July 26, 2025 • 35 mins
Delve into the life and legacy of Joseph Addison (1672-1719), a renowned English essayist, poet, playwright, and politician. Best known for his contribution to The Spectator magazine alongside Richard Steele, Addisons remarkable life is brought to the fore in this engaging narrative. Explore the world of this gentle soul who managed to maintain his gentlemanly demeanor amidst the harsh world of political and literary rivalries. Commemorate the man who, through his persona in the Spectator, is loved by his contemporaries and continues to be respected by generations to come. This summary is brought to you by Pamela Nagami, M.D.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section ten of the Life and Writings of Addison by
Thomas Babington mac cauley. This LibriVox recording is in the
public domain. Read by Pamela and Nagami, Part ten. In
seventeen fifteen, while he was engaged in translating the Iliad,
Pope met Addison at a coffee house. Phillips and Budgel
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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 had
for some time wished to explain. Tickle, he said, translated
some time ago the first book of the Iliad. I
have promised to look it over and correct it. I
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cannot therefore ask to see yours, for that would be
double dealing. Pope made a civil reply and begged that
his second book might have the advantage of Addison's revisions.
Addison readily agreed, looked over the second book, and sent
it back with warm commendations. Tickle's version of the first
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book appeared soon after this conversation. In the preface, all
rivalry was earnestly disclaimed. Tickle declared he should not go
on with the Iliad that enterprise he should leave two
powers which he admitted to be superior to his own.
His only view, he said in publishing this specimen, was
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to bespeak the favor of the public in a translation
of the Odyssey in which he had made some progress.
Addison and Addison's devoted followers pronounced both the versions good,
but maintained that Tickles had more of the original. The
town gave a decided preference to popes. We do not
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think it worth while to settle such a question of precedence.
Neither of the rivals can be said to have translated
the Iliad, unless, indeed the word translation be used in
the sense which it bears. In the Midsummer Night's Dream,
when Bottom makes his appearance with an ass's head instead
of his own, Peter Quince exclaims, bless me Bottom, Bless
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thee thou art translated in this sense, Undoubtedly the readers
of either Pope or Tickle may very properly exclaim, bless
thee Homer thou art translated. Indeed, our readers will, we hope,
agree with us in thinking that no man in Addison's
situation could have acted more fairly and kindly. Both toward
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Pope and toward Tickle than he appears to have done.
But an odious suspicion had sprung up in the mind
of Pope. He fancied, and he soon firmly believed that
there was a deep conspiracy against his fame and his fortunes.
The work on which he had staked his reputation was
to be depreciated. The subscription on which rested his hopes
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of a competence was to be defeated. With this view,
Addison had made a rival translation, Tickle had consented to
fother it, and the wits of Buttons had united to puffet.
Is there any external evidence to support this grave accusation.
The answer is short, There is absolutely none. Was there
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any internal evidence which proved Addison to be the author
of this version? Was it a work which Tickle was
incapable of producing? Surely not. Tikell was a fellow of
a college at Oxford, and must be supposed to have
been able to construe the iliad, and he was a
better versifier than his friend. We are not aware that
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Pope pretended to have discovered any turns of expression peculiar
to Addison. Had such turns of expression been discovered, they
would be sufficiently accounted for by supposing Addison to have
corrected his friend's lines, as he owned that he had done.
Is there anything in the character of the accused persons
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which makes the accusation probable? We answer confidently nothing. Tickle
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, But neither envy nor faction
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in their utmost rage had ever imputed to him a
single deviation from the 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 competitors, would his vices have
remained latent so long he was a writer of tragedy.
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Had he ever injured row, he was a writer of comedy.
Had he not done ample justice to congrieve and given
valuable he help to steal he was a pamphleteer. Have
not his good nature and generosity been acknowledged by swift
his rival in fame and his adversary in politics. That
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Tickle should have been guilty of a villainy seems to
us highly improbable. That Addison should have been guilty of
a villainy seems to us highly improbable. But that these
two men should have conspired together to commit a villainy
seems to us improbable. In a tenfold degree. All that
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is known to us of their intercourse tends to prove
that it was not the intercourse of two accomplices in crime.
These are some of the lines in which Tickle poured
forth his sorrow over the coffin of Addison. Oh dost
thou worn poor mortals, left behind a task well suited
to thy gentle mind. Oh if sometimes thy spotless form
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descend to me, thine aid thou guardian genius, lend when
rage misguides me, or when feeral arms, when pain distresses,
or when pleasure charms. In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart
and turn from ill. A frail and feeble heart lead
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through the paths thy virtue trod before till bliss shall join,
nor death can part us more? 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. We do not accuse Pope of
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bringing an accusation which he knew to be false. We
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 which he suspected Addison and Tickle.
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He was all stiletto unmasked, to injure, to insult, To
save himself from the consequence of injury and insult by
lying and equivocating was the habit of his life. He
published a lampoon on the Duke of Chandos. He was
taxed with it, and he lied and equivocated. He published
a lampoon on Aaron Hill. He was taxed with it,
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and he lied unequivocated. He published a still Fowler lampoon
on Lady Mary Wortley Montague. He was taxed with it,
and he lied with more than usual effrontery and vehemence.
He puffed himself and abused his enemies under feigned names.
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He robbed himself of his own letters, then raised the
hue and cry after them. Besides his frauds of malignity,
of fear of interest un a vanity, there were frauds
which he seems to have committed from love of fraud ale.
He had a habit of stratagem, a pleasure in outwitting
all who came near him. Whatever his object might be,
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The indirect road to it was that which he preferred.
For Ballingbrooke. 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 when it was
discovered that, from no motive except the mere love of artifice,
he had been guilty of an act of gross perfidy
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to Bolingbrook. Nothing was more natural than that such a
man as this should attribute to others that which he
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
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friendly is pursued toward him. He is convinced that it
is merely a cover for a vile intrigue by which
he is to be disgraced and ruined. It is vain
to ask him for proofs. He has none, and he
wants none, except those which he carries in his own bosom.
Whether Pope's malignity at length provoked Addison to retaliate for
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the first and last time cannot 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, and whether they were reflections of
which he had a right to complain, we have now
no means of deciding. The Earl of Warwick, of foolish
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and vicious lad, who regarded Addison with the feelings with
which such lads generally regard their best friends, told Pope
truly or falsely that this pamphlet 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
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another honest man, and when we consider that to the
name of honest man, neither Pope nor the Earl of
Warwick had acclaim, 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. In his anger, he turned this prose into
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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 without foundation. Addison was, we are inclined to believe,
too fond of presiding over a circle of humble friends.
Of the other imputations which these famous lines are intended
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to convey, scarce, one has ever been proved to be just,
and some are certainly false. That Addison was not in
the habit of damning with faint praise appears from innumerable
passages in his way 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
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made the fortune of almost every one of his intimate
friends as so obliging that he narrow obliged. That Addison
felt the sting of Pope's satire keenly, we cannot doubt
that he was conscious of one of the weaknesses with
which he was reproached is highly probable. But his heart,
we firmly believe, acquitted him of the gravest part of
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the accusation. He acted like himself as a satirist. He
was at his own weapons more than 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, an envy thinly disguised by sentiments
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as benevolent and noble as those which Sir Peter Teazel
admired in mister Joseph's surface of 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 the
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mirth and hatred of mankind. Addison had moreover at his
command other means of vengeance 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 have found it easy to harass the most innocent
Catholic by innumerable petty vexations. Pope near twenty years later
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said that through the lenity of the government alone he
could live with comfort. Consider he exclaimed the injury that
a man of high rank and credit may do to
a private person under penal laws, and many other disadvantages.
It is pleasing to reflect that the only review revenge
which Addison took was to insert in the Freeholder a
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warm and comium on the translation of the Iliad, and
to exhort all lovers of learning to put down their
names as subscribers. There could be no doubt, he said,
from the specimens 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
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his 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 the tale bearer on this occasion may
have been his dislike of the marriage which was about
to take place between his mother and Addison. The Countess Dowager,
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a daughter of the old and honorable family of the
Middletons of Church, a family which in any 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 district
of London, and Holland House may be called the town residents.
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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 country neighbors and
became intimate friends. The great wit and scholar tried to
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allure the young lord from the fashionable amusements of beating watchmen,
breaking windows, and rolling women in hogsheads down Hoburn 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 Warwick grew up
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a rake and Addison fell in love. The mature beauty
of the Countess has been celebrated by poets and 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 courtship was long.
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The hopes of the lover appear to have risen and
fallen with the fortunes of his party. His attachment was
at length matter of such notoriety that, when he visited
Ireland for the last time, Rowe addressed some consolatory verses
to the Chloe of Holland House. It strikes us a
little strange that in these verses Addison should be called Lycidas,
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a name of singularly evil omen for a swain just
about to cross the Saint George's channel. 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 Madras. He
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had purchased an estate in Warwickshire, and had been welcomed
to his domain and very tolerable verse by one of
the neighboring squires, the poetical fox hunter William Somerville. In
August seventeen sixteen, the newspapers announced that Joseph Addison, Esquire,
famous for many excellent works, both in verse and prose
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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 history than any other private dwelling in England. His
portrait now hangs there. The features are pleasing, the complexion
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is remarkably fair, but in the expression we trace rather
the gentleness of his disposition than the force and keenness
of his intellect. Not long after his marriage he reached
the height of civil greatness. The Whig government had during
some time been torn by internal dissensions. Lord Townsend led
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one section of the cabinet, Lord Sunderland the other. At length,
in the spring of seventeen seventeen, Sunderland triumphed. Townsend retired
from office and was accompanied by Walpole and Cooper. Sunderland
proceeded to reconstruct the ministry, and Addison was appointed Secretary
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of State. It is certain that the seals were pressed
upon him, and were at first declined by him. Men
equally versed a official business might easily have been found,
and his colleagues knew that they could not expect assistance
from him in debate. He owed his elevation, to his popularity,
to his stainless probity, and to his literary fame. But
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scarcely had Addison entered the cabinet when his strength 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 place, and in
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the following spring Addison was prevented by severe asthma from
discharging the duties of his post. He resigned it and
was succeeded by his friend Craggs, a young man whose
natural parts, though little improved by cultivation, were quick and showy,
whose graceful person and winning manners had made him generally
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acceptable in society, and who, if he had lived, would
probably have been the most formidable of all the rivals
of Walpole. As yet there was no Joseph Hume. The
ministers therefore were able to bestow on Addison a retiring
pension of fifteen hundred pounds a year. In what this
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pension was given we are not told by his biographers,
and have not time to 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
re established his health, and he thanked God with cheerful
piety for having set him free, both from his office
and from his asthma. Many years seemed to be before him,
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and he meditated many works, a tragedy on the death
of Socrates, a translation 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 us.
But the fatal complaint soon returned and gradually prevailed against
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all the resources of medicine. It is melancholy that the
last months of such a life should have been overclouded
both by domestic and by political vexations. A tradition which
began early, which has been general received, and to which
we have nothing to oppose, has represented his wife as
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an arrogant and imperious woman. It is said that till
his health failed him, he was glad to escape from
the Countess Dowager and her magnificent dining room, blazing with
the gilded devices of the House of Rich, to some
tavern where he could enjoy a laugh, to talk about
Virgil and Boileo, and a bottle of claret with the
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friends of his happier days. All those friends, however, were
not left to him. Sir Richard Steele had been gradually
estranged by various causes. He considered himself as one who,
in evil times had braved martyrdom for his political principles,
and demanded, when the Whig Party was triumphant, a large
compensation for what he had suffered when it was militant.
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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 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 with Addison.
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But what above all seems to have disturbed Sir Richard
was the elevation of Tickle, who, at thirty was made
by Addison under Secretary of State, while the editor of
the Tatler and Spectator, the author of the Crisis, the
member for Stockbridge, who had been persecuted for firm adherents
to the House of Hanover, was at near fifty forced
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after many solicitations and complaints, to content himself with his
share in the patent of drury Lane Theater. Steele himself
says in his celebrated letter to Congreve that Addison, by
his preference of Tikell, incurred the warmest resentment of other gentlemen.
And everything seems to indicate of those resentful gentleman Steele
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was himself won. 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 had been brought in. The proud
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Duke of Somerset, first in rank of all nobles, whose
religion permitted him to sit in Parliament, was the ostensible
author of the measure. But it was supported and in
truth devised by the Prime Minister. We are satisfied that
the bill was most pernicious, and we fear that the
motives which induced Sunderland to frame it were not honorable
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to him, but we cannot deny that it was supported
by many of the best and wisest men of that age.
Nor was this strange. The royal prerogative had, within the
memory of the generation then in the vigor of life,
been so grossly abused that it was still regarded with
a jealousy, which, when the peculiar situation of the House
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of Brunswick is considered, may perhaps be called immoderate. The
prerogative of creating peers had, in the opinion of the Whigs,
been grossly abused by Queen Anne's last ministry, and even
the Tories admitted that her majesty in swamping, as it
has since been called, the Upper House, had done what
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only an extreme case could justify. The theory of the
English Constitution, according to many high authorities, was that three
independent powers, the monarchy, the nobility, and the commons, ought
constantly to act as checks on each other. If this
theory were sound, it seemed to follow that to put
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one of these powers under the absolute control of the
other two was absurd. But if the number of peers
were unlimited, it could not 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. Steele
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took part with the opposition, Addison with the ministers. Steele,
in a paper called The Plebeian, vehemently attacked the bill.
Sunderland called for help on Addison, and Addison obeyed the call.
In a paper called The Old Whig, he answered and
indeed refuted Steele's arguments. It seems to us that the
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premises of both the controversialists were unsound, that on those
premises Addison reasoned well and Steel ill, and that consequently
Addison brought out a false conclusion, while Steel blundered upon
the truth in style, in wit, and in politeness. Addison
maintained his superiority. Though The Old Whig is by no
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means one of his happiest performances. At first, both the
anonymous opponents observed the laws of propriety. But at length
Steel 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, with less
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severity than was due to so grave an offense against
morality and decorum. Nor did he, in his just anger,
forget for a moment the laws of good taste and
good breeding. One columny which has often been repeated, and
never yet contradicted, it is our duty to expose. It
is asserted in the Biographia Britannica that Addison designated Steel
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as little Dicky. This assertion was repeated by Johnson, who
had never seen the Old Wig, and was therefore excusable.
It has also been repeated by miss Aiken, who has
seen the Old Wig, and for whom therefore there is
less excuse. Now it is true that the words little
Dickie occur in the Old Whig, and that Steele's name
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was Richard. It is equally true that the words little
Isaac occur in the Duenna, and that Newton's name was Isaac.
But we confidently affirm that Addison's little Dickie had no
more to do with Steel than Sheridan's Little Isaac with Newton.
If we apply the words little Dickie to Steele, we
deprive a very lively and ingenious passage, not only of
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all its wit, but of all its meaning. Little Dickie
was evidently the nickname of some comic actor who played
the usurer Gomez, then a most popular part in Dryden's
Spanish Friar. The merited reproof which Steel had received, though
softened by some kind and courteous expressions, galled in bitterly.
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He replied with little force and great acrimony, but no
rejoinder appeared. Addison was fast hastening to his grave and had,
as we may well suppose, little disposition to prosecute a
quarrel with an old friend his complaint had terminated in Dropsy.
He bore up long and manfully, but at length he
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abandoned all hope, dismissed his physicians, and calmly prepared to
die his works. He entrusted to the care of Tickle
and dedicated them a very few days before his death
to Craggs in a letter written with the sweet and
graceful eloquence of a Saturday spectator. In this his last composition,
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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
recommended the interests of Tickle to the care of Crags
Within a few hours of the time at which this
dedication was written, Addison sent to beg Gay, who was
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then living by his wits about town, to come to
Holland House. Gay went and was received with 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 forgive. There was, however,
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some wrong, 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 both sides. Gay supposed that
some plan to serve him had been in agitation at court,
and had been frustrated by Addison's influence. Nor is this improbable.
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Gay had paid assiduous court to the royal family, but
in the Queen's days he had been the eulogist of Bollingbruck,
and was still connected with many tories. It is not
strange that Addison, while heeded by conflict, should have thought
himself justified in obstructing the preferment of one whom he
might regard as a political enemy. Neither is it strange that,
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when 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. One inference may be drawn from this anecdote.
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It appears that Addison, on his deathbed 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 injury which
would have caused disquiet only to a very tender conscience.
Is it not then reasonable to infer that if he
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had really been guilty of forming a base conspiracy against
the fame and fortunes of a rival, he would have
expressed some remorse for so serious a crime. But it
is unnecessary to multiply arguments and evidence for the defense
when there is neither argument nor evidence for the accusation.
The last moments of Addison were perfectly serene. His interview
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with his son in law is universally known. See he said,
how a Christian can die. The piety of Addison was
in truth of his singularly cheerful character. The feeling which
predominates in all his devotional writings is gratitude. God was
to him the all wise and all powerful friend, who
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had watched 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 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 thankful heart to enjoy them, and
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dear friends to partake them, who had rebuked the waves
of the Ligurian Gulf, had purified the autumnal air of
the Campagna, and had restrained the avalanches of Monseigne. Of
the Psalms. His favorite was that which represents the ruler
of all things, under the endearing image of a shepherd,
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whose crook guides the flocks safe through gloomy and desolate glens,
two meadows well watered and rich with herbage. On that
goodness to which he ascribed all the happiness of his life,
he relied in the hour of death with the love
which casteth out fear. He died on the seventeenth of
June seventeen nineteen. He had just entered his forty eighth year.
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His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber and
was born thence to the abbey. At dead of 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 of the Plantagenets, to the chapel of Henry the Seventh.
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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 along the same aisle,
The same sad anthem was again chanted, the same vault
was again opened, and the coffin of Craggs was placed
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close to the coffin of Addison. Many tributes were paid
to the memory of Addison, but one alone is now remembered.
Tickulpy wailed his friend in an elegy which would do
honor to the greatest name in our literature, and which
unites the energy and magnificence of Dryden to the tenderness
and purity of Cooper. This fine poem was prefixed to
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a superb edition of Addison's works, which was published in
seventeen twenty one 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. But it is wonderful that,
though English literature was then little studied on the continent,
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Spanish grandees, Italian prelates, marshals of France should be found
in the list. Among the most remarkable names are those
of the Queen of Sweden, of Prince Eugene, of the
Grand Duke of Tuscany, of the Dukes of Parma, Madna
and Guastala, of the Doge of Genoa, of the Regent
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or Leon, and of Cardinal Dubois. We ought to add
that this edition, though eminently beautiful, is in some important
points defective, nor indeed do we yet possess a complete
collection of Addison's writings. It is strange that neither his
opulent and noble widow, nor any of his powerful and
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attached friends, should have thought of placing even a simple
tablet inscribe with his name on the walls of the abbey.
It was not till three generations had laughed and wept
over his pages that the omission was supplied by the
public veneration at length. In our own time, his image,
skillfully graven, appeared in Poet's corner. It represents him as
(34:20):
we can conceive him, clad in his dressing gown and
freed from his wig, stepping from his parlor at Chelsea
into his trim little garden, with the account of the
Everlasting Club, or the Loves of Hilpa and Shalom, just
finished for the next day's Spectator in his hand. Such
a mark of national respect was due to the unsullied statesman,
(34:43):
to the accomplished scholar, to the master 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
a wound, affected a great social reform, and who reconciled
(35:06):
Wit and virtue after a long and disastrous separation, during
which Wit had been led astray by profligacy and Virtue
by fanaticism. End of Section ten, read by Pamela and
Nagami in Encino, California, in April twenty twenty one. End
(35:28):
of Life and Writings of Addison by Thomas Babington mac
caulay
Section ten of the Life and Writings of Addison by
Thomas Babington mac cauley. This LibriVox recording is in the
public domain. Read by Pamela and Nagami, Part ten. In
seventeen fifteen, while he was engaged in translating the Iliad,
Pope met Addison at a coffee house. Phillips and Budgel
(00:24):
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 had
for some time wished to explain. Tickle, he said, translated
some time ago the first book of the Iliad. I
have promised to look it over and correct it. I
(00:45):
cannot therefore ask to see yours, for that would be
double dealing. Pope made a civil reply and begged that
his second book might have the advantage of Addison's revisions.
Addison readily agreed, looked over the second book, and sent
it back with warm commendations. Tickle's version of the first
(01:05):
book appeared soon after this conversation. In the preface, all
rivalry was earnestly disclaimed. Tickle declared he should not go
on with the Iliad that enterprise he should leave two
powers which he admitted to be superior to his own.
His only view, he said in publishing this specimen, was
(01:26):
to bespeak the favor of the public in a translation
of the Odyssey in which he had made some progress.
Addison and Addison's devoted followers pronounced both the versions good,
but maintained that Tickles had more of the original. The
town gave a decided preference to popes. We do not
(01:48):
think it worth while to settle such a question of precedence.
Neither of the rivals can be said to have translated
the Iliad, unless, indeed the word translation be used in
the sense which it bears. In the Midsummer Night's Dream,
when Bottom makes his appearance with an ass's head instead
of his own, Peter Quince exclaims, bless me Bottom, Bless
(02:10):
thee thou art translated in this sense, Undoubtedly the readers
of either Pope or Tickle may very properly exclaim, bless
thee Homer thou art translated. Indeed, our readers will, we hope,
agree with us in thinking that no man in Addison's
situation could have acted more fairly and kindly. Both toward
(02:32):
Pope and toward Tickle than he appears to have done.
But an odious suspicion had sprung up in the mind
of Pope. He fancied, and he soon firmly believed that
there was a deep conspiracy against his fame and his fortunes.
The work on which he had staked his reputation was
to be depreciated. The subscription on which rested his hopes
(02:56):
of a competence was to be defeated. With this view,
Addison had made a rival translation, Tickle had consented to
fother it, and the wits of Buttons had united to puffet.
Is there any external evidence to support this grave accusation.
The answer is short, There is absolutely none. Was there
(03:19):
any internal evidence which proved Addison to be the author
of this version? Was it a work which Tickle was
incapable of producing? Surely not. Tikell was a fellow of
a college at Oxford, and must be supposed to have
been able to construe the iliad, and he was a
better versifier than his friend. We are not aware that
(03:41):
Pope pretended to have discovered any turns of expression peculiar
to Addison. Had such turns of expression been discovered, they
would be sufficiently accounted for by supposing Addison to have
corrected his friend's lines, as he owned that he had done.
Is there anything in the character of the accused persons
(04:02):
which makes the accusation probable? We answer confidently nothing. Tickle
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, But neither envy nor faction
(04:26):
in their utmost rage had ever imputed to him a
single deviation from the 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 competitors, would his vices have
remained latent so long he was a writer of tragedy.
(04:51):
Had he ever injured row, he was a writer of comedy.
Had he not done ample justice to congrieve and given
valuable he help to steal he was a pamphleteer. Have
not his good nature and generosity been acknowledged by swift
his rival in fame and his adversary in politics. That
(05:12):
Tickle should have been guilty of a villainy seems to
us highly improbable. That Addison should have been guilty of
a villainy seems to us highly improbable. But that these
two men should have conspired together to commit a villainy
seems to us improbable. In a tenfold degree. All that
(05:32):
is known to us of their intercourse tends to prove
that it was not the intercourse of two accomplices in crime.
These are some of the lines in which Tickle poured
forth his sorrow over the coffin of Addison. Oh dost
thou worn poor mortals, left behind a task well suited
to thy gentle mind. Oh if sometimes thy spotless form
(05:55):
descend to me, thine aid thou guardian genius, lend when
rage misguides me, or when feeral arms, when pain distresses,
or when pleasure charms. In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart
and turn from ill. A frail and feeble heart lead
(06:16):
through the paths thy virtue trod before till bliss shall join,
nor death can part us more? 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. We do not accuse Pope of
(06:39):
bringing an accusation which he knew to be false. We
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 which he suspected Addison and Tickle.
(07:00):
He was all stiletto unmasked, to injure, to insult, To
save himself from the consequence of injury and insult by
lying and equivocating was the habit of his life. He
published a lampoon on the Duke of Chandos. He was
taxed with it, and he lied and equivocated. He published
a lampoon on Aaron Hill. He was taxed with it,
(07:24):
and he lied unequivocated. He published a still Fowler lampoon
on Lady Mary Wortley Montague. He was taxed with it,
and he lied with more than usual effrontery and vehemence.
He puffed himself and abused his enemies under feigned names.
(07:45):
He robbed himself of his own letters, then raised the
hue and cry after them. Besides his frauds of malignity,
of fear of interest un a vanity, there were frauds
which he seems to have committed from love of fraud ale.
He had a habit of stratagem, a pleasure in outwitting
all who came near him. Whatever his object might be,
(08:09):
The indirect road to it was that which he preferred.
For Ballingbrooke. 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 when it was
discovered that, from no motive except the mere love of artifice,
he had been guilty of an act of gross perfidy
(08:32):
to Bolingbrook. Nothing was more natural than that such a
man as this should attribute to others that which he
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
(08:53):
friendly is pursued toward him. He is convinced that it
is merely a cover for a vile intrigue by which
he is to be disgraced and ruined. It is vain
to ask him for proofs. He has none, and he
wants none, except those which he carries in his own bosom.
Whether Pope's malignity at length provoked Addison to retaliate for
(09:16):
the first and last time cannot 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, and whether they were reflections of
which he had a right to complain, we have now
no means of deciding. The Earl of Warwick, of foolish
(09:40):
and vicious lad, who regarded Addison with the feelings with
which such lads generally regard their best friends, told Pope
truly or falsely that this pamphlet 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
(10:01):
another honest man, and when we consider that to the
name of honest man, neither Pope nor the Earl of
Warwick had acclaim, 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. In his anger, he turned this prose into
(10:24):
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 without foundation. Addison was, we are inclined to believe,
too fond of presiding over a circle of humble friends.
Of the other imputations which these famous lines are intended
(10:47):
to convey, scarce, one has ever been proved to be just,
and some are certainly false. That Addison was not in
the habit of damning with faint praise appears from innumerable
passages in his way 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
(11:09):
made the fortune of almost every one of his intimate
friends as so obliging that he narrow obliged. That Addison
felt the sting of Pope's satire keenly, we cannot doubt
that he was conscious of one of the weaknesses with
which he was reproached is highly probable. But his heart,
we firmly believe, acquitted him of the gravest part of
(11:32):
the accusation. He acted like himself as a satirist. He
was at his own weapons more than 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, an envy thinly disguised by sentiments
(11:54):
as benevolent and noble as those which Sir Peter Teazel
admired in mister Joseph's surface of 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 the
(12:16):
mirth and hatred of mankind. Addison had moreover at his
command other means of vengeance 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 have found it easy to harass the most innocent
Catholic by innumerable petty vexations. Pope near twenty years later
(12:42):
said that through the lenity of the government alone he
could live with comfort. Consider he exclaimed the injury that
a man of high rank and credit may do to
a private person under penal laws, and many other disadvantages.
It is pleasing to reflect that the only review revenge
which Addison took was to insert in the Freeholder a
(13:04):
warm and comium on the translation of the Iliad, and
to exhort all lovers of learning to put down their
names as subscribers. There could be no doubt, he said,
from the specimens 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
(13:25):
his 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 the tale bearer on this occasion may
have been his dislike of the marriage which was about
to take place between his mother and Addison. The Countess Dowager,
(13:50):
a daughter of the old and honorable family of the
Middletons of Church, a family which in any 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 district
of London, and Holland House may be called the town residents.
(14:14):
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 country neighbors and
became intimate friends. The great wit and scholar tried to
(14:35):
allure the young lord from the fashionable amusements of beating watchmen,
breaking windows, and rolling women in hogsheads down Hoburn 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 Warwick grew up
(14:57):
a rake and Addison fell in love. The mature beauty
of the Countess has been celebrated by poets and 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 courtship was long.
(15:18):
The hopes of the lover appear to have risen and
fallen with the fortunes of his party. His attachment was
at length matter of such notoriety that, when he visited
Ireland for the last time, Rowe addressed some consolatory verses
to the Chloe of Holland House. It strikes us a
little strange that in these verses Addison should be called Lycidas,
(15:42):
a name of singularly evil omen for a swain just
about to cross the Saint George's channel. 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 Madras. He
(16:06):
had purchased an estate in Warwickshire, and had been welcomed
to his domain and very tolerable verse by one of
the neighboring squires, the poetical fox hunter William Somerville. In
August seventeen sixteen, the newspapers announced that Joseph Addison, Esquire,
famous for many excellent works, both in verse and prose
(16:27):
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 history than any other private dwelling in England. His
portrait now hangs there. The features are pleasing, the complexion
(16:48):
is remarkably fair, but in the expression we trace rather
the gentleness of his disposition than the force and keenness
of his intellect. Not long after his marriage he reached
the height of civil greatness. The Whig government had during
some time been torn by internal dissensions. Lord Townsend led
(17:09):
one section of the cabinet, Lord Sunderland the other. At length,
in the spring of seventeen seventeen, Sunderland triumphed. Townsend retired
from office and was accompanied by Walpole and Cooper. Sunderland
proceeded to reconstruct the ministry, and Addison was appointed Secretary
(17:30):
of State. It is certain that the seals were pressed
upon him, and were at first declined by him. Men
equally versed a official business might easily have been found,
and his colleagues knew that they could not expect assistance
from him in debate. He owed his elevation, to his popularity,
to his stainless probity, and to his literary fame. But
(17:55):
scarcely had Addison entered the cabinet when his strength 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 place, and in
(18:16):
the following spring Addison was prevented by severe asthma from
discharging the duties of his post. He resigned it and
was succeeded by his friend Craggs, a young man whose
natural parts, though little improved by cultivation, were quick and showy,
whose graceful person and winning manners had made him generally
(18:39):
acceptable in society, and who, if he had lived, would
probably have been the most formidable of all the rivals
of Walpole. As yet there was no Joseph Hume. The
ministers therefore were able to bestow on Addison a retiring
pension of fifteen hundred pounds a year. In what this
(19:00):
pension was given we are not told by his biographers,
and have not time to 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
re established his health, and he thanked God with cheerful
piety for having set him free, both from his office
and from his asthma. Many years seemed to be before him,
(19:23):
and he meditated many works, a tragedy on the death
of Socrates, a translation 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 us.
But the fatal complaint soon returned and gradually prevailed against
(19:44):
all the resources of medicine. It is melancholy that the
last months of such a life should have been overclouded
both by domestic and by political vexations. A tradition which
began early, which has been general received, and to which
we have nothing to oppose, has represented his wife as
(20:06):
an arrogant and imperious woman. It is said that till
his health failed him, he was glad to escape from
the Countess Dowager and her magnificent dining room, blazing with
the gilded devices of the House of Rich, to some
tavern where he could enjoy a laugh, to talk about
Virgil and Boileo, and a bottle of claret with the
(20:27):
friends of his happier days. All those friends, however, were
not left to him. Sir Richard Steele had been gradually
estranged by various causes. He considered himself as one who,
in evil times had braved martyrdom for his political principles,
and demanded, when the Whig Party was triumphant, a large
compensation for what he had suffered when it was militant.
(20:51):
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 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 with Addison.
(21:14):
But what above all seems to have disturbed Sir Richard
was the elevation of Tickle, who, at thirty was made
by Addison under Secretary of State, while the editor of
the Tatler and Spectator, the author of the Crisis, the
member for Stockbridge, who had been persecuted for firm adherents
to the House of Hanover, was at near fifty forced
(21:37):
after many solicitations and complaints, to content himself with his
share in the patent of drury Lane Theater. Steele himself
says in his celebrated letter to Congreve that Addison, by
his preference of Tikell, incurred the warmest resentment of other gentlemen.
And everything seems to indicate of those resentful gentleman Steele
(22:02):
was himself won. 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 had been brought in. The proud
(22:24):
Duke of Somerset, first in rank of all nobles, whose
religion permitted him to sit in Parliament, was the ostensible
author of the measure. But it was supported and in
truth devised by the Prime Minister. We are satisfied that
the bill was most pernicious, and we fear that the
motives which induced Sunderland to frame it were not honorable
(22:46):
to him, but we cannot deny that it was supported
by many of the best and wisest men of that age.
Nor was this strange. The royal prerogative had, within the
memory of the generation then in the vigor of life,
been so grossly abused that it was still regarded with
a jealousy, which, when the peculiar situation of the House
(23:08):
of Brunswick is considered, may perhaps be called immoderate. The
prerogative of creating peers had, in the opinion of the Whigs,
been grossly abused by Queen Anne's last ministry, and even
the Tories admitted that her majesty in swamping, as it
has since been called, the Upper House, had done what
(23:31):
only an extreme case could justify. The theory of the
English Constitution, according to many high authorities, was that three
independent powers, the monarchy, the nobility, and the commons, ought
constantly to act as checks on each other. If this
theory were sound, it seemed to follow that to put
(23:54):
one of these powers under the absolute control of the
other two was absurd. But if the number of peers
were unlimited, it could not 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. Steele
(24:17):
took part with the opposition, Addison with the ministers. Steele,
in a paper called The Plebeian, vehemently attacked the bill.
Sunderland called for help on Addison, and Addison obeyed the call.
In a paper called The Old Whig, he answered and
indeed refuted Steele's arguments. It seems to us that the
(24:37):
premises of both the controversialists were unsound, that on those
premises Addison reasoned well and Steel ill, and that consequently
Addison brought out a false conclusion, while Steel blundered upon
the truth in style, in wit, and in politeness. Addison
maintained his superiority. Though The Old Whig is by no
(25:00):
means one of his happiest performances. At first, both the
anonymous opponents observed the laws of propriety. But at length
Steel 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, with less
(25:21):
severity than was due to so grave an offense against
morality and decorum. Nor did he, in his just anger,
forget for a moment the laws of good taste and
good breeding. One columny which has often been repeated, and
never yet contradicted, it is our duty to expose. It
is asserted in the Biographia Britannica that Addison designated Steel
(25:46):
as little Dicky. This assertion was repeated by Johnson, who
had never seen the Old Wig, and was therefore excusable.
It has also been repeated by miss Aiken, who has
seen the Old Wig, and for whom therefore there is
less excuse. Now it is true that the words little
Dickie occur in the Old Whig, and that Steele's name
(26:08):
was Richard. It is equally true that the words little
Isaac occur in the Duenna, and that Newton's name was Isaac.
But we confidently affirm that Addison's little Dickie had no
more to do with Steel than Sheridan's Little Isaac with Newton.
If we apply the words little Dickie to Steele, we
deprive a very lively and ingenious passage, not only of
(26:32):
all its wit, but of all its meaning. Little Dickie
was evidently the nickname of some comic actor who played
the usurer Gomez, then a most popular part in Dryden's
Spanish Friar. The merited reproof which Steel had received, though
softened by some kind and courteous expressions, galled in bitterly.
(26:54):
He replied with little force and great acrimony, but no
rejoinder appeared. Addison was fast hastening to his grave and had,
as we may well suppose, little disposition to prosecute a
quarrel with an old friend his complaint had terminated in Dropsy.
He bore up long and manfully, but at length he
(27:16):
abandoned all hope, dismissed his physicians, and calmly prepared to
die his works. He entrusted to the care of Tickle
and dedicated them a very few days before his death
to Craggs in a letter written with the sweet and
graceful eloquence of a Saturday spectator. In this his last composition,
(27:37):
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
recommended the interests of Tickle to the care of Crags
Within a few hours of the time at which this
dedication was written, Addison sent to beg Gay, who was
(27:58):
then living by his wits about town, to come to
Holland House. Gay went and was received with 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 forgive. There was, however,
(28:19):
some wrong, 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 both sides. Gay supposed that
some plan to serve him had been in agitation at court,
and had been frustrated by Addison's influence. Nor is this improbable.
(28:44):
Gay had paid assiduous court to the royal family, but
in the Queen's days he had been the eulogist of Bollingbruck,
and was still connected with many tories. It is not
strange that Addison, while heeded by conflict, should have thought
himself justified in obstructing the preferment of one whom he
might regard as a political enemy. Neither is it strange that,
(29:07):
when 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. One inference may be drawn from this anecdote.
(29:27):
It appears that Addison, on his deathbed 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 injury which
would have caused disquiet only to a very tender conscience.
Is it not then reasonable to infer that if he
(29:49):
had really been guilty of forming a base conspiracy against
the fame and fortunes of a rival, he would have
expressed some remorse for so serious a crime. But it
is unnecessary to multiply arguments and evidence for the defense
when there is neither argument nor evidence for the accusation.
The last moments of Addison were perfectly serene. His interview
(30:13):
with his son in law is universally known. See he said,
how a Christian can die. The piety of Addison was
in truth of his singularly cheerful character. The feeling which
predominates in all his devotional writings is gratitude. God was
to him the all wise and all powerful friend, who
(30:33):
had watched 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 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 thankful heart to enjoy them, and
(30:56):
dear friends to partake them, who had rebuked the waves
of the Ligurian Gulf, had purified the autumnal air of
the Campagna, and had restrained the avalanches of Monseigne. Of
the Psalms. His favorite was that which represents the ruler
of all things, under the endearing image of a shepherd,
(31:16):
whose crook guides the flocks safe through gloomy and desolate glens,
two meadows well watered and rich with herbage. On that
goodness to which he ascribed all the happiness of his life,
he relied in the hour of death with the love
which casteth out fear. He died on the seventeenth of
June seventeen nineteen. He had just entered his forty eighth year.
(31:42):
His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber and
was born thence to the abbey. At dead of 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 of the Plantagenets, to the chapel of Henry the Seventh.
(32:06):
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 along the same aisle,
The same sad anthem was again chanted, the same vault
was again opened, and the coffin of Craggs was placed
(32:26):
close to the coffin of Addison. Many tributes were paid
to the memory of Addison, but one alone is now remembered.
Tickulpy wailed his friend in an elegy which would do
honor to the greatest name in our literature, and which
unites the energy and magnificence of Dryden to the tenderness
and purity of Cooper. This fine poem was prefixed to
(32:50):
a superb edition of Addison's works, which was published in
seventeen twenty one 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. But it is wonderful that,
though English literature was then little studied on the continent,
(33:13):
Spanish grandees, Italian prelates, marshals of France should be found
in the list. Among the most remarkable names are those
of the Queen of Sweden, of Prince Eugene, of the
Grand Duke of Tuscany, of the Dukes of Parma, Madna
and Guastala, of the Doge of Genoa, of the Regent
(33:34):
or Leon, and of Cardinal Dubois. We ought to add
that this edition, though eminently beautiful, is in some important
points defective, nor indeed do we yet possess a complete
collection of Addison's writings. It is strange that neither his
opulent and noble widow, nor any of his powerful and
(33:55):
attached friends, should have thought of placing even a simple
tablet inscribe with his name on the walls of the abbey.
It was not till three generations had laughed and wept
over his pages that the omission was supplied by the
public veneration at length. In our own time, his image,
skillfully graven, appeared in Poet's corner. It represents him as
(34:20):
we can conceive him, clad in his dressing gown and
freed from his wig, stepping from his parlor at Chelsea
into his trim little garden, with the account of the
Everlasting Club, or the Loves of Hilpa and Shalom, just
finished for the next day's Spectator in his hand. Such
a mark of national respect was due to the unsullied statesman,
(34:43):
to the accomplished scholar, to the master 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
a wound, affected a great social reform, and who reconciled
(35:06):
Wit and virtue after a long and disastrous separation, during
which Wit had been led astray by profligacy and Virtue
by fanaticism. End of Section ten, read by Pamela and
Nagami in Encino, California, in April twenty twenty one. End
(35:28):
of Life and Writings of Addison by Thomas Babington mac
caulay
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