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Was it this, or tell me, Nature, what else was it, that made this morsel so sweet and to what magic I owe it that the draught I took of their flaggon was so delicious with it, that it remains upon my palate to this hour?
If the supper was to my taste, the grace which followed was inuch more so.
When supper was over, the old man gave a knock upon the table with the haft of his knife, to bid them pre. pare for the dance. The moment the signal was given the women and girls ran altogether into the back apartments to tie up their hair, and the young men to the door to wash their faces, and change their sabots, (wooden shoes) and in three minutes every soul was ready, upon a little esplanade before the house to begin. The old man and his wife came out last, and placing me betwixt them, sat down upon a sofa of turf by the door.
"The old man had some fifty years ago, been no mean performer upon the vielle; and, at the age he was then of, touched it well enough for the purpose. His wife sung now and then a little to the tune, then intermitted, and joined her old man again, as their children and grandchildren danced before them.
It was not till the middle of the second dance, when for some pauses in the movement, wherein they all seemed to look up, I fancied I could distinguish an elevation of spirit, different from that which is the cause or the effect of simple jollity. In a word, I thought I beheld religion mixing in the dance ; but, as I had never seen her so en. gaged, I should have looked upon it nowy as one of the illusions of an imagination wlich is eternally misleading me, had not the old man, as soon as the dance ended, said, that this was their constant way; and that all his life long, he made it a rule, after supper was over, to call out his family to dance and rejoice; believing, he said, that a cheerful and contented mind was the best sort of thanks to heaven that an illiterate peasant could pay. Or learned prelate either, said I..
XVIII.-Rustic Felicity.—IB. TANY are the silent pleasures of the honest peasIV.1 ant, who rises cheerfully to his labor.--Look into
his dwelling—where the scene of every man's happ. ness chiefly lies; he has the same 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 make no doubt, in general, but if the true account of his joys and sufferings were to be balanced with those of his betters that the upshot would prove to be liltle more than this; that the rich man had the more meat-but the poor man the better stomach;--the one had more luxury-more able pbysicians to attend and set him to rights; the other, more health 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 fiesh, 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. T ET us go into the house of mourning, made so by
A such aflictions 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 :-Perhaps a more affecting scene-a virtuous fam. ily 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 partner 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 upfortunate, even with an improper look. Under whatever levity and dissipa
tion of heart such objects catch our eyes-(hey likewise catch our attentions, collect and call home our scattered thoughts, and exercise them with wisdom. A transient scene of distress, such as is here sketched, how soon does it furnish materials to set the mind at work ! How pecessarily does it engage it to the consideration of the mis. eries and misfortunes, the dangers and calaınities to which the life of man is subject! By holding 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 seri. ous cast, how insepsibly do the thoughts carry us far. ther"; and from considering what we are, what kind of world we live in, and what evils befal us in it, ho:v natur. ally do they set us to look forward at what possibly we shall be ; for what kind of world we are intended; what evils may befall 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 house 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 you for a moment. Be. hold 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 num. erous family lies breathless-spatched away in the strength of his age--torn, in an evil hour, from bis 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 melascholy office, which, when the debt of nature is paid, we are called upon to pay to each other. If this sad occasion, which leads him there, has not done it already, take potice to what a serious and devout frame of mind every. man is reduced, the moment he enters this gate of aftliction. The busy and fluttering spirits, which, in the house of mirth, were wont to transport bim from one diverting
object to another-see, how they are fallen! how peace ably 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, how tull 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 religion lasts, and the heart is thus excercised 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 might then safely rest our cause upon this single evidence, and appeal to the most sensual, whether Solomon has not made a just determination here in favor 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 Honor and Advantage of a constant Adherenee to
Truth -PERCIVAL'S Tales. D ETRARCA, a celebrated Italian poet, who flourish
ed about four hundred years ago, recommended himself to the confidence and affection of Cardinal Colonna, in whose family he resided, by his candor and strict reguard 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 mest solemn oath on the gospels, to declare the whole truth. Every one without exception, submitted to this determination; even the Bishop of Luna, brother to the Cardinal, was
not excused. Petrarch, in his turn, presenting himself to take the oath, the Cardinal closed the book, and said, As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient.
II.-Impertinence in Discourse.--THEOPHR ASTUS. T HIS kind of impertinence is a habit of talking
L much without thinking.
A man who has this distemper in his tongue shall entertain you, though he never saw you before, with a long story in praise of his own wife ; give you the particulars of last night's dream, or the description of a feast he has been at without letting a single dish escape him. When he is thus entered into conversation, he grows very wise- escants upon the corruption of the times, and the degeneracy of the age we live in ; from which, as his transitions are somewhat sudden, he falls upon the price of corn, and the number of strangers that are in town. He undertakes to prove, that it is better putting to sea in summer than in winter, and that rain is necessary to produce a good crop of corn; telling you, in the same breath, that he intends to plough up such part of his estate next year, that the times are hard, and that a man has much ado to get through the world. His whole discourse is nothing but hurry and incoherence.' He acquaints you, that Demippus had the largest torch at the feast of Ceres; aske you if you remember how many pillars 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 man had much better be visited 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. A Sa describer of life and manners. Mr. Addison must A be allowed to stand perhaps the first in the first rank, His bumor is peculiar to himself; and is so happily diffused, as to give the grace of novelty to domestic scenes