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stories have to grow, in passing even from one honest man to another honest man, and when we consider that to the name of honest man neither Pope nor the Earl of Warwick had a claim, we are not disposed to attach much importance to this anecdote. It is certain, however, that Pope was furious. He had already sketched the character of Atticus in prose. In his anger he turned this prose into the brilliant and energetic lines which every body knows by heart, or ought to know by heart, and sent them to Addison. One charge which Pope has enforced with great skill is probably not without foundation. Addison was, we are inclined to believe, too fond of presid ing over a circle of humble friends. Of the other imputations which these famous lines are intended to convey, scarcely one has ever been proved to be just, and some are certainly false. That Addison was not in the habit of damning with faint praise,' appears from innumerable passages in his writings; and from none more than from those in which he mentions Pope. And it is not merely unjust, but ridiculous, to describe a man who made the fortune of almost every one of his intimate friends, as 'so obliging that he ne'er obliged.'

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private person, under penal laws and many other disadvantages.' It is pleasing to reflect that the only revenge which Addison took was to insert in the Freeholder a warm encomium on the translation of the Iliad: and to exhort all lovers of learning to put down their names as subscribers. There could be no doubt, he said, from the specimens already published, that the masterly hand of Pope would do as much for Homer, as Dryden had done for Virgil. From that time to the end of his life, he always treated Pope, by Pope's own acknowledgment, with justice. Friendship was, of course, at an end.

One reason which induced the Earl of Warwick to play the ignominious part of tale-bearer on this occasion, may have been his dislike of the marriage which was about to take place between his mother and Addison. The Countess-Dowager, a daughter of the old and honorable family of the Myddletons of Chirk, a family which, in any country but ours, would be called noble, resided at Holland House. Addison had, during some years, occupied at Chelsea a small dwelling, once the abode of Nell Gwyn. Chelsea is now a district of London, and Holland House may be called a That Addison felt the sting of Pope's sa- town residence. But, in the days of Anne tire keenly, we cannot doubt. That he was and George I., milkmaids and sportsmen conscious of one of the weaknesses with wandered, between green hedges and over which he was reproached, is highly proba- fields bright with daisies, from Kensington ble. But his heart, we firmly believe, ac- almost to the shore of the Thames. Addiquitted him of the gravest part of the ac- son and Lady Warwick were country cusation. He acted like himself. As a neighbors, and became intimate friends. satirist he was, at his own weapons, more The great wit and scholar tried to allure than Pope's match; and he would have the young Lord from the fashionable been at no loss for topics. A distorted and amusements of beating watchmen, breaking diseased body, tenanted by a yet more dis- windows, and rolling women in hogsheads torted and diseased mind-spite and envy down Holborn Hill, to the study of letters thinly disguised by sentiments as benevo- and the practice of virtue. These welllent and noble as those which Sir Peter meant exertions did little good, however, Teazle admired in Mr. Joseph Surface-a either to the disciple or to the master. feeble sickly licentiousness-an odious love Lord Warwick grew up a rake, and Addiof filthy and noisome images-these were son fell in love. The mature beauty of the things which a genius less powerful than Countess has been celebrated by poets in that to which we owe the Spectator could language which, after a very large alloweasily have held up to the mirth and hatred ance has been made for flattery, would lead of mankind. Addison had, moreover, at us to believe that she was a fine woman; his command other means of vengeance and her rank doubtless heightened her atwhich a bad man would not have scrupled tractions. The courtship was long. The to use. He was powerful in the state. Pope hopes of the lover appear to have risen and was a Catholic; and, in those times, a min- fallen with the fortunes of his party. His ister would have found it easy to harass the attachment was at length matter of such most innocent Catholic by innumerable pet-notoriety that, when he visited Ireland for ty vexations. Pope, near twenty years later, the last time, Rowe addressed some consaid, that through the lenity of the gov-solatory verses to the Chloe of Holland ernment alone he could live with comfort.' House. It strikes us as a little strange 'Consider,' he exclaimed, 'the injury that that, in these verses, Addison should be a man of high rank and credit may do to a called Lycidas; a name of singularly evil

omen for a swain just about to cross St. George's Channel.

and winning manners had made him generally acceptable in society, and who, if he had lived, would probably have been the most formidable of all the rivals of Walpole. As yet there was no Joseph Hume. The Ministers, therefore, were able to bestow on Addison a retiring pension of £1500 ayear. In what form this pension was given we are not told by the biographers, and have not time to inquire. But it is certain that Addison did not vacate his seat in the

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 do main in very tolerable verse by one of the neighboring squires, the poetical fox-hunt-House of Commons. er, William Somervile. In August, 1716, Rest of mind and body seemed to have the newspapers announced that Joseph Ad- re-established his health; and he thanked dison, Esquire, famous for many excellent God, with cheerful piety, for having set works both in verse and prose, had espous-him free both from his office and from his ed the Countess-Dowager of Warwick.

He now fixed his abode at Holland House -a house which can boast of a greater number of inmates distinguished in political and literary history than any other private dwelling in England. His portrait now hangs there. The features are pleasing; the complexion is remarkably fair; but, in the expres sion, we trace rather the gentleness of his disposition than the force and keenness of his intellect.

Not long after his marriage he reached 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 by Walpole and Cowper. Sunderland proceeded to reconstruct the Ministry; and Addison was appointed Secretary of State. It is certain that the Seals were pressed upon him, and were at first declined by him. Men equally versed in official business might easily have been found; and his colleagues knew that they could not expect assistance from him in debate. He owed his elevation to his popularity, to his stainless probity, and to his literary fame.

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.


But the fatal complaint soon returned, and gradually prevailed against all the resources of medicine. It is melancholy to think that the last months of such a life should have been overclouded both by domestic and by political vexations. A tradition which began early, which has been generally received, and to which we have nothing to oppose, has represented his wife as an arrogant and imperious woman. is said that, till his health failed him, he was glad to escape from the CountessDowager and her magnificent dining-room, blazing with the gilded devices of the House of Rich, to some tavern where he could enjoy a laugh, a talk about Virgil and Boileau, and a bottle of claret, with the friends of his happier days. All those friends, however, were not left to him. Sir Richard Steele had been gradually estranged by various causes. He considered himself as one who, in evil times, had brav ed martyrdom for his political principles, and demanded, when the Whig party was But scarcely had Addison entered the triumphant, a large compensation for what Cabinet when his health began to fail. From he had suffered when it was militant. The one serious attack he recovered in the au- Whig leaders took a very different view of tumn; and his recovery was celebrated in his claims. They thought that he had, by Latin verses, worthy of his own pen, by his own petulance and folly, brought them Vincent Bourne, who was then at Trinity as well as himself into trouble; and though College, Cambridge. A relapse soon took they did not absolutely neglect him, doled place; and, in the following spring, Addi- out favors to him with a sparing hand. It son was prevented by a severe asthma from was natural that he should be angry with discharging the duties of his post. He re- them, and especially angry with Addison. signed it, and was succeeded by his friend But what above all seems to have disturbCraggs; a young man whose natural parts, ed Sir Richard, was the elevation of Tickell, though little improved by cultivation, were who, at thirty, was made by Addison unquick and showy, whose graceful person der Secretary of State; while the Editor

of the Tatler and Spectator, the author of | Addison with the Ministers. Steele, in a the Crisis, the member for Stockbridge paper called the 'Plebeian,' vehemently atwho had been persecuted for firm adher-tacked the bill. Sunderland called for help ence to the House of Hanover, was at near on Addison, and Addison obeyed the call. fifty, forced, after many solicitations and In a paper called the Old Whig,' he ancomplaints, to content himself with a share swered, and indeed refuted, Steele's arguin the patent of Drury-Lane theatre. Steele ments. It seems to us that the premises of himself says in his celebrated letter to both the controversialists were unsound, Congreve, that Addison, by his preference that, on those premises, Addison reasoned of Tickell, incurred the warmest resent-well and Steele ill; and that consequently ment of other gentlemen ;' and every thing Addison brought out a false conclusion, seems to indicate that, of those resentful while Steele blundered upon the truth. In gentlemen, Steele was himself one. style, in wit, and in politeness, Addison maintained his superiority, though the Old Whig is by no means one of his happiest performances.*

While poor Sir Richard was brooding over what he considered as Addison's unkindness, a new cause of quarrel arose. The Whig party, already divided against itself, was rent by a new schism. The celebrated Bill for limiting the number of Peers had been brought in. The proud Duke of Somerset, first in rank of all the nobles whose religion permitted them to sit in parliament, was the ostensible author of the measure. But it was supported, and, in truth, devised by the Prime Min


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 administration. 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 We are satisfied that the Bill was most and good breeding. One calumny which pernicious; and we fear that the motives has been often repeated, and never yet which induced Sunderland to frame it were contradicted, it is our duty to expose. It not honorable to him. But we cannot deny is asserted in the Biographia Britannica, that it was supported by many of the best that Addison designated Steele as little and wisest men of that age. Nor was this Dicky.' This assertion was repeated by strange. The royal prerogative had, with- Johnson, who had never seen the Old in the memory of the generation then in Whig, and was therefore excusable. It the vigor of life, been so grossly abused, has also been repeated by Miss Aikin, who that it was still regarded with a jealousy has seen the Old Whig, and for whom which, when the peculiar situation of the therefore there is less excuse. Now, it is House of Brunswick is considered, may true that the words 'little Dicky' occur in perhaps be called immoderate. The pre- the Old Whig, and that Steele's name was rogative of creating peers had, in the opin- Richard. It is equally true that the words ion of the Whigs, been grossly abused by little Isaac' occur in the Duenna, and that Queen Anne's last ministry; and even the Newton's name was Isaac. But we confiTories admitted that her Majesty, in swamp. dently affirm that Addison's little Dicky ing, as it has since been called, the Upper had no more to do with Steele, than SheriHouse, had done what only an extreme case dan's little Isaac with Newton. If we apcould justify. The theory of the Euglish ply the words 'little Dicky' to Steele, we constitution, according to many high au-deprive a very lively and ingenious passage, thorities, was, that three independent pow-not only of all its wit, but of all its meaners, the monarchy, the nobility, and the ing. Little Dicky was evidently the nickcommons, ought constantly to act as checks name of some comic actor who played the on each other. If this theory were sound, usurer Gomez, then a most popular part, it seemed to follow that to put one of these in Dryden's Spanish Friar.t powers under the absolute control of the other two, was absurd. But if the number of peers were unlimited, it could not being been reprinted, are now of extreme rarity. This 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.

Steele took part with the Opposition;

* Miss Aikin says that these pieces, never havis a mistake. They have been reprinted, and may be obtained without the smallest difficulty. The copy now lying before us bears the date of 1789.

We will transcribe the whole paragraph. How it can ever have been misunderstood is unintelli

gible to us.

'But our author's chief concern is for the poor House of Commons, whom he represents as naked

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 intrusted to the care of Tickell; and dedicated 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.

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 life, and earnestly scrutinizing all his motives, he should think that he had acted an unkind and ungenerous part, in using his power against a distressed man of letters, who was as harmless and as helpless as a child.

One inference may be drawn from this anecdote. It appears that Addison, on his deathbed, 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 committedfor 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.

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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 The last moments of Addison were perGay, the most good-natured and simple of fectly serene. His interview with his sonmankind, could not imagine what he had in-law is universally known. See," he to forgive. There was, however, some said, "how a Christian can die!" The wrong, the remembrance of which weighed piety of Addison was, in truth, of a sinon Addison's mind, and which he declared gularly cheerful character. The feeling himself anxious to repair. He was in a which predominates in all his devotional state of extreme exhaustion; and the part-writings, is gratitude. God was to him ing was doubtless a friendly one on both the all-wise and all powerful friend, who sides. Gay supposed that some plan to had watched over his cradle with more than 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

maternal tenderness; who had listened to his cries before they could form themselves in prayer; who had preserved his youth from the snares of vice; who had made his cup run over with worldly blessings; who had doubled the value of those blessings, by bestowing a thankful heart to and defenceless, when the Crown, by losing this enjoy them, and dear friends to partake of prerogative, would be less able to protect them them; who had rebuked the waves of the against the power of a House of Lords. Who forbears laughing when the Spanish Friar represents Ligurian gulf, had purified the autumnal little Dicky, under the person of Gomez, insulting air of the Campagna, and had restrained the Colonel that was able to fright him out of his the avalanches of Mont Cenis. Of the wits with a single frown? This Gomez, says he, Psalms, his favorite was that which repreflew upon him like a dragon, got him down, the sents the Ruler of all things under the enDevil being strong in him, and gave him bastinado on bastinado, and buffet on buffet, which the poor dearing image of a shepherd, whose crook Colonel, being prostrate, suffered with a most guides the flock safe, through gloomy and Christian patience. The improbability of the fact desolate glens, to meadows well watered never fails to raise mirth in the audience; and one and rich with herbage. On that goodness may venture to answer for a British House of Com-to which he ascribed all the happiness of mons, if we may guess from its conduct hitherto, his life, he relied in the hour of death with

that it will scarce be either so tame or so weak as our author supposes.'

the love which casteth out fear. He died

on the 17th of June, 1719. He had just entered on his forty-eighth year.

in his dressing-gown, and freed from his wig, stepping from his parlor at Chelsea His body lay in state in the Jerusalem into his trim little garden, with the acChamber, and was borne thence to the Ab- count of the Everlasting Club, or the Loves bey at dead of night. The choir sung a of Hilpa and Shalum, just finished for the funeral hymn. Bishop Atterbury, one of next day's Spectator, in his hand. Such a those Tories who had loved and honored mark of national respect was due to the the most accomplished of the Whigs, met unsullied statesman, to the accomplished the corpse, and led the procession by torch scholar, to the master of pure English elolight, round the shrine of Saint Edward and quence, to the consummate painter of life the graves of the Plantagenets, to the and manners. It was due, above all, to the Chapel of Henry the Seventh. On the great satirist, who alone knew how to use north side of that Chapel, in the vault of ridicule without abusing it, who, without the house of Albemarle, the coffin of Ad-inflicting a wound, effected a great social dison lies next to the coffin of Montagu. reform, and who reconciled wit and virtue, Yet a few months; and the same mourn-after a long and disastrous separation, durers passed again along the same aisle. The ing which wit had been led astray by prof same sad anthem was again chanted. The ligacy, and virtue by fanaticism. same vault was again opened; and the

coffin of Craggs was placed close to the coffin of Addison.

Many tributes were paid to the memory of Addison. But one alone is now remembered. Tickell bewailed his friend in an elegy which would do honor to the greatest name in our literature; and which unites the energy and magnificence of Dryden to the tenderness and purity of Cowper. This fine poem was prefixed to a superb edition of Addison's works, which was published in 1721, by subscription. The names of the subscribers proved how widely his fame had been spread. That his countrymen should be eager to possess his writings, even in a costly form, is not wonderful. But it is wonderful that, though Eng. lish literature was then little studied on the Continent, Spanish Grandees, Italian Prelates, Marshals of France, should be found in the list. Among the most remarkable names are those of the Queen of Sweden, of Prince Eugene, of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, of the Dukes of Parma, Modena, and Guastalla, of the Doge of Genoa, of the Regent Orleans, and of Cardinal Dubois. We ought to add, that this edition, though eminently beautiful, is in some important points defective; nor, indeed, do we yet possess a complete collection of Addison's writings.

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A LILY's pure perfume; a halo's light;
The Evening's voices mingling soft above;
The hour's mysterious farewell in its flight;
The plaintive story told
By a dear friend who grieves, yet is consoled;

The sweet soft murmur of a kiss of love;

The Scarf, seven-tinted, which the Hurricane
Leaves in the clouds, a trophy to the sun;

'The well-remembered tone
Which, scarcely hoped for, meets the ear again;
The pure wish of a virgin heart; the beam
That hovers o'er an infant's earliest dream ;
The voices of a distant choir, the sighs

That fabulous Memnon breathed of yore to greet
The coming dawn; the tone whose murmurs rise,
Then, with a cadence tremulous, expire;-
These, and all else the spirit dreams of sweet,
Are not so sweet as her sweet name, oh lyre;
Pronounce it very softly, like a prayer ;

Yet, be it heard, the burden of the song:
Ah! let it be a sacred light to shine

In the dim fane; the secret word, which there,
Trembles for ever on one faithful tongue,
In the lone, shadowy silence of the shrine.

But oh! or ere, in words of flame,
My muse, unmindful, with the meaner crowd
Of names, by worthless pride revealed aloud,

Should dare to blend the dear and honored name

By fond affection set apart,
And hidden, like a treasure in my heart;
My strain, soft syllabled, should meet the ear
Like sacred music heard upon the knees;
The air should vibrate to its harmonies,
As if light hovering in the atmosphere,
An angel, viewless to the mortal eye,
With his fine pinions shook it, rustling nigh.

Dublin University Magazine.

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