He spent his last days in writing an autobiography, and after his death I found it was written in letters addressed to myself, with a request that I would edit the publication. This I did with a melancholy satisfaction. He had suffered acutely from mental depression, and the malady returned with violence shortly before his death. My last visits were most painful. He refused all consolation, and passed away under a cloud, like that which attended the sunset of Cowper. There were gleams of light, followed by dense darkness. Then he sank into silence, if not torpor. Days and nights rolled on, so different from their “tranquil gliding” which he described in his letters; but it was the happy confidence of his friends, notwithstanding his own fears, that the angry billow, no less than the gentle wave, was bearing the weather-beaten barque to the celestial shore. He died on June 22nd, 1850. The poor body looked like a wreck, but faith could see at rest the soul which had such hard work to pilot the vessel beyond reach of storms. A post-mortem examination proved that his depression arose from the condition of the brain. He was a good Greek scholar, and delighted in reading Plato. CHAPTER VI 1850–1854 THE year 1850 opened with a storm of religious excitement, owing to a division of England by Papal authority into Roman dioceses, at the suggestion of Dr. Wiseman. It came to be called “The Papal Aggression.” Some thought more was made of it, at the time, than circumstances warranted; but, looked at through the medium of history, it seemed to aim at a territorial authority over England, inconsistent with our repudiation of Papal supremacy. The way in which it was taken up by some good people was not wise, and there was an anti-popish commotion amongst some of my friends—a few only. The commotion was unreasonable, but was overruled for good, as the incident led some Protestants to look into their professed principles, which doubtless, in our country, lie at the basis of civil and religious liberty.