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Eis prose is the model of the middle style ; on grave subjects not formal, on light occasions not groveling ; 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 fplendour. It seems to have been his principal endeavour to avoid all harshness and severity of diction ; he is therefore sometimes verbofe in his transitions and connections, and sometimes descends too much to the language of conversation ; yet, if his language had been lefs idiomatical, it might have lost fomewhat 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 stagnátes. His sentences lrave neither studied amplitude nor affected brevity ; his periods, though not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy.-Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not oftentations, muit give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison.
IV. Pleasure and Fain. THERE were two families, which, from the begin
ning of the world, were as opposite to each other as light and darkness. The one of them lived in heaven, and the other in hell. ' The youngest descendant of the first family was Pleure; who was the daughter of Happiness, who was the child of Virtue, who was the offspring of the Gods. These, as I faid before, had their habitation in heaven. The youngest of the opposite family was Pain ; who was the son of misery, who was the child of Vice, who was the offspring of the Furie's. The habitation of this race of beings was in hell.
The middle station of nature between these two opposite extremes was the earth, which was inhabited by creatures of a middle kind; neither fo virtuous as the one, nor lo vicious as the other, but purtaking of the good and bad qualities of thele two oppofite families. Jupiter, confidering thit this species, commonly called man, was too virtuous to be miserable, and too vicious to be happy, that he might make a diflinction between the good and the bad, ordered the two youngest of the G 2
above mentioned families (Pleasure, who was the darghter of Happiness; and Pain, who was the son of Mise1y) to meet one another upon this part of nature ; having promised to settle it upon them both, provided they could agree upon the divifion of it, so as to share mankind betweun them.
Pleasure and Pain were no sooner met in their new habitation, but they immediately agreed upon this point, That Pleasure should take poffeffion of the virtuous, and Pain of the vicious part of that species which was given up to them. But, upon examining to which of them any individual they met with belonged, they found each of them had a right to him
; for that, contrary to what they had seen in their old places of residence, there was no person fo vicious who had not some good in him, nor any person fo virtuous who had not in him fome evil, The truth of it is, they generally found, upon search, that in the most vicious man Pleasure might lay claim to an hundredth part, and that in the most virtuous man Pain might come in for at least two thirds. This they few would occafion endless disputes between them, unless they could come to some accommodation. To this end, there was a marriage propofed between them, and ai length concluded. Hence it is that we find Pleasure and Pain are such constant yoke-fellows, and that they either make their visits together, or are never far asunder. If Pain comes into a heart, he is quickly followed by Pleasure ; and if Pleasure enters, you may be sure Pain is not far off.
But notvithstanding this marriage was very conve. nient for the two parties, it did not seem to answer the intention of Jupiter in sending them among mankind. To remedy, therefore, this inconvenience, it was ftipulated between them by article, and confirmed by the consent of each family, that, notwithstanding they here pofleffed the species indifferently, upon the death of every person, if he were found to have in him a certain proportion of evil, he should be dispatched into the infernal regions by a passport from Pain, there to dwell with Mi: fery, Vice, and the Furies ; or, on the contrary, if he had in him a certain proportion of good, he should be
dispatched into heaven by a passport from Pleasure, there to dwell with Happiness, Virtue, and the Gods.
V. Sir Roger de Goverley's Famiiy. HAVING often received an invitation from my friend
Sir Roger de Coverley to pass away a month with him in the country, I last week accompanied him thither, and ain setiled with him for fome time at biş · country-house, where I intend to form several of my en. fuing speculations. Sir Roger, who is very well acquainted with my humour, lets me rise and go to bed. when I please, dine at his own table or in my chamber as I think fit, fit ftill and say nothing without bidding me be merry When the geniieinen of the country come to see him, he only shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields, I have observed them: stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and have heard. the knight defiring them not to let me see thein, for: that I hated to be stared at.
I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it consists of fober and laid perfons: for as the knight is the best master in the world, he feldom changes his sero vants; and as he is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for leaving him; by which means his domestics are all in years, and grown old with their mafter... You would take his valet-de-chambre for his bro.. ther, his butler is grey-lieaded, his groom is one of the
gravelt men I have ever seen, and his coachman has the · looks of a privy.counsellor. You see the goodness of the
master even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the stable with great care and tenderness out of regard to his paft services, though he has been usclefs for several years..
I could not but observe with a.great deal of pleasure,. the joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his countryseat. Some of them.could not refrain from tears at the fight of their old mafter; every one of then pressed forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the fame time the good o!d knight, withi a mixture of the father and the inafter the family, tempered the inquiries after his own af.
fairs with several kind questions reiating to themfelves. This humanity and good-nature engages every body to him ; so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good humour, and none fo much as the person whom he diverts himself with: on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a stander-by to observe a tecret concern in the looks of all his fervants.
My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of his fellow-fervants, wonderfully defirous of pleasing me, because they have often heard their master talk of me as of his particular friend..
My chief coinpanion, when Sir Roger is diverting hintielf in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man, who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived åt his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a perfori of good sense and some learning, of a very regular 'life and obliging conversation : he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's esteem ;* so that he lives in tlie family rather as a relation than a dependant.
I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is fomething of an humourift ; and that his virtues, as well as imperfections, are as it were tinged by a certain extravagance, which makes them particularly his, and distinguishes them from those of otlier men. This cait of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so it renders liis conversation highly agreeable, and more de. lightful than the same degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common and ordinary colours. As I was walking with him last night, he alked me. how I li. ked the good man whom I have just now mentioned: and, without staying for my ansiver, told me, that he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table ; for which reason he desired a particular friend of his at the university to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning, of a good afpeét, a clear voice, a fociable temper; and, if posfible, a man that understood a little of back-gammon. My friend, says Sir Roger, found me out this geottle.
man; who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have given him the parfonage of the parish ; and because I know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years; and though he does not know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that time asked any thing of me for himself, though he is every day foliciting me for something in behalf of one or other of my tenants his parishioners. There has not been a law.suit-in the parish since he has lived among them. If any dispute arises, they apply themselves to him for the decision : if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened above once or twice at most, they appeal to me. At his first fettling with me, I made him a present of all the good sermons which have been printed in English ; and çnly begged of him, that every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has digested them into such a series, that they follow one another naturally, and make a continued system of practical divinity.
As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman we were talking of came up to us; and upon the Knight's alking him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night), told us the Bishop of St Asaph in the morning, and Dr South
in the afternoon. He then showed us his list of preachers for the whole year; where I saw, with a great deal of pleasure, Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunderfon, Dr Barrow, Dr Calamy, with several living authors who have publisheel discour. fes of practical divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the pulpit, but I very much approved of my friend's infifting upon the qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice; for I was so charmed with the
gracefulness of his figure and delivery, as well as with the discourses he pronounced, that I think I never palied any time more to my fatisfaction. A fernion repeated after this manner, is like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor.