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as determinedly as men can wish—but there is a something in his modesty, in his calm, in his soft kindliness, which disarms anger and shames malice. It is hard at this far-off day to understand all the fascination of his presence. We can agree with a speech spoken by Atterbury, his succeeding Dean, on Aldrich, within a few yards of this spot:—'Seu studia graviora persequeretur seu levibus se oblectaret, seu res humanas seu divinas susciperet tractandas,—an his an illis aptior esset, multum dubitares;' or with the warm words of good Thomas Hearne:—'Consider him as a Christian, a scholar, or a gentleman, he was one of the most eminent men in England: he constantly received the Sacrament every Sunday, and rose to five o'clock prayers in the morning, summer and winter; a severe student, yet always free, open, and facetious. He had so piercing an understanding, that he could tell the temper of any person at first sight. He was always for encouraging learning, industry, and integrity.' This we can picture. But we can only guess what Atterbury means by the words, 'Quae illi morum facilitas, quam simplex et aperta mens! quae in verbis fides! quae frontis modestia, quae oris dignitas!' Still less can we ever know what Philip Smith records:—'The suavity of his manners, the hilarity of his conversation, the variety of his talents conciliated all to such a degree, that his latest disciples are unable to speak of their intercourse with him without the tenderest indication of affection for his memory.'
Such a character has its virtues writ in water. Its influence is great in its day, but its influence is due, not to the strong marked lines of deed or word, but to the subtle pervading sense of personal charm, the magic of personal authority. All this
