powerful than that to which 
 we owe the Spectator could easily have held up to 
 
 20 the mirth and hatred of mankind. Addison had, 
 moreover, at his command, other means of venge- 
 ance which a bad man would not have scrupled 
 to use. He was powerful in the state. Pope was 
 a Catholic; and, in those times, a minister would 
 
 •25 have found it easy to harass the most innocent 
 Catholic by innumerable petty vexations. Pope, 
 near twenty years later, said that "through the 
 lenity of the government alone he could live with 
 comfort. '' "Consider," he exclaimed, "the injury 
 
 80 that a man of high rank and credit may do to a 
 
156 
 
 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 private person, under penal laws and many other 
 disadvantages." It is pleasing to reflect that the 
 only revenge which Addison took was to insert iii 
 the Freeholder a warm encomium on the transla- 
 tion of the Iliad, and to exhort all lovers of learn- 5 
 ing to put down their names as subscribers. 
 There could be no doubt, he said, from the speci- 
 mens already published, that the masterly hand of 
 Pope would do as much for Homer as Dryden had- 
 done for Virgil. From that time to the end of his lo 
 life, he always treated Pope, by Pope's own 
 acknowledgment, with justice. Friendship was, 
 of course, at an end. 
 
 One reason which induced the Earl of "Warwick 
 to play the ignominious part of talebearer on this is 
 occasion, may have been his dislike of the mar- 
 riage which was about to take place between his 
 mother and Addison. The Countess Dowager, a 
 daughter of the old and honorable family of the 
 Middletons of Chirk, a family which, in any 20 
 country but ours, would be called noble, resided at 
 Holland House. Addison had, during some years, 
 occupied at Chelsea a small dwelling, once the 
 abode of Nell Gwynn. Chelsea is now a distnct of 
 London, and Holland House may be called a town 25 
 residence. But, in the days of Anne and George 
 the First, milkmaids and sportsmen wandered 
 between green hedges, and over fields bright with 
 daisies, from Kensington almost to the shore of the 
 Thames. Addison and Lady Warwick were conn- so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 157 
 
 try neighbors, and became intimate friends. The 
 great wit and scholar tried to allure the young 
 lord from the fashionable amusements of beating 
 watchmen, breaking windows, and rolling women 
 5 in hogsheads down Holborn Hill, to the study of 
 letters and the practice of virtue. These well- 
 meant exertions did little good, however, either to 
 the disciple or to the master. Lord AVarwick 
 grew up a rake ; and Addison fell in love. The 
 10 mature beauty of the countess has been celebrated 
 by poets in language which, after a very large 
 allowance has been made for flattery, would lead us 
 to believe that she was a fine woman ; and her rank 
 doubtless heightened her attractions. The court- 
 is ship was long. The hopes of the lover appear to 
 have risen and fallen with the fortunes of his 
 23arty. His attachment was at length matter of 
 such notoriety that, when he visited Ireland for the 
 last time, Eowe addressed some consolatory verses 
 30 -to the Chloe of Holland House. It strikes us as a 
 little strange that, in these verses, Addison should 
 be called Lycidas, a name of singularly evil omen 
 for a swain just about to cross St. George's 
 Channel. 
 25 At length Chloe capitulated. Addison was 
 indeed able to treat with her on equal terms. He 
 had reason to expect preferment even higher than 
 that which he had attained. He had inherited 
 the fortune of a brother who died Governor of 
 80 Madras. He had purchased an estate in Warwick- 
 
158 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 shire, and had been welcomed to his domain in 
 very tolerable verse by one of the neighboring 
 squires, the poetical fox-hunter, William Somer- 
 ville. In August, 1716, the newspapers announced 
 that Joseph Addison, Esquire, famous for many 6 
 excellent works, both in verse and prose, had 
 espoused the Countess Dowager of Warwick. 
 
 He now fixed his abode at Holland House, a 
 house which can boast of a greater number of 
 inmates distinguished in political and literary his- lo 
 tory than any other private dwelling in England. 
 His portrait still hangs there. The features are 
 pleasing; the complexion is remarkably fair^ but 
 in the expression we trace rather the gentleness of 
 his disposition than the force and keenness of his m 
 intellect. 
 
 Not long after his marriage he reached the 
 height of civil greatness. The Whig Government 
 had, during some time, been torn by internal dis- 
 sensions. Lord Townshend led one section of the 20 
 Cabinet, Lord Sunderland the other. At length, 
 in the spring of 1717, Sunderland triumphed. 
 Townshend reth^ed from office, and was accom- 
 panied by W^alpole and Cowper. Sunderland pro- 
 ceeded to reconstruct the Ministry; and Addison 25 
 was appointed Secretary of State. It is certain that 
 the Seals were pressed upon him, and were at first 
 declined by him. Men equally versed in official 
 business might easily have been found; and his 
 colleagues knew that they could not expect assist- 80 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 159 
 
 ance from liim in debate. He owed his elevation 
 to his popularity, to his stainless probity, and to 
 his literary fame. 
 
 But scarcely had Addison entered the Cabinet 
 
 s when his health began to fail. From one serious 
 attack he recovered in the autumn; and his 
 recovery was celebrated in Latin verses, worthy of 
 his own pen, by Vincent Bourne, who was then at 
 Trinity College, Cambridge. A relapse soon took 
 
 10 place; and, in the following spring, Addison was 
 prevented by a severe asthma from discharging the 
 duties of his post. He resigned it, and was suc- 
 ceeded by his friend Craggs, a young man whose 
 natural parts, though little improved by cultiva- 
 
 15 tion, were quick and showy, whose graceful person 
 and winning manners had made him generally 
 acceptable in society, and who, if he had lived, 
 \fould probably have been the most formidable of 
 all the rivals of Walpole. 
 
 20 As yet there was no Joseph Hume. The minis- 
 ters, therefore, were able to bestow on Addison a 
 
 J retiring pension of fifteen hundred pounds a year. 
 In what form tl\is pension was given we are not 
 told by the biographers, and have not time to 
 
 85 inquire. But it is certain that Addison did not 
 vacate his seat in the House of Commons. 
 
 Rest of mind and body seemed to have reestab- 
 lished his health; and he thanked God. with 
 cheerful piety, for having set him free both from 
 
 80 his office and from his asthma. Many years 
 
160 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 seemed to be before him, and he meditated many 
 works, a tragedy on the death of Socrates, a trans- 
 lation of the Psalms, a treatise on the evidences of 
 Christianity. Of this last performance, a part, 
 which we could well spare, has come down to ns. 6 
 
 But the fatal complaint soon returned, and 
 gi'adually prevailed against all the resources of 
 medicine. It is melancholy to think that the last 
 months of such a life should have been overclouded 
 both by domestic and by political vexations. A lo 
 tradition which began early, which has been gener- 
 ally received, and to which we have nothing to 
 oppose, has represented his wife as an arrogant 
 and imperious woman. It is said that, till his 
 health failed him, he was glad to escape from the i5 
 Countess Dowager and her magnificent dining- 
 room, blazing with the gilded devices of the house 
 of Rich, to some tavern where he could enjoy 'U 
 laugh, a talk about Virgil and Boileau, and a 
 bottle of claret with the friends of his happier 20 
 days. All those friends, however, were not left to 
 him. Sir Richard Steele had been .gradually 
 estranged by various causes. He considered him- 
 self as one who, in evil times, had braved martyr- 
 dom for his political principles, and demanded, 25 
 when the Whig party was triumphant, a large 
 compensation for what he had suffered when it was 
 militant. The Whig leaders took a very different 
 view of his claims. They thought that he had, by 
 his own petulance and folly, brought them as well so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 161 
 
 as himself into trouble, and though they did not 
 absolutely neglect him, doled out favors to him 
 with a sparing hand. It was natural that he 
 should be angry with them, and especially angry 
 
 5 with Addison. But what above all seems to have 
 disturbed Sir Richard, was the elevation of Tickell, 
 who, at thirty, was made by Addison Undersecre- 
 tary of State, while the editor of the Tatler and 
 Spectator^ the author of the Crisis, the member 
 
 10 for Stockbridge who had been persecuted for firm 
 adherence to the house of Hanover, was, at near 
 fifty, forced, after many solicitations and com- 
 plaints, to content himself with a share in the pat- 
 ent of Drury Lane Theatre. Steele himself says, in 
 
 15 his celebrated letter to Congreve, that Addison, by 
 his preference of Tickell, "incurred the warmest 
 resentment of other gentlemen;" and every thiiig 
 seems to indicate that, of those resentful gentle- 
 men, Steele was himself one. 
 
 20 While poor Sir Richard was brooding over what 
 he considered as Addison's unkindness, a new 
 cause of quarrel arose. The Whig party, already 
 divided against itself, was rent by a new schism. 
 The celebrated bill for limiting the number of peers 
 
 25 had been brought in. The i)roud Duke of Somer- 
 set, first in rank of all the nobles whose origin 
 permitted them to sit in Parliament, was the 
 ostensible author of the measure. But it was sup- 
 ported, and, in truth, devised by the Prime 
 
 30 Minister. 
 
162 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 We are satisfied that the bill was most perni- 
 cious ; and we fear that the motives which induced 
 Sunderland to frame it were not honorable to 
 him. But we cannot deny that it was supported by 
 many of the best and wisest men of that age. a 
 Nor was this strange. The royal prerogative 
 had, within the memory of the generation then 1 
 in the vigor of life, been so grossly abused, I 
 that it was still regarded Avith a jealousy which, • 
 when the peculiar situation of the House of M 
 Brunswick is considered, may perhaps be called 
 immoderate. The particular prerogative of creat- 
 ing peers had, in the opinion of the Whigs, been 
 gi'ossly abused by Queen Anne's last Ministry ; and 
 even the Tories admitted that her majesty in is 
 swamping, as it has since been called, the Upper 
 House, had done what only an extreme case could 
 justify. The theory of the English constitution, 
 according to many high authorities, was that three 
 independent powers, the sovereign, the nobility, 20 
 and the commons, ought constantly to act as checks 
 on each other. If this theory were sound, it 
 seemed to follow that to put one of these powers 
 under the absolute control of the other two was 
 absurd. But if the number of peers were un- 25 
 limited, it could not well be denied that the Upper 
 House was under the absolute control of the Crown 
 and the Commons, and was indebted only to their 
 moderation for any power which it might be 
 suffered to retain. so 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 163 
 
 Steele took ' part with the Opposition., Addison 
 with the ministers. Steele, in a paper called the 
 Plebeian^ vehemently attacked the bill. Sunder- 
 land called for help on Addison, and Addison 
 
 5 obeyed the call. In a paper" called the Old Whig, 
 he answered, and indeed refuted Steele's argu- 
 ments. It seems to us that the premises of both 
 the controversialists were unsound, that, on those 
 premises, Addison reasoned well and Steele ill, and 
 
 10 that consequently Addison brought out a false 
 conclusion, while Steele blundered upon the truth. 
 In style, in wit, and in politeness, Addison main- 
 tained his superiority, though the Old Whig is by 
 no means one of his happiest performances. 
 
 15 At first, both the anonymous opponents observed 
 the laws of propriety. But at length Steele so far 
 forgot himself as to throw an odious imputation on 
 the morals of the chiefs of the administration. 
 Addison replied with severity, but, in our opinion, 
 
 20 with less severity than was due to so grave an 
 offence against morality and decorum; nor did he, 
 in his just anger, forget for a moment the laws of 
 good taste and good breeding. One calumny which 
 has been often repeated, and never yet contradicted, 
 
 85 it is our duty to expose. It is asserted in the 
 Biograpliia Britannica^ that Addison designated 
 Steele as "little Dicky." This assertion was 
 repeated by Johnson, who had never seen the Old 
 Whig, and was therefore excusable. It has also 
 
 80 been repeated by Miss Aikin, who has seen the Old 
 
1G4 MAC AUL AY'S ESSAYS 
 
 WJii'g, and for whom therefore there is less excuse. 
 Now, it is true that the words "little Dicky" occur 
 in the Old WMg^ and that Steele's name was 
 Eichard. It is equally true that the words * 'little 
 Isaac" occur in the Duenna, and that Newton's s 
 name was Isaac. But we confidently affirm that 
 Addison's little Dicky had no more to do with • 
 Steele, than Sheridan's little Isaac with Newton 
 If we apply the words ''little Dicky" to Steele, we 
 deprive a very lively and ingenious passage, not lo 
 only of all its wit, but of all its meaning. Little 
 Dicky was the nickname of Henry Norris, an 
 actor of remarkably small stature, but of great 
 humor, who played the usurer Gomez, then a most 
 popular part, in Dr"yden's Spanish Friar. is 
 
 The merited reproof which Steele had received, 
 though softened by some kind and courteous 
 expressions, galled him bitterly. He replied with 
 little force and great acrimony ; but no rejoinder 
 appeared. Addison was fast hastening to his 20 
 grave; and had, we may well suppose, little dis- 
 position to prosecute a quarrel with an old friend. 
 His complaint had terminated in dropsy. He 
 bore up long and manfully. But at length he 
 abandoned all hope, dismissed his physicians, and 25 
 calmly prepared himself to die. 
 
 His works he intrusted to the care of Tickell, 
 and dedicated them a very few days before his 
 death to Craggs, in a letter written with the swe^t 
 and graceful eloquence of a Saturday's Spectator, m 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 105 
 
 In this, his last composition, he alluded to his 
 approaching end in words so manly, so . cheerful, 
 and so tender, that it is difficult to read them 
 without tears. At the same time he earnestly 
 6 recommended the interests of Tickell to the care 
 of Craggs. 
 
 Within a few hours of the time at which this 
 dedication was written, Addison sent to beg Gay, 
 who was then living by his wits about town, to 
 
 10 come to Holland House. Gay went, and was 
 received witli great kindness. To his amazement 
 his forgiveness was implored by the dying man. 
 Poor Gay, the most good-natured and simple of 
 mankind, could not imagine what he had to for- 
 
 15 give. There was, however, some wi'ong, the 
 remembrance of which weighed on Addison's 
 mind, and which he declared himself anxious to 
 repair. He was in a state of extreme exhaustion ; 
 
 ' and the parting was doubtless a friendly one on 
 
 20 both sides. Gay supposed that some plan to 
 serve him had been in agitation at Court, and had 
 been frustrated by Addison's influence. !N'or is 
 this improbable. Gay had paid assiduous court 
 to the royal family. Bat in the Queen''s days he 
 
 25 had been the eulogist of Bolingbroke, and was still 
 connected with many Tories. It is not strange 
 that Addison, while heated by conflict, should 
 have thought himself justified in obstructing the 
 preferment of one whom he might regard as a 
 
 80 political enemy. Neither is it strange that, when 
 
166 *MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 reviewing his whole life, and earnestly scrutinizing 
 all his motives, he should think that, he had acted 
 an unkind and ungenerous part, in using his 
 power against a distressed man of letters, who was 
 as harmless and as helpless as a child. 5 
 
 One inference may be drawn from this anecdote. 
 It appears that Addison, on his death-bed, called 
 himself to a strict account, and was not at ease till 
 he had asked pardon for an injury which it was 
 not even suspected that he had committed, for an lo 
 injury which would have caused disquiet only to a 
 very tender conscience. Is it not then reasonable 
 to infer that, if he had really been guilty of form- 
 ing a base conspiracy against the fame and fortunes 
 of a rival, he would have expressed some remorse 15 
 for so serious a crime? But it is unnecessary to 
 multiply arguments and evidence for the defence, 
 when there is neither argument nor evidence for 
 the accusation. 
 
 The last moments of Addison were perfectly 20 
 serene. His interview with his son-in-law is uni- 
 versally known. *'See," he said, *'how a Chris- 
 tian can die." The piety of Addison was, in 
 truth, of a singulai'ly cheerful character. The 
 feelmg which predominates in all his devotional 25 
 ^vritings is gratitude. God was to him the allwise 
 and allpowerful friend who had w^atched over his 
 cradle with more than maternal tenderness; who 
 had listened to his cries before they could form 
 themselves in prayer ; who had preserved his youth so 
 
LlrFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 167 
 
 from the snares of vice ; who had made his cup 
 run over with worldly blessings ; who had doubled 
 the value of those blessings by bestowing a thank- 
 ful heart to enjoy them, and dear friends to 
 
 5 partake them; who had rebuked the waves of 
 the Ligurian gulf, had purified the autumnal air 
 of the Campagna, and had restrained the ava- 
 lanches of Mont Cenis. Of the Psalms, his 
 favorite was that which represents the Euler of all 
 
 10 things under the endearing image of a shepherd, 
 whose crook guides the flock safe, tlirough gloomy 
 and desolate glens, to meadows well watered and 
 rich with herbage. On that goodness to which he 
 ascribed all the happiness of his life, he relied in 
 
 15 the hour of death with the love that casteth out 
 fear. He died on the seventeenth of June, 1719. 
 He had just entered on his forty -eighth year. 
 
 His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, 
 and was borne thence to the Abbey at dead of 
 
 20 night. The choir sang a funeral hymn. Bishop 
 Atterbury, one of those Tories who had loved and 
 honored the most accomplished of the Whigs, met 
 the corpse, and led the procession by torchlight, 
 round the shrine of Saint Edward and the graves 
 
 85 of the Plantagenets, to the Chapel of Henry the 
 'Seventh. On the north side of that chapel, in the 
 vault of the house of Albemarle, the coffin of 
 Addison lies next to the coffin of Montague. Yet 
 a few months, and the same mourners passed again 
 
 80 along the same aisle. The same sad anthem was 
 
1G8 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 again chanted. The same vault was again opened; 
 and the coffin of Craggs was placed close to the 
 coffin of Addison. 
 
 Many tributes were paid to the memory of Addi- 
 son; but one alone is now remembered. Tickell 5 
 bewailed his friend in an elegy which would do 
 honor to the greatest name in our literature, and 
 which unites the energy and magnificence of Dry- 
 den to the tenderness and purity of Cowper. This 
 fine poem was prefixed to a superb edition of Addi- lo 
 son's works, which was published in 1721, by 
 subscription. The names of the subscribers 
 proved how widely his fame had been spread. 
 That his countrymen should be eager to possess his 
 writings, even in a costly form, is not wonderful. 15 
 But it is wonderful that, though English literature 
 was then little studied on the continent, Spanish 
 grandees, Italian prelates, marshals of France, 
 should be found in the list. Among the most 
 remarkable names are those of the Queen of 20 
 Sweden, of Prince Eugene, of the Grand Duke of 
 Tuscany, of the Dukes of Parma, Modena, and 
 Guastalla, of the Doge of Genoa, of the Regent 
 Orleans, and of Cardinal Dubois. We ought to 
 add that this edition, though eminently beautiful, 25 
 is in some important points defective ; nor, indeed, 
 do we yet possess a complete collection of Addi- 
 son's writings. 
 
 It is strange that neither his opulent and noble 
 widow, nor any of his powerful and attached 30 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON IGO 
 
 friends, should have thought of placing even a 
 simple tablet, inscribed with his name, on the walls 
 of the Abbey. It was not till three generations 
 had laughed and wept over his pages, that the 
 5 omission was supplied by the public veneration. 
 At length, in our own time, his image, skilfully 
 gi'aven, appeared in Poet's Corner. It represents 
 him, as we can conceive him, clad in his dressing- 
 gown, and freed from his wig, stepping from his 
 
 10 parlor at Chelsea into his trim little garden, with 
 the account of the Everlasting Club, or the Loves 
 of Hilpa and Shalum, just finished for the next 
 day's Spectator^ in his hand. Such a mark of 
 national respect was due to the unsullied states - 
 
 15 man, to the accomplished scholar, to the maeter 
 of pure English eloquence, to the consummate 
 painter of life and manners. It was due, above all, 
 to the great satirist, who alone knew how to use 
 ridicule without abusing it, who, without inflicting 
 
 go a wound, effected a great social reform, and who 
 reconciled wit and virtue, after a long and disas- 
 trous separation, during which wit had been led 
 astray by profligacy, and virtue by fanaticism. 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHI^SON 
 
 1709-1784 
 
 Samuel Johnson, one of the most eminent 
 English writers of the eighteenth century, was 
 the son of Michael Johnson, who was, at the 
 beginning of that century, a magistrate of Lich- 
 field, and a bookseller of great note in the mid- 5 
 land counties. Michael's abilities and attain- 
 ments seem to have been considerable. He was 
 so well acquainted with the contents of the vol- 
 umes which he exposed to sale, that the country 
 rectors of Staffordshire and Worcestershire 10 
 thought him an oracle on points of learning. 
 Between him and the clergy, indeed, there was a 
 strong religious and political sympathy. He was 
 a zealous churchman, and, though he had qual- 
 ified himself for municipal office by taking the 15 
 oaths to the sovereigns in possession, was to the 
 last a Jacobite in heart. At his house, a house 
 which is still pointed out to every traveller who 
 visits Lichfield, Samuel was born on the 18th of 
 September, 1709. In the child, the physical, 20 
 intellectual, and moral peculiarities which after- 
 wards distinguished the man were plainly discern- 
 
 17t) 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 171 
 
 ible, — great muscular strength, accompanied by 
 much awkwardness and many infirmities; great 
 quickness of parts, with a morbid propensity to 
 sloth and procrastination; a kind and generous 
 
 5 heart, with a gloomy and irritable temper. He 
 had inherited from hi$ ancestors a scrofulous 
 taint, which it was beyond the power of medicine 
 to remove. His parents were weak enough to 
 believe that the royal touch was a specific for this 
 
 10 malady. In his third year he was taken up to 
 London, inspected by the court surgeon, prayed 
 over by the court chaplains, and stroked and pre- 
 sented with a piece of gold by Queen Anne. One 
 of his earliest recollections was that of a stately 
 
 15 lady in a diamond stomacher and a long black 
 hood. Her hand was applied in vain. The 
 boy's features, which were originally noble and 
 not irregular, were distorted by his malady. His 
 cheeks were deeply scarred. He lost for a time 
 
 20 the sight of one eye; and he saw bnt very imper- 
 fectly with the other. But the force of his mind 
 overcame every impediment. Indolent as he was, 
 he acquired knowledge with such ease and rapid- 
 ity that at every school to which he was sent he 
 
 25 was soon the best scholar. From sixteen to 
 eighteen he resided at home, and was left to his 
 own devices. He learned much at this time, 
 though his studies were without guidance and 
 without plan. He ransacked his father's shelves, 
 
 30 dipped into a multitude of books, read what was 
 
172 ^ MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 interesting, and passed over what was dull. An 
 ordinary lad would have acquired little or no 
 useful Ifnowledge in such a way; but much that 
 was dull to ordinary lads was interesting to 
 Samuel. He read little Greek, for his proficienc)" 5 
 in that language was not such that he could take 
 much pleasure in the masters of Attic poetry and 
 eloquence. But he had left school a good Latin- 
 ist, and he soon acquired, in the large and miscel- 
 laneous library of which he now had the com- lo 
 mand, an extensive knowledge of Latin literature. 
 That Augustan delicacy of taste, which is the 
 boast of the great public schools of England, he 
 never possessed. But he was early familiar with 
 some classical writers, who were quite unknown is 
 to the best scholars in the sixth form at Eton. 
 He was peculiarly attracted by the works of the 
 great restorers of learning. Once, while search- 
 ing for some apples, he found a huge folio volume 
 of Petrarch's works. The name excited his 20 
 curiosity, and he eagerly devoured hundreds of 
 pages. Indeed, the diction and versification of 
 his own ^Latin compositions show that he had 
 paid at least as much attention to modern copies 
 from the antique as to the original models. 25 
 
 While he was thus irregularly educating him- 
 self, his family was sinking into hopeless poverty. 
 Old Michael Johnson was much better qualified 
 to pore upon books, and, to talk about them, than 
 to trade in them. His business declined; his 30 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 173 
 
 debts increased; ib was with difficulty that the 
 daily expenses of his household were defrayed. 
 It was out of his power to support his son at 
 either university, but a wealthy neighbor offered 
 
 5 assistance; and, in reliance on promises which 
 proved to be of very little value, Samuel was 
 entered at Pembroke College, Oxford. When the 
 young scholar presented himself to the rulers of 
 that society, they were amazed not more by his 
 
 10 ungainly figure and eccentric manners than by 
 the quantity of extensive and curious information 
 which he had picked up during many months of 
 desultory but not .unprofitable study. On the 
 first day of his residence, he surprised his teach- 
 
 15 ei's by quoting Macrobius ; and one of the most 
 learned among them declared that he had never 
 known a freshman of equal attainments. 
 
 At Oxford, Johnson resided during about three 
 years. He was poor, even to raggedness; and 
 
 20 his appearance excited a mirth and a pity which 
 were equally intolerable to his haughty spirit. 
 He was driven from the quadrangle of Christ 
 Church by the sneering looks which the members 
 of that aristocratical society cast at the holes in 
 
 25 his shoes. Some charitable person placed a new 
 pair at his door ; but he spurned them away in a 
 fury. Distress made him, not servile, but reck- 
 less and ungovernable. No opulent gentleman 
 commoner, panting for one-and-twenty, could 
 
 30 have treated the academical authorities with more 
 
174 
 
 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 15 
 
 gross disrespect, The needy scholar was gener* 
 ally to be seen under tJie gate of Pembroke, a 
 gate now adorned with his efi&gy, haranguing 
 a circle of lads, over whom, in spite of his tat- 
 tered gown and dirty linen, his wit and audacity 5 
 gave him an undisputed ascendency. In every 
 mutiny against the discipline of the college he 
 was the ringleader Much was pardoned, how- 
 ever, to a youth so highly distinguished by abili- 
 ties and acquirements. He had early made him- lo 
 self known by turning Pope's "Messiah" into 
 Latin verse The style and rhythm, indeed, 
 were not exactly Virgilian; but the translation 
 found many admirers, and was read with pleasure 
 by Pope himself. 
 
 The time drew near at which Johnson would, 
 in the ordinary course of things, have become a 
 Bachelor of Arts; but he was at the end of his 
 resources. Those promises of support on which 
 he had relied had not been kept. His family 20 
 could do nothing for him. His debts to Oxford 
 tradesmen were small indeed, yet larger than he 
 could pay. In the autumn of 1731 he was under 
 the necessity of quitting the university without a 
 degree. In the following winter his father died.. 25 
 The old man left but a pittance ; and of that pit- 
 tance almost the whole was appropriated to the 
 support of his widow. The property to which 
 Samuel succeeded amounted to no more than 
 twenty pounds. ' « 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 175 
 
 His life, during the thirty years which fol- 
 lowed, was one hard struggle with poverty. The 
 misery of that struggle needed no aggravation, 
 but was aggravated by th6 sufferings of an 
 
 5 unsound body and an unsound mind. Before the 
 young man left the university, his hereditary 
 malady had broken forth in a singularly cruel 
 form. He had become an incurable hypochon- 
 driac. He said long after that he had been mad 
 
 10 all his life, or at least not perfectly sane; and, in 
 truth, eccentricities less strange than his have 
 often been thought grounds sufficient for absolv- 
 ing felons, aad for setting aside wills. His 
 . grimaces, his gestures, his mutterings, sometimes 
 
 15 diverted and sometimes terrified people who did 
 not know him. At a dinner-table he would, in a 
 fit of absence, stoop down and twitch off a lady's 
 shoe. He would amaze a drawing-room by sud- 
 denly ejaculating a clause of the Lord's Prayer, 
 
 30 He would conceive an unintelligible aversion to a 
 particular alley, and perform a great circuit 
 rather than see the hateful place. He would set 
 his heart on touching every post in the streets 
 through which he walked. If by any chance he 
 
 25 missed a post, he would go back a hundred 
 yards and repair the omission. Under the influ- 
 ence of his disease his senses became morbidly 
 torpid, and his imagination morbidly active.. At 
 one time he would stand poring on the town clock 
 
 30 without being able to tell the hour. At another, 
 
176 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 he would distinctly hear his mother, who was many 
 miles off, calling him by his name. But this was 
 not the worst. A deep melancholy took posses- 
 sion of him, and gave a dark tinge to all his 
 views of human nature and of human destiny. 5 
 Such wretchedness as he endured has driven many 
 men to shoot themselves or drown themselves. 
 But he was under no temptation to commit 
 suicide. He was . sick of life ; but he was afraid 
 of death; and he shuddered at every sight or 10 
 sound which reminded him of the inevitable hour. 
 In religion he found but little comfort during his 
 long and frequent fits of dejection I'^or his religion 
 partook of his own character. The light from 
 heaven shone on him indeed, but not in a direct 15 
 line, or with its own pure splendor. The rays 
 had to struggle through a disturbing medium: 
 they reached him refracted, dulled, and discolored 
 by the thick gloom which had settled on his soul, 
 and, though they might be sufficiently clear to 20 
 guide him, were too dim to cheer him. 
 
 With such infirmities of body and of mind, this 
 celebrated man was left, at two -and -twenty, to 
 fight his way through the world. He remained 
 during about five years in the midland counties. 25 
 At Lichfield, his birthplace and his early home, 
 he had inherited some friends, and acquired 
 others. He was kindly noticed by Henry Hervey, 
 a gay officer of noble family, who happened to be 
 quartered there. Gilbert Walmesley, registrar of so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 177 
 
 the ecclesiastical court of the diocese, a man 
 of distinguished parts, learning, and knowledge 
 of the world, did himself honor by patronizing 
 the young adventurer, whose repulsive person, 
 
 5 unpolished manners, and squalid garb, moved 
 many of the petty aristocracy of the neighbor- 
 hood to laughter or to disgust. At Lichfield, 
 however, Johnson could find no way of earning 
 a livelihood. He became usher of a grammar 
 
 10 school in Leicestershire; he resided as a humble 
 companion in the house of a country gentleman ; 
 but a life of dependence was insupportable to his 
 haughty spirit. He repaired to Birmingham, and 
 there earned A few guineas by literary drudgery. 
 
 15 In that town he printed a translation, little 
 noticed at the time, and long forgotten, of a 
 Latin book about Abyssinia. He then put forth 
 proposals for publishing by subscription the poems 
 X)f Politian, with notes containing a history of 
 
 20 modern Latin verse ; but subscriptions did not 
 come in, and the volume never appeared. 
 
 While leading this vagrant and miserable life, 
 Johnson fell in love. The object of his passion 
 was Mrs. Elizabeth Porter, a widow who had 
 
 ^5 children as old as himself. To ordinary specta- 
 tors, the lady appeared to be a short, fat, coarse 
 woman, painted half an inch thick, dressed in 
 gaudy colors, and fond of exhibiting provincial 
 airs, and graces which were not exactly those of 
 
 30 the Queensberrys and Lepels. To Johnson, 
 
178 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 however, whose passions were strong, whose eye- 
 sight was too weak to distinguish ceruse from 
 natural bloom, and who had seldom or never been 
 in the same room with a woman of real fashion, 
 his Titty, as he called her, was the most beauti- 5 
 f Lil, graceful, and accomplished of her sex. That 
 his admiration was unfeigned cannot be doubted; 
 for she was as poor as himself. She accepted, 
 with a readiness which did her little honor, the 
 addresses of a suitor who might have been her 10 
 son. The marriage, however, in spite of occa- 
 sional wranglings, proved happier than might 
 have been expected. The lover continued to be 
 under the illusions of the wedding-day till the 
 lady died in her sixty-fourth year. On her mon- is 
 ument he placed an inscription extolling the 
 charms of her person and of her manners ; and 
 when, long after her decease, he had occasion to 
 mention her, he exclaimed, with a tenderness half 
 ludicrous, half pathetic, "Pretty creature!" 20 
 
 His marriage made it necessary for him to exert 
 himself more strenuously than he had hitherto 
 done. He took a house in^the neighborhood of 
 his native town, and advertised for pupils. But 
 eighteen months passed away, and only three 25 
 pupils came to his academy. Indeed, his appear- 
 ance was so strange, and his temper so violent, 
 that his schoolroom must have resembled an 
 ogre's den. Nor was the tawdry, painted grand- 
 mother whom he called his Titty, well qualified 39 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 179 
 
 to make provision for the comfort of young gen- 
 tlemen. David Garrick, who was one of the 
 pupils, used many years later to throw the best 
 company of London into convulsions of laughter 
 5 by mimicking the endearments of this extraordi-" 
 nary pair. 
 
 At length Johnson, in the twenty-eighth year 
 of his age, determined to seek his fortune in the 
 capital as a literary adventurer. He set out with 
 
 10 a few guineas, three acts of the tragedy of 
 *' Irene" in manuscript, and two or three letters 
 of introduction from his friend Walmesley. 
 
 Never since literature became a calling in Eng- 
 land had it been a less gainful calling than at the 
 
 15 time when Johnson took up his residence in 
 London. In the preceding generation, a writer 
 of eminent merit was sure to be munificently 
 rewarded by the government. The least that he 
 could expect was a pension or a sinecure place; 
 
 20 and, if he showed any aptitude for politics, he 
 might hope to be a member of parliament, a lord 
 of the treasury, an ambassador, a secretary of 
 state. It would be easy, on the other hand, to 
 name several writers of the nineteenth century of 
 
 25 whom the least successful has received forty thou- 
 sand pounds from the booksellers. But Johnson 
 entered on his vocation in the most dreary part of 
 the dreary interval which separated two ages of 
 prosperity. Literature had ceased to flourish 
 
 30 under the patronage of the great, and had not 
 
180 MAC AUL AY'S ESSAYS 
 
 begun to flourish under the patronage of the 
 public. One man of letters, indeed, Pope, had 
 acquired by his pen what was then considered as 
 a handsome fortune, and lived on a footing of 
 equality with nobles and ministers of state. But 5 
 this was a solitary exception. Evdn an author 
 whose reputation was established, and whose 
 works were popular; such an author as Thomson, 
 whose "Seasons" were in every library; such an 
 author as Fielding whose "Pasquin" had had a lo 
 greater run than any drama since the "Beggars' 
 Opera," was sometimes glad to obtain, by pawn- 
 ing his best coat, the means of dining on tripe at 
 a cookshop underground, where he could wipe his 
 hands, after his greasy meal, on the back of a is 
 Newfoundland dog. It is easy, therefore, to 
 imagine what humiliations and privations must 
 have awaited the novice who had still to earn a 
 name. One of the publishers to whom Johnson 
 applied for employment, measured with a scorn- 20 
 ful eye that athletic, though uncouth, frame, and 
 exclaimed, "You had better get a porter's knot, 
 and carry trunks." Xor was the advice bad; for 
 a porter was likely to be as plentifully fed, and as 
 comfortably lodged, as a poet. 25 
 
 Some time appears to have elapsed before John- 
 son was able to form any literary connection from 
 which he could expect more than bread for the 
 day which was passing over him. He never 
 forgot the generosity with which Hervey, who 30 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 181 
 
 was now residing in London, relieved his wants 
 during his time of trial. "Harry Hervey," said 
 the old philosopher many years later, "was a 
 vicious man; but he was very kind to me. II 
 
 5 you call a dog Hervey, I shall love him." At 
 Hervey's table Johnson sometimes enjoyed feasts 
 which were made more agreeable by contrast. But 
 in general he dined, and thought that he dined 
 well, on sixpennyworth of m.eat and a pennyworth 
 
 10 of bread at an alehouse near Drury Lane. 
 
 The effect of the privations and sufferings 
 which he endured at this time was discernible to 
 the last in his temper and his deportment. His 
 manners had never been courtly. They now 
 
 15 became almost savage. Being frequently under 
 the necessity of wearing shabby coats and dirty 
 shirts, he became a confirmed sloven. Being 
 often very hungry when he sat down to his meals, 
 he contracted a habit of eating with ravenous 
 
 20 greediness. Even to the end of his life, and even 
 at the tables of the great, the sight of food 
 affected him as it affects wild beasts and birds of 
 prey. His taste in cookery, formed in subterra- 
 nean ordinaries and a la mode beef shops, was far 
 
 25 from delicate. AVhenever he was so fortunate as 
 to have near him a hare that had been kept too 
 long, or a meat-pie made with rancid butter, he 
 gorged himself with such violence that his veins 
 swelled, and the moisture broke out on his fore- 
 
 30 head. The affronts which his poverty emboldened 
 
182 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 stupid and low-minded men to offer to him, would 
 have broken a mean spirit into sycophancy, but 
 made him rude even to ferocity. Unhappily the 
 insolence which, while it was defensive, was par- 
 donable, and in some sense respectable, accom- g 
 panied him into societies where he was treated 
 with courtesy and kindness. He was repeatedly 
 provoked into striking those who had taken liber- 
 ties with him. All the sufferers, however, were 
 ■\vise enough to abstain from talking about their lo 
 beatings, except Osborne, the most rapacious and 
 brutal of booksellers, who proclaimed everywhere 
 that he had been knocked down by the huge fel- 
 low whom he had hired to puff the Harleian 
 Library. is 
 
 About a year after Johnson had begun to reside 
 in London, he was fortunate enough to obtain 
 regular employment from Cave, an enterprising 
 and intelligent boojvseller, who was proprietor 
 and editor of the Gentleman'' s Magazine. That 20 
 journal, just entering on the ninth year of its 
 long existence, was the only periodical work in 
 the kingdom which then had what would now be 
 called a large circulation. It was, indeed, the 
 chief source of parliamentary intelligence. It 25 
 was not then safe, even during a recess, to pub- 
 lish an account of the proceedings of either House 
 without some disguise. Cave, however, ventured 
 to entertain his readers with what he called 
 Eeports of the Debates^of the Senate of Lilliput. so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 183 
 
 France was Blef uscu ; London was Mildendo ; 
 pounds were sprugs ; the Duke of Newcastle was 
 the Nardac Secretary of State; Lord Hardwicke 
 was the llurgo Hickrad; and William Pulteney 
 
 5 was Wingul Pulnub. To write the speeches was, 
 during several years, the business of Johnson. 
 He was generally furnished with notes, meagre, 
 •indeed, and inaccurate, of what had been said; 
 but sometimes he had to find arguments and 
 
 10 eloquence both for the ministry and for the oppo- 
 sition. He was himself a Tory, not from rational 
 conviction, — for his serious opinion was that one 
 form of government was just as good or as bad as 
 another, — but from mere passion, such as inflamed 
 
 15 the Capulets against the Montagues, or the Blues 
 of the Eoman circus against the Greens. In his 
 infancy he had heard so much talk about the vil- 
 lanies of the AYhigs, and the dangers of the 
 Church, that he had become a furious partisan 
 
 20 when he could scarcely speak. Before he was 
 three he had insisted on being taken to hear 
 Sacheverell preach at Lichfield Cathedral, and had 
 listened to the sermon with as much respect, and 
 probably with as much intelligence, as any 
 
 25 Staffordshire squire in the congregation. The 
 work which had been begun in the nursery had 
 been completed by.-the university. Oxford, when 
 Johnson resided there, was the most Jacobitical 
 place in England; and Pembroke was one of the 
 
 80 most Jacobitical colleges in Oxford. The preju- 
 
184 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 dices wliich lie brought up to London were 
 scarcely less absurd than those of his own "Tom 
 Tempest." Charles II. and James II. were two 
 of the best kings that ever reigned. Laud, a 
 poor creature who never did, said, or wrote any- 5 
 thing indicating more than the ordinary capacity 
 of an old woman, was a prodigy of 'parts and 
 learning over Avhose tomb Art and Genius still 
 continued to weep. Hampden deserved no more 
 l^onorable name than that of "the zealot of rebel- lo 
 lion." Even the ship money, condemned not less 
 decidedly by Falkland and Clarendon than by the 
 bitterest Roundheads, Johnson would not pro- 
 nounce to have been an unconstitutional impost. 
 Under a government the mildest that had ever 15 
 been known in the world — under a government 
 which allowed to the people an unprecedented 
 liberty of speech and action, he fancied that h3 
 was a slave ; he assailed the ministry with obloquy 
 which refuted itself, and regretted the lost free- 20 
 dom and happiness of those golden days in which 
 a writer who had taken but one-tenth part of the 
 license allowed to him, would have been pilloried, 
 mangled with the shears, whipped at the cart's 
 tail, and flung into a noisome dungeon to die. 25 
 He hated dissenters and stock-jobbers, the excise 
 and the army, septennial parliaments, and conti- 
 nental connections. He long had an aversion to 
 the Scotch, an aversion of which he could not 
 remember the commencement, but which, he 3« 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 185 
 
 owned, had probably originated in his abhorrence 
 of the conduct of the nation during the Great 
 Eebellion.' It is easy to guess in what manner 
 debates on great party questions were likely to be 
 
 5 reported by a man whose judgment was so much 
 disordered by party spirit. A show of fairness 
 was indeed necessary to the prosperity of the 
 Magazine. But Johnson long afterwards owned 
 that, though he had saved appearances, he had 
 
 10 taken care that the AYhig dogs should not have 
 the best of it; and, in fact, every passage which 
 has lived, every passage which bears the marks of 
 his higher faculties, is put into the mouth of some 
 member of the opposition. 
 
 15 A few weeks after Johnson had entered on 
 these obscure labors, he published a work which 
 at once placed him high among the writers of his 
 age. It is probable that what he had suffered 
 during his first year in London had often 
 
 20 reminded him of some parts of that noble poem 
 in which Juvenal has described the misery and 
 degradation of a needy man of letters, lodged 
 among the pigeons' nests in the tottering garrets 
 that overhung the streets of Eome. Pope's 
 
 25 admirable imitations of Horace's *' Satires" and 
 "Epistles" had recently appeared, were in every 
 hand, and were by many readers thought superior 
 to the originals. What Pope had done for 
 Horace, Johnson aspired to do for Juvenal. The 
 
 30 enterprise was bold, and yet judicious. For 
 
186 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 between Johnson and Juvenal there was much in 
 common, much more certainly than between Pope 
 and Horace. 
 
 Johnson's '* London" appeared without his 
 name in May, 1738. He received only ten 5 
 guineas for this stately and vigorous poem ; but 
 the sale was rapid, and the success complete. A 
 second edition was required within a week. 
 Those small critics who are always desirous to 
 lower established reputations ran about proclaim- lo 
 ing that the anonymous satirist was superior to 
 Pope in Pope's own peculiar department of litera- 
 ture. It ought to be remembered, to the honor 
 of Pope, that he joined heartily in the applause 
 with which the appearance of a rival genius was 15 
 welcomed. He made inquiries about the author 
 of ''London." Such a man, he said, could not 
 be long concealed. The name was soon discov- 
 ered; and Pope, with great kindness, exerted 
 himself to obtain an academical degree and the 20 
 mastership of a grammar school for the poor 
 young poet. The attempt failed, and Johnson 
 remained a bookseller's hack. 
 
 It does not appear that these two men, the 
 most eminent writer of the generation which was zb 
 going out, and the most eminent writer of the 
 generation which was coming in, ever saw each 
 other. They lived in very different circles; one 
 surrounded by dukes and earls, the other by 
 starving pamphleteers and index-makers. Among 80 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 187 
 
 Johnson's associates at this time may be mentioned 
 Boyse, who, when his shirts were pledged, scrawled 
 Latin verses sitting np in bed with his arms 
 through two holes in his blanket ; who composed 
 
 5 very respectable sacred poetry when he was sober, 
 and who was at last run over by a hackney coach 
 when he was drunk; Hoole, surnamed the meta- 
 physical tailor, who, instead of attending to his 
 measures, used to trace geometrical diagrams oe 
 
 10 the board where he sat cross-legged ; and the 
 penitent imposter, George Psalmanazar, who, 
 after poring all day, in a humble lodging, on thb 
 folios of Jewish rabbis and Christian fathers, 
 indulged himself at night with literary and theo^ 
 
 15 logical conversation at an alehouse in the city. 
 But the most remarkable of the persons witn 
 whom at this time Johnson consorted, was Richard 
 Savage, an earl's son, a shoemaker's apprentice^ 
 who had seen life in all its forms, who had feasted 
 
 20 among blue ribands in St. James's Square, and 
 had lain with fifty pounds weight of irons on his 
 legs in the condemned ward of Newgate. This 
 man had, after many vicissitudes of fortune, 
 sunk at last into abject and hopeless poverty. 
 
 35 His pen had failed him. His patrons had been 
 taken away by death, or estranged by the riotous 
 profusion with which he squandered their bounty, 
 and the ungrateful insolence with which he 
 rejected^ their advice. He now lived by beggingc 
 
 so He dined on venison and cham.pagne whenever he 
 
188 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 had been so fortunate as to borrow a guinea. If 
 his questing had been unsuccessful, he appeased 
 the rage of hunger with some scraps of broken 
 meat, and lay down to rest under the Piazza of 
 Covent Garden in warm weather, and in cold b 
 weather as near as he could get to the furnace of 
 a glass-house. Yet, in his misery, he was still an 
 agreeable companion. He had an inexhaustible 
 store of anecdotes about that gay and brilliant 
 world from which he was now an outcast. He lo 
 had observed the great men of both parties in 
 hours of careless relaxation; had seen the leaders 
 of opposition without the mask of patriotism; 
 and had heard the prime minister roar with 
 laughter, and tell stories not over decent. Dur- 15 
 ing some months Savage lived in the closest 
 familiarity with Johnson ; and then the friends 
 parted, not without tears. Johnson remained in 
 London to drudge for Cave. Savage went to the 
 west of England; lived there as he had lived 20 
 everywhere; and, in 1743, died, penniless and 
 heart-broken, in Bristol jail. 
 
 Soon after his death, while the public curiosity 
 was strongly excited about his extraordinary 
 character, and his not less extraordinary adven- 25 
 tures, a life of him appeared, widely different 
 from the catchpenny lives of eminent men which 
 were then a staple article of manufacture in Grub 
 Street. The style was indeed deficient in ease 
 and variety; and the writer was evidently too so 
 
LUTE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 189 
 
 partial to the Latin element of our language. 
 But the little work, with all its faults, was a 
 masterpiece. No finer specimen of literary biog- 
 raphy existed in any language, living or dead; 
 
 5 and a discerning critic might have confidently 
 predicted that the author was destined to be the 
 founder of a new school of English eloquence. 
 
 The "Life of Savage" was anonymous; but it 
 was well known in literary circles that Johnson 
 
 10 was the writer. During the three years which , 
 followed, he* produced no important work; but 
 he was not, and indeed could not be, idle. The 
 fame of his abilities and learning continued to 
 grow. Warburton pronounced him a man of 
 
 15 parts and genius ; and the praise of Warburton 
 was then no light thing. Such was Johnson's 
 reputation, that, in 1747, several eminent book- 
 sellers combined to employ him in the arduous 
 work of preparing a Dictionary of the English 
 
 80 Language in two folio volumes. The sum which 
 they agreed to pay him was only fifteen hundred 
 guineas; and out of this sum he had to pay 
 several poor men of letters who assisted him in 
 the humbler parts of his task. 
 
 n The prospectus of the Dictionary he addressed 
 to the Earl of Chesterfield. Chesterfield had 
 long been celebrated for the politeness of his man- 
 ners, the brilliancy of his wit, and the delicacy of 
 his tastCo He was acknowledged to be the finest 
 
 10 speaker in the House of Lords. He had recently 
 
190 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 governed Ireland, at a momeatous conjuncture, 
 with eminent firmness, wisdom, and humanity; 
 and he had since become Secretary of State. He 
 received Johnson's homage with the most winning 
 affability, and requited it with a few guineas, 5 
 bestowed doubtless in a very graceful manner, but 
 was by no means desirous to see all his carpets 
 blackened with the London mud, and his soups 
 and wines thrown to right and left over the gowns 
 of fine ladies and the waistcoats of fine gentlemen, \Qj 
 by an absent, awkward scholar, who gave strange ' 
 starts, and uttered strange growls, who dressed 
 like a scarecrow, and ate like a cormorant. Dur- 
 ing some time Johnson continued to call on his 
 patron; but, after being repeatedly told by the 15 
 porter that his lordship was not at home, took the 
 hint, and ceased to present himself at the inhos- 
 pitable door. 
 
 Johnson had flattered himself that he should 
 have completed his Dictionary by the end of ao 
 1750; but it was not till 1755 that he at length 
 gave his huge volumes to the world. During the 
 seven years which he passed in the drudgery of 
 penning definitions and marking quotations for 
 transcription, he sought for relaxation in literary 25 
 labor of a more agreeable kind. In 1749 he pub- 
 lished the "Vanity of Human Wishes," an excel- 
 lent imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal. 
 It is, in truth, not easy to say whether the palm 
 belongs to 'the ancient or to the modern poet. 30 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 191 
 
 The couplets in which the fall of Wolsey is 
 described, though lofty and sonorous, are feeble 
 when compared with the wonderful lines which 
 bring before us all Rome in tumult on the day pf 
 
 5 the fall of Sejanus, the laurels on the doorposts, 
 the white bull stalking towards the Capitol, the 
 statues rolling down from their pedestals, the 
 flatterers of the disgraced minister running to see 
 him dragged with a hook through the streets, and 
 
 10 to have a kick at his carcass before it is hurled 
 into the Tiber. It must be owned, too, that in 
 the concluding passage the Christian moralist has 
 not made the most of his advantages, and has 
 fallen decidf.dly short of the sublimity of his 
 
 15 Pagan model. On the other hand, Juvenal's 
 Hannibal* must yield to Johnson's Charles; and 
 Johnson's vigorous and pathetic enumeration of 
 the miseries of a literary life must be allowed to 
 be superior to Juvenal's lamentation over the 
 
 so fate of Demosthenes and Cicero. 
 
 For the copyright of the "Vanity of Human 
 Wishes" Johnson received only fifteen guineas. 
 
 A few days after the publication of this poem, 
 his tragedy, begun many years before, was brought 
 
 25 on the stage. His pupil, David Garrick, had, in 
 1741, made his appearance on a humble stage in 
 Goodman's Fields, had at once risen to the first 
 place among actors, and was now, after several 
 years of almost uninterrupted success, manager of 
 
 30 Drury Lane Theatre. The relation between him 
 
192 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 and his old preceptor was of a very singular kind. 
 They repelled each other strongly, and yet 
 attracted each other strongly. Nature had made 
 them of very different clay; and circumstances 
 had fully brought out the natural peculiarities ot - 
 both. Sudden prosperity had turned Garrick's 
 head. Continued adversity had soured Johnson -3 
 temper. Johnson saw, with more envy than 
 became so great a man, the villa, the plate, the 
 china, the Brussels carpet, which the little mimic lo 
 had got by repeating, with grimaces and gesticu > 
 lations, what wiser men had written; and the 
 exquisitely sensitive vanity of Garrick was galled 
 by the thought that, while all the rest of the 
 world was applauding him, he could obtain from »5 
 one morose cynic, whose opinion it was impossible 
 to despise, scarcely any compliment not acidulated 
 with scorn. Yet the two Lichfield men had so 
 many early recollections in common, and sympa- 
 thized with each other on so many points on 20 
 which they sympathized with nobody else in the 
 vast population of the capital, that, though tlie 
 master was often provoked by the monkey-like 
 impertinence of the pupil, and the pu^il by the 
 bearish rudeness of the master, they remained 25 
 friends till they were parted by death. Garrick 
 now brought "Irene" out, with alterations suffi- 
 cient to displease the author, yet not sufficient to 
 make the piece pleasing to the audience. The 
 public, however, listened with little emotion, but so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 1^3 
 
 with mucli civility, to five acts of monotonous 
 declamation. After nine representations the play 
 was withdrawn. It is, indeed, altogether 
 ansuited to the stage, and, even when perused in 
 
 & the closet, will be found hardly worthy of the 
 author o He had not the slightest notion of what 
 blank verse should be. A change in the last syl- 
 lable of every other line would make the versifica- 
 tion of the *' Vanity of Human Wishes" closely 
 
 10 resemble the versification of "Irene »" The ploet, 
 however, cleared, by his benefit-nights, and by 
 the sale of the copyright of his tragedy, about 
 three hundred pounds, then a great sum in his 
 estimation. 
 
 15 About a year after the representation of ' ' Irene, ' ' 
 he began to publish a series of short essays on 
 morals, manners, and literature. This species of 
 composition had been brought into fashion by the 
 success of the Tatler, and by the still more bril- 
 
 20 liant success of the Spectator. A crowd of small 
 writers had vainly attempted to rival Addison. 
 The Lay Monastery^ the Censoi\ the Freetliinher^ 
 the Plain Dealer^ the Champion^ and other 
 works of the same kind, had had their short day. 
 
 25 None of them had obtained a permanent place in 
 our literature ; and they are now to be found only 
 in the libraries of the curious. At length Johnson 
 undertook the adventure in which so many aspir- 
 ants had failed. In the thirty-sixth year after 
 
 30 the appearance of the last number of the Spec- 
 
194 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS | 
 
 tator^ appeared the first number of the Ramhler. 
 From March 1750, to March 1752, this paper 
 continued to come out every Tuesday and 
 Saturday. 
 
 From the first the Ramhler was enthusiastically 5 
 admired by a few eminent men. Richardson, 
 when only five numbers had appeared, pronounced 
 it equal, if not superior, to the Spectator. Young 
 and Hartley expressed their approbation not less 
 warmly. Bubb Dodington, among whose many 10 
 faults indifference to the claims of genius and 
 learning cannot be reckoned, solicited the 
 acquaintance of the writer. In consequence 
 probably of the good offices of Dodington, who 
 was then the confidential adviser of Prince Fred- 15 
 erick, two of his Eoyal Highness 's gentlemen 
 carried a gracious message to the printing-office, 
 .and ordered seven copies for Leicester House. 
 But these overtures seem to have been very 
 coldly received. Johnson had had enough of the 20 
 patronage of the great to last him all his lif^, and 
 was not disposed to haunt any other door as he 
 had haunted the door of Chesterfield. 
 
 By the public the Ramhler was at first very 
 coldly received. Thotigh the price of a number 25 
 was only twopence, the sale did not amount to 
 five hundred. The profits were therefore very 
 small. But as soon as the flying leaves were col- 
 iected and reprinted they became popular. The 
 author lived to see thirteen thousand copies so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 195 
 
 spread over England alone. Separate editions 
 were published for the Scotch and Irish markets. 
 A large party pronounced the style perfect, so 
 absolutely perfect that in some essays it would be 
 
 6 impossible for the writer himself to alter a single 
 word for the better. Another party, not less 
 numerous, vehemently accused him of having 
 corrupted the purity of the English tongue. The 
 best critics admitted that his diction was too 
 
 10 monotonous, too obviously artificial, and now and 
 then turgid even to absurdity. But they did 
 justice to the acuteness of his observations on 
 morals and manners, to the constant precision 
 and frequent brilliancy of his language, to the 
 
 15 weighty and magnificent eloquence of many 
 serious passages and to the solemn yet pleasing 
 humor of some of the lighter papers. On the 
 question of precedence between Addison and 
 Johnson, a question which, seventy years ag^, was 
 
 20 much disputed, posterity has pronounced a 
 decision from which there is no appeal. Sir 
 Eoger, his chaplain and his butler. Will Wimble 
 and Will Honeycomb, the Vision of Mirza, the 
 Journal of the Retired Citizen, the Everlasting| 
 
 25 Club, the Dunmow Flitch, the Loves of Hilpah' 
 and Shalum, the Visit to the Exchange, and the 
 Visit to the Abbey, are known to everybody. But 
 many men and women, even of highly cultivated 
 minds, are unacquainted with Squire Bluster and 
 
 so Mrs. Busy, Quisquilius and Venustulus, the 
 
196 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS \ 
 
 Allegory of Wit and Learning, the Chronicle of 
 the /Eevolutions of a Garret, and the sad fate of 
 Aningait and A jut. 
 
 The last RamUer was written in a sad and 
 gloomy hour. Mrs. Johnson had been given over o 
 by the physicians. Three days later she died. 
 She left her husband almost broken-hearted. 
 Many people had been surprised to see a man of 
 his genius and learning stooping to every 
 drudgery, and denying himself almost every com- lo 
 fort, for the purpose of supplying a silly, affected 
 old woman with superfluities, which she accepted 
 with but little gratitude. But all his affection 
 had been concentrated on her. He had neither 
 brother nor sister, neither son nor daughter. To 15 
 him she was beautiful as the Gunnings, and witty 
 as Lady Mary. Her opinion of his writings was 
 more important to him than the voice of the pit 
 of Drury Lane Theatre, or the judgment of the 
 Monthly Revieiv. The chief support which had 20 
 sustained him through the most arduous labor of 
 his life was the hope that she would enjoy the 
 fame and the profit which he anticipated from his 
 Dictionary. She was gone; and in that vast 
 labyrinth of streets, peopled by eight hundred 25 
 thousand human beings, he was alone. Yet it 
 was necessary for him to set himself, as he 
 expressed it, doggedly to work. After three 
 more laborious years, the Dictionarv was at length 
 complete. ' 80 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 197 
 
 It had been generally supposed that this great 
 work would be dedicated to the eloquent and 
 accomplished nobleman to whom the Prospectus 
 had been addressed. He well knew the value of 
 3 such a compliment ; and therefore, when the day 
 of publication drew near, he exerted himself to 
 soothe, by a show of zealous and at the same timp 
 of delicate and judicious kindness, the pride 
 which he had so cruelly wounded. Since the 
 10 Ramhlers had ceased to appear, the town had 
 been entertained by a journal called The Worlds 
 to which many men of high rank and fashion con- 
 tributed. In two successive numbers of The 
 Worlds the Dictionary was, to use the modern 
 15 phrase, puffed with wonderful skill. The wri- 
 tings of Johnson were warmly praised. It was 
 proposed that he should be invested with the 
 authority of a Dictator, nay, of a Pope, over our 
 language, and that his decisions about the mean- 
 so ing and the spelling of words should be received 
 as fiual. His two folios, it was said, would of 
 course be bought by everybody who could afford 
 to buy them. It was soon known that these 
 papers were written by Chesterfield. But the 
 25 just resentment of Johnson was not to be so 
 appeased. In a letter written with singular 
 energy and dignity of thought and language, he 
 repelled the tardy advances of his patron. The 
 Dictionary came forth without a dedication. In 
 30 the preface the author truly declared that he owed 
 
198 MAC AUL AY'S ESSAYS 
 
 nothing to the great, and described the difficulties 
 with which he had been left to struggle so forci- 
 bly and pathetically, that the ablest and most 
 malevolent of all the enemies of his fame. Home 
 Tooke, never could read that passage without t 
 tears. 
 
 The public, on this occasion, did Johnson full 
 justice, and something more than justice. The 
 best lexicographer may well be content if his 
 productions are received by the world with cold lo 
 esteem. But Johnson's Dictionary was hailed 
 with an enthusiasm such as no similar work has 
 ever excited. It was, indeed, the first dictionary 
 which could be read with ]Dleasure. The defini- 
 tions show so much acuteness of thought and is 
 command of language, and the passages quoted 
 from poets, divines, and philosophers, are so skil- 
 fully selected, that a leisure hour may always be 
 very agreeably spent in turning over the pages. 
 The faults of the book resolve themselves, for the 20 
 most part, into one great fault. Johnson was a 
 wretched etymologist. He knew little or nothing 
 of any Teutonic language except English, which, 
 indeed, as he wrote it, was scarcely a Teutonic 
 language; and thus he was absolutely at the as 
 mercy of Junius and Skinner. 
 
 The Dictionary, though it raised Johnson's 
 fame, added nothing to his pecuniary means. 
 The fifteen hundred guineas which the booksellers 
 had agreed to pay him had been advanced and ao 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 199 
 
 spent before the last sheets issued from the press. 
 It is painful to relate that, twice in the course of 
 the year which followed the publication of this 
 . great work, he was arrested and carried to 
 5 sponging-houses, and that he was twice indebted 
 for his liberty to his excellent friend Eichardson. 
 It was still necessary for the man who had been 
 formally saluted. by the highest authority as Dic- 
 tator of the English language to supply his wants 
 10 by constant toil. He abridged his Dictionary. 
 He proposed to bring out an edition of Shake- 
 speare by subscription ; and many subscribers sent 
 in their names, and laid down their money. But 
 he soon found the task so little to his taste, that 
 15 he turned to more attractive employments. He 
 contributed many papers to a new monthly jour- 
 nal, which was called the Literarij Magazine. 
 Few of these papers have much interest; but 
 among them was the very best thing that he ever 
 20 wrote, a masterpiece both of reasoning and of 
 satirical pleasantry, the review of Jenyns's "In- 
 quiry into the Nature and Origin of Evil." 
 
 In the spring of 1758 Johnson put forth the 
 first of a series of essays, entitled , the Idler. 
 25 During two years these essays continued to appear 
 weekly. They were eagerly read, widely circu- 
 lated, and, indeed, impudently pirated, while they 
 were still in the original form, and had a large 
 sale when collected into volumes. The Idler may 
 80 be described as a second part of the Rambler., 
 
200 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 somewhat livelier and somewhat weaker than the 
 first part. 
 
 While Johnson was busied with his Idlers^ his 
 mother, who had accomplished her ninetieth year, 
 died at Lichfield. It was long since he had seen 6 
 her; hut he had not failed to contribute largely, 
 out of his small means, to her comfort. In order 
 to defray the charges of her funeral, and to pay 
 some debts which she had left, he wi'ote a little 
 book in a single week, and sent off the sheets to ic 
 the press without reading them over. A hun- 
 dred pounds were paid him for the copyright; 
 and the purchasers had great cause to be 
 pleased with their bargain, for the book was **Kas- 
 selas." 15 
 
 The success of "Rasselas" was great, though 
 such ladies as Miss Lydia Languish must have 
 been grievously disappointed when they found 
 that the new volume from the circulating library 
 was little more than a dissertation on the author's 20 
 favorite theme, the Vanity of Human Wishes; 
 that the Prince of Abyssinia was without a mis- 
 tress, and the Princess without a lover; and that 
 the story set the hero and the heroine down 
 exactly where it had taken them up. The style 25 
 was the subject of much eager controversy. The 
 Monthly Revieiv and the Critical Review took 
 different sides. Many readers pronounced the 
 writer a pompous pedant, who would never use a 
 word of two syllables where it was possible to use ao 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 201 
 
 a word of six, and who could not make a waiting- 
 woman relate her adventures without balancing 
 every noun with another noun, and every epithet 
 with another epithet. Another party, not less 
 
 5 zealous, cited with delight numerous passages in 
 which weighty meaning was expressed with accu- 
 racy and illustrated with splendor. And both the 
 censure and the praise were. merited. 
 
 About the plan of ^'Rasselas" little was said by 
 
 10 the critics ; and yet the faults of the plan might 
 seem to invite severe criticism. Johnson has 
 frequent! 3^ blamed Shakespeare for neglecting the 
 proprieties of time and place, and for ascribing to- 
 one age or nation the manners and opinions of 
 
 15 another. Yet Shakespeare has not sinned in this 
 way more grievously than Johnson. Rasselas 
 and Imlac, Nekayah and Pekuah, are evidently 
 meant to be Abyssinians of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury — for the Europe which Imlac describes is 
 
 20 the Europe of the eighteenth century — and the 
 inmates of the Happy Valley talk familiarly of 
 that law of gravitation which Xewton discovered, 
 and which was not fully received even at Cam- 
 bridge till the eighteenth century. What a real 
 
 25 company of Abyssinians would have been may be 
 learned from "Bruce's Travels." But Johnson, 
 not content with turning filthy savages, ignorant 
 of their letters, and gorged with raw steaks cut 
 from living cows, into philosophers as eloquent 
 
 so and enlightened as himself or his triend Burke, 
 
202 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 and intojadies as highly accomplished as Mrs. 
 Lennox or Mrs. Sheridan, transferred the whole 
 domestic system of England to Egypt. Into a 
 land of harems, a land of polygamy, a land where 
 women are married without ever being seen, he 5 
 introduced the flirtations and jealousies of our 
 ballrooms. In a land where there is boundless 
 liberty of divorce, wedlock is described as the 
 indissoluble compact. *'A youth and maiden 
 meeting by chance, or brought together by lo 
 artifice, exchange glances, reciprocate civilities, 
 go home and dream of each other. Such," says 
 Rasselas, "is the common process of marriage." 
 Such it may have been, and may still be, in Lon- 
 don, but assuredly not at Cairo. A writer who is 
 was guilty of such improprieties had little right to 
 blame the poet who made Hector quote Aristotle, 
 and represented Julio Romano as flourishing in 
 the days of the oracle of Delphi. 
 
 By such exertions as have been described, John- 20 
 son supported himself till the year 1762. In that 
 year a great change in his circumstances took 
 place. He had from a child been an enemy of 
 the reigning dynasty. His Jacobite prejudices 
 had been exhibited with little disguise both in his 25 
 works and in his conversation. Even in his massy 
 and elaborate Dictionary he had, with a strange 
 want of taste and judgment, inserted bitter and 
 contumelious reflections on the Whig party. The 
 excise, which was a favorite resource of Whig 3o 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 203 
 
 financiers, he had designated as a hateful tax. 
 He had railed against the commissioners of excise 
 in language so coarse that they had seriously 
 thougnt of prosecuting him. He had with diffi- 
 
 5 culty been prevented from holding up the Lord 
 Privy Seal by name as an example of the meaning 
 of the word "renegade." A pension he had 
 defined as pay given to a state hireling to betray 
 his country ; a pensioner as a slave of state hired 
 
 10 by a stipend to obey a master. It seemed unlikely 
 that the author of these definitions would himself 
 be pensioned. But that was a time of wonders. 
 George the Third had ascended the throne ; and 
 had, in the course of a few months, disgusted 
 
 15 many of the old friends, and conciliated many of 
 the old enemies of his house. The city was 
 becoming mutinous ; Oxford was becoming loyal. 
 Cavendishes and Bentincks were murmuring. 
 Somersets and Wyndhams were hastening to kiss 
 
 20 hands. The head of the treasury was now Lord 
 Bute, who was a Tory, and could have no objec- 
 tion to Johnson's Toryism. Bate wished to be 
 thought a patron of men of letters; and Johnson 
 was one of the most eminent and one of the most 
 
 35 needy men of letters in Europe. A pension of 
 three hundred a year was graciously offered, and 
 with very little hesitation accepted. 
 
 This event produced a change in Johnson's 
 whole way of life. For the first time since his 
 
 30 boyhood he no longer felt the daily goad urging 
 
204 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 him to the daily toil. He was at liberty, after 
 thirty years of anxiety and drudgery, to indulge 
 his constitutional indolence; to lie in bed till two 
 in the afternoon, and to sit up talking till four in 
 the morning, without fearing either the printer's 5 
 devil or the sheriff's officer. 
 
 One laborious task indeed he had bound himself 
 to perform. He had received large subscriptions 
 for his promised edition of Shakespeare; he had 
 lived on those subscriptions during some years: lo 
 and he could not without disgrace omit to per- 
 form his part of the contract. His friends repeat- 
 edly exhorted him to make an effort; and he 
 repeatedly resolved to do so. But, notwithstand- 
 ing their exhortations and his resolutions, month i5 
 followed month, year followed year, and nothing 
 was done. He prayed fervently against his idle- 
 ness. He determined, as often as he received the 
 sacrament, that he would no longer doze away 
 and trifle away his time ; but the spell under so 
 which he lay resisted prayer and sacrament. His 
 private notes at this time are made up of self- 
 reproaches. '*My indolence," he wrote on Easter 
 Eve in 1764, *'has sunk into grosser sluggishness. 
 A kind of strange oblivion has overspread me, so 25 
 that I know not what has become of the last 
 year." Easter, 1765, came, and found him still 
 in the same state. *'My time," he wrote, "has 
 been un profitably spent, and seems as a dream 
 that has left nothing behind. My memory grows so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 205 
 
 confused, and I know not how the days pass over 
 me." Happily for his honor, the charm which 
 held him captive was at length broken by no . 
 gentle or friendly hand. He had been weak 
 
 5 enough to pay serious attention to a story abont 
 a ghost which haunted a house in Cock Lane, and 
 had actually gone himself, with some of his 
 friends, at one in the morning, to St. John's 
 Church, Clerkenwell, in the hope of receiving a 
 
 10 communication from the perturbed spirit. But 
 the spirit, though adjured with all solemnity, 
 remained obstinately silent; and it soon appeared 
 that a naughty girl of eleven had been amusing 
 herself by making fools of so many philosophers. 
 
 15 Churchill, who, confident in his powers, drunk 
 with popularity and burning with party spirit, 
 was looking for some man of established fame and 
 Tory politics to insult, celebrated the Cock Lane 
 Ghost in three cantog, nicknamed Johnson "Pom- 
 
 20 poso," asked where the book was which had been 
 so long promised and so liberally paid for, and 
 directly accused the great moralist of cheating. 
 This terrible word proved effectual ; and in 
 October, 1765, appeared, after a delay of nine 
 
 25 years, the new edition of Shakespeare. 
 
 This publication saved Johnson's character for 
 honesty, but added nothing to the fame of his 
 abilities and learning. The preface, though it 
 contains some good passages, is not in his best 
 
 m manner. The most valuable notes are those in 
 
206 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 which he had an opportunity of showing how 
 attentively he had during many years observed 
 human life and human nature. The best speci- 
 men is the note on the character of Polonius. 
 Nothing so good is to be found even in Wilhelm 5 
 Meister's admirable examination -of "Hamlet." 
 But here praise must end. It would be difficult to 
 name a more slovenly, a more worthless, edition 
 of any great classic. The reader may turn over 
 play after play without finding one happy con- 10 
 jectural emendation, or one ingenious and satis- 
 factory explanation of a passage which had baffled 
 preceding commentators. Johns(^n had, in his 
 Prospectus, told the world that he was peculiarly 
 fitted for the task which he had undertaken, is 
 because he had, as a lexicographer, been under 
 . the necessity of taking a wider view of the Eng- 
 lish language than any of his predecessors. That 
 his knowledge of our literature was extensive, is 
 indisputable. But, unfortunately, he had alto- 20 
 gether neglected that very part of our literature 
 with which it is especially desirable that an editor 
 of Shakespeare should be conversant. It is 
 dangerous to assert a negative. Yet little will be 
 risked by the assertion, that in the two folio vol- 25 
 umes of the English Dictionary there is not a 
 single passage quoted from any dramatist of the 
 Elizabethan age, except Shakespeare and Ben. 
 Even from Ben the quotations are few. Johnson 
 might easily, in a few months, have made himself so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 207 
 
 well acquainted with every old play that was 
 extant. But it never seems to have occurred to 
 him that this was a necessary preparation for the 
 work which he had undertaken. He would 
 5 doubtless have admitted that it would be the 
 height of absurdity in a man who was not familiar 
 with the works of Aeschylus and Euripides to 
 publish an edition of Sophocles. Yet he ventured 
 to publish an edition of Shakespeare, without 
 10 having ever in his life, as far as can be discov- 
 ered, read a single scene of Massinger, Ford, 
 Decker, Webster, Marlowe, Beaumont, or 
 Fletcher. His detractors were noisy and scur- 
 rilous. Those who most loved and honored him 
 15 had little to say in praise of the manner in which 
 he had discharged the duty of a commentator. 
 He had, however, acquitted himself of a debt 
 which had long lain heavy on his conscience, and 
 he sank back into the repose from which the sting 
 20 of satire had roused him. He long continued to 
 live upon the fame which he had already won. 
 He was honored by the University of Oxford with 
 a Doctor's degree, by the Eoyal Academy with a 
 professorship, and by the King with an interview, 
 25 in which his Majesty most graciously expressed a 
 hope that so excellent a writer would not cease 
 to write. In the interval, however, between 1765 
 and 1775, Johnson published only two or three 
 political tracts, the longest of which he could 
 30 have produced in forty-eight hours, if he had 
 
208 MACAULAY S ESSAYS 
 
 worked as he worked on the "Life of Savage'' 
 and on "Rasselas. " 
 
 But though his pen was now idle his tongue 
 was active. The influence exercised by his con- 
 versation, directly upon those with whom he 5 
 lived, and indirectly on the whole literary world, 
 was altogether without a parallel. His colloquial 
 talents were, indeed, of the highest order. He 
 had strong sense, quick discernment, wit, humor, 
 immense knowledge of literature and of life, audio 
 an infinite store of curious anecdotes. As 
 respected style, he spoke far better than he 
 wrote. Every sentence which dropped from his 
 lips was as correct in structure as the most nicely 
 balanced period of the Ramhler, But in his talk is 
 there were no pompous triads, and little more 
 than a fair proportion of words in osity and 
 atioii. All was simplicity, ease, and vigor. He 
 uttered his short, weighty, and pointed sentences 
 with a power of voice, and a justness and energy 20 
 of emphasis, of which the effect was rather 
 increased than diminished by the rollings of his 
 huge form, and by the asthmatic gaspings and 
 puffings in which the peals of his eloquence gen- 
 erally ended. !N'or did the laziness which made 25 
 him unwilling to sit down to his desk prevent 
 him from giving instruction or entertainment 
 orally. To discuss questions of taste, of learn- 
 ing, of casuistry, in language so exact and so 
 forcible that it might have been printed without so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 209 
 
 the alteration of a word, was to him no exertion, 
 but a pleasure. He loved, as he said, to fold his 
 legs and have his talk out. He was ready to 
 bestow the overflowings of his full mind on any- 
 
 5 body who would start a subject; on a fellow- 
 passenger in a stage-coach, or on the person who 
 sat at the same table with him in an eating-house. 
 But his conversation was nowhere so brilliant and 
 striking as when he was surrounded by a few 
 
 10 friends, whose abilities and knowledge enabled 
 them, as he once expressed it, to send him back 
 every ball that he threw. Some of these, in 1764, 
 formed themselves into a club, which gradually 
 became a formidable power in the commonwealth 
 
 15 of letters. The verdicts pronounced by this con- 
 clave on new books were speedily known over all 
 London, and were sufficient to sell off a wholes 
 edition in a day, or to condemn the sheets to the* 
 service of the trunkmaker and the pastrycook.. 
 
 ao Nor shall we think this strange when we consider 
 what great and various talents and acquirements 
 m^et in the little fraternity. Goldsmith was the 
 representative of poetry and light literature, 
 Reynolds of the arts, Burke of political eloquence 
 
 25 and political philosophy. There, too, were 
 Gibbon, the greatest historian, and Jones the 
 greatest linguist, of the age. Garrick brought to 
 the meetings his inexhaustible pleasantry, his 
 incomparable mimicry, and his consummate 
 
 80 knowledge of stage effect. Among the most con- 
 
^10 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 stant attendants were two high-born and high- 
 bred gentlemen, closely bound together by friend- 
 ship, but of widely different characters and habits, 
 — Bennet Langton, distinguished by his skill in 
 Greek literature, by the orthodoxy of his opinions, 5 
 and by the sanctity of his life; and Topham 
 Beauclerk, renowned for his amours, his knowl- 
 edge of the gay world, his fastidious taste, and his 
 sarcastic wit. To predominate over such a society 
 was not easy. Yet even over such a society lo 
 Johnson predominated. Burke might, indeed, 
 have disputed the supremacy to which others were 
 under the necessity of submitting. But Burke, 
 though not generally a very patient listener, was 
 content to take the second part when Johnson was i5 
 present ; and the club itself, consisting of so many 
 eminent men, is to this day popularly designated 
 as Johnson's Club. 
 
 Among the members of this celebrated body 
 was one to whom it has owed the greater part of 20 
 its celebrity, yet who was regarded with little 
 respect by his brethren, and had not without diffi- 
 culty obtained a seat among them. This was 
 James Boswell, a young Scotch, lawyer, heir to an 
 honorable name and a fair estate. That he was a 25 
 coxcomb and a bore, weak, vain, pushing, curious, 
 garrulous, was obvious to all who were acquainted 
 with him. That he could not reason, that he had 
 no wit, no humor, no eloquence, is apparent from 
 his writings. And yet his writings are read so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 211 
 
 beyond the Mississippi, and under the Southern 
 Cross, and are likely to be read as long as the 
 English exists, either as a living or as a dead 
 language. Nature had made him a slave and an 
 
 5 idolater. His mind resembled those creepers 
 which the botanists call parasites, and which can 
 subsist only by clinging round the stems and 
 imbibing the juices of stronger plants. He must 
 have fastened himself on somebody. He might 
 
 10 have fastened himself on Wilkes, and have become 
 the fiercest patriot in the Bill of Rights Society. 
 He might have fastened himself on Whitefield, 
 and have become the loudest field preacher among 
 the Calvinistic Methodists. In a happy hour he 
 
 15 fastened himself on Johnson. The pair might 
 seem ill matched. For Johnson had early been 
 prejudiced against Bos well's country. To a man 
 of Johnson's strong understanding and irritable 
 temper, the silly egotism and adulation of Boswell 
 
 20 must have been as teasing as the constant buzz of 
 a fly. Johnson hated to be questioned; and 
 Boswell was eternally catechizing him on all kinds 
 of subjects, and sometimes propounded such ques- 
 tions as, "What would you do, sir, if you were 
 
 25 locked up in a tower with a baby?" Johnson was 
 a water-drinker, and Boswell was a winebibber, 
 and indeed little better than an habitual sot. It 
 was impossible that there should be perfect har- 
 mony between two such companions. Indeed, 
 
 30 the great man was sometimes provoked into fits 
 
212 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 of passion, in which he said things which the small 
 man, during a few hours, seriously resented. 
 Every quarrel, however, was soon made up. 
 During twenty years the disciple continued to 
 worship the master; the master continued to & 
 scold the disciple, to sneer at him, and to love 
 him. The two friends ordinarily resided at a 
 great distance from each other. Boswell prac- 
 tised in the Parliament House of Edinburgh, and 
 could pay only occasional visits to London. Dur- lo 
 ing those visits his chief business was to watch 
 Johnson, to discover all Johnson's habits, to turn 
 the conversation to subjects about which Johnson 
 ivas likely to say something remarkable, and to fill 
 quarto note-books with minutes of what Johnson is 
 had said. In this way were gathered the mate- 
 rials, out of which was afterwards constructed the 
 most interesting biographical work in the world. 
 Soon after the club began to exist, Johnson 
 formed a connection less important indeed to his ao 
 fame, but much more important to his happiness, 
 than his connection with Boswell. Henry Thrale, 
 one of the most opulent brewers in the kingdom, 
 a man of sound and cultivated understanding, 
 rigid principles, and liberal spirit, was married to ss 
 one of those clever, kind-hearted, engaging, vain, 
 pert young women, who are perpetually doing or 
 saying what is not exactly right, but who, do or 
 say what they may, are always agreeable. In 1765 
 the Thrales became acquainted with Johnson, and 3o 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 213 
 
 the acquaintance ripened fast into friendship. 
 They were astonished and delighted by the bril- 
 liancy of his conversation. They were flattered 
 by finding that a man so widely celebrated pre- 
 
 5 ferred their house to any other in London. Even 
 the peculiarities which seemed to unfit him for 
 civilized society, — his gesticulations, his rollings, 
 his'pufiings, his mutterings, the strange way in 
 which he put on his clothes, the ravenous eager- 
 
 10 ness with which he devoured his dinner, his fits 
 of melancholy, his fits of anger, his frequent 
 rudeness, his occasional ferocity, — increased the 
 interest which his new associates took in him. 
 For these things were the cruel marks left behind 
 
 15 by a life which had been one long conflict with 
 disease and adversity. In a vulgar hack writer, 
 such oddities would have excited only disgust. 
 But in a man of genius, learning, and virtue, their 
 effect was to add pity to admiration and esteem. 
 
 20 Johnson soon had an apartment at the brewery 
 in Southwark, and a still more pleasant apartment 
 at the villa of his friends on Streatham Common. 
 A large part of every year he passed in those 
 abodes — abodes which must have seemed magnifi- 
 
 25 cent and luxurious indeed, when compared with 
 the dens in which he had generally been lodged. 
 But his chief pleasures were derived from what 
 the astronomer of his Abyssinian tale called "the 
 endearing elegance of female friendship." Mrs. 
 
 30 Thrale rallied him, soothed him, coaxed him; 
 
214 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 and, if she sometimes provoked him by her flip- 
 pancy, made ample amends by listening to his 
 reproofs with angelic sweetness of temper. When 
 he was diseased in body and in mind, she was the 
 most tender of nurses. No comfort that wealth 5 
 could purchase, no contrivance that womanly 
 ingenuity, set to work by womanly compassion, 
 could devise, was wanting to his sick-room. He 
 requited her kindness by an affection pure as the 
 affection of a father, yet delicately tinged with a lo 
 gallantry which, though awkward, must have 
 been more flattering than the attentions of a 
 crowd of the fools who gloried in the names, now 
 obsolete, of Buck and Maccaroni. If should seem 
 that a full half of Johnson's life, during about is 
 sixteen years, was passed under the roof of the 
 Thrales. He accompanied the family sometimes 
 to Bath, and sometimes to Brighton, once to 
 Wales, and once to Paris. But he had at the 
 same time a liouse in one of the narrow and 20 
 gloomy courts on the north of Fleet Street. In 
 the garrets was his library, a large and miscella- 
 neous collection of books, falling to pieces and 
 begrimed with dust. On a lower floor he some- 
 times, but very rarely, regaled a friend with a 25 
 plain dinner, — a veal pie, or a leg of lamb and 
 spinach, and a rice pudding. Xor was the dwell- 
 ing uninhabited during his long absences. It was 
 the home of the most extraordinary assemblage 
 of inmates that ever was brought together. At 3o 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 215 
 
 the head of the establishment Johnson had placed 
 an old lady named Williams, whose chief recom- 
 mendations were her blindness and her poverty. 
 But, in spite of her murmurs and reproaches, he 
 5 gave an asylum to another lady who was as poor 
 as herself, Mrs. Desmoulins, whose family he had 
 known many years before in Staffordshire. Eoom 
 was found for the daughter of Mrs. Desmoulins, 
 and for another destitute damsel, who was gener- 
 ic ally addressed as Miss Carmichael, but whom her 
 generous host called Polly. An old quack doctor 
 named Levett, who bled and dosed coal-heavers 
 and hackney coachmen, and received for fees 
 crusts of bread, bits of bacon, glasses of gin, and 
 15 sometimes a little copper, completed this strange 
 menagerie. All these poor creatures were at con- 
 stant war with each other, and with Johnson's 
 negro servant Frank. Sometimes, indeed, they 
 transferred their hostilities from the servant to 
 20 the master, complained that a better table was not 
 kept for them, and railed or maundered till their 
 benefactor was glad to make his escape to 
 Streatham, or to the Mitre Tavern. And yet he, 
 who was generally the haughtiest and most irrita- 
 25 ble of mankind, who was but too prompt to resent 
 anything which looked like a slight on the part of 
 a purse-proud bookseller, or of a noble and pow- 
 erful patron, bore patiently from mendicants, 
 who, but for his bounty, must have gone to the 
 30 workhouse, insults more provoking than those for 
 
216 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 which he had knocked down Osborne and bidden 
 defiance to Chesterfield. Year after year Mrs. 
 Williams and Mrs. Desmoulins, Polly and Levett, 
 continued to torment him and to live upon him. 
 
 The course of life vv^hich has been described was 5 
 interrupted in Johnson's sixty-fourth year by an 
 important event. He had early read an account 
 of the Hebrides, and had been much interested by 
 learning that there was so near him a land peo- 
 pled by a race which was still as rude and simple lo 
 as in the Middle xA.ges. A wish to become inti- 
 mately acquainted with a state of society so utterly 
 unlike all that he had ever seen frequently crossed 
 his mind. But it is not probable that his curi- 
 osity would have overcome his habitual sluggish- is 
 ness, and his love of the smoke, the mud, and the 
 cries of London, had not Boswell importuned him 
 to attempt the adventure, and offered to be his 
 squire. At length, in August, 1773, Johnson 
 crossed the Highland line, and plunged coura- 20 
 geously into what was then considered, by most 
 Englishmen, as a dreary and perilous wilderness. 
 After wandering about two months through the 
 r.eltic region, sometimes in rude boats which did 
 lot protect him from the rain, and sometimes on 25 
 small shaggy ponies which could hardly bear his 
 weight, he returned to his old haunts with a mind 
 full of new images and new theories. During the 
 following year he employed himself in recording 
 his adventures. About the beginning of 1775, his 3o 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 217 
 
 *' Journey to the Hebrides" was published, and 
 was, during some weeks, the chief subject of con- 
 versation in all circles in which any attention was 
 paid to literature. The book is still read with 
 
 5 pleasure. The narrative is entertaining; the 
 
 speculations, whether sound or unsound, are 
 
 always ingenious; and the style, though too stiff 
 
 and pompous, is somewhat easier and more grace- 
 
 ^ful than that of his early writings. His prejudice 
 
 10 against the Scotch had at length become little 
 more than matter of jest; and whatever remained 
 of the old feeling had been effectually removed by 
 the kind and respectful hospitality with which he 
 had been received in every part of Scotland. It 
 
 15 was, of course, not to be expected that an Oxonian 
 Tory should praise the Presbyterian polity and 
 ritual, or that an eye accustomed to the hedge- 
 rows and parks of England should not be struck 
 by the bareness of Berwickshire and East Lothian. 
 
 20 But even in censure Johnson's tone is not 
 unfriendly. The most enlightened Scotchmen, 
 with Lord Mansfield at their head, were well 
 pleased. But some foolish and ignorant Scotch- 
 men were moved to anger by a little unpalatable 
 
 25 truth, which was mingled with much eulogy, and 
 assailed him whom they chose to consider as the 
 enemy of their country with libels much more 
 dishonorable to their country than anything that 
 he had ever said or written. They published 
 
 30 paragraphs in the newspapers, articles in the 
 
218 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 magazines, sixpenny pamphlets, five-sliilling 
 books. One scribbler abused Johnson for being 
 blear-eyed ; another for being a pensioner ; a third 
 informed the world that one of the Doctor's 
 uncles had been convicted of felony in Scotland, 5 
 and had found that there was in that country one 
 tree capable of supporting the weight of an Eng- 
 lishman. Macpherson, whose *'Fingal" had been 
 proved in the *' Journey" to be an impudent 
 forgery, threatened to take vengeance with a lo 
 cane. The only effect of this threat was that 
 Johnson reiterated the charge of forgery in the 
 most contemptuous terms, and walked about, 
 during some time, with a cudgel, whicih, if the 
 impostor had not been too wise to encounter it, 15 
 would assuredly have descended upon him, to bor- 
 row the sublime language of his own epic poem, 
 "like a hammer on the red son of the furnace." 
 Of other assailants Johnson took no notice 
 whatever. He had early resolved never to be 20 
 drawn into controversy ; and he adhered to his 
 resolution with a steadfastness which is the more 
 extraordinary, because he was, both intellectually 
 and morally, of the stuff of which controversialists 
 are made. In conversation, he was a singularly 25 
 eager, acute, and pertinacious disputant. When 
 at a loss for good reasons, he had recourse to 
 sophistry; and when heated by altercation, he 
 made unsparing use of sarcasm and invective. 
 But when he took his pen in his hand, his whole 30 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 219 
 
 character seemed to be changed. A hundred bad 
 writers misrepresented him and reviled him; but 
 not one of the hundred could boast of having been 
 thought by. him worthy of a refutation, or even of 
 5 a retort. The Kenricks, Campbells, MacNicols, 
 and Hendersons, did their best to annoy him, in 
 the hope that he would give them importance by 
 answering them. But the reader will in vain 
 search his works for any allusion to Kenrick or 
 
 10 Campbell, to MacNicol or Henderson. One 
 Scotchman, bent on vindicating the fame of 
 Scotch learning, defied him to the combat in a 
 detestable Latin hexameter : — 
 
 Maxima, si tu vis, cupio contendere tecum. 
 
 15 But Johnson took no notice of the challenge. 
 He had learned, both from his own observation 
 and from literary history, in which he was deeply 
 read^ that the place of books in the public esti- 
 mation is fixed, not by what is written about 
 
 20 them, but by what is written in them; and that 
 an author whose works are likely to live is very 
 unwise if he stoops to wrangle with detractors 
 whose works are certain to die. He always main- 
 tained that fame was a shuttlecock which could 
 
 35 be kept up only by being beaten back, as well as 
 beaten forward, and which would soon fall if 
 there were only one battledore. No saying was 
 oftener in his mouth than that fine apophthegm 
 of Bentley, that no man was ever written down 
 
 30 but by himself. 
 
220 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 Unhappily, a few months after the appearance 
 of the "Journey to the Hebrides" Johnson did 
 what none of his envious assailants could have 
 done, and to a certain extent succeeded in writing 
 himself down. The disputes between England s 
 and her American colonies had reached a point at 
 which no amicable adjustment was possible. Civil 
 war was evidently impending; and the ministers 
 seem to have thought that the eloquence of John- 
 son might with advantage be employed to inflame lo 
 the nation against the opposition here, and 
 •against the rebels beyond the Atlantic. He had 
 already written two or three tracts in defence of 
 the foreign and domestic policy of the govern- 
 ment ; and those tracts, though hardly worthy of is 
 him, were much superior to the crowd of pam- 
 phlets which lay on the counters of Almon and 
 Stockdale. But his ** Taxation Xo Tyranny" 
 was a pitiable failure. The very title was a silly 
 phrase, which can have been recommended to his 20 
 choice by nothing but a jingling alliteration which 
 he ought to have despised. The arguments were 
 such as boys use in debating societies. The 
 pleasantry was as awkward as the gambols of a 
 hippopotamus. Even Boswell was forced to own 25 
 that, in this unfortunate piece, he could detect 
 no trace of his master's powers. The general 
 opinion was that the strong faculties which had 
 produced the Dictionary and the Rambler were 
 beginning to feel the effect of time and of disease, so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 221 
 
 and that the old man would best consult his 
 credit by writing no more. 
 
 But this was a great mistake. Johnson had 
 failed, not because his mind was less vigorous 
 h than when he wrote **Rasselas" in the evenings 
 of a week, but because he had foolishly chosen, 
 or suffered others to choose for him, a subject 
 such as he would at no time have been competent' 
 to treat. He was in no sense a statesman. He 
 
 10 never willingly read or thought or talked about 
 affairs of state. He loved biography, literary his- 
 tory, the history of manners; but political history 
 was positively distasteful to him. The question 
 at issue between the colonies and the mother 
 
 15 country was a question about which he had really 
 nothing to say. He failed, therefore, as the 
 greatest men must fail when they attempt to do 
 that for which they are unfit; as Burke would 
 have failed if Burke had tried to write comedies 
 
 90 like those of Sheridan; as Reynolds would have 
 failed if Reynolds had tried to paint landscapes 
 like those of Wilson. Happily, Johnson soon had 
 an opportunity of proving most signally that his 
 failure was not to be ascribed to intellectual 
 
 25 decay. 
 
 On Easter Eve, 1777, some persons, deputed by 
 a meeting which consisted of forty of the first 
 booksellers in London, called upon him. Though 
 he had some scruples about doing business at that 
 
 30 season, he received his visitors with much civility. 
 
222 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 They came to inform him that a new edition of 
 the English poets, from Cowley downwards, was 
 in contemplation, and to ask him to furnish short 
 biographical prefaces. He readily undertook the 
 task, — a task for which he was pre-eminently 5 
 qualified. His knowledge of the literary history 
 of England since the Restoration was unrivalled. 
 That knowledge he had derived partly from books, 
 and partly from sources which had long been 
 closed, — from old Grub Street traditions; from 10 
 the talk of forgotten poetasters and pamphleteers 
 who had long been lying in parish vaults ; from 
 the recollections of such men as Gilbert Walmes- 
 ley, who had conversed with the wits of But- 
 ton ; Gibber, who had mutilated the plays of two 15 
 generations of dramatists ; Orrery, who had been 
 admitted to the society of Swift; and Savage, who 
 had rendered services of no very honorable kind 
 to Pope. The biographer therefore sat down to 
 his task with a mind full of matter. He had at ao 
 first intended to give only a paragraph to every 
 minor poet, and only four or five pages to the 
 greatest name. But the flood of anecdote and 
 criticism overflowed the narrow channel. The 
 work, which was originally meant to consist only 25 
 of a few sheets, swelled into ten volumes, — small 
 volumes, it is true, and not closely printed. The 
 first four appeared in 1779, the remaining six 
 in 1781. 
 
 The *' Lives of the Poets" are, on the whole, 80 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 223 
 
 the "best of Johnson's works. The narratives are 
 as entertaining as any novel. The remarks on 
 life and on human nature are eminently shrewd 
 and profound. The criticisms are often excellent, 
 
 5 and, even when grossly and provokingly unjust, 
 well deserve to be studied. For, however errone- 
 ous they may be, they are never silly. They are 
 the judgments of a mind trammelled by preju- 
 dice and deficient in sensibility, but vigorous and 
 
 10 acute. They therefore generally contain a por- 
 tion of valuable truth which deserves to be sepa- 
 rated from the alloy ; and, at the very worst, they 
 mean something, a praise to which much of what 
 is called criticism in our time has no pretensions. 
 
 15 Savage's *'Life" Johnson reprinted nearly as it 
 had appeared in 1744. Whoever, after reading 
 that life, will turn to the other lives, will be 
 struck by the difference of style. Since Johnson 
 had been at ease in his circumstances he had 
 
 30 written little and talked much. When, therefore, 
 he, after the lapse of years, resumed his pen, the 
 mannerism which he had contracted while he was 
 in the constant habit of elaborate composition, 
 was less perceptible than formerly; and his 
 
 25 diction frequently had a colloquial ease which it 
 had formerly wanted. The improvement may be 
 discerned by a skilful critic in the "Journey to 
 the Hebrides," and in the ''Lives of the Poets" 
 is so obvious that it cannot escape the notice of 
 
 30 the most careless reader. 
 
224 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 Among the lives the best are perhaps those of 
 Cowley, Dryden, and Pope. The very worst is, 
 beyond all doubt, that of Gray. 
 
 This great work at once became popular. 
 There was, indeed, much just and much unjust 5 
 censure; but even, those who were loudest in 
 blame were attracted by the book in spite of 
 themselves. Malone computed the gains of the 
 publishers at five or six thousand pounds. But 
 the writer was very poorly remunerated. Intend- w 
 ing at first to write very short prefaces, he had 
 stipulated for only two hundred guineas. The 
 booksellers, when they saw how far his perform- 
 ance had surpassed his promise, added only 
 another hundred. .Indeed, Johnson, though he is 
 did not despise, or affect to despise, money, and 
 though his strong sense and long experience 
 ought to have qualified him to protect his own 
 interests, seems to have been singularly unskilful 
 and unlucky in his literary bargains. He was 20 
 generally reputed the first English writer of his 
 time. Yet several writers of his time sold their 
 copyrights for sums such as he never ventured to 
 ask. To give a single instance, Robertson rec ived 
 four thousand five hundred pounds for the "His- 2b 
 tory of Charles Y."; and it is no disrespect to 
 the memory of Robertson to say that the "History 
 of Charles Y." is both a less valuable and a less 
 amusing book than the "Lives of the Poets." 
 
 Johnson was now in his seventy -second year, so 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 225 
 
 The infirmities of age were coming fast upon him. 
 That inevitable event of which he never thought 
 without horror was brought near to him ; and his 
 whole life wrs iar^tened by the shadow of death. 
 
 6 He had often to pa^ the cruel price of longevity. 
 Every year he lost what could never be replaced. 
 The strange dependants to whom he had given 
 shelter, and to whom, in spite of their faults, he 
 was strongly attached by habit, dropped off one 
 
 10 by one ; and, in the silence of his home, he 
 regretted even the noise of their scolding matches. 
 The kind and generous Thrale was no more ; and 
 it would have been well if his wife had been laid 
 beside him. But she survived to be the laughing- 
 
 J5 stock of those who had envied her, and to draw 
 from the eyes of the old man who had loved her 
 beyond anything in the world, tears far more 
 bitter than he would have shed over her grave. 
 With some estimable and many agreeable qualities, 
 
 » she was not made to be independent. The con- 
 trol of a mind more steadfast than her own was 
 necessaiy to her respectability. While she was 
 restrained by her husband, a man of sense and 
 firmness, indulgent to her taste in trifles, but 
 
 85 always the undisputed master of his house, her 
 worst offences had been impertinent jokes, white 
 lies, and short fits of pettishness, ending in sunny 
 good-humor. But he was gone; and she was left 
 an opulent widow of forty, with strong sensibility, 
 
 de volatile fancy, and slender judgment. She soon 
 
226 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 fell in love with a music-master from Brescia, in 
 whom nobody but herself could discover anything 
 to admire. Her pride, and perhaps some better 
 feelings, struggled hard against this degrading 
 passion. But the struggle irritated her nerves, 5 
 soured her temper, and at length endangered her 
 health. Conscious that her choice was one which 
 Johnson could not approve, she became desirous 
 to escape from his inspection. Her manner 
 towards him changed. She was sometimes cold lo 
 and sometimes petulant. She did not conceal her 
 joy when he left Streatham; she never pressed 
 him to return; and, if he came unbidden, she 
 received [^him in a manner which convinced him 
 that he was no longer a welcome guest. He took is 
 the very intelligible hints which she gave. He 
 read, for the last time, a chapter of the Greek 
 Testament in the library which had been formed 
 by himself. In a solemn and tender prayer he 
 commended the house and its inmates to the 20 
 Divine protection, and, with emotions which 
 choked his voice and convulsed his powerful 
 frame, left forever that beloved home for the 
 gloomy and desolate house behind Fleet Street, 
 where the few and evil days which still remained 25 
 to him were to run out. Here, in June, 1783, 
 he had a paralytic stroke, from which, however, 
 he recovered, and which does not appear to have 
 at all impaired his intellectual faculties. But 
 other maladies came thick upon him. His asthma 30 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 227 
 
 tormented him day and night. Dropsical symp- 
 toms made their appearance. While sinking 
 under a complication of diseases, he heard that 
 the woman whose friendship had been the chief 
 
 5 happiness of sixteen years of his life had married 
 an Italian fiddler; that all London was crying 
 shame upon her; and that the newspapers and 
 magazines were filled with allusions to the Ephe- 
 sian matron and the two pictures in "Hamlet." 
 
 10 He vehemently said that he would try to forget her 
 existence. He never uttered her name. Every 
 memorial of her which met his eye he flung into 
 the fire. She meanwhile fled from the laughter 
 and hisses of her countrymen and countrywomen 
 
 15 to a land where she was unknown, hastened across 
 Mount Cenis, and learned, while passing a merry 
 Christmas of concerts and lemonade parties at 
 Milan, that the great man with whose name hers 
 is inseparably associated, had ceased to exist. 
 
 20 He had, in spite of much mental and much 
 bodily aflOiiction, clung vehemently to life. The 
 feeling described in that fine but gloomy paper 
 which closes the series of his Idlers^ seemed to grow 
 stronger in him as his last hour drew near. He 
 
 25 fancied that he should be able to draw his breath 
 more easily in a southern climate, and would 
 probably have set out for Rome and Naples but 
 for his fear of the expense of the journey. That 
 expense, indeed, he had the means of defraying; 
 
 80 for he had laid up about two thousand pounds, 
 
228 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 the fruit of labors which had made the fortune of 
 several publishers. But he was unwilling to 
 break in upon this hoard, and he seems to have 
 wished even to keep its existence a secret. Some 
 of his friends hoped that the government might 5 
 be induced to increase his pension to six hundred 
 pounds a year; but this hope wp,s disappointed, 
 and he resolved to stand one English winter more. 
 That winter was his last. His legs grew weaker ; 
 his breath grew shorter ; the fatal water gathered lo 
 fast, in spite of incisions which he, courageous 
 against pain, but timid against death, urged his 
 surgeons to make deeper and deeper. Though 
 the tender care which had mitigated his sufferings 
 during months of sickness at Streatham was is 
 withdrawn, he was not left desolate. The ablest 
 physicians and surgeons attended him, and 
 refused to accept fees from him. Burke parted 
 from him with deep emotion. Windham sat 
 much in the sick-room, arranged the pillows, and so 
 sent his own servant to watch at night by the 
 bed. Frances Burney, whom the old man had 
 cherished with fatherly kindness, stood weeping 
 at the door ; while Langton, whose piety eminently 
 qualified him to be an adviser and comforter at 25 
 such a time, received the last pressure of his 
 friend's hand within. When at ^length the 
 moment, dreaded through so many years, came 
 close, the dark cloud passed away from Johnson's 
 mind. His temper became unusually patient and 30 
 
LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 229 
 
 gentle ; he ceased to think with terror of death, 
 and of that which lies beyond death; and he 
 spoke much of the mercy of God, and of the pro- 
 pitiation of Christ. In this serene frame of mind 
 5 he died on tho 13th of December, 1784. He was 
 laid, a week later, in Westminster Abbey, among 
 the eminent men of whom he had been the histo- 
 rian, — Cowley and Denham, Dryden and Con- 
 greve, Gay, Prior, and Addison. 
 
 10 Since his death, the popularity of his works — 
 the ''Lives of the Poets," and, perhaps, the 
 *' Vanity of Human Wishes," excepted — has 
 greatly diminished. His Dictionary has been 
 altered by editors till it can scarcely be called 
 
 15 his. An allusion to his Ramhler or his Idler is 
 not readily apprehended in literary circles. The 
 fame even of "Kasselas" has grown somewhat dim. 
 But though the celebrity of the writings may 
 have declined, the celebrity of the writer, strange 
 
 20 to say, is as great as ever. Boswell's book has 
 done for him more than the best of his own books 
 could do. The memory of other authors is kept 
 alive by their works. But the memory of Johnson 
 keeps many of his works alive. The old philoso- 
 
 25 pher is still among us in the brown coat with the 
 metal buttons, and the shirt which ought to be 
 at wash, blinking, puffing, rolling his head, 
 drumming with his fingers, tearing his meat like 
 a tiger, and swallowing his tea in oceans. No 
 
 30 human being who has been more than seventy 
 
230 MACAULAY'S ESSAYS 
 
 years in the grave is so well known to ns. And it 
 is but just to say that our intimate acquaintance 
 with what he would himself have called the 
 anfractuosities of his intellect and of his temper, 
 serves only to strengthen our conviction that he 5 
 was both a great and a good man. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Although these notes are critical, they include few questions in 
 regard to Macaulay's sti-ucture and style. It is deemed that the 
 Introduction affords a sufficient starting-point for studies in that 
 direction. Explanations of names, etc., must be sought in the 
 Glossary. 
 
 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ADDISON 
 
 Of the thirty-six essays contributed by Macaulay to the 
 Edinburgh Review, this was the thirty-fourth. It appeared in 
 July, 1843, and represents him at the maturity of his powers. 
 It cannot quite rank, however, with such essays as those on 
 Clive and Hastings, because the author is not so much at 
 home in criticism as in history. It will be profitable to read 
 in connection with it the essays upon Addison by Johnson 
 (Lives of the Poets) and Thackeray (English Humorists) . Mr. 
 Courthope's Life of Addison, in the English Men of Letters 
 series, should be read, if possible, if only to correct some of 
 the mistakes or exaggerations of Macaulay's essay. Perhaps, 
 too, in order to avoid carrying away from the prolonged 
 study of one man a false estimate of his importance, it will 
 be well to keep in mind the words written by a late critic, 
 Mr. Gosse, in his History of Eighteenth Century Literature: 
 "With some modification, what has been said of Addison 
 may be repeated of Steele, whose fame has been steadily 
 growing while the exaggerated reputation of Addison has 
 been declining." "The time has probably gone by when 
 either Addison or Steele could be placed at the summit of 
 the literary life of their time. Swift and Pope, each in his 
 own way, distinctly surpassed them. 
 
 47: 24. Abject idolatry. This is still another reference 
 to what Macaulay elsewhere calls Boswellism, or disease of 
 admiration. How near he comes to falling- himself a victim 
 
 331 
 
232 NOTES. 
 
 to it in the present essay, the reader must not fail to 
 judge. 
 
 53: 29. His knowledge of Greek . Note just what is said, 
 and do not get the idea that Addison knew no Greek. 
 Macaulay has a way of making his sentences seem to say 
 more than is in their "Words. 
 
 I 56: 10. Evidences of Christianity. The essay is entitled 
 ."Of the Christian Religion." Gibbon had long before 
 jbrought the same charge of superficiality against the essay. 
 
 56: 21. Moved the senate to admit. This is either one 
 of Macaulay 's exaggerations or else "moved the senate" 
 must be understood in a strictly parliamentary sense. 
 What Addison Wrote ("Of the Christian Religion," i. 7) is 
 this: "Tertullian . . . tells . . , that the Emperor 
 Tiberius, having received an account out of Palestine in 
 Syria of the Divine Person who had appeared in that coun- 
 try, paid him a particular regard, and threatened to punish 
 any tvho should accuse the Christians; naj^ that the em- 
 peror would have adopted him among the deities whom they 
 worshipped, had not the senate refused to come into his 
 proposal." 
 
 57 : 12. Confounded an aphorism. This is very boldly 
 borrowed, without acknowledgment, from the account of 
 Blackmore in Johnson's Live^. Macaulay is not always fair 
 to Johnson. As to the second charge against Blackmore, if 
 Macaulay found four false quantities on one page (he seems 
 to refer to the pronunciation of Latin proper names in an 
 English poem, and not to Latin verses) he would probably 
 consider that to be a sufficient basis for making the 
 statement. 
 
 58: 28. Exsurgit. Again Macaulay seems to be quoting 
 from memory, for Addison wrote assurgit, following Vergil, 
 Geoj'flfics 3, 355. The translation of the lines is: "Now into 
 mid-ranks strides the lofty leader of the Pygmies, of awful 
 majesty and venerable poi't, overtopping all the rest with 
 his gigantic bulk, and towering to half an ell." 
 
 63 : 18. After his bees. The figure was suggested by the 
 subject-matter of a portion of the fourth Georgia — the hiving 
 and care of bees. It is made more appropriate, too, by the 
 familiar legend, told of many poets and particularly of Pin- 
 
NOTES. ^33 
 
 dar, that bees swarmed upon their lips in infancy, portend- 
 ing the sweetness of their future songs. 
 
 69: 12. The accomplished men. See Boswell's Johnson. 
 
 69 : 23. Johnson will have it. In his life of Addison. It 
 Ss interesting to see how Macaulay delights in setting his 
 opinion against the great Doctor's. In his biographical 
 essay upon him however, he is generous enough, though, as 
 Mr. Morison sa^^s, his "appreciation is inadequate." 
 
 70: 16. No poem . . . in dead language. Mac aulay 
 in his various essays, repeats freely his ideas and illustra- 
 tions. Turn to his essay on Frederic the Great, and in the 
 passage beginning at about the eleventh paragraph, will be 
 found this same discussion, together with the account of 
 Frederic the Great's accomplishments in French, and an 
 allusion to "Newdigate and Seatonian poetry." It is a 
 good example of the working of the psychologic law of asso- 
 ciation. And any one familiar with the essays can turn to 
 a fiozen such examples. 
 
 71: 22. Ne croyez. "Do not think however, that I 
 mean by this to condemn the Latin verses of one of your 
 illustrious scholars which you have sent me. I find them 
 excellent, worthy indeed of Vida or Sannazaro, though not 
 of Horace and Vergil." 
 
 72: 10. Quid numeris. "Why, O Muse, dost thou bid 
 me, a Frank, born far this side of the Alps, again to stam- 
 mer in Latin verse?" 
 
 73 : 7. An event. This union of France and Spain left 
 the other countries of Europe at a great disadvantage, and 
 led to the Grand Alliance against France and Spain, and 
 the long War of the Spanish Succession (1701-1714). 
 
 74: 29. More wonder than pleasure. Not, perhaps, until 
 Ruskin's Stones of Venice (1851-53) was Gothic architecture 
 fully appreciated by the English. 
 
 75: 17. Soliloquy. For the famous soliloquy in Addi- 
 son's Tragedy of Cato, see Act V., Sc. I. 
 
 78 : 8. Tory fox hunter. Addison's Freeholder, No. 23. 
 
 78: 15. Tomb of Misenus. Aeneid VI., 233. — CircCy Aen. 
 VII., 10. 
 
 82 : 7. He became tutor. Probably incorrect. See Glos- 
 sary, Somerset. 
 
234 NOTES. 
 
 84 : 13. The poaition of Mr. Canning. That is, the posi« 
 tion of a moderate Tory, favoring the measures and reforms 
 advocated by the Whigs. 
 
 87 : 12. Famous similitude. Containing the famous line, 
 "Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." 
 
 89: 2. Life-guardsman. Members of the Life Guards 
 must be six feet tall. Shaw must have been noted for excep- 
 tional stature. >^ 
 
 93: 19. Spectre huntsman. Macaulay may be thinking 
 of Byron's verse, "The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line." 
 {Don Juan, in., 106). "Ravenna's immemorial wood," says 
 Byron, "Boccaccio's lore and Dryden's lay made haunted 
 ground to me. " Addison should have known the story from 
 Boccaccio's tale. Dryden's versification of it, Theodore and 
 Honoria, was only published in 1700, while Addison was 
 abroad, and it is not likely he had read it before visiting 
 Ravenna, though he might well have read it before writing 
 up his travels. However, Macaulay fails to consider that 
 not all memories respond to suggestions so readily as his 
 own. At one place in his journal, for instance, he tells how 
 he visited Louis the Fourteenth's bedroom, and — "I thought 
 of all St. Simon's anecdotes about that room and bed." 
 
 93: 25. Greatest lyric poet. This is extravagant praise 
 
 97:4. The Censorship of the Press. This practically 
 ceased in 1679, when the statute for the regulation of 
 printing which was passed just after the Restoration, 
 expired. 
 
 98: 12. In Gruh street. Does this mean that Walpole 
 and Pulteney lived in Grub street) 
 
 99: 27. Popularity . . . timidity. One* of Macaulay 's 
 paradoxes. 
 
 lOl: 4. He had one habit. "He [Macaulay] too fre- 
 quently resorts to vulgar gaudiness. For example, there is 
 in one place a certain description of an alleged practice of 
 Addison's. Swift had said of Esther Johnson that 'whether 
 from easiness in general, or from her indifference to persons, 
 or from her despair of mending them, or from the same 
 practice which she most liked in Mr. Addison, I cannot 
 determine; but when she saw any of the company very 
 warm in a wrong opinion, she was more inclined to confirm 
 
NOTES. 235 
 
 them in it than to oppose them. It prevented noise, she 
 said, and saved time.' Let us behold what a picture Macau- 
 lay draws on the strength of this passage. 'If his first 
 attempts to set a presuming dunce right were ill-received,' 
 Macaulay says of Addison, 'he changed his tone, "assented 
 with civil leer," and lured the flattered coxcomb deeper and 
 deeper into absurdity. ' To compare this transformation of 
 the simplicity of the original into the grotesque heat and 
 overcharged violence of the copy, is to see the homely 
 maiden of a country village transformed into the painted 
 Saunter of the city." — John Morlet. Macaulay 's quota- 
 tion "assented with civil leer," is from Pope's well-known 
 line: 
 
 "Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer." 
 
 lOl: 13. Criticisms . . dialogue. Tatler, 163; Spectator, 
 568. 
 
 104: 12. Steele. "The character of Steele, with his 
 chivalry and his derelictions, his high ideal and his broken 
 resolves, has been a favorite one with recent biographers, 
 who prefer his rough address to the excessive and meticu- 
 lous civility of Addison. It is permissible to love them 
 both, and to see in each the complement of the other. It is 
 proved that writers like Macaulay and even Thackeray have 
 overcharged the picture of Steele's delinquencies, and have 
 exaggerated the amount of Addison's patronage of his 
 friend. But nothing can explain away Steele's carelessness 
 in money matters or his inconsistency in questions of moral 
 detail. He was very quick, warm-hearted and impulsive, 
 while Addison had the advantage of a cold and phlegmatic 
 constitution. Against the many eulogists of the younger 
 man we may place Leigh Hunt's sentence : 'I prefer open- 
 hearted Steele with all his faults to Addison with all his 
 essays. ' ' ' — Gosse : History of Eighteenth Century Literature 
 ^(1889). See also Aitken's Life of Steele, II., 345 and else- 
 where. 
 
 105: 14. Provoked Addison. Landor's "Imaginary Con- 
 versation between Steele and Addison" will be interesting 
 reading in this connection. 
 
 106: 10. The real history. See Introduction, 12. 
 
23.6 NOTES. 
 
 Ill: 23. By mete accident. As a matter of fact, critics 
 are pretty well agreed that Steele led the way everywhere, 
 though in certain respects Addison often outshone him. 
 In the words of Mr. Aitken, Steele's biographer, "the 
 world owes Addison to Steele." 
 
 112: 3. Half German jargon. Carlyle had for some 
 years, like Coleridge before him, been acting as a medium 
 between German philosophy and literature and English. 
 Of course Macaulay is ridiculing Carlyle's uncouth style. 
 Landor, another stickler for pure English, said upon the 
 appearance of Carlyle's Frederick that he was convinced he 
 (Landor) wrote two dead languages — Latin and English. 
 
 116: 18. Revenge- . . wrealicd. Who Bettesworth and 
 De Pompignan were is not important. Can it be deter- 
 mined from the text who "wreaked revenge" upon them? 
 
 120: 1. White staff. Official badge of the Lord High 
 Treasurer. 
 
 120: 15. We calmly review. Calmly, perhaps, but not 
 impartially. Macaulay's Whig pr ejudi ces are very appar- 
 ent. 
 
 121 : 25. Lost his fortune. It is very probable, however, 
 that Addison was still what might be called ' 'independently 
 rich." 
 
 127: 19. The following papers. Nos. 26, 329, 69, 317, 159, 
 ^^43, 517, 
 
 128: 16. The stamp tax. A Tory measure of 1712 virtu- 
 ally aimed at the freedom of the press. 
 
 130: 4. Easy solution. Macaulay's 'essays are full of 
 these easy solutions. They are usually mere guesses, but it 
 must be admitted that they are usually sensible ones. 
 
 131: 11. From the city. That is, from the mercantile 
 portion of the city — the original city of London. 
 
 133: 30. The French model. This refers to dramas of 
 the so-called Classical school, which adhered closely to 
 certain conventional rules— the three "unities," for in- 
 stance, of time, place, and action. The Shaksperean drama 
 is constructed with far greater freedom. 
 
 135:1. But among. Why is this long paragraph allowed 
 to stand as a unit, when it could easily be subdivided? And 
 why are some short paragraphs (the ninth preceding, for 
 
NOTES. 237 
 
 example) allowed to stand when they could easily be com- 
 bined with the others ? 
 
 135:28. Malice. Toward whom? 
 
 141:27. The Swift of 1708. 1708 was the date of one of 
 Swift's best poems, Baucis and PhiUmon, and of the attack 
 upon astrology in the pamphlet against Partridge, the alma- 
 nac-maker, which Macaulay has already mentioned. In 1738, 
 the year of his last published writing (long after the death 
 of Addison, be it noted), he was an old man on the verge of 
 insanity. 
 
 142:27. Iliad. VI., 226. Diomedes speaks to Glaucus: 
 "So let us shun each other's spears, even among the throng; 
 Trojans are there in multitudes and famous allies for me to 
 slay, whoe'er it be that God vouchsafeth me, and my feet 
 overtake; and for thee are there Achaians in multitude, to 
 slay whome'er thou canst." — Leaf's translation. 
 
 152: 17. All stiletto and mask. For Macaulay 's portrait 
 of Pope, as of Steele, many allowances naust be made. 
 
 153: 26. Cannot . . . certainty. See Courthope's 
 Addison, chapter vii. 
 
 154: 16. Energetic lines. The "Epistle to Dr. Arbuth- 
 not" (Prologue to the Satires), lines 193-214. 
 
 156: 22. Holland House. Macaulay has celebrated this 
 mansion of social fame in one of his most ambitious periods 
 —the concluding paragraph of the essay on Lord Holland, a 
 strange compound of artificiality of form and undeniable 
 sincerity of feeling. 
 
 157: 19. Consolatory vetses. Not, of course, because he 
 was to visit Ireland for the last time, but because he had to 
 visit Ireland at all. 
 
 164 : 11. Little Dicky was the nickname. In the article as 
 originally printed in the Edinburgh Review this sentence 
 stands : "Little Dicky v/as evidently the nickname of some 
 comic actor who played the usurer Gomez," etc. Macaulay 
 having discovered later that his guess was entirely right, 
 inserted the name of the actor in the revised essay. But 
 it may be noticed that, in the face of this positive informa- 
 tion, his preceding argument and "confident affirmation,'* 
 which he allowed to remain as writtten, now fall a little flat. 
 167: 10. Shepherd, whose crook. It is a little h*-rd to 
 
238 NOTES. 
 
 forgive Macaulay for yielding so often to the temptation to 
 paraphrase the most beautiful and most exalted passages in 
 literature. The echoes from Comus in his essay on Milton 
 will be remembered. And in his essay on Boswell's Life of 
 Johnson he has ventured thus to lay hands on one of the 
 sublimest utterances in Dante — Cacciaguida's prophecy of 
 Dante's banishment. 
 
 "Thou shalt have proof how savoreth of salt 
 The bread of others, and how hard a road 
 The going down and up another's stairs." 
 
 To have such pure poetry as this, which remains poetry 
 still in Longfellow's perfect translation, turned into mere 
 rhetoric, into "that bread which is the bittei'cst of all food, 
 those stairs which are the most toilsome of all paths," jars 
 cruelly upon the sensibilities of all to whom the original has 
 become familiar and sacred. 
 
 168: 24. We ought to add. Here the journalist and re- 
 viewer most inopportunely intrudes upon the eulogist. As 
 to the eulogy itself, the catalogue of dignitari-es in the pre- 
 ceding sentence has no such impressivenQgs for the demo- 
 cratic reader as it may have had for English readers of fifty 
 years ago. In fact it is a little ridiculous, and throws a 
 curious light either on Macaulay 's estimate of his readers, 
 or, what is equally probable, upon the limitations of his own 
 nature. To see that nature at its best we must turn back 
 to the revelation of a worthier feeling in the touching 
 description of Addison's dedication of his works to his friend 
 Craggs. 
 
 THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 
 
 Late in life, when he was busy with his History, and long 
 after he had given up writing for the Edinhurgh Review, 
 Macaulay, purely out of friendship for the publisher of the 
 Encyclopaedia Britannica, contributed to that work five 
 biographical articles— on Atterbury, Bunyan, Goldsmith, 
 Johnson, and Pitt. The present essay, written in 1856, and 
 still included in the Encyclopaedia, is therefore probably the 
 next to the last essay that he wrote. Twenty-five years 
 
NOTES. 239 
 
 before, he had contributed to the Edinburgh Review an article 
 on Croker's edition of HoswelVs Life of Dr. Johnson. One- 
 half of that article covered much the same ground as the 
 later essay; the other half, naturally, was devoted to Bos- 
 well and to a severe criticism of the manner in which Bos- 
 well's book had been edited by John Wilson Croker, a 
 political and personal enemy of Macaulay. The later essay, 
 reprinted in our text, is much superior in every way — in 
 brevity, unity, and tolerance of tone, failing- perhaps only as 
 Macaulay was temperamentally bound to fail, in discerning 
 the moral depth of the great nature he tried to sound. The 
 best collateral reading upon Johnson, apart from Boswell's 
 monumental and indispensable work, is Carlyle's well- 
 known essay, doubtless largely inspired by Macaulay's early 
 and unsatisfactory treatment of the subject. 
 
 Page 171: line 9. Royal touch. Johnson is said to have 
 been the last person touched in England for this malady — 
 the "King's Evil." The father's parental concern must 
 have proved stronger than his politics, for Jacobites pro- 
 fessed to believe that the divine power did not descend to 
 William and Anne. For further particulars about this 
 interesting superstition, see Macaulay's History of England, 
 chap. xiv. Cp. also Macbeth, iv. 3, 140 ff. 
 
 173: 18. Restorers of learning. These were the scholars 
 and writers of the Renaissance, the period of the revival of 
 learning in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, just suc- 
 ceeding the "dark ages." Among the best known are 
 Petrarch and Boccaccio, both of wh«jii wrote in Latin as 
 well as Italian. 
 
 180: 13. Dining on tripe. The description is scarcely 
 exaggerated, but the humor is in questionable taste, and 
 this, too, more from Macaulay's blunt way of putting 
 things than from any offensiveness inherent in the subject. 
 
 182:13. Knocked down. "There is nothing to tell, dearest 
 lady, but that he was insolent and I beat him, and that he 
 was a blockhead and told of it, which I should never have 
 done." — Piozzi's Anecdotes of Johnson. 
 
 182: 2.5. It was not then safe. There was nothing like a 
 general censorship of the English press after 1679, but it was 
 
240 NOTES. 
 
 long unaerstood that the right of free publication did not 
 extend to political news. 
 
 1 83 : 30. The pjxjudices. Macaulay 's strong Whig bias has 
 evidently lent zest to the description that follows. If Car- 
 lyle's description of Johnson be read, it is perhaps well to 
 remember Car lyle's conservative tendencies. 
 
 184: 4. Land, etc. The events of the time of Charles I,, 
 here alluded to, may be found discussed in Macaulay's essay 
 on Hampden. 
 
 1 93 : 7. A change in the last syllable. That is to say, Irene 
 differed from the other poem only in being unrhymed. 
 
 193: 11. Benefit nights. Spscial performances, the pro- 
 ceeds of which were given to the author. 
 
 1 93 : 19. Tatler. Spectator. An account of these papers 
 is given in the essay on Addison in this volume. See also, 
 in this series, Mr. H. V. Abbott's Introduction to the Sir 
 Roger de Coverley Papers, pages 36 and ff. 
 
 195: 21. Sir Roger, etc. See Mr. Abbott's edition, as 
 above. In Squire Bluster, Mrs. Busy, etc., the reference is, 
 of course, to characters and sketches in The Rambler. 
 
 1 96 : 20. Monthly Review. There is no evidence that John- 
 son either feared or respected the judgment of this Review, 
 as Macaulay's words would half imply. It was a Radical 
 organ, and he sometimes spoke of it with contempt. The 
 Critical Review, mentioned later, was a Tory paper. 
 
 197 : 26. In a letter. Even Macaulay's high praise seems 
 scarcely adequate to the language of this famous letter, in 
 which scorn is tempered with dignity and justified by a 
 deep-seated sense of wrong. It runs thus : 
 
 To THE Right Honourable the Earl of Chesterfield. 
 
 February 7, 1755. 
 
 My Lord : — I have been lately informed, by the proprietor 
 of The World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is 
 recommended to the public, were written by your Lordship. 
 To be so distinguished, is an honour which,"^being very little 
 accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well how 
 to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge. 
 
 When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited 
 your Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, 
 by the enchantment of your address, and could not forbear 
 to wish that I might boast myself le vainqueur du va-inqueur 
 
NOTES. 241 
 
 de la terre; — that I might obtain that reg-ard for which I saw 
 the world contending; but I found my attendance so little 
 encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me 
 to continue it. When I had once addressed your Lordship 
 in public, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a 
 retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all 
 that I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all 
 neglected, be it ever so little. 
 
 Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited in 
 your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; 
 during which time I have been pushing on my work through 
 difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have ' 
 brought it, at last, to the vergb of publication, without one 
 act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile 
 of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had 
 a Patron before. 
 
 The shepherd in "Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, 
 and found him a native of the rocks. 
 
 Is not a Patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern 
 on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has 
 reached ground, encumbers him with help? The notice 
 which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it 
 been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am 
 indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and can- 
 not impart it ; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope 
 it is no very cynical asperity, not to confess obligations 
 where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that 
 the Public should consider me as owing that to a Patron 
 which Providence has enabled me to do for myself. 
 
 Having carried on my work thus far with so little obliga- 
 tion to any favourer of learning, 1 shall not be disappointed 
 though I should conclude it. if less be possible, with less; 
 for I have been long wakened from that dream of hope, in 
 which I once boasted myself with so much exultation, 
 My Lord, 
 Your Lordship's most humble. 
 
 Most obedient servant, 
 
 Sam. Johnson. 
 
 The passage in the Preface of the Dictionary runs thus : 
 
 "In this work, when it shall be found that much is omitted, 
 let it not be forgotten that much likewise is performed ; and 
 though no book was ever spared out of tenderness to the 
 author, and the world is little solicitous to know whence 
 proceeded the faults of that which it condemns ; yet it may 
 gratify curiosity to inform it that the English Dit-tionary • 
 was written with little assistance of the learned, and with- 
 out any patronage of the great; not in the soft obscurities of 
 retirement, or under the shelter of academic bowers, but 
 amidst inconvenience and distraction, in sickness and in 
 
242 NOTES. 
 
 sorrow. It may repress the triumph of malig-nant criticism 
 to observe, that if our language is not here fully displayed, 
 I have only failed in an attempt which no human powers 
 have hitherto completed. If the lexicons of ancient tongues, 
 now immutably fixed, and comprised in a few volumes, be 
 yet, after the toil of successive ages, inadequate and delu- 
 sive; if the aggregated knowledge, and co-operating dili- 
 tgence of the Italian academicians, did not secure them from 
 jthe censure of Beni; if the embodied critics of France, when 
 'fifty years had been spent upon their work, were obliged to 
 change its economy, and give their second edition another 
 form, I may surely be contented without the praise of per- 
 fection, which, if I could obtain, im this gloom of solitude, 
 what could it avail me? I have protracted my work till 
 most of those whom I wished to please have sunk into the 
 grave, and success and miscarriage are empty sounds: I 
 therefore dismiss it with frigid tranquility, having little to 
 fear or hope from censure or from praise." 
 
 198:24. Scarcely a Teutonic language. A humorous state- 
 ment of the common charge, often exaggerated, that John- 
 son was fond of words of Latin origin. 
 
 202 : 17. Hector^ etc. See Troilv^ and Cressida, II. ii. ; 
 Winter^s Tale, II. i. and V. ii. 
 
 203: 5. The Lord Privy Seal, See Dictionaries under 
 cabinet. "You know, sir. Lord Gower forsook the old 
 Jacobite interest. When I came to the word Renegado, after 
 telling that it meant 'one who deserts to the enemy, a 
 revolter,' I added^ Sometimes we say a Gower. Thus it went 
 to the press ; but the printer had more wit than I, and struck 
 it out." — Boswell's Johnson. 
 
 203: 17. Oxford, etc. Recall the thirteenth paragraph of 
 this essay. Cavendish and Bentinck, of course, were 
 Whigs ; Somerset and Wyndham Tories. It may be quite 
 accidental, but it is interesting to note that Macaula y 
 describes the loyalty of the latter men in half contemptuous 
 langTTage! Rhetorically considered, the passage is a good 
 example of Macaulay's swift narrative, with explanatory 
 connectives omitted. See Introduction, 15. 
 
 205: 6. A ghost. See the account of this in Boswell's 
 Johnson, 1763 ; also, Harper^s Magazine, August, 1893. Macau- 
 lay's account should not be allowed to pass without com- 
 parison with Carlyle's in the latter' « essay on Boswell's Life 
 ^f Johnson. . 
 
NOTES. _ 243 
 
 209 : 19. Trunk-maker^ etc. Books and papers otherwise 
 unsalable were turned over to trunk-makers and cooks, 
 who employed the paper in lining- trunks and pans. 
 
 211: 17. Prejudiced against BosweWs country. Compare the 
 famous definition in his Dictionary: "Oats. — Ag-rain which 
 in England is g-enerally given to horses, but in Scotland 
 supports the people." 
 
 219: 14. Maxime, etc. "I very much desire, if you are 
 willing, to try a bout with you," 
 
 219: 29. Written down. This Is an ellipsis of the famous 
 exclamation of Dogberry, "O that he were here to write me 
 down an ass !" — Much Ado About Nothing, II. ii. 
 
 221: 18. As Bu7'ke would have failed. See Introduction, 8. 
 
 226: 1. Music-master from Brescia. The name of this 
 Italian was Piozzi. Mrs. Piozzi's Anecdotes of Johnson make 
 an interesting supplement to Boswell's Life. 
 
 226 : 19. A solemn . . . prayer. 
 
 "•Almighty God, Father of all mercy, help me by Thy 
 grace, that I may, with humble and sincere thankfulness, 
 remember the comforts and conveniences which I have 
 enjoyed at this place; and that I may resign them with 
 holy submission, equally trusting in Thy protection when 
 Thou givest, and when Thou takest away. Have mercy 
 upon me, O Lord, have mercy upon me. 
 
 "To Thy fatherly protection, O Lord, I commend this 
 family. Bless, guide, and defend them, that they may so 
 pass through this world, as finally to enjoy in Thy presence 
 everlasting happiness, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen." 
 
 Boswell has recorded some half a dozen of Johnson's 
 prayers. 
 
 226: 25. Few and evil. Cp. Genesis, xlvii. 9. 
 
 227 : 9. Two pictures. See Hamlet, III. iv. 53. 
 
GLOSSAEY. 
 
 For the principle followed in compiling this Glossary, and on the use of 
 reference books generally, see Preface. 
 
 Act. At Oxford, the occasion of the 
 conferring af degrees, at which 
 formerly miracle and mystery 
 plays were enacted. After 1669 
 the Act was performed in the 
 Sheldonian Theatre, and London 
 companies frequently went down 
 to give performances. 13:j: 15. 
 
 Act of Settlement. The agree- 
 ment by which the Hanoverians 
 and not the Stuarts (whom Louis 
 XIV. favored) were to succeed 
 Queen Anne. 85:6. 
 
 Aeschylus, Eurlp'ides, Soph'- 
 ocles. The three great tragic 
 poets of Greece. 207:7. 
 
 Ag'barus or Ab'garus. Ruler of 
 Edessa in Mesopotamia. Euse- 
 bius supposed him to have been 
 the author of a letter written to 
 Christ, found in the church at 
 Edessa. The letter is believed by 
 Gibbon and others to be spurious. 
 56:22. 
 
 Alamode beefshops. "Alamode 
 beef" is a stew made of beef 
 scraps. 181:24. 
 
 Almon and Stockdale. Eighteenth 
 century London publishers and 
 booksellers. The former was also 
 a political pamphleteer and friend 
 of Wilkes. 220:17. 
 
 Athalie'. A tragedy by the French 
 dramatist Racine. 134:1. 
 
 Augustan. The Roman literature 
 of the age of Augustus was 
 marked by polish and refinement- 
 
 The age of Queen Anne in English 
 literature is often called theAu* 
 gustan age. 172:12. 
 
 Balisar'da. In Ariosto's Orlando 
 Furioso, the enchanted sword of 
 Orlando (cp. Artliur's Excalibur), 
 which finally falls into tlie hands 
 of Rogero. In Rogero's fight with 
 Bradamante, it is exchanged for 
 another sword (xlv. 68). 45:18. 
 
 Beggar's Opera, The. By John 
 Gay. It was produced in London 
 in 1728 and ran for sixty-three 
 nights, practically driving from 
 the stage Italian opera, which it 
 satirized. 180:11. 
 
 Ben. That is, "rare Ben" Jonson, 
 the second great dramatist of the 
 Elizabethan age. 206:28. 
 
 Bena'cus. The largest lake of 
 Northern Italy and noted for 
 storms. It is now called Garda. 
 Vergil (Georgics 2, 160)^ tells of 
 "Benacus, swelling with billow.s 
 and boisterous turmoil, like a 
 sea." 74:30. 
 
 Bentley, Richard. A noted English 
 classical scholar. His "Disserta- 
 tion on the Epistles of Phalaris" 
 (1697, 1699), which Porson, another 
 noted scholar, called "the immor- 
 tal dissertation," was written to 
 prove the spuriousness of those 
 epistles. 57:22, 
 
 Bill of Rights, or Declaration of 
 Rights. See any English History 
 
 244 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 245 
 
 Blograpliia Brltannica. Published 
 ] 747-66. Long a standard work; 
 superseded of course now. espe- 
 cially by ih& Dictionary of National 
 Biography. 49:7. 
 
 Bleuiieiiii. In Bavaria. The scene 
 of the great defeat of the French 
 (1704) by the allies under Marl- 
 borough and Prince Eugene. 84: 
 29. 
 
 Blues, Greens. In Roman chariot 
 races the drivers were divided into 
 four companies, distinguished by 
 four colors— green, red, blue, and 
 white— corresponding to the four 
 seasons of the year. Macaulay 
 has in mind the later factions at 
 Constantinople, for which see 
 Gibbon. 18.3:15. 
 
 Book of Gold. The name given to 
 the list of Genoese nobles and citi- 
 zens of property which was made 
 at the time Andrea Doria deliv- 
 ered Genoa from French domina- 
 tion (1528). 74:22. 
 
 Boyle, Charles. He a ?mpted, 
 with the help of others, to defend 
 the genuineness of the '-Epistles 
 of Phalaris" against the famous 
 scholar Bentley. Swift's Battle of 
 the Books is founded on the inci- 
 dent. See Macaulay's sketch of 
 Atterbury in the Ency. Brit. 57:5. 
 
 Bradanian'te. In Ariosto's Orlando 
 Furioso a woman of great prow- 
 ess, finally overcome by Rogero, 
 whom she marries. 45;16. 
 
 Brunei, Sir Marc Isambard. A 
 civil engineer who in 1806 com- 
 pleted machinery for making 
 ships' blocks. 60:26. 
 
 Buck, Macaroni. Equivalent to 
 the later blood, fop, dandy. The 
 second word is derived from The 
 Macaroni Club, a set of young 
 men who had traveled in Italy 
 and introduced into England the 
 Italian dish, macaroni. 214:14. 
 
 Burney, Frances. A novelist, au- 
 thor of Evelina, etc. See Macau- 
 lay's assay upon hor, entitled 
 Madame D'ArOlay. 'J.1 '< 22. 
 
 Button's. A London cotft-e-hnusA. 
 probably established by an uid 
 servant of Addison's. 48 : 15. 
 
 Captain General. See Marlbor- 
 ough. 95:21. 
 
 Capulets, Montagues. Two hos- 
 tile families of northern Italy 
 celebrated through Shakspere's 
 Romeo and Juliet. 1 83 :15. 
 
 Catharine of Braganza. The In- 
 fanta of Portugal. Married Charles 
 II. of England in 1662. 49:23. 
 
 Cat'inat, Nicholas. Commander 
 of the French army in Northern 
 Italy in the War of the Spanish 
 Succession. 79:30. 
 
 Cliarter House (a corruption of 
 Chartreuse). Originally a Carthu- 
 sian monastery in London; later 
 an endowed hospital and school 
 for boys. Pictured by Thackeray, 
 in The Newcomes, under the name 
 of Grey Friars. 50:20. 
 
 Child's. A coffee-house, frequented 
 by churchmen. 124:17. 
 
 Churchill, Charles. An English 
 poet and satirist of the eighteenth 
 century. 205:15. 
 
 Cibber, Colley. This inferior play- 
 wright, actor, and adapter of 
 Shakspere's plays, was appointed 
 poet laureate in 1730. He was 
 satirized bj' Pope in the Dunciadf 
 which Savage assisted Pope in 
 publishing. 222:15. 
 
 Cinna. A tragedy by the French 
 dramatist Corneille. 134:2. 
 
 Clerkenwell. A district of nor- 
 thern London which formerly 
 bore an evil reputation. 205:9. 
 
 Cock Lane Gho.st. See Boswell'a 
 Johnson, June 25, 1763. 56:18- 
 
246 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Collier, Jeremy. An English cler- 
 gyman. He attacked the contem- 
 porary theatre in his Immorality 
 and Ih-ofaneness of the English 
 Stage, 1698. 117:3. 
 
 Conduct of the Allies. A famous 
 Tory pamphlet written by Swift, 
 1711. 97:13. 
 
 t'ongreve, 46:29; "Wycherley, 
 117:5; Etherege, 117:4; Van- 
 brugh, 117:15. For the Restora- 
 tion drama and dramatists, see 
 Macaulay'8 essay on Leigh Hunt's 
 edition of the dramatists; also 
 his History, Chapters II and III. 
 
 Corporation. In English politics, 
 a body of men governing a town 
 and selecting its member of Par- 
 liament. 122:4. 
 
 demy', or denil. At Magdalen 
 College, Oxford, a student upon a 
 scholarship, who will succeed to 
 the next vacant fellowship. 52: 
 19. 
 
 Dodington, George Bubb. An Eng- 
 lish politician with the reputation 
 of a place-hunter. He patronized 
 Young and other men of letters. 
 194:10. 
 
 Drury Ijane Theatre. This famous 
 London theatre, opened in 1663, 
 was reopened in 1674 with an ad- 
 dres's by Dryden. 191 :30. 
 
 Duenna, The. One of Sheridan's 
 comedies. 164:5. 
 
 dlz'abethan age. In literature, 
 the term commonly includes the 
 reigns of both Elizabeth and 
 James I. 47:4. 
 
 Ephesian Matron. The legend 
 runs, according to Petronius, that 
 a woman of Ephesus, while 
 mourning over the body of her 
 husband in the burial-vault, was 
 smitten with love for a soldier 
 who was standing guard, and 
 
 straightway married him. See 
 Jeremy Taylor's Holy Dying, V. 
 viii. 227:9. 
 
 Erasmus. A famous Dutch the- 
 ological scholar. His works, after 
 the fashion of the time (1500), 
 were written in Latin. 71:10, 
 
 Etherege. See Congkeve. 117:4, 
 
 Eton. Eton College, twenty -one 
 miles southwest of London, is one 
 of England's great public schools. 
 The classes in these schools are 
 known as "forms." and the sixth 
 forr^ is usually the highest. 172:16. 
 
 Eugene, Prince. The Austrian 
 general in the War of the Spanish 
 Succession. 125:22. 
 
 Fausti'na. The profligate wife of 
 the Roman emperor, Marcus 
 Aurelius. 92:19, 
 
 Fracasto'rius. The Latin form of 
 Fracastorio, An Italian physician 
 of the lerh century, who wrote 
 Latin poems on pathological sub- 
 jects, 71:10. 
 
 Frances'ca da Rini'ini. Made im- 
 mortal in the most famous Canto 
 (Inf. v.) of Dante's Divine Comedy 
 93:21. 
 
 Frederic, Louis. Eldest son of 
 George II. He died at Leicester 
 House, then the residence of the 
 Prince of Wales, in 1751. 194:15. 
 
 Freehol der. A pol Itical paper pub- 
 lished by Addison, December, 1715, 
 to June, 1716. 78:8. 
 
 Garrets. ' Like attics, sometimes 
 used in the plural for the rooms in 
 the attic story, 214:22, 
 
 Gazetteer. The editor of the state 
 newspaper, the Gazette, estab- 
 lished by Charles II, 109:15. 
 
 Ger'ano-Pygmaeoma'chia, or Pyg- 
 mseo-Geranomachia. {Battle of the 
 jPygmies and Cranes). A Latin 
 poem by Addison, 72:15. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 247 
 
 Oodolphin, Earl of. Lord High 
 Treasurer during the early part of 
 Anne's reign. As a financier, he 
 raised the funds to support Marl- 
 borough io his prosecution of the 
 war on the continent. 8.3: 8. 
 
 Goodman's Fields. In the neigh- 
 borhood of the Tower of London. 
 191:27. 
 
 Grand Alliance. The alliance 
 formed in 1701 between the Holy 
 Roman Empire England, and the 
 Netherlands against France and 
 Spain. 80:5. 
 
 Grecian, The. A London coffee- 
 house of the eighteen til century. 
 The Learned Club met there. 
 109:27. 
 
 Grub Street, London. Now Milton 
 street; formerly noted as the 
 abode of small authors. 188:28. 
 
 Guardian. A periodical* published 
 by Steele and Addison, I7I.S. 73:3. 
 
 Gunning, Maria and Elizabeth, 
 Two sisters who went to Loudon 
 in 1751 and became celebrated for 
 their beauty. When Maria walked 
 in Hyde Park she attracted such 
 crowds that the king had to fur- 
 nish her with a body-guard. 196: 
 16. 
 
 Gwynn, Nell. An English actress, 
 and mistress of Charles II. 158: 
 24. 
 
 Halifax. See Montague. 80:20- 
 
 Hampton Court. A royal palace 
 on the Thames. 47:3. 
 
 Harleian Library. A famous col- 
 lection of books and manuscripts, 
 nowin the British Museum. When 
 it was in Osborne's pos.session, 
 Johnson prepared an elaborate 
 description of it. 182:14. 
 
 Harley, Edward. An English Tory 
 statesman and High Churchman. 
 Before 1690 he had been a W^hig. 
 95:16. 
 
 Hartley, David, An English phil- 
 osopher and psychologist, a friend 
 of Young. 194: 9. 
 
 Holland House. See Note on. 
 156:22. 
 
 Hough, John. Bishop of Worces- 
 ter. Elected president of Magda- 
 len College, 1687. 52:6. 
 
 Inns of Court. The name of four 
 legal societies of London, and of 
 the premises which they occupy — 
 the Inner Temple, the Middle 
 Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and Gray's 
 Inn. 131:8. 
 
 Ireland, William Henry. A writer 
 of plays which he pretended to 
 have discovered, and attributed to 
 Shakspere. Vortigern and Rovo- 
 ena was played at Drury Lane, 
 1796, and its complete failure re- 
 sulted in exposure. 56: 19. 
 
 Jack Pudding. A clown in English 
 folk-lore: 114:13. 
 
 Jenyus, Soame. An English mis- 
 cellaneous writer of the eighteenth 
 century, whose style was better 
 than his matter. 199:21. 
 
 Johnson's Club. Otherwise known 
 as The Literary Club. It is still 
 in existence. 210:18. 
 
 Jonathan's and Garraway's. Lon- 
 don coffee-houses frequented by 
 merchants and stock-jobbers. 
 The promoters of the South Sea 
 Bubble met at Garraway's. 131: 
 12. 
 
 Junius, Franziskus. A German 
 student of the Teutonic languages 
 and compiler of an etymological 
 dictionary. He died in England in 
 1677. 198:26. 
 
 Juvenal. A Roman satirist. John- 
 son's London is modelled after hia 
 Third Satire. 185:21. 
 
 Kit-Cat Club. A club of Whig 
 politicians and wits. 67 : 5. 
 
348 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Ijady Mary. deeMoxTAQa. 
 
 Ijanguish, Lydia. A romantic char- 
 acter in Sheridan's comedy, The 
 Rivals. 200:16. 
 
 liapu'tan flapper. See Gulliver's 
 Travels, iii. 2. 46:16. 
 
 Lennox and Sheridan, Mesdames. 
 Literary women and friends of JDr. 
 Johnson. Tlie ^ latter was the 
 mother of the dramatist, Sher- 
 idan. 202:2. 
 
 lillliput. See Gulliver''s Travels for 
 the meaning of the terms in this 
 passage. 182:30. 
 
 Machi'na? Gesticulan'tes. {Puppet 
 Sliow). A Latin poem by Addison. 
 72:14. 
 
 Macpherson, James. A Scotch 
 poet. His Fingal, an Epic Poem in 
 Six Books, professing to be a trans- 
 lation of certain Gaelic poems in 
 which Fingal is the hero and Os- 
 sian the bard, is now generally 
 regarded as in the main a forgery. 
 218:8 
 
 Macrobius. A Koman grammarian 
 of the fifth century. 173:15. 
 
 Malone, Edmund. A noted Shak- 
 sperean critic; died 1812. He ed- 
 ited various editions of Bosweli's 
 Johnson. 224:8. 
 
 Manchester, Earl of. Ambassador 
 to Prance just before the War of 
 the Spanish Succession. 66:29. 
 
 Mansfield, Lord. William Murray, 
 chief-justice of the Ifing's bench, 
 1756-1788. 217:22. 
 
 Marlborough, Duke of fJohn 
 Churchill). One of the most fa- 
 mous of England's great com- 
 manders. He was the leading 
 spirit of the Grand Alliance. 
 83:8. 
 
 Marli. Marly-le-Roy, a, Village 
 ten miles from Paris, noted for a 
 chateau of Louis XIV. 119:20. 
 
 . Meister, Wllhelm. The hero of Goe* 
 the's novel, Wilhelm Meister' s Ap- 
 prenticeship. 206:5. 
 
 Mitre, The. A noted London tav- 
 ern, near Fleet street, a favorite 
 resort of Dr. Johnson. 21n:23. 
 
 Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley. A 
 keen observer and witty writer, 
 who moved in the higher literary 
 and court circles under the first 
 Georges. Her Letters w..re pub- 
 lished in 1763. 196:17. 
 
 Mourad Bey. Commander of the 
 Mamelukes at their defeat by 
 Napoleon in the Battle of the 
 Pyramids. 89:7. 
 
 Xew'digate prize. An annual prize 
 for English verse, founded at Ox- 
 ford by Sir Roger Newdigate. 
 59:24. 
 
 Newgate A famous old London 
 prison. 187:22. 
 
 Newmarket Heath, in Cambridge- 
 shire. Annual horse-races have 
 been held there since the time of 
 James L 85:14. 
 
 October Club. A club of extreme 
 Tories, named for its celebrated 
 October ale. 131:27. 
 
 Orrery. John Boyle, fifth Earl of 
 Orrery, who published Kemarks on 
 the Life of Swift. 222:16. 
 
 Pembroke. One of the latest 
 founded of the nineteen colleges 
 which In Johnsons time com- 
 prised the University of Oxford. 
 Christ Church was another, older 
 and more aristocratic. Both still 
 exist. 173:7. 
 
 peripeti'a. A Greek technical 
 term, signifying a sudden change 
 or reverse of fortune, on which 
 the plot of a tragedy turns; the 
 denouement. 136:20. 
 
 Politian. A Florentine poet and 
 scholar of the Renaissance period 
 177:19, 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 249 
 
 Pomposo (Italian). "Pompous." 
 205:19. 
 
 Prior, Matthew. An English poet. 
 After the death of Anne and the 
 rise of the Whig ministry, he was 
 imprisoned under suspicion of 
 high treason (1715-17). 46:30. 
 
 Psalmanazar, George. A French 
 impostor who pretended to be a 
 native of Japan converted to 
 Christianity. He invented for 
 himself a ''native" language, call- 
 ing it "Formosan."' 187:11. 
 
 Queensberrys and IJepels. Fam- 
 ilies of the aristocracy. 177: 30. 
 
 Ravenna, Wood of. The Pineta or 
 pine forest on the shore near Ka- 
 venna. See Dante, Purg. xxviii, 
 20. 93:18. 
 
 Rich, Henry. Earl of Holland, 
 from whom Holland House took 
 its name. 160:18. 
 
 Richardson, Samuel. Author of 
 the famous eighteenth century 
 novels, Pamela, Clarissa Harlowe, 
 and Sir Cliarles Orandison. 199:6. 
 
 Roma'no, Giulio. An Italian 
 painter, and pupil of Raphael. 
 101:18. 
 
 Royal Academy, The. An academy 
 of fine arts, particularly painting, 
 founded 1768. Johnson was ap- 
 pointed "Professor of Ancient Lit- 
 erature." 107:23. 
 
 Sachev'erell, Henry. An English 
 High Church clergyman and vio- 
 lent Tory. He was impeached for 
 preaching against the Whig min- 
 istry. The trial grew into a party 
 struggle, which resulted In the 
 overthrow of the Whigs in 1710. 
 95:27. 
 
 Saint James's Square. A center 
 of the London aristocracy. A blue 
 ribbon is the badge of the Order of 
 the Garter, the highest order of 
 
 knighthood in Great Britain, 187; 
 20. 
 St. James's Coffee-House. The 
 
 resort of politicians. 124:18. 
 
 Santa Cro'ce, Church of. In Flor- 
 ence. Michelangelo, Galileo, and 
 others are buried there. 93:18. 
 
 Satirist . . ,. Age. Sensational 
 journals of Macaulay's time. 
 152:8. 
 
 Saul. A tragedy by the Italian poet 
 Alfieri. 134:1. 
 
 Savoy, Duke of. See Victor Ama- 
 DEUS. 80:1. 
 
 Seatonian prize. An annual prize 
 for sacred poetry, founded at Cam- 
 bridge by the will (1741) of Thos. 
 Seaton, hymn writer. 59:24. 
 
 Seja'nus. A Roman courtier, and 
 favorite of Tiberius. 191:5. 
 
 Silius Ital'icus. A Roman viTiter 
 of a dull heroic poem in seventeen 
 books. 55:12. 
 
 Skinner, Stephen An English lex- 
 icographer whose Etymological 
 Dictionary was published in 1671. 
 198:26. 
 
 Smalridge, George, Bishop of Bris- 
 tol in the time of Queen Anne. 
 Dr. Johnson praised his sermons 
 for their "style." 118:9. 
 
 Somerset. Charles Seymour, sixth 
 Duke of Somerset. Called "the 
 Proud " — hardly distinguished 
 otherwise. He refused to employ 
 Addison as tutor to his son, possi- 
 bly because future patronage 
 would be expected ofChim. 65:11. 
 
 South wark (suth'ark). A London 
 borough, south of the Thames. 
 213:21. 
 
 Spectator. A paper published daily 
 by Steele, Addison and others. 
 Mar., 1711, to Dec, 1712; continued 
 by Addison in 1714. 73:3. 
 
 Spence, Joseph (1699-1768). An 
 English critic who left a volume 
 of criticism and anecdotes. 68:2 
 
25C 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Sponglng-house. A house to which 
 debtors were temporarily taken 
 before being thrown into prison 
 for debt. 199:5. 
 
 Squire ^Yeste^n. A character in 
 Fielding's Tom Jones. 145:4. 
 
 Streatham Common. A district 
 of London, near the present Brit- 
 ish Museum. 113:22. 
 
 Surface, Joseph. A hypocrite in 
 Sheridan's School for Scandal. 
 155:15. 
 
 Tangier', or Tangiers. A seaport 
 of Morocco. 49:22. 
 
 Tatler. A periodical published by 
 Steele and Addison, 1709-11. 101: 
 12. 
 
 Teazle, Sir Peter. A character in 
 Slieridan's School for Scandal. 155: 
 15. 
 
 Tempest, Tom. See Johnson's JdZer, 
 No. 10. 184:2. 
 
 Temple, Sir William. An English 
 statesman and author. Macaulay 
 has an essay upon him. 111:27. 
 
 Theobald's. A country seat in 
 Hertfordshire. The residence of 
 Lord Burleigh. Used as a palace 
 by James I. 47:1. 
 
 Thundering Legion. A legion of 
 Christian soldiers under Marcus 
 Aurelius, whose prayers for rain, 
 according to legend, were answered 
 by a thunder storm which de- 
 stroyed their enemies. Addison 
 speaks of the event in his ess.iy 
 "Of the Christian Religion," vii. 3. 
 56:20. 
 
 Tooke, Home. The name assumed 
 by John Horne in 1782. He was a 
 philologist and a politician— an 
 extreme Liberal, of ten in contro- 
 versy. 198:4. 
 
 Town Talk. A paper established 
 ^y Steele, Dec. 17, 1715. But nine 
 numbers were issued. 146:3. 
 
 Tii...l. A rhetorical term signify- 
 
 ing a group of three balanced 
 words or phrases. (The next fol- 
 lowing sentence in Macaulay'a 
 essay affords an example). 108:16. 
 
 Vanbrugh'. See Congkeve. 117: 
 15. 
 
 Victor Amade'us IL, Duke of Sa- 
 voy. He abandoned Louis and 
 joined the alliance in 1703. 92 :11. 
 
 Walpole, Horace (1717-97). The au- 
 thor of The Castle of Otranto and 
 many memoirs and letters. 112:1. 
 
 Warburton, William. Bishop of 
 Gloucester. A critic of Johnson's 
 time, and editor of Shakspere's 
 plays. 189:14. 
 
 Whitfield, George (commonly 
 spelled Whitefleld). A celebrated 
 open-air preacher, one of the 
 founders of Methodism. 211:12. 
 
 Wild of Sussex. Commonly called 
 "Weald." The Weald is a name 
 given to a district comprising 
 portions of the ,countles of Kent 
 and Sussex in southeastern Eng- 
 land. It is not certain whether 
 the word is to be traced to the 
 Anglo-Saxon iveald, "forest." mod- 
 ern "wold," or whether it is an 
 irregular form of wild. 49:18. 
 
 Wilkeo, John. An English dem- 
 agogue. See Macaulay's essay on 
 The Earl of Chatham. 211:10. 
 
 Will's. A well-known London cof- 
 fee-house in the time of Dryden 
 and Addison, known also as "The 
 Wits' CoflFee-House." The resort 
 of poets and wits. 109:27. 
 
 Windham, Williaim. Secretary for 
 War under Pitt. He was a pall- 
 bearer at Johnson's funeral 228: 
 19. 
 Wych'erley. See Congkeve. 117:5. 
 
 Young, Edward. Author of the 
 meditative blank verse poem. 
 Night Thoughts. 194:8. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 (Adapted, and enlarged, from the Manual for the Study 
 of English Classics, by George L. Marsh) 
 
 HELPS TO STUDY 
 
 Macaulay 
 
 What is the date of Macaulay 's first contribution to 
 the Edinburgh Bevieiv.^ How old was he at this time? 
 Who was the editor of this magazine ? How long . did 
 Macaulay continue to contribute to it (p. 15) ? 
 
 Into what divisions do the writings of Macaulay fall 
 (p. 19) ? Name six of Macaulay 's best essays. What is 
 iheir literary significance (p. 38) ? 
 
 Perry Picture 93 is a portrait of Macaulay. 
 
 His Style 
 
 What change did Macaulay bring about in the prose 
 style of the first quarter of the nineteenth century (p. 
 16) ? What has been the infiuence of his style on modern 
 journalism (p. 39) ? 
 
 Are the leading traits of Macaulay 's character — 
 brusqueness, precision without fastidiousness, and self- 
 confidence — illustrated in his style? 
 
 His style is noted for clearness, simplicity, force, bal- 
 anced and antithetical structure, use of illustration, and 
 use of exaggerations; collect illustrations of all these 
 qualities from particular passages of each essay. 
 
 Note Macaulay 's use of Avords. Are they long, short, 
 common, unusual, scientific, newly-coined, foreign, con- 
 
 251 
 
252 APPENDIX 
 
 Crete, general, pictorial, suggestive, of Latin or Saxon 
 origin? What woiild. you say of his use of words on 
 page 81? 
 
 Examine any ten consecutive pages^ for his use of 
 words, and tabulate your conclusions. What is the avej'- 
 age length of his words? 
 
 Note his sentence length and structure. Are any of 
 his sentences too short for unity? Any too long for 
 unity? Are they prevailingly loose or periodic? Note 
 examples of loose sentences. 
 
 Are his sentences effective, artistic, overworked? 
 
 Examine any fifteen consecutive pages and w^ite out 
 your conclusions as to the average number of words in 
 each sentence. 
 
 How many sentences have fewer than fifteen words? 
 How many more than thirty? 
 
 How many violate the normal order? 
 
 How does Macaulay obtain emphasis? 
 
 Note the short sentences on page 85. Do you think it 
 possible to connect these short sentences? 
 
 On any two pages you may choose, how many complex 
 sentences are there? How many compound? Is it pos- 
 sible to convert any of his complex sentences into com- 
 pound ones? 
 
 How does Macaulay connect paragraphs? 
 
 Illustrate his unity of paragraph structure from any 
 six pages you choose. 
 
 What is the topic sentence of the second paragraph 
 on page 57? 
 
 _ Selecting ten paragraphs, pick out and write down in 
 your own words the topic sentence of each paragraph. 
 Is it at the beginning, at the end, or in the middle of the 
 paragraph? What relations do the» other sentences bear 
 to it? 
 
 Does Macaulay use an abundance of figures of speech? 
 Write out as many as you can find. 
 
APPENDIX 253 
 
 What are the sources of his illustrations? Do they 
 seem forced (p. 36) f 
 
 Does he presume the reader to be well informed? 
 
 Does it seem true that he read everything and was in- 
 capable of forgetting anything (p. 27) ? 
 
 Notice his use of rhetorical questions. What effect do 
 they have? 
 
 Does he ever sacrifice truth to brilliancy? 
 
 Collect glaring instances of hyperbole. 
 
 Essay on Addison 
 
 In relation to Addison, see also the Sir Roger de Cover- 
 ley Papers, Lake Classic edition. 
 
 Compare the opening with that of the Essay on Milton. 
 What is the purpose here? 
 
 What high praise does Macaulay give Addison (p. 48) ? 
 Note and justify these points as you read the essay. 
 • Notice the general divisions of the essay (pp. 45-49; 
 50-62; 63-82; 83-108; 109-139;; 140-159; 160-169). Sum- 
 marize in a few Avords the main topics treated under each 
 division. Which are the more important divisions? 
 Which seem out of proportion? Is the order in which 
 Macaulay takes them up a good one? 
 
 Systematize under appropriate headings what Macau- 
 lay says of Addison's life, his character, and his 
 writings. 
 
 Is Macaulay fair to Steele 's character (pp. 104 ff.) ? 
 (Introduction to Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, Lake ed.) 
 Note how Macaulay continues to emphasize the contrast 
 between Addison and Steele (p. 144). 
 
 Can you justify the space and detailed treatment given 
 to the Pope episode? See the Lake Classic edition of 
 selections from Pope's translation of the Iliad. 
 
 Note how skillfully Macaulay reiterates Addison's vir- 
 tues at the end. Are there any new characteristics of 
 
254 APPENDIX 
 
 Addison introduced here? Show where each one not new 
 has been introduced before. 
 
 Characterize the conclusion. Compare it with the con- 
 clusion of the Essay on Milton. Which of these two 
 essays illustrates Macaulay's style to the better advan- 
 tage? Summarize the chief points of difference in style 
 between the two essays. In which is there a greater pro- 
 portion of short sentences? 
 
 Essay on Johnson 
 
 Perry Picture 873B is a portrait of Johnson. 
 
 Extracts from Boswell 's Life of Johnson may be found 
 in Newcomer and Andrews' Twelve Centuries of English 
 Poetry and Prose (pp. 363> ff.). See also suggestions on 
 Irving 's Life of Goldsmith (Lake Classic ed.). 
 
 Note any similarity or difference of method in treat- 
 ment of biography, between this essay and the Essay on 
 Addison: the separation of the man from the author; 
 space given to biographical facts and to literary esti- 
 mate; treatment of ancestry and of influence of heredity 
 (pp. 49, 171); Macaulay's own political sympathies (p. 
 184 and Notes) ; digressions. Note the chief points of 
 difference in style between the two essays. Are differ- 
 ences that you find due to the purpose for which this 
 essay was written (p. 238) ? 
 
 Macaulay states his theory of the life of Johnson in 
 lines 21^_^-^, ^ a ge 171 . Show how he has this in mind 
 at all times ; how the ' ' impediments ' ' are heaped up and 
 brought before us in the strongest terms, and how John- 
 son 's triumph is stated with equal force. For this purpose 
 the facts are given in such detail on pages 171-73. When 
 are they later taken up? For a final estimate compare 
 the last paragraph, particularly the last sentence (p. 229). 
 
 Summarize the chief characteristics of Johnson as given 
 by Macaulay, and illustrate them by examples given, as 
 
APPENDIX 255 
 
 far as possible. What characteristic is strongly shown 
 in the second paragraph on page 1771 
 
 Describe Johnson's early struggles in London. Who 
 were some of his friends at this time? Compare them 
 with those of his later life (p. 209). Note the fine use 
 of contrast in describing Garrick and Johnson (p. 192). 
 What were the relations of Johnson and Pope (p. 186) ? 
 
 What are the value and interest of Boswell's Life? 
 
 W^hat is the importance of Johnson's Dictionary ? (See 
 Professor Lounsbury in Harper's Magazine, Aug. and 
 Sept., 1903.) What are some of its faults (p. 203)? 
 What effective service was rendered to letters by Johnson 
 in his letter to Chesterfield (pp. 197, 198; Notes, p. 240) ? 
 
 Much is said of Johnson's style. This cannot be ac- 
 cepted entirely on Macaulay's authority, but should be 
 illustrated, as far as possible, by selections from John- 
 son 's works. The statement on page 223, lines 15 ff., 
 should be shown by illustration to be either false or true. 
 
256 APPENDIX 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 1. Macaulay's career (pp. 15-20). 
 
 2. Personal merits and defects of Macaulay (pp. 
 24-42). (Themes illustrating separately the different 
 characteristics developed in the pages just referred to 
 may be assigned.) 
 
 3. A study of Macaulay's sentences; of his para- 
 graphs; of his choice of words; of his organization of 
 the whole composition. 
 
 4. The Essaij on Addison as a review. 
 
 5. Summaries of the main divisions of the Essay on 
 Addison. 
 
 6. A sketch of Addison's life (picked out carefully 
 from the essay). 
 
 7. Addison as a poet and dramatist (pp. 59, 87-92, 
 94, 130 fe.). 
 
 8. Addison 's political career. 
 
 9. Addison's relations to Steele. (A defense of 
 Steele may be attempted.) 
 
 10. Addison and Pope (pp. 135, 146 ff.). 
 
 11. Character sketch of Addison. 
 
 12. Differences in method and style, between the Essay 
 on Johnson and the Essay on Addison. 
 
 13. A summary of Johnson 's life. 
 
 14. Character sketch of Johnson. 
 
 15. Johnson's early struggles in London (pp. 179 ff.). 
 
 16. The history of Johnson's Dictionary (his relations 
 with Chesterfield, etc.; pp. 189, 197, etc.). 
 
 17. Johnson and Boswell (pp. 210 ff.). 
 
 18. Johnson's literary work (by, classes, with brief 
 estimates). 
 
 19. Macaulay's influence on modern style (pp. 40, 41) 
 with examples taken from magazine or newspaper articles. 
 
Hak? lEttgltsIf Ollaasira 
 
 General Editor 
 
 LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B. 
 
 Professor of English in Brown University 
 
 ADDISON — Sir Roger de Coverley Pavers — Abbott 
 
 ADDISON AN'_) STEELE— 5c/erito7is frorri The Tatter and The Spec- 
 tator ABBOTT 
 
 iENEID OF VIRGIL— ALLINSON 
 
 AUSTEN — Pride and Prejudice 
 
 BROWNING — Selected Poems — Reynolds 
 
 BUILDERS OF DEMOCRACY— Ceeenlaw 
 
 BUNYAN — The Pilgrim's Progress — Latham 
 
 BURKE — Speech on ConciliaAon with Coilateral Readings — Ward. 
 
 BURNS — Selected Poems and^ CARLYLE — Essay on Burns — IMarsh 
 
 CHAUCER — Selections — Greenla-w 
 
 COLERIDGE — The Ancient Mariner 
 
 LOWELL— yision of Sir Launfal ] ^ vol.— Moody 
 
 COOPER — The Last of the Mohicans — Lewis 
 
 COOPER — The Spy — Damon 
 
 DANA — Two Years Before the Mast — Westcptt 
 
 DEFOE — Robinson Crusoe — Hastings 
 
 Democracy Today — Gauss 
 
 DE QUINCEY — Joan of Arc and Selections — Moody 
 
 DE QUINCE Y — The Flight of a Tartar Tribe — French, 
 
 DICKENS — A ChristmcLS Carol, etc. — Broadtjs 
 
 DICKENS — A Tale of Two Cities — Baldwin 
 
 DICKENS — David C opper field— BAhBwiN 
 
 DRYDEN — Palamon tind Arctte — Cook 
 
 EMERSON — Essays and Addresses — Heydrick 
 
 English Poems — From Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Coleridge, Byron, 
 Macaulay, Arnold, and others — Scudder 
 
 English Popular Ballads — Hart 
 
 Essays — English and American — Alden 
 
 Familiar Letters — Greenlaw 
 
 FRANKLIN — Autobiography — Griffin 
 
 French Short Stories — Schweikert 
 
 GASKELL (Mrs.) — Cranford — Hancock 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT — Silas Marner — Hancock 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT — The Mill on the Floss — Ward 
 
 GOLDSMITH — The Vicar of Wakefield — Morton 
 
 HAWTHORNE — The House of the Seven Gables — Herrick 
 
 HAWTHORNE— Twice- row Tales— Herhick and Eeuere 
 
 HUGHES — Tom Brown's School Days — de Mille 
 
 IRVING — Life of Goldsmith — Krapp 
 
 IRVING— y/^e Sketch Book — Krapp 
 
 IRVING — Tales oj a Traveller — and parts of The Sketch Book — Krapp 
 
Wl}^ Slake Ettglisii CUiBatra-rcntinufb 
 
 LAMB — Essays of Mia— Benedict 
 
 LONGFELLOW — Narrative Poems — Powell 
 
 LOWELL — Vision of Sir Launfal — See Coleridge 
 
 ^ACAULAY — Essays on Addison and Johnson — Newcomer 
 
 MACAULAY — Essays on Clive and Hastings — Newcomer. 
 
 MACAULAY — Goldsmith, Frederic the Great, Madame D'Arblay — New- 
 comer 
 
 MACAULAY — Essays on Milton and Addison — Newcomer 
 
 MILTON — L' Allegro, II Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas — Neilson 
 
 MILTON — Paradise Lost, Books I and II — Farley 
 
 Old Testament Narratives — Rhodes . 
 
 One Hundred Narrative Poems — Teter 
 
 PALGRAVE — Golden Treasury — Newcomer- 
 
 PARKMAN — The Oregon Trail — Macdonald 
 
 POE — Poems and Tales, Selected — Newcomer 
 
 POPE — Homer's Iliad, Books I, VI, XXII, XXIV — Cressy and Moodt 
 
 READE — The Cloister and The Hearth — de Mille 
 
 RUSKIN — Sesame and Lilies — Linn 
 
 Russian Short Stories — SCHWEIKERT 
 
 SCOTT — Ivanhoe — Simonds 
 
 SCOTT — Quentin Durward — Simonds 
 
 SCOTT — Lady of the Lake — Moody 
 
 SCOTT — Lay of the Last Minstrel — Moody and Willabd 
 
 SCOTT — Marmion — Moody and Willard 
 
 SHAKSPERE — The Neilson Edition — Edited by W. A. Neilson, 
 
 As You Like It Macbeth 
 
 Hamlet Midsummer-Night's Dream 
 
 Henry V Romeo and Juliet 
 
 Julius Caesar The Tempest 
 
 Twelfth Night 
 
 SHAKSPERE — Merchant of Venice — Lovett, 
 
 SOUTHEY — Life of Nelson — Westcott 
 
 STEVENSON — Inland Voyage and Travels with a Donkey — Leonard 
 
 STEVENSON — Kidnapped — Leonard 
 
 STEVENSON — Treasure Island — Broadus 
 
 TENNYSON — Selected Poems — Reynolds 
 
 TENNYSON — The Princess — Copeland 
 
 THOREAU — Walden — Bowman 
 
 THACKERAY — Henry Esmond — Phelps 
 
 THACKERAY — English Humorists — Ctjnliffe and Watt 
 
 Three American Poems — The Raven, Snow-Bound, Miles Standish — 
 Greever 
 
 Types of the Short Story — Heydrice 
 
 Washington, Webster, Lincoln — Denney 
 
 SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
 
 CHICAGO : 623 S. Wabash Ave. NEW YORK: 8 East 34th Street 
 
APPENDIX 257 
 
 SELECTIONS FOR CLASS READING 
 
 1. Introductory estimate of Addison (pp. 47-49). 
 
 2. Addison's Campaign (pp. 87-92), 
 
 3. Characteristics of Addison (pp. 99-103). 
 
 4. Addison and Steele (pp. 104-6). 
 
 5. Addison's wit and humor (pp. 112-16). 
 
 6. The Spectator (pp. 124-29). 
 
 7. Addison and Pope (pp. 146-56). 
 
 8. Addison's death, and a concluding estimate (pp. 
 66-69). 
 
 9. Johnson's birth and boyhood (pp. 170-72). 
 
 10. Johnson when he left Oxford (pp. 175, 176). 
 
 11. The profession of literature in Johnson's time 
 pp. 179, 180). 
 
 12. Johnson's Dictionary (pp. 189, 190, 196-98). 
 
 13. Johnson and Garrick (pp. 191-93). 
 
 14. The BamUer (pp. 194-96). 
 
 15. Basselas (pp. 200-202). 
 
 16. Johnson as a talker, and his Club (pp. 208-10). 
 
 17. Johnson and Boswell (pp. 210-12). 
 
 18. Johnson and the Thrales (pp. 212-14). 
 
 19. The Lives of the Poets (pp. 222-24). 
 1:0. Johnson's death (pp. 225-29). 
 
XI 07 ^ 
 

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