A few respectable friends to the furtherance of the Gospel, had for some time countenanced a plan of educating a select number of persons for the ministry, by appointing them to receive stated lectures in private, from certain gentlemen, themselves also ministers, of the necessary abilities and qualifications. These lectures were given at a place appointed for the purpose in Gracechurch Street. The inconveniences and imperfections of this plan were now proposed to be remedied, by designating the young men to a fixed abode, and more regular and systematic discipline, both literary and moral, in the academic form, and under the direction of a resident tutor. This office Mr. Addington was invited to accept. The pupils were here expected to be accomplished for the work of the ministry, in the space of two years; which, with deference to the conductors, we think by much too limited. The academy was opened under Mr. Addington in January 1783, at a house which had been taken for the purpose at Mile End; under the name of the Evangelical Academy. To the duties of this new engagement, he brought all his zeal, and devoted his abilities of every kind, suitable to the occasion. And it is so far satisfactory, that his diligence was not altogether unavailing. It will be acknowledged, that his success was at least equal to every moderate and rational expectation. It was during this period that some of his friends, desirous of testifying their esteem for his character, and of procuring for him a distinction suitable to his new and important function, obtained the requisite testimonials to entitle him to the degree of Doctor in Divinity.

He commenced his tutorship, as has been stated, in January 1783; and in the course of only ten months he was seized with a violent disease, which laid him aside for some weeks. It attacked him in the form of a severe and painful hiccough; which, with very few intermissions, continued for nine days, notwithstanding he had the best medical advice. From this illness, however, though exceedingly emaciated and weakened, he at length recovered, more completely than was expected; and afterwards resumed his application to business with his wonted activity. He was in the habit of preaching three times every sabbath regularly, besides occasional discourses at his own and other places. But considering that a weekly service might be established at his house at Mile End, with a prospect of benefit to a populous neighbourhood, he opened there a lecture, which was continued every Friday evening, became well attended, and proved, according to repeated assurances which he received,

VOL. I.-No. 2.

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ceived, both acceptable and useful. So pleasant, indeed, was this service rendered both to himself and his hearers, that he maintained it with the utmost regularity so long as he was able to engage in public; and even after he had resigned every other official duty, he persevered in this engagement with constant assiduity and affection. He thought himself happy, when he left the house at Mile End, for which, on giving up the academy, he had no longer occasion, in having it taking by a person who was desirous of the lecture being continued.

Such was the zeal of his mind, that it seemed as if the fresh excitement which was called up by his new employments, was, for a time at least accompanied with something like a temporary renovation of his active powers. Amidst the various avocations into which he had again entered, he found both opportunity and inclination to prepare and publish different works. The principal of these was, his “Life of the Apostle Paul, with critical and practical Remarks on his Discourses and Writings;" an octavo volume, which, as the preface informs us, was undertaken, independently of the pleasure and improvement it might afford the writer, in coincidence with the leading objects of his pursuits at the time. This was published in 1784; and, except a few single sermons, preached on some special or public occasions, was the last of his printed works.

But un

When he entered on the business of the academy in 1783, he was in the fifty-fourth year of his age; and nearly in the state of health which had been common to him throughout the greater part of his life; only, as must necessarily be the case, with less of the vigour and activity which belong to life's early and meridian stages; and that naturally declining energy still further diminished by several causes. der the circumstances in which he was now placed, a few years were sufficient to exhaust completely the residue of his strength. Disease and death were making inroads into his family, and trenching most materially on his comforts and his hopes. The companion of his life, who had enjoyed rather a remarkable share of health and cheerfulness, and had ever assiduously devoted them to his happiness, was now confined to her chamber by an illness of such severity and continuance, as to render her ultimate recovery from it scarcely less miraculous than merciful. Of one of his chil dren he was already bereaved; and others were threatened by the approach of complaints which, in the issue, proved also fatal. Thus his family, which had ever been the object of his cares and the scene of his pleasures, he was now call

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ed to contemplate with pain and apprehension; and when he stood most in need of the assistance, the support, and the consolations of domestic society, its pleasures were withdawn. At length he was again severely visited in his own person. On December 10, 1789, he was seized with a paralytic affection, which, though not violent enough to lay him at once totally aside from his employments, proved the melancholy introduction to an extended series of disease and infirmity. By the aid of medicine, assisted by the repeated se of Bath waters, his various complaints were mitigated, and partial recoveries obtained for upwards of six years from the date of this attack; but during the whole time, he went through most of his labours under much weakness. The academy, which in his affliction became to him a source of many and vexatious trials, originating in the base miscon duct of one or two individuals, he resigned at the close of 1790: but as some disappointment was likely to be experienced, from his successor not being ready to take the office at the period fixed upon in his notice of resignation for giving it up, he remained in the situation, at the request of the managers, three months longer; when, at Lady Day 1791, the academy was removed to Hoxton, and placed under the care of the Rev. David Simpson. Still amongst his people his services continued to be received with kindness, and fa voured with every accommodation, so long as he was at all capable of exercising his ministry. When his limbs, enfeebled by disease, were no longer able to support in him the pulpit, and his faultering voice could scarcely be heard through the place of meeting, he was encouraged by their candid and kind attentions, to devote the little remainder of his strength to the duties of the sanctuary. This was his consolation: for amongst all the painful circumstances which conspired to cast a gloom over his latter years, nothing appeared to distress him so much as the apprehension of being altogether disabled and laid aside; "an useless, broken vessel." The apprehension itself was in fact realized: but like many of the painful forebodings of mankind, the reality was unat tended with the distress which had been anticipated. His last declining path was rendered smoother than he had feared. The comforts of his domestic life were mercifully restored to him by the unexpected recovery of Mrs. Addington. The resignation of his academic engagement released him from a burden; and though he had still to sustain an increasing weight of bodily affliction and infirmity; yet the habitual calmness and serenity of his mind were no longer disturbed

by the fatigues which that appointment had imposed upon him. He was never more uniformly cheerful than in the interval between this period and the close of his life. He had attained to a degree of patience under his afflictions, and resignation to the will of Providence, which had ever been the object of his desire and prayer. He continued his public services: he was again happy in the bosom of his family he enjoyed his visits to his numerous friends around him; and, though unable to walk a step without assistance he undertook journies to a considerable distance, and par ticularly to revisit his old and endeared connexions at Harborough. On these occasions, as well as at home, he was in proportion to his strength, abundant in ministerial la bours; which, it was remarked by those who heard him, were never more earnest, never more affectionate. His cessation from these labours was gradual. The necessities of a neigh bouring congregation, whose place of worship was about to be taken down and rebuilt, led to an arrangement highly favourable to this gradual weaning of him from his beloved employment. The Sabbath evening service had already bee given up; and now by the above-mentioned congregation assembling with his own at Miles's Lane, the duties of the morning and afternoon were divided between himself and their minister: thus the two services were kept up; in on of which he was engaged, and in the other a hearer. By the continuance of this plan he was carried on in active em ployment many months longer than he would have been ca pable of discharging the whole duties of his office, and i the end, when the congregation which had been worship ping at Miles's Lane were about to retire to their own place the conviction of his being unable to resume what woul now appear more in the light of a new engagenient than a accustomed exercise, was much less painful to him than i would have been, had he been compelled by his infirmitie to abandon the whole together. His letter of resignatio was dated June 14, 1795. It declares his grateful sens of the numerous expressions and kind offices of affectionat and respectful regard which he had received from his friend during his residence and labours among them; togethe with his assurances of continuing to them the best tokens o esteem and thankfulness yet in his power, by offering up t God his best wishes and prayers on their behalf, so long a he should have breath to pray: and adding his request, also for that further testimony of their friendship, their suppli cations to the same Almighty Source of Good, that he migh

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be kept in a waiting frame; and, whenever the Lord should come, be found ready.

In his letters and private papers written about this period, are found several notices and memoranda corresponding with the above sentiments; indicating clearly in the state of his mind, a deep impression of his mercies; the liveliest gratitude to his people and numerous friends; and together with a devout acknowledgement of the goodness of God, and a tranquil resignation to the appointments of his Providence; a prevailing concern, that during the brief remainder of his days he might be assisted to maintain an habitual, vigilant, and improving preparation for that change, of the approach of which every thing was daily admonishing him and both patiently to wait, and quietly hope, for the promised salvation.

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Thus calmly closed the scene of his stated ministerial and pastoral duties. Old age, in its characters, if not in its years, was now upon him; the season of activity was past; he had long perceived that his earthly tabernacle was dissolving; and the energies of his mind were fast sinking into that state of declension, in which the busy scenes and offices of life cease to produce their wonted interest.

The business of life, or at least all that was important, seemed now to be finished; and it only remained for him to take leave of his connections in it. Yet his lecture at Mile End was regularly continued; and he went through some other services, which afforded him pleasure in the proportion in which they occupied his attention, and reliev ed him from the idea of living totally in vain. He felt himself now at liberty to spend the rest of the summer in the Country amongst his children and acquaintances. The visits he made upon this journey were manifestly undertaken with the impression of bidding adieu to his family and friends. The sentiment was so strong in his own mind, that his appearance and manners could not fail of exciting a correspondent foreboding in theirs. In the pulpit (for this was not yet totally relinquished) he discovered a great degree of animation; but his strength was gone. In company he was cheerful, and received much enjoyment from the society and affection of those about him; but conversation was become little more than a mere interchange of friendship. There was a calmness also, and serenity in his mind, which it was interesting to observe; and he usually took leave of his friends, under the full persuasion that he was to see them no more on earth, with the expression of his carnest

concern,