But Addison was no politician; nor did he distinguish himself in Parliament or as a political writer.  He could not make a speech, not having been trained to debate.  He was too timid, and his taste was too severe, for the arena of politicians.  He is immortal for his essays, in which his humor is transcendent, and his style easy and graceful, As a writer, he is a great artist.  No one has ever been able to equal him in the charming simplicity of his style.  Macaulay, a great artist himself in the use of language, places Addison on the summit of literary excellence and fame as an essayist.  One is at loss to comprehend why so quiet and unobtrusive a scholar should have been selected for important political positions, but can easily understand why he was the admiration of the highest social circles for his wit and the elegance of his conversation.  He was the personification of urbanity and every gentlemanly quality, as well as one of the best scholars of his age; but it was only in an aristocratic age, when a few great nobles controlled public affairs, that such a man could have been so recognized, rewarded, and honored.  He died beloved and universally lamented, and his writings are still classics, and likely to remain so.  He was not an oracle in general society, like Mackintosh and Macaulay; but among congenial and trusted friends he gave full play to his humor, and was as charming as Washington Irving is said to have been in his chosen circle of admirers.  Although he was a Whig, we do not read of any particular intimacy with such men as Marlborough and Godolphin.  Marlborough, though an accomplished and amiable man, was not fond of the society of wits, as were Halifax, Montague, Harley, and St. John.  As for the Duchess, she was too proud and grand for such a retired scholar as Addison to feel at ease in her worldly coteries.  She cared no more for poetry or severe intellectual culture than politicians generally do.  She shone only in a galaxy of ladies of rank and fashion.  I do not read that she ever took a literary man into her service, and she had no more taste for letters than the sovereign she served.  She was doubtless intellectual, shrewd, and discriminating; but her intellect was directed to current political movements, and she was coarse in her language.  She would swear, like Queen Elizabeth, when excited to anger, and her wrath was terrible.

On the dismissal of the great Duke from all his offices, and the “disgrace” of his wife at court, they led a comparatively quiet life abroad.  The Duchess had parted with her offices with great reluctance.  Even when the Queen sent for the golden keys, which were the badge of her office, she refused to surrender them.  No one could do anything with the infuriated termagant, and all were afraid of her.  She threatened to print the private correspondence of the Queen as Mrs. Morley.  The ministers dared not go into her presence, so fierce was her character when offended.  To take from her the badge of office was like trying