In November 1709, he returned to England, and not long after he shared in the downfall of his party, and lost his secretaryship. This also is thought to have injured him in a tender point. He had already conceived an affection for the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, who had been disposed to encourage the addresses of the Secretary, but looked coldly on those of the mere man and scribbler Joseph Addison, who, to crown his misfortunes at this time, had resigned his Fellowship, suffered some severe pecuniary losses of a kind, and from a quarter which are both obscure, and was trembling lest he should be deprived of his small Irish office too. Yet, although reduced and well-nigh beggared, never did his mind approve itself more rich. Besides writing a great deal in the _Tatler_, he published a political journal, called the _Whig Examiner_, in which, although the wit, we think, is not so fine as in his _Freeholder_, there is a vigour and masculine energy which he has seldom equalled elsewhere. When it expired, Swift exulted over its death in terms which sufficiently proved that he was annoyed and oppressed by its life. "He might well," says Johnson, "rejoice at the death of that which he could not have killed." On the 2d of January 1711, the last _Tatler_ came forth; and on the 1st of the following March appeared the _Spectator_, which is now the main pillar of Addison's fame, and the fullest revelation of his exquisite genius. Without being as a whole a great, or in any part of it a profound work, there are few productions which, if lost, would be more missed in literature. One reclines on its pages as on pillows. The sweetness of the spirit,--the trembling beauty of the sentences, like that of a twilight wave just touched by the west wind's balmy breath,--the nice strokes of humour, so gentle, yet so overpowering,--the feminine delicacy and refinement of the allusions,--the art which so dexterously conceals itself,--the mild enthusiasm for the works of man and God which glows in all its serious effusions,--the good nature of its satire,--the geniality of its criticism,--the everlasting April of the style, so soft and vivid,--the purity and healthiness of the moral tone,--and the childlike religion which breathes in the Saturday papers--one or two of which, such as the "Vision of Mirza," are almost scriptural in spirit and beautiful simplicity,--combine to throw a charm around the _Spectator_ which works of far loftier pretensions, if they need not, certainly do not possess. Macaulay (whom we love for his love of Addison and Bunyan more than for aught else about his works) truly observes, that few writers have discovered so much variety and inventiveness as Addison, who, in the papers of a single week, sometimes traverses the whole gamut of literature, supplying keen sarcasm, rich portraiture of character, the epistle, the tale, the allegory, the apologue, the moral essay, and the