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that a cheerful and contented mind was the best sort of thanks to heaven that an illiterate peasant could pay. Or a learned prelate either, said I.
XVIII.-Rustic Felicity.--IB. MANY are the silent pleasures of the honest peasant, who rises cheerfully to his labour'. Look into his dwelling —where the scene of every man's happiness chiefly lies; he has the saine domestic endearments as much joy and comfort in his children, and as flattering hopes of their doing well- to enliven his hours and gladden his heart, as you would conceive in the most affluent station. And I inake no doubt, in general, but if the true account of his joys and sufferings were to be balanced with those of his betiers—that the upshot would prove to be little more than ihis; that the rich man had the more meat-but the poor inau the better stomach; the one had more luxury-more able physicians to attend and set him tu rights ;-the other, more liealth and soundness in his bones, and less occasion for their help; that, after these two articles betwixt them were balanced-in all other things they stood upon a level-that the sun shines as warm--the air blows as fresh, and the earth breathes as fragrant upon the one as the other;-and they have an equal share in all the beauties and real benefits of nature.
XIX-House of Mourning.-IB. LET us go into the house of mourning made so by such afflictions as have been brought in merely by the common cross accidents and disasters to which our condition is exposed-where, perhaps, the aged parents sit broken hearted, pierced to their souls, with the folly and indiscretion of a thankless child-the child of their prayers, in whom all their hopes and expectations centered :-Pe japs, a more affecting scene-a virtuous family lying pinched with want, where the unfortunate support of it, having long struggled with a train of misfortunes, and bravely fought up against them, is now piteously borne down at the last overwhelmed with a cruel blow, which no forecast or frugality could have prevented. O God! look upon his afflictions. Behold him distracted with many sorrows, surrounded with the tender pledges of his love; and the part
ner of his cares-without bread to give them; unable from the remembrance of better days to dig ;-to beg ashamed.
When we enter into the house of mourning, such as this—it is impossible to insult the unfortunate, even with an improper look. Under whatever levity and dissipation of heart such objects catch our eyes--they catch likewise our attentions.collect and call home our scatlered thoughts, and exercise them with wisdom. A transient scene of distress, such as is here sketched, how soon does it furnishi materials to set the mind at work! How necessarily does it engage it to the consideration of the miseries, and inisfortunes, the dangers and calamities to which the life of man is subject! By liolding up such a glass before it, it forces the mind to see and reflect upon the vanity--the perishing condition, and uncertain tenure of every thing in this world. From reflections of this serious cast, how insensibly do the thoughts carry us farther ;-and, from: considering what we are, what kind of world we live in, and what evils befal us in it, how naturally do they set us: to look forward at what possibly: we shall be ;-for what kind of world we are intended—what evils may befal us there and what provisions we should make against them. here, whilst we have time and opportunity! If these lessons are so inseparable from the liouse of mourning here supposed-we shall find it a still more instructive school of wisdom, when we take a view of the place in that affecting light in which the wise man seems to confine it in the text;-in which, by the house of mourning, I believe he means that particular scene of sorrow, where there is lamentation and mourning for the dead. Turn in hither, I beseech
för a moment. Behold the dead: man ready. to be carried out, the only son of his mother, and she a widow. Perhaps a still more affecting. spectacle, a kind and indulgent father of a numerous family. Jies breathless --snatched away in the strength of his age-torn, and in an evil hour, from his children, and the bosom of a disconsolate wife. Behold much people of the city gathered: together to mix their tears, with settled sorrow in their looks, going heavily along to the house of mourning, to perform that last melancholy office, which when the deb of nature is paid we are called upon to pay ticearbther If this sad occasionarbitch lay in the half way be
it already, take notice to what a serious and devout frame of mind every man is reduced, the moinent he enters this gate of affliction. The busy and fluttering spirits, which, in the house of mirth, were wont to transport him from one diverting object to another-see how they are fallen! how peacably they are laid ! In this gloomy mansion, full of shades and uncomfortable damps to seize the soul-see the light and easy heart, which never knew what it was to think before, how pensive it is now, how soft, how susceptible, low full of religious impressions, how deep it is smitten with a sense, and with a love of virtue !-Could we, in this crisis, whilst this empire of reason and religiou lasts, and the heart is thus exercised with wisdom, and busied with heavenly contemplations-could we see it naked as it is--stripped of its passions, unspotted by the world, and regardless of its pleasures—we mnight then safely rest our cause upon this single evidence, and appeal to the most sensual, whether Solomon has not made a just determination i.ere in favour of the house of mourning ? Not for its own sake, but as it is fruitful in virtue, and becomes the occasion of so much good. Without this end, sorrow, I own, has no use but to shorten a man's days-nor can gravity, with all its studied solemnity of look and carriage, serve any end but to make one half of the world merry, and impose upon the other.
1.-- The Honour and Advantage of a constant adherence to
Truth.--PERCIVAL'S TALES. PETRARCH, a celebrated Italian poet, who flourished about four hundred years ago, recommended himself to the confidence and affection of Cardinal Colonna, in whose family he resided, by his candour and strict regard to truth. A violent quarrel occurred in the household of this nobleman; which was carried so far, that recourse was had to arms. The Cardinal wished to know the foundation of this affair; and that he might be able to decide with justice, he assembled all his people, and obliged them to bind themselves, by a most solemn oath on the gospels, to declare the whole truth. Every one without exception, submitted to this determination; even the Bishop of Lupa, brother to the Cardinal, was not excused. Petrarch, in hris turn, presenting himself to take the oath, the Cardinal closed the book, and said, As to you, Petrach, your word is sufficient.
II.-Impertinence in Discourse.-THEOPHRASTUS.. THIS kind of impertinence is a habit of talking much without thinking.
tv was Pain, A man who has this distero was the child of Vice, tertain you, though hof the Furies. The habitation of story in praise & was in hell. of last been at
between tles (RR 09he is
virtuous as the one; -do vicious as the other, but partaking of the good and gif qualities of those two opposite families. Jupiter, condering that this species, commonly called MAN, was too Airtuous to be miserable and too vicious to be happy, that he might make a distinction between the good and the bad, ordered the two youngest of the abovementioned families (Pleasure, who was the daughter of Happiness, and Pain, who was the son of Misery) to meet one another upon this part of nature which lay in the half way be,
man has much ado to get through the world.
His whole discourse is nothing but hurry and incoherrence. He ac. quaints you that Demippus had the largest torch at the feast of Ceres; aks you if you remember how many pil. lars are in the music theatre; tells you that he took physic yesterday; and desires to know what day of the month it is. If you have patience to hear him, he will inform you what festivals are kept in August, what in October, and what in December,
When you see such a fellow as this coming towards you, run for your life. A inan had much better be visit ed by a fever ; so painful is it to be fastened upon by.one of this make, who takes it for granted that you have nothing else to do, but to give him a hearing
III. -Character of Addison as a Writer.--JOHNSON, As a describer of life and manners, Mr. Addison must be allowed to stand perhaps the first in the first rank. His humour is peculiar to himself; and is so happily diffused, as to give the grace of novelty 10- domestic scenes and daily occurrences. He never o’ersteps the modesty of nature, nor raises merriment or. wonder by the violation of truth. His figures neither divert by distortion, nor amaze by aggravation. He copies life with so much fidel. ity, that he can hardly be said to invent; yet his exhibitions have an air so much original, that it is difficult to m not merely the product of imagination. inim he may be confidently follow
+ enthusiastic or superedulous, nor wan. gerously lax,
of fancy, to rec