expose the false arts of life, to pull off the disguises of cunning, vanity, and ostentation, and to recommend a general simplicity in our dress, discourse, and behavior.

The general state of conversation and of literary improvement among those who called themselves gentlemen, at the time in which the "Tatler" was written, was low and contemptible. The men who, from their rank, fortune, and appearance, claimed the title of gentlemen, affected a contempt for learning, and seemed to consider ignorance as a mark of gentility. The "Tatler" gradually opened their understandings, and furnished matter for improving conversation.

Addison, who had appeared with peculiar lustre in the "Tatler," was to shine again in the "Spectator" with still brighter and more permanent glory. The great charm of his diction, which has delighted readers of every class, appears to me to be a certain natural sweetness, ease, and delicacy, which no affectation can attain. Truths of all kinds, the sublime and the familiar, the serious and the comic, are taught in that peculiar style which raises in the mind a placid and equable flow of emotions; that placidness and equability which are in a particular manner adapted to give permanency to all our pleasurable feelings. A work which warms our passions, and hurries us on with the rapid vehemence of its style, may be read once or twice with pleasure; but it is the more tranquil style which is most frequently in unison with our minds, and which, therefore, on the tenth repetition, as Horace says, will afford fresh pleasure. Addison rejected that levity and medley of matter which often appeared disadvantageously in a single paper of the "Tatler," and usually wrote regular treatises on the most important and most interesting subjects of taste and morality. Such subjects will never be out of date; but the strictures on the dresses and diversions of the times, whatever merit they possessed, could not have rendered the work immortal. There are, indeed, many papers of very moderate merit; but it could not be otherwise when the publication was daily, and the whole number considerably more than half a thousand. Neither Addison's other engagements, nor his abilities, great as they confessedly were, could have allowed him to compose every specula

tion.

With respect to the "Rambler," if I have prejudices concerning it, they are all in its favor. I read it at a very early age with delight, and, I hope, with improvement. Everything laudable and useful in the conduct of life is recommended in it, often in a new manner, and always with energy, and with a dignity which commands attention. When I consider it with a view to

its effects on the generality of the people, on those who stand most in need of this mode of instruction, it appears greatly in. ferior to the easy and natural "Spectator." Those elegant and expressive words derived from the Latin, which are called by common readers hard words, and which abound in the "Rambler," will prevent the greater number from entering on the perusal. And, indeed, with all my prepossessions in favor of this writer, I cannot but agree with the opinion of the public which has condemned in his style an affected appearance of pomposity.

The "Adventurer" is an imitation of the "Rambler." It is written with remarkable spirit, and with the benevolent design of promoting all that is good and amiable. The stories make a very conspicuous figure in this work, and tend to diffuse its influence among those readers who might probably have been deterred from reading it had it consisted only of didactic discourses, written in a style approaching to the lexiphantic. Triplets were greatly in fashion when the "Adventurer" was published, and it is, therefore, no wonder that they abound in it. Great indeed are its merits in every view; but I cannot discover, in the diction, the sweetness and the delicacy of Addison.

The "World" is written in a style different from all the preceding. There is a certain gaiety and gentility diffused over it which gives it a peculiar grace when considered only as a book of amusement. That it inculcates morality with any peculiar force, cannot be said. But it gives many valuable instructions without assuming the solemn air of a severe moralist.

The "Connoisseur" abounds in wit and a very pleasant species of humor. The book, however, is rather diverting than improving; yet, under the form of irony, many useful truths are conveyed with great success. There is no elevation of sentiment, and no sublime discourses on religion and morality; but there is a great deal of good sense expressed with good-humored drollery. The authors were by nature possessed of wit, and had acquired a very considerable knowledge of the classics.

Every one of these works is calculated to promote good sense and virtue; and whatever may be the defects of each, the variety of their manners is well suited to the variety of dispositions and of tastes which occur in the mass of mankind. They have been found experimentally to improve life as well as conversation. And, with respect to the improvement of conversation, "nothing is so proper for this purpose," says the solid Johnson in his preface to Addison's Poems, "as the frequent publication of short papers which we read not as study but amusement. If the sub

ject be slight, the treatise likewise is short. The busy may find time, and the idle may find patience."

Essays, No. xxviii.

ness.

ON THE HAPPINESS OF DOMESTIC LIFE.

An active life is exposed to many evils which cannot reach a state of retirement; but it is found, by the uniform experience of mankind, to be, upon the whole, productive of the most happiAll are found desirous of avoiding the listlessness of an unemployed condition. Without the incentives of ambition, of fame, of interest, of emulation, men eagerly rush upon hazardous and painful enterprises. There is a quick succession of ideas, a warm flow of spirits, an animated sensation, consequent on exertion, which amply compensates the chagrin of disappointment and the fatigue of attention.

One of the most useful effects of action is that it renders repose agreeable. Perpetual rest is pain of the most intolerable kind. But a judicious interchange of rest and motion, of indolent enjoyment and strenuous efforts, gives a true relish of life, which, when too tranquil, is insipid, and when too much agitated, disgustful.

This sweet repose, which is necessary to restore, by relaxing the tone of the weary mind, has been sought for by the wisest and greatest of men at their own fireside. Senators and heroes

have shut out the acclamations of an applauding world to enjoy the prattling of their little ones, and to partake the endearments of family conversation. They knew that even their best friends, in the common intercourse of life, were in some degree actuated by interested motives in displaying their affection; that many of their followers applauded them in hopes of reward; and that the giddy multitude, however zealous, were not always judicious in their approbation. But the attentions paid them at their fireside, the smiles which exhilarated their own table, were the genuine result of undissembled love.

The nursery has often alleviated the fatigues of the bar and the senate-house. Nothing contributes more to raise the gentlypleasing emotions than the view of infant innocence, enjoying the raptures of a game at play. All the sentiments of uncontrolled nature display themselves to the view, and furnish matter for agreeable reflection to the mind of the philosophical observer. To partake with children in their little pleasures is by no means unmanly. It is one of the purest sources of mirth. It has an

influence in amending the heart, which necessarily takes a tincture from the company that surrounds us. Innocence as well as guilt is communicated and increased by the contagion of example. And the great author of evangelical philosophy has taught us to emulate the simplicity of the infantine age. He seems indeed himself to have been delighted with young children, and found in them, what he in vain sought among those who judged themselves their superiors, unpolluted purity of heart.

Among the great variety of pictures which the vivid imagination of Homer has displayed throughout the Iliad, there is not one more pleasing than the family piece which represents the parting interview between Hector and Andromache. It deeply interests the heart while it delights the imagination. The hero ceases to be terrible, that he may become amiable. We admire him while he stands completely armed in the field of battle; but we love him more while he is taking off his helmet that he may not frighten his little boy with its nodding plumes. We are refreshed with the tender scene of domestic love, while all around breathes rage and discord. We are pleased to see the arm which is shortly to deal death and destruction among a host of foes, employed in caressing an infant son with the embraces of paternal love. A professed critic would attribute the pleasing effect entirely to contrast; but the heart has declared, previously to the inquiries of criticism, that it is chiefly derived from the satisfaction which we naturally take in beholding great characters engaged in tender and amiable employments.

Essays, No. xl.

ON SIMPLICITY OF STYLE.

Food that gives the liveliest pleasure on the first taste frequently disgusts on repetition; and those things which please the palate without satiety, are such as agitate but moderately, and perhaps originally caused a disagreeable sensation. Mental food is also found by experience to nourish most and delight the longest when it is not lusciously sweet. Profuse ornament and unnecessary graces, though they may transport the reader on a first perusal, commonly occasion a kind of intellectual surfeit, which prevents a second.

Immoderate embellishment is the mark of a puerile taste, of a weak judgment, and a little genius. It conveys the idea of too great a labor to please; an idea which excludes the appearance of ease, without which it is difficult to effect the purpose of pleasing.

If the reader enters into the author's spirit, he finds his emotions too rapidly excited to be consistent with pleasurable feelings. Works acknowledged to be written with true taste are found, for the most part, to raise gentle emotions; and, when it is necessary to call up the more violent, the effect is improved from the rarity of the attempt. There is a certain equable flow of spirits which keeps the mind in a tone for the admission of durable pleasure; but which, when hurried or exalted beyond its natural state, terminates in disgust.

The Meditations of Hervey, and many books of devotion, are written in that rhapsodic style which wearies by its constant efforts to elevate the mind to ecstasy. They have, it is true, a useful effect on the rude and uncultivated, who are seldom penetrated but by forcible impressions; but the pleasure they give is not sufficiently elegant and refined to attach the more polished reader.

Poetical prose, as all such writings may be called, seems indeed by no means correspondent to classical ideas of beauty. There is no model of it among writers in the golden ages, and it has seldom been attempted by the first rank of moderns. Fenelon, indeed, succeeded in it, but he richly intermixed the beautiful flowers originally culled by Homer and Virgil. Genius like his, assisted by classical learning, may give a grace to compositions formed on plans not quite conformable to the most approved

taste.

The Bible, the Iliad, and Shakspeare's works,' are allowed to be the sublimest books that the world can exhibit. They are also truly simple; and the reader is the more affected by their indisputable sublimity, because his attention is not wearied by ineffectual attempts at it. He who is acquainted with Longinus will remember that the instances adduced by that great pattern of the excellence he describes, are not remarkable for a glaring or a pompous style, but derive their claim to sublimity from a noble energy of thought, modestly set off by a proper expression.

No author has been more universally approved than Xenophon. Yet his writings display no appearance of splendor or majesty; nothing elevated or adorned with figures; no affectation of superfluous ornament. His merit is an unaffected sweetness which no affectation can obtain. The graces seem to have conspired to form the becoming texture of his composition. And yet, perhaps, a common reader would neglect him, because the easy and natural air of his narrative rouses no violent emotion. More refined understandings peruse him with delight; and Cicero has recorded

He should have added Milton, and placed him next to the Bible.