could not guess at anything else in which he
could have injured him so considerably." Now
it surely would have been better, if instead
of stopping at Gay's pardon of him, which of
course the good-natured poet heartily gave
(we fancy we see him coming out of Holland
House with the tears in his eyes), Addison
had followed it up with making the amends
while he could; or, better still, had he
secured the amends beforehand, in order to
warrant his asking the pardon. It may be
said, that he might have been unable.
Perhaps so. But still he might have given
proofs that he had done his best.

Addison, it must be owned, did not shine
during his occupation of Holland House.
He married, and was not happy; he was
made Secretary of State, and was not a good
one; he was in Parliament, and could not
speak in it; he quarrelled with, and even
treated contemptuously, his old friend and
associate, Steele, who declined to return the
injury. Yet there, in Holland House, he
lived and wrote, nevertheless, with a literary
glory about his name which never can desert
the place; and to Holland House, while he
resided in it, must have come all the
distinguished men of the day; for, though a
Whig, he was personally "well in," as the
phrase is, with the majority of all parties.
He was in communication with Swift, who
was a Tory, and with Pope, who was neither
Tory nor Whig. It was now that the house
and its owners began to appear in verse.
Rowe addressed stanzas to Addison's bride;
and Tickell after his death thus touchingly
apostrophises the place:

"Thou hill, whose brow the antique structures grace,
Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race;
Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower appears,
O'er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears?"

It seems to have been in Holland House
(for he died shortly afterwards) that Addison
was visited by Milton's daughter, when he
requested her to bring him some evidences of
her birth. The moment he beheld her, he
exclaimed, "Madam, you need no other
voucher; your face is a sufficient testimonial
whose daughter you are." It must have been
very pleasing to Addison to befriend Milton's
daughter; for he had been the first to
popularize the great poet by his critiques on
Paradise Lost in the Spectator.

Besides Holland House, Addison possessed
a mansion of his own at Bilton in Warwickshire,
which was afterwards occupied by his
daughter, who lived to a great age. He
deserved to possess a good house and grounds;
for he understood the elegancies of such
things, and the tranquil pleasures of the
country. The illustrious inhabitant of
Kensington watched with interest the improvement
of the royal grounds in that quarter;
and was the first to propose that "Winter
Garden" to horticulturists in general, which
we trust to see realized, with a world of
other desirables, in the great structure at
Sydenham.

CHIPS.

THE ALBATROSS AT HOME.

THERE are perhaps few men who have had
an opportunity of visiting among the
albatrosses in their private circles.

One day, when I was at the Auckland
Islands, a group situated in latitude fifty-one
degrees south, and longitude one hundred
and sixty-six east (suffer a sailor to talk like
his log), I had an unexpected opportunity of
securing to myself that great privilege. A
large party of us landed at Port Ross, and,
starting under the guidance of an aged chief
named Matiora, arrived in due time at a
secluded and densely-wooded valley; a chine
which opened to the sandy shore of a deep
bay. We had this to cross. Facing us was
a lofty hill, clothed to the top with shrubs
and trees of stunted growth. By the aid of
roots and branches, we contrived to scramble
up. At last, our heads emerged from the
abyss of shrubs we had been traversing, we
stood, breathless, upon a piece of table-land
that jutted into the sea. No tree or shrub
was to be seen, the only vegetation was a
stunted sort of tussock grass. But we were
at the bird village, and, to our great delight,
found the inhabitants at home.

We excited no very perceptible sensation.
At sea, the albatross is ever restless, on the
wing for days, and even weeks, attendant
with untiring zeal on a ship's course. Could
birds so active in their business be so calm
and lazy at home?

We had arrived during the season of
incubation. Each nest was occupied by the
hen bird, and close by stood her mate—a
loving guardian. Nothing could induce the
housekeeper to leave her nest. She would
look at us imploringly if we came near, and
express her objection to our visit with a
harsh snapping of the beak. But she abided
by her egg. The male at the same time made a
slight show of resistance, and then, with an
uncouth gait and a spasmodic action of the wing,
waddled away to the cliff. The nests were
quite simple in construction; each of them
was made by pressing down a clump of grass
into the form of a shallow bowl, in depth and
circumference not much larger than a soup
plate. I take for granted that the female
lays only one egg, because each nest we visited
contained but one; indeed the little nest,
which the breast of the bird covers and overlaps,
could not hold more.

Well-trodden Albatross roads intersected
each other in the village, and a bird's high
road led from the nests to the edge of the
cliff, whence they cast themselves forth on
the wing; for, like all very long-winged
birds, the albatrosses are unable to rise