s thoughts in the half French style of Horace Walpole, or in
the half Latin style of Dr. Johnson, 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 unrivalled. If ever the best Tatlers and
Spectators 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 inferior to Cowley or
Butler. No single ode of Cowley contains so many happy analogies as are
crowded into the lines to Sir Godfrey Kneller; and we would undertake to
collect from the Spectators as great a number of ingenious illustrations
as can be found in Hudibras. The still higher faculty of invention
Addison possessed in still larger measure. The numerous fictions,
generally original, often wild and grotesque, but always singularly
graceful and happy, which are found in his essays, 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 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 existence,
and make them exhibit themselves. If we 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 his sense of the ludicrous,
of his power of awakening 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 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 pleasantry of some other great satirists. The three
most eminent masters of the art of ridicule, during the eighteenth
century, were, we conceive, Addison, Swift, and Voltaire. Which of the
three had the greatest power of moving laughter may be questioned. But
each of them, within his own domain, was supreme.

Voltaire is the prince of buffoons. His merriment is without disguise or
restraint. He gambols; he grins; he shakes his sides; he points the
finger; he turns up