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 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.

The last moments of Addison were perfectly serene. His interview with
his stepson is universally known. "See," he said, "how a Christian can
die." The piety of Addison was, in truth, of a singularly cheerful
character. The feeling which predominates in all his devotional writings
is gratitude. God was to him the all-wise and all-powerful friend who
had watched over his cradle with more than 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 enjoy them, and dear friends
to partake them; who had rebuked the waves of the Ligurian gulf, had
purified the autumnal air of the Campagna, and had restrained the
avalanches of Mont Cenis. Of the Psalms, his favorite was that which
represents the Ruler of all things under the endearing image of a
shepherd, whose crook guides the flock safe, through gloomy and desolate
glens, to meadows well watered and rich with herbage. On that goodness
to which he ascribed all the happiness of his life, he relied in the
hour of death with the love which casteth out fear. He died on the
seventeenth of June, 1719. He had just entered on his forty-eighth year.

His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and was borne thence to
the Abbey at dead of night. The choir sung a funeral hymn. Bishop
Atterbury, one of those Tories who had loved and honored the most
accomplished of the Whigs, met the corpse, and led the procession b