“Unfortunately, yes, madam. But of those you knew, Mr. Pope, poor Captain Steele, and even Dean Swift, with all his ferocious wit, his tremendous invective, his savage thirst for place and power, respected Mr. Addison. He was a man of great dignity--not odd and misshapen, like little Mr. Pope, nor frowzy like poor Dick Steele, nor rude and overbearing like the fierce Dean--but ever gentle, mild, and of a most manly bearing. For all Mr. Addison’s mildness, I think there was no man that Dean Swift feared so much. When we would all meet at the club, and the Dean would begin his railing at persons of quality--for he always chose that subject when I was present--Mr. Addison would listen with a smile to the Dean as he lolled over the table in his huge periwig, and roared out in his great rich voice all the sins of all the people, always beginning and ending with Sir Robert Walpole, whom he hated most malignantly. Once, a pause coming in the Dean’s talk, Mr. Addison, calmly taking out his snuffbox, and helping himself to a pinch, remarked that he had always thought Dean Swift’s chiefest weakness, until he had been assured to the contrary, was his love for people of quality. We each held our breath. Dick Steele quietly removed a pewter mug from the Dean’s elbow; Mr. Pope, who sat next Mr. Addison, turned pale and slipped out of his chair; the Dean turned red and breathed hard, glaring at Mr. Addison, who only smiled a little; and then he--the great Dean Swift, the man who could make governments tremble and parliaments afraid; who made duchesses weep from his rude sneers, and great ladies almost go down on their knees to him--sneaked out of the room at this little thrust from Mr. Addison. For ’twas the man, madam--the honest soul of him--that could cow that great swashbuckler of a genius. Mr. Addison abused no one, and he was exactly what he appeared to be.” “That, indeed, is the highest praise, as it shows the highest wisdom,” answered Madam Washington. George listened with all his mind to this. He had read the _Spectator_, and Mr. Addison’s tragedy of “Cato” had been read to him by Mr. Hobby, the Scotch school-master who taught him, and he loved to hear of these great men. The earl, although deep in talk with Madam Washington, was by no means unmindful of the boy, but without seeming to notice him watched every expression of his earnest face. “I once saw Dean Swift,” continued Madam Washington. “It was at a London rout, where I went with my brother’s wife, Madam Joseph Ball, when we were visiting in London. He had great dark eyes, and sat in a huge chair, and called ladies of quality ‘my dear,’ as if they were dairy-maids. And the ladies seemed half to like it and half to hate it. They told me that two ladies had died of broken hearts for him.”