restraint and balance, his ferocity of spirit when opposed, and the violence with which he assailed his enemies, neutralized his splendid gifts, marred his fortune, and sent him into lonely exile at Dublin, where he longed for the ampler world of London.  Few figures in literary history are more pathetic than that of the old Dean of St. Patrick’s, broken in spirit, failing in health, his noble faculties gone into premature decay, forsaken, bitter, and remorseful.  At the time of Addison’s stay in Ireland, the days of Swift’s eclipse were, however, far distant; both men were in their prime.  That Swift loved Addison is clear enough; and it is easy to understand the qualities which made Addison one of the most deeply loved men of his time.  He was of an eminently social temper, although averse to large companies and shy and silent in their presence.  “There is no such thing,” he once said, “as real conversation but between two persons.”  He was free from malice, meanness, or jealousy, Pope to the contrary notwithstanding.  He was absolutely loyal to his principles and to his friends, in a time when many men changed both with as little compunction as they changed wigs and swords.  His personality was singularly winning; his features regular, and full of refinement and intelligence; his bearing dignified and graceful; his temper kindly and in perfect control; his character without a stain; his conversation enchanting, its charm confessed by persons so diverse in taste as Pope, Swift, Steele, and Young.  Lady Mary Montagu declared that he was the best company she had ever known.  He had two faults of which the world has heard much:  he loved the company of men who flattered him, and at times he used wine too freely.  The first of these defects was venial, and did not blind his judgment either of himself or his friends; the second defect was so common among the men of his time that Addison’s occasional over-indulgence, in contrast with the excesses of others, seems like temperance itself.

The harmony and symmetry of this winning personality has, in a sense, told against it; for men are prone to call the well-balanced nature cold and the well-regulated life Pharisaic.  Addison did not escape charges of this kind from the wild livers of his own time, who could not dissociate genius from profligacy nor generosity of nature from prodigality.  It was one of the great services of Addison to his generation and to all generations, that in an age of violent passions, he showed how a strong man could govern himself.  In a time of reckless living, he illustrated the power which flows from subordination of pleasure to duty.  In a day when wit was identified with malice, he brought out its power to entertain, surprise, and delight, without taking on the irreverent levity of Voltaire, the bitterness of Swift, or the malice of Pope.