explains many things at which the world then wondered, and which, on any other theory, it is hardly possible to understand.

It was the agitation of these political factions that brought forward the celebrated Cato, a drama which Addison had commenced many years before, which he had labored upon during his travels, and which he was induced to finish at last, not from his own interest in it, but from the solicitations of his friends, who believed it might have an effect favorable to the Whigs in those doubtful times of party. The Tory house was divided against itself; the Whigs, who saw in this another pleasing instance of Satan against Satan, took courage from the prospect of their fall. The queen, too, was not immortal, and her habits of life were of the kind not favorable to strength of purpose or length of days. If, as Lucan says, Cato, unlike the gods, was more inclined to sympathize with the weaker party, the great Roman in England at the time might have been sorely puzzled to know which way to lean. In fact, the moment the play was published and acted, both parties claimed Cato, not so much because they cared for Addison as the author, as from their determination to appear to the nation as the champions of the free.

Drury Lane, however thronged in later times, certainly never witnessed more excitement than on this occasion; the performance was then in the afternoon, and, dinner to the contrary notwithstanding, the theatre was besieged before the hour of noon. Steele, who had undertaken to pack an audience, found that he could pack the whole city of London without any sort of trouble. Booth established his fame in the part of Cato. Bolingbroke made him a present of fifty guineas, as he said, "for defending the cause of liberty so well against a Perpetual Dictator "; in which that versatile personage made it clear to the player, that there were actors, not trained to the boards, who were infinitely better than he. The Whigs were not to be outdone in that way; they, too, came with their gifts and laurels, so that, according to Garth's expression, and no man ever said any thing better, "It was extremely probable that Cato would have something to live upon after he died."

But there is one thing which in this connection should be faithfully remembered. Johnson has thrown the shadow of avarice over the name of Addisou, by the saying, which we

have before referred to, respecting his avidity for profits and praise. Colley Cibber, who at that time was a joint patentee and manager of Drury Lane, says that the author made a present to him and his brethren of the profits, which were neither few nor small. This was not like a miser; it certainly does not look like eager avidity for money, to give up so freely that which nothing but generosity called him to surrender. And this is a remarkable illustration, showing how a thoughtless phrase of a biographer may fix in the public mind for ages a false impression, though many striking actions, and the whole tenor of the life, show to those who examine the subject that it must be the reverse of true.

Addison does not seem to have anticipated much success, if any, not thinking the drama suitable for the stage. Dr. Young says, that Dryden, to whom it was submitted, predicted that it would not meet with the reception which it deserved. But this must refer to some earlier attempt, or to the part which was written early, certainly not to the finished play, inasmuch as Dryden had left the stage of this world at least a dozen years before. Pope, however, did express the same opinion. When Addison told him that the Rape of the Lock was a delicious piece as it stood, and advised him not to alter it, Pope ascribed the counsel to jealousy on the elder poet's part. How easy would it be to attribute this advice to Addison to unworthy dread of Cato's anticipated renown! Addison, so far from resenting it, only said that he was of the same opinion, but that he had submitted to the judgment of his friends, who were importunate to have it appear. He certainly hated the labor of completing it; he said that he should be glad to have some one do it for him; but when Hughes rather valiantly made the attempt, he saw that it might be brought to an end in good earnest, if left to an inferior hand. Hughes consoled himself for his failure by writing some laudatory lines, which, according to the usual fashion, were afterwards published with the play.

There were several others who took the same opportunity of shining out to the world. Young, Tickell, and Philips are familiar names; but there were others more questionable; among the rest were some lines left with the printer, which, Johnson says, are the best, but which will lose somewhat of their praise when the author is known to be Jeffreys "!

There has been a question who this individual could be. Some have supposed that it was the judge of that name; if so, he was more just in letters than in law. But he had been for about twenty years in the other world, where there is reason to suppose that he was less pleasantly engaged than in writing poetry. The person in question was a much more harmless gentleman, who did execution on literary, not human, subjects, and has escaped the doom of everlasting fame.

These flourishes of adulation were not to the taste of the author, and he did his best to decline them. In a letter still preserved, he endeavours to put aside the compliment without wounding the feelings of the person who sent the lines; but as it was not so easy to avoid the honor without inflicting pain on the writers, he submitted to the necessity, and let their little wherries sail by his side. But there was one point, where his honor was concerned, on which he took open and manly ground. He intended to dedicate the play to the Duchess of Marlborough, who was then fallen from her height, and unable to serve his interests if she would. It was not pledged or promised, but his purpose was known. Meantime, the queen, who, without any passion for literature, desired the honor of patronizing Cato, sent him an intimation that a dedication to herself would give her pleasure. He did not choose to take the hint, and, neither to compromise his own independence, nor to offer a needless affront to his sovereign, he sent it forth without a dedication, which was uncommon at that day. But the manliness of the proceeding was more unusual still, when, had he been so disposed, he could have gained favor by the attention, and silenced all objection by pleading the royal command.

This tragedy has been a subject of great admiration, not unmingled with bitter censure, censure which falls harmless, because it only charges him with not doing what he never wished nor intended to do. In the desperate feuds between the partisans of the classical and romantic schools, every writer connected with the one must needs be ridiculed and disowned by the other. But those who can break through this narrowness of creeds can easily see that these are matters of taste. There is no reason why every thing should be conformed to a single standard; Addison never pretended to be Shakspeare; the last thing in his mind was

to enter into comparison with the unrivalled. His classical prepossessions inclined him to side with the French; it was in France, indeed, that he set himself seriously about the play; and the only question is, whether he succeeded in what he wished to do, a question which the world has pretty decidedly answered. Johnson, in his conversation, said that nothing would be more ridiculous than to see a girl weep at the representation of Cato. But what a standard is this! At the performance of his own Irene, no one would ever have cried, except to see the end of it; and it would have gone hard enough with his own Muse, if pathetic interest was so essential a thing. But an audience may be very tolerably entertained without going to the extent of crying. With all his variety of power, Addison never aimed at the pathetic ; he dealt more in smiles than tears. It is rather remarkable that he could have thrown so much affecting interest round the Stoic, not because his grand and solemn bearing is not impressive to the feeling, but because the sympathies of audiences and readers grow accustomed to their familiar courses, and such is not the channel in which they are expected to flow. Though the love-scenes may not be happily conceived, and the tragic interest may not be of the kind most in request with the present play-going generation, this work has a full testimony to its excellence in the place which it holds in the memories of cultivated men. The fine images and sentiment in which it abounds, as Miss Aikin justly remarks, are in constant use, even by those who do not know from what source they drew them.

Dr. Johnson, for some reason or other, has transcribed a great part of Dennis's criticism on Cato, which drags its slow length like a snake through his pages. It deserves attention, not for its justice, though it is not wholly untrue, but for its opening the way to that ill-feeling on the part of Pope toward Addison, which has done more than any thing else to mislead the reading world. This ill-starred critic, whose chief sin seemed to be an utter obtuseness on the subject of poetry, had previously regaled himself by tearing the Rape of the Lock and the Essay on Criticism in pieces with his savage teeth. This was an offence which Pope, who, like sundry other Christians, performed the duty of forgiveness in a way of his own, made a point of resenting. The time was come when he thought he could do it with a better grace

than by avenging injuries of his own ; accordingly, under the profession of defending Addison, he fell upon Dennis in a coarse and personal lampoon, which was bitter enough to gratify his own spleen, but so contrived, all the while, as to leave the objections to Cato unanswered. Addison, who, with the feelings of a gentleman, had abstained from all reply, did not choose to appear as confederate with another to resent the injury in an underhand way. Nor did he feel under particular obligation to Pope, for holding him up as a shield, while he indulged his. own revenge. The low character of the attack, also, was one for which he could not be responsible to the world. He therefore said, that he could not, either in honor or conscience, be privy to such treatment, and that, if he did take notice of Mr. Dennis's objections, it should be in a different way. This was high-minded and honorable; but it showed Pope that his artifice was seen through, and that his coarseness was disapproved. It was therefore the beginning of sorrows; he never afterwards was able to forget or forgive it; and his jealous and irritable feeling having been thus awakened, every word and deed of Addison was perversely misinterpreted. When he once had come under censure of that high authority, he determined to break it down.

Pope was sufficiently kind and manly in other matters, but his jealousy amounted to disease, wherever his poetical reputation was concerned; and it is surprising to see to what base arts he descended to spread his own renown and take vengeance on all who stood in his way. The reply of Dennis to Pope's abominable satire was a letter from Jacob, the editor of the earlier Lives of the Poets, stating that Pope's life had been submitted to the bard himself, to receive his improvements and corrections; so that he had indorsed his own praises, which many would gladly do for themselves, but would not so willingly appear to have done. The same underhand course, by which, under pretence of defending Cato, he had fought his own battle, was resorted to on many occasions. In the Key to the Lock, which is known to have been written by himself, he insatiably endeavoured to fix the attention of the public on a work which was already sufficiently admired. In a remarkable paper in the Guardian, he pretends to show how superior Philips's pastorals are to his own, at the same time giving