Tonson appreciated good things in a literary way.  He was on friendly terms with all the principal writers, and did much in bringing some shy writers to the front.  Addison and Tonson laid great plans, few of which materialized, and some were carried out by other people—­notably the compilation of an English Dictionary.  In Sixteen Hundred Ninety-nine we find Addison, in possession of a pension of three hundred pounds a year, crossing the Channel into France with the object “to travel and qualify himself to serve His Majesty.”

The diplomatic language of the world was French.  With intent to learn the language, Addison made his home with a modest French family; and a better way of acquiring a language than this has never been devised.  A young friend of mine, however, recently returned from Europe, tells me that the ideal plan is to make love to a vivacious French girl who can not speak English.  Of the excellence of this plan I know nothing—­it may be a mere barren ideality.

A little over a year in France and we are told that “Addison spoke the language like a native “—­a glib expression, still able-bodied, that means little or much.  From France Addison followed down into Italy, and spent a year there, residing in various small towns with the same object in view that took him to France.

And one of his admirers relates that “he learned to speak Italian perfectly, his pronunciation being marred only by a slight French accent.”  Addison’s three years of foreign travel, and the friendly society of the highest and best wherever he journeyed, had caused him to blossom out into a most exceptional man.  Nature had done much for him, but her best gift was the hospitable mind.  Travel to many young men is the opportunity to indulge in a line of conduct not possible at home.  But Addison, ripening slowly, appreciated the fact that the Puritan has a deal of truth on his side.  There is a manly abstinence that is most becoming, and to moderate one’s desires and partake of the good things of earth sparingly is the best way to garner their benefit.  No doubt, too, Addison’s modesty and tendency to shyness saved him from many a danger.  “Bashfulness is the tough husk in which genius ripens,” says Emerson.

Thus do we find our man at thirty, strong, manly, gifted, handsome, chivalrous, proud, yet tender, sympathetic, knowing—­ready to serve his country in whatsoever capacity he could serve it best.  When lo! the death of the King cut off his pension, a new party came in, his influential friends were thrown out of power, and Addison’s prospects wilted in a single night.

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