EXERCISE XXX.

Character of Addison as a Writer.

As a describer of life and manners, Mr. Addison must be allowed to stand perhaps the first in the first rank. His humor is peculiar to himself; and is so happily diffused, as to give the grace of novelty to domestic scenes 5 and daily occurrences. He never oversteps 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 fidelity, that he can hardly be said to invent; yet his exhi10 bitions have an air so much original, that it is difficult to suppose them not merely the product of imagination.

As a teacher of wisdom, he may be confidently followed. His religion has nothing in it enthusiastic or superstitious; he appears neither weakly credulous nor wantonly scepti15 cal; his morality is neither dangerously lax nor implacably rigid. All the enchantments of fancy, and all the cogency of argument, are employed to recommend to the reader his real interest, the care of pleasing the Author of his being. Truth is shown sometimes as the phantom 20 of a vision, sometimes appears half-veiled in an allegory, sometimes attracts regard in robes of fancy, and sometimes steps forth in the confidence of reason. She wears a thousand dresses, and in all is pleasing.

His prose is the model of the middle style; on grave 25 subjects not formal, on light occasions not grovelling; pure without scrupulosity, and exact without apparent elaboration; always equable, and always easy, without glowing words or pointed sentences. His page is always luminous, but never blazes in unexpected splendor.

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It seems to have been his principal endeavor to avoid all harshness and severity of diction; he is therefore sometimes verbose in his transitions and connexions, and sometimes descends too much to the language of conversation; yet if his language had been less idiomatical, it might 35 have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism.

What he attempted he performed: he is never feeble, and he did not wish to be energetic; he is never rapid, and he never stagnates. His sentences have neither studied amplitude nor affected brevity; his periods, though. 40 not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy. Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse,

and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison. - Dr. Johnson.

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EXERCISE XXXI.

Elegy written in a Country Church-yard.
THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds;

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 10 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.

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Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
20 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Nor busy housewife ply her evening care;
25 No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
30 How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.

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The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave,
Await, alike, the inevitable hour;-

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

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Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,

Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?
Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid

10 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
15 Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
20 And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

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Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;

Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest;
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade nor circumscribed alone
30 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ;-
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame;
35 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray:
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life
40 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet even these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial, still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

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Their names, their years, spelled by the unlettered Muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply;

And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned;
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies;
10 Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries;
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate,
15 If, chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, 20 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

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There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed with hopeless love. "One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, 30 Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he: "The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. 35 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown:
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
40 And Melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to misery all he had,

a tear;

He gained from Heaven-'t was all he wished a friend. No further seek his merit to disclose, Nor draw his frailties from their dread abode, 5 (There they, alike, in trembling hope, repose,) The bosom of his father and his God.

Gray.

EXERCISE XXXII.

Filial Reverence.

THE present state of manners, though not the best possible, has one advantage over that which preceded it: - it is more favorable to a confidential intercourse between chil10 dren and parents than was the starched demeanor of our forefathers; but there might be a much greater infusion of respect, without any diminution of confidence.

Filial love, indeed, can never exist in perfection, unless it be founded on a deep sentiment of reverence; and where 15 that has not been well cultivated in childhood, it is soon frittered entirely away, by habitual indulgence in disrespect, flippancy, or rude familiarity.

The sentiment of reverence is one of the noblest attributes of the human mind: to its exercise God has affixed 20 an exquisite sense of enjoyment; it operates, in a thousand ways, to elevate and embellish the character. Its first development is in the feelings of a child for its parents; and this is the natural preparation of the mind for its rise to a higher object, even to the Father in heaven.

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As the understanding ripens, and this sentiment is cultivated, it embraces all that is great and good among men, all that is vast and magnificent in nature and in art; shedding over the character of its possessor an indescribable grace, softening the very tones of the voice, and rendering 30 it impossible for the manners to be wanting in deference and courtesy towards parents, or teachers, or the aged of any description.

Where the sentiment of reverence is deficient, a foundation is wanting for many graceful superstructures; and 35 the defect shows itself in various ways, of which the irreverent are little aware; or they would endeavor to supply the deficiency, as a mere matter of taste, if not of principle. Such persons will have unpleasant manners,