evil omen for a swain just about to cross | was celebrated in Latin verses, worthy St. George's Channel. At length Chloe capitulated. Addison was indeed able to treat with her on equal terms. He had reason to expect preferment even higher than that which he had attained. He had inherited the fortune of a brother who died Governor of Madras. He had purchased an estate in Warwickshire, and had been welcomed to his domain in very tolerable verse by one of the neighbouring squires, the poetical foxhunter, William Somerville. In August 1716, the newspapers announced that Joseph Addison, Esquire, famous for many excellent works both in verse and prose, had espoused the Countess Dowager of Warwick. of his own pen, by Vincent Bourne, 4S weet and he As yet there was no Josephaturday's The Ministers, therefore, were composiHe now fixed his abode at Holland bestow on Addison a retiringching end House, a house which can boast of a of fifteen hundred pounds a .ul, and so greater number of inmates distinguish-what form this pension was gad them ed in political and literary history than are not told by the biographer any other private dwelling in England. have not time to inquire. But it is cer His portrait still hangs there. The tain that Addison did not vacate his features are pleasing; the complexion seat in the House of Commons. is remarkably fair; but, in the expression, we trace rather the gentleness of his disposition than the force and keen-ed God, with cheerful piety, for having ness of his intellect. Rest of mind and body seem to have re-established his health; and he thank y set him free both from his office and from his asthma. Many years seemed to be before him, and he meditated many works, a tragedy on the death of Socrates, a translation of the Psalms, a treatise on the evidences of Christianity. Of this last performance, a part, which we could well spare, has come down to us. Not long after his marriage he reach ed the height of civil greatness. The Whig Government had, during some time, been torn by internal dissensions. Lord Townshend led one section of the Cabinet, Lord Sunderland the other. At length, in the spring of 1717, Sunderland triumphed. Townshend retired from office, and was accompanied But the fatal complaint soon returned, by Walpole and Cowper. Sunderland and gradually prevailed against all the proceeded to reconstruct the Ministry; resources of medicine. It is melancholy and Addison was appointed Secretary to think that the last months of such a of State. It is certain that the Seals life should have been overclouded both were pressed upon him, and were at by domestic and by Ilitical vexations. first declined by him. Men equally A tradition which began early, which versed in official business might easily has been generally received, and to have been found; and his colleagues which we have nothing to oppose, has knew that they could not expect assist-represented his wife as an arrogant and ance from him in debate. He owed imperious woman. It is said that, till his elevation to his popularity, to his his health failed him, he was glad to stainless probity, and to his literary escape from the Countess Dowager and fame. her magnificent diningroom, blazing But scarcely had Addison entered with the gilded devices of the House of the Cabinet when his health began to Rich, to some tavern where he could fail. From one serious attack he re-enjoy a laugh, a talk about Virgil and covered in the autumn; and his recovery Boileau, and a bottle of claret, with the friends of his happier days. All those ported by many of the best and wisest friends, however, were not left to him. men of that age. Nor was this strange. Sir Richard Steele had been gradually The royal prerogative had, within the estranged by various causes. He con- memory of the generation then in the sidered himself as one who, in evil vigour of life, been so grossly abused, times, had braved martyrdom, for his that it was still regarded with a jeapolitical principles, and demanded, lousy which, when the peculiar situwhen the Whig party was triumphant, ation of the House of Brunswick is a large compensation for what he had considered, may perhaps be called imsuffered when it was militant. The moderate. The particular prerogative Whig leaders took a very different view of creating peers had, in the opinion his claims. They thought that he of the Whigs, been grossly abused by nes by his own petulance and folly, Queen Anne's last ministry; and even is hight them as well as himself into the Tories admitted that her Majesty, firmle, and though they did not abso-in swamping, as it has since been called, graveneglect him, doled out favours the Upper House, had done what only acted with a sparing hand. It was an extreme case could justify. The was, a that he should be angry with theory of the English constitution, acPope's d especially angry with Addi-cording to many high authorities, was at no let what above all seems to have that three independent powers, the diseased Sir Richard, was the eleva- sovereign, the nobility, and the comdistort Tickell, who, at thirty, was mons, ought constantly to act as checks PRV by Addison Undersecretary of on each other. If this theory were State; while the Editor of the Tatler and Spectator, the author of the Crisis, the member for Stockbridge who had been persecuted for firm adherence to the House of Hanover, was, at near fifty, forced, after many solicitations and complaints, to content himself with a share in the patent of Drury Lane theatre. Steele himself says, in his celebrated letter to Congreve, that Addison, by his preference of Tickell, Steele took part with the Opposition, "incurrel the warmest resentment of Addison with the Ministers. Steele, other gentlemen;' and every thing in a paper called the Plebeian, veheseems to indicate that, of those resent-mently attacked the bill. Sunderland ful gentlemen, Steele was himself one. called for help on Addison, and AddiWhile poor Sir Richard was brooding son obeyed the call. In a paper called ever what he considered as Addison's the Old Whig, he answered, and indeed unkindness, a new cause of quarrel refuted, Steele's arguments. It seems arose. The Whig party, already di- to us that the premises of both the vided against itsel, was rent by a new controversialists were unsound, that on schism. The brated Bill for limit- those premises Addison reasoned well ing the number of Peers had been and Steele ill, and that consequently brought in. The proud Duke of Somer- Addison brought out a false conclusion set, first in rank of all the nobles whose while Steele blundered upon the truth. religion permitted them to sit in Par- In style, in wit, and in politeness, liament, was the ostensible author of the Addison maintained his superiority, measure. But it was supported, and though the Old Whig is by no means in truth devised, by the Prime Minister. one of his happiest performances. We are satisfied that the Bill was most pernicious; and we fear that the motives which induced Sunderland to frame it were not honourableto him. But we cannot deny that it was sup sound, it seemed to follow that to put one of these powers under the absolute control of the other two, was absurd. But if the number of peers were unlimited, it could not well be denied that the Upper House was under the absolute control of the Crown and the Commons, and was indebted only to their moderation for any power which it might be suffered to retain. At first, both the anonymous opponents observed the laws of propriety. But at length Steele so far forgot himself as to throw an odious imputation on the morals of the chiefs of the ad 66 ministration. Addison replied with | severity, but, in our opinion, with less severity than was due to so grave an offence against morality and decorum; nor did he, in his just anger, forget for a moment the laws of good taste and good breeding. One calumny which has been often repeated, and never yet contradicted, it is our duty to expose. It is asserted in the Biographia Britannica, that Addison designated Steele 88 little Dicky." This assertion was repeated by Johnson, who had never seen the Old Whig, and was therefore excusable. It has also been repeated by Miss Aikin, who has seen the Old Whig, and for whom therefore there is less excuse. Now, it is true that the words "little Dicky" occur in the Old Whig, and that Steele's name was Richard. It is equally true that the words "little Isaac " occur in the Duenna, and that Newton's name was Isaac. But we confidently affirm that Addison's little Dicky had no more to do with Steele, than Sheridan's little Isaac with Newton. If we apply the words "little Dicky" to Steele, we deprive a very lively and ingenious passage, not only of all its wit, but of all its meaning. Little Dicky was the nickname of Henry Norris, an actor of remarkably small stature, but of great humour, who played the usurer Gomez, then a most popular part, in Dryden's Spanish Friar. We will transcribe the whole paragraph. How it can ever have been misunderstood is unintelligible to us. But our author's chief concern is for the poor House of Commons, whom he represents as naked and defenceless, when the Crown, by losing this prerogative, would be less able to protect them against the power of a House of Lords. Who forbears laughing when the Spanish Friar represents little Dicky, under the person of Gomez, insulting the Colonel that was able to fright him out of his wits with a single frown? This Gomez, says he, flew upon him like a dragon, got him down, the Devil being strong in him, and gave him bastinado on bastinado, and buffet on buffet, which the poor Colonel, being prostrate, suffered with a most Christian patience. The improbability of the fact never fails to raise mirth in the audience; and one may venture to answer for a British House of Commons, if we may guess, from its conduct hitherto, that it will scarce be either so tarne or so weak as our author supper" The merited reproof which Steele had received, though softened by some kind and courteous expressions, galled him bitterly. He replied with little force and great acrimony; but no rejoinder appeared. Addison was fast hastening to his grave; and had, we may well suppose, little disposition to prosecute a quarrel with an old friend. His complaint had terminated in dropsy. He bore up long and manfully. But at length he abandoned all hope, dismissed his physicians, and calmly prepared himself to die. His works he ntrusted to the care of Tickell, and edicated them a very few days before his death to Craggs, in a letter written with the sweet and graceful eloquence of a Saturday's Spectator. In this, his last composition, he alluded to his approaching end in words so manly, so cheerful, and so tender, that it is difficult to read them without tears. At the same time he earnestly recommended the interests of Tickell to the care of Craggs. Within a few hours of the time at which this dedication was written, Addison sent to beg Gay, who was then living by his wits about town, to come to Holland House. Gay went, and was received with great kindness. To his amazement his forgiveness was implored by the dying man. Poor Gay, the most good-natured and simple of mankind, could not imagine what he had to forgive. There was, however, some wrong, the remembrance of which weighed on Addison's mind, and which he declared himself anxious to repair. He was in a state of extreme exhaustion; and the parting was doubtless a friendly one on both sides. Gay supposed that some plan to serve him had been in agitation at Court, and had been frustrated by Addison's influence. Nor is this improbable. Gay had paid assiduous court to the royal family. But in the Queen's days he had been the eulogist of Bolingbroke, and was still connected with many Tories. It is not strange that Addison, while heated by conflict, should have thought himself justified in obstructing the preferment of one whom he might regard as a political enemy. Neither is it strange that, when reviewing his whole | he ascribed all the happiness of his life, and earnestly scrutinizing all his life, he relied in the hour of death with motives, he should think that he had the love which casteth out fear. He acted an unkind and ungenerous part, died on the seventeenth of June 1719. in using his power against a distressed He had just entered on his forty-eighth man of letters, who was as harmless year. and as helpless as a child. One inference may be drawn from this anecdote. It appears that Addison, on his death-bed, called himself to a strict account, and was not at ease till he had asked pardon for an injury which it was not even suspected that he had committed, for an injury which would have caused disquiet only to a very tender conscience. Is it not then reasonable to infer that, if he had really been guilty of forming a base conspiracy against the fame and fortunes of a rival, he would have expressed some remorse for so serious a crime? But it is unnecessary to multiply arguments and evidence for the defence, when there is neither argument nor evidence for the accusation. ter. His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and was borne thence to the Abbey at dead of night. The choir sang a funeral hymn. Bishop Atterbury, one of those Tories who had loved and honoured the most accomplished of the Whigs, met the corpse, and led the procession by torchlight, round the shrine of Saint Edward and the graves of the Plantagenets, to the Chapel of Henry the Seventh. On the north side of that Chapel, in the vault of the House of Albemarle, the coffin of Addison lies next to the coffin of Montague. Yet a few months; and the same mourners passed again along the same aisle. The same sad anthem was again chanted. The same vault was again opened; and the coffin of Craggs was placed close to the coffin of Addison. The last moments of Addison were perfectly serene. His interview with his son-in-law is universally known. Many tributes were paid to the me"See," he said, "how a Christian can mory of Addison; but one alone is die." The piety of Addison was, in now remembered. Tickell bewailed truth, of a singularly cheerful charac- his friend in an elegy which would do The feeling which predominates honour to the greatest name in our in all his devotional writings, is grati-literature, and which unites the energy tude. God was to him the allwise and and magnificence of Dryden to the allpowerful friend who had watched tenderness and purity of Cowper. This over his cradle with more than mater-fine poem was prefixed to a superb nal tenderness; who had listened to edition of Addison's works, which was his cries before they could form them- published, in 1721, by subscription. selves in prayer; who had preserved The names of the subscribers proved his youth from the snares of vice; who how widely his fame had been spread. had made his cup run over with worldly That his countrymen should be eager blessings; who had doubled the value to possess his writings, even in a costly of those blessings, by bestowing a form, is not wonderful. But it is wonthankful heart to enjoy them, and dear derful that, though English literature friends to partake them; who had re- was then little studied on the contibuked the waves of the Ligurian gulf, nent, Spanish Grandees, Italian Prehad purified the autumnal air of the lates, Marshals of France, should be Campagna, and had restrained the found in the list. Among the most avalanches of Mont Cenis. Of the remarkable names are those of the Psalms, his favourite was that which Queen of Sweden, of Prince Eugene, represents the Ruler of all things under of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, of the the endearing image of a shepherd, Dukes of Parma, Modena, and Guaswhose crook guides the flock safe, talla, of the Doge of Genoa, of the through gloomy and desolate glens, to Regent Orleans, and of Cardinal Dumeadows well watered and rich with bois. We ought to add that this ediherbage. On that goodness to which |tion, though eminently beautiful, is in some important points defective; nor, | materials which were within our reach indeed, do we yet possess a complete in 1834 were scanty and unsatisfactory collection of Addison's writings. when compared with those which we It is strange that neither his opulent at present possess. Even now, though and noble widow, nor any of his power- we have had access to some valuable ful and attached friends, should have sources of information which have not thought of placing even a simple tablet, yet been opened to the public, we cannot inscribed with his name, on the walls but feel that the history of the first ten of the Abbey. It was not till three years of the reign of George the Third generations had laughed and wept is but imperfectly known to us. Neverover his pages that the omission was theless, we are inclined to think that supplied by the public veneration. At we are in a condition to lay before our length, in our own time, his image, readers a narrative neither uninstrucskilfully graven, appeared in Poet's tive nor uninteresting. We therefore Corner. It represents him, as we can return with pleasure to our long interconceive him, clad in his dressing-rupted labour. gown, and freed from his wig, stepping from his parlour at Chelsea into his trim little garden, with the account of the Everlasting Club, or the Loves of Hilpa and Shalum, just finished for the next day's Spectator, in his hand. Such a mark of national respect was due to the unsullied statesman, to the accomplished scholar, to the master of pure English eloquence, to the consummate painter of life and manners. It was due, above all, to the great satirist, who alone knew how to use ridicule without abusing it, who, without inflicting a wound, effected a great social reform, and who reconciled wit and virtue, after a long and disastrous separation, during which wit had been led astray by profligacy, and virtue by fanaticism. We left Pitt in the zenith of prosperity and glory, the idol of England, the terror of France, the admiration of the whole civilized world. The wind, from whatever quarter it blew, carried to England tidings of battles won, fortresses taken, provinces added to the empire. At home, factions had sunk into a lethargy, such as had never been known since the great religious schism of the sixteenth century had roused the public mind from repose. In order that the events which we have to relate may be clearly understood, it may be desirable that we should advert to the causes which had for a time suspended the animation of both the great English parties. If, rejecting all that is merely accidental, we look at the essential characteristics of the Whig and the Tory, we may consider each of them as the representative of a great principle, essential to the welfare of nations. One is, in an especial manner, the guardian of liberty, and the other of order. One is the moving power, and the other the steadying power of the state. One is the sail, without which society would make no progress; the other the ballast, without which there would be small safety in a tempest. But, during the forty-six years which followed the accession of the House of Hanover, these distinctive peculiarities seemed to be effaced. The Whig conceived that he could not better serve the cause of civil and religious freedom than by strenuously supporting the Protestant dynasty. The Tory conceived that he |