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Addison’s youth was past; he was creeping well into the thirties, and still with no prospects. He was out of money, with no profession, and no special reputation as a writer. The popular poets of the time were Sedley, Rochester, Buckingham and Dorset–and you have never heard of them? Well, it only shows how a literary reputation is a shadow that fades in a night.

Addison had written his “Cato” several years before, but no one had seen it. He carried the manuscript about with him, as Goethe did his “Faust,” for years, and added to it, or erased, all according to the moods that came to him. And we have reason to believe that the sublime soliloquy in “Cato” was written by Addison when the blankness of his prospects and the blackness of the future had forced the question of self-destruction upon him.

Cato made a great mistake in committing suicide–he did the deed right on the eve of success–he should have waited. Addison waited.

At this time Lord Godolphin, who had the happiness to have a great racehorse named after him, occupied the chief place in the Ministry. Marlborough had just fought the battle of Blenheim, and it was Godolphin’s wish to have the victory sung in adequate verse, for history’s sake and for the sake of the political party. But he could not think of a poet who was equal to the task; so in his dilemma he called in Lord Halifax, who had a reputation for knowing good things in a literary way.

Lord Halifax was unfortunate in having his portrait transmitted by two poets who hated him thoroughly, each for the amply sufficient reason that he failed to confer the favors that were much desired. Swift calls Halifax “a would-be Maecenas”; and Pope refers to him as “penurious, mean and chicken-hearted,” satirizing him in the well-known character of Bufo.

Do not take the poets too seriously: all good men have had mud-balls thrown at them–sometimes bricks–and Halifax was not a bad man by any means. Let the poets make copy of their thwarted hopes.

In reply to Lord Godolphin’s inquiries, Halifax said he did indeed know the man who could celebrate the victory in verse, and in fact there was only one man in England who could do the task justice. He, however, refused to divulge his man’s identity until a suitable reward for the poet was fixed upon.

Godolphin finally thought of an office in the Excise, worth three hundred pounds a year or more.

Halifax then stipulated that the negotiations must be carried on directly between the Government and the poet, otherwise the poet’s pride would rebel. Godolphin agreed to shield Halifax from all mention in the matter, and the name and address of Joseph Addison were then taken down.

Godolphin had never heard of Addison, but relying on Halifax, he sent Boyle, Chancellor of the Exchequer, to the address named, where Addison was found over a haberdasher’s, up three flights, back. The account comes from Pope, who was the enemy of both Addison and Halifax, and can therefore be relied upon.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer broached the subject, was gently repulsed, the case was argued, and being put on the plane of duty the poet surrendered, and as a result we have Addison’s poem, “The Campaign.” It was considered a great literary feat in its day, but like all things performed to order, comes tardy off. Only work done in love lives. But Addison slid into the Excise office, taking it as legal tender. This brought him into relationship with Godolphin, who one day exclaimed, “I thought that man Addison was nothing but a poet–I’m a rogue if he isn’t really a great man!” Lord Godolphin was needing a good man, a man of address, polish, tact and education. And Addison was selected to fill the office of Under-Secretary of State, the place for which he had fitted himself and to which he had aspired eight years before. Moral: Be prepared.