developed in his Vision of Mirza. Although the subject of the present paper is similar to those of various others in which the master-mind of Addison shines forth in all its strength and elegance, yet it strikes us that he has not, on the present occasion, displayed those transcendant qualities in an equal degree. This is by no means an uncommon case with distinguished writers. It sometimes happens that in treating subjects which seem to be peculiarly adapted to their genius, they unaccountably fall short of their usual success; while, in handling others of a less promising nature, they display a measure of talent which is as great as it is, in some respects, unexpected. We do not mean to say that the paper which is the subject of discussion is unworthy of Addison in every respect; we only mean to express our conviction, and that with all due submission, that it is not, on the whole, the happiest of his essays, and certainly inferior to various others of the same class. We think that, in general, there is a want of keeping in it, and that he introduces certain reflections which do not harmonise with the peculiar train of sentiment which we deem congenial to the subject. Westminster Abbey is an edifice devoted to the service of the Almighty, and a sanctuary for the gathered dust of many generations. The thoughts, therefore, which the contemplation of such a building inspires, must naturally be of a solemn, elevated, and pensive complexion; and,

consequently, reflections of a light, trivial, or sarcastic nature, appear to us to be quite unsuitable to the occasion. But to proceed to particulars. Generally speaking, the introductory sentence of an essay is the most difficult and important part of it. It ought in some measure to be a key to the whole. It ought to be perspicuous, of moderate length, and embued with the pervading character of the essay. The first sentence of this essay is as follows:-"When I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey, where the gloominess of the place, and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable.”

If we may be allowed to hazard an opinion on this sentence, we would say that it appears to us to be rather loose in its texture, and somewhat deficient in harmony. We consider the term "gloominess" somewhat inappropriate, as conveying ideas of a disagreeable nature, which are foreign to the subject. We think, too, that the conjunctive particles employed in enumerating the four characteristics of the building here mentioned might have been omitted, and their cumulative force thereby increased. We think that the expressions, "a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness," are perhaps a little redundant, and that the idea might

have been better conveyed by a single expression. Let us compare this with the introductory sentence of Irving's essay. "On one of those sober, or rather melancholy days in the latter part of autumn, when the shadows of morning and evening almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the decline of the year, I passed several hours in rambling about Westminster Abbey." We think this introductory sentence superior to Addison's in all essential points. It surpasses it in harmony, precision, and propriety. Nothing can be finer than its melody; and nothing more congenial to the subject than the train of sentiment which 'it breathes. In these respects it strongly reminds us of the introductory sentence of the vision of Mirza already alluded to. Passing over the next sentence, which does not seem to contain anything remarkable, we would beg leave to make a few remarks on the three sentences which follow:-" Most of them— i.e. the inscriptions on the tombstones-recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one day, and died upon another; the whole history of his life being comprehended in these two circumstances, that are common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire on the departed persons, who had left no other memorial of them, but that they were born, and that they died. They put me in mind

of several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing, but being knocked on the head." We do not think that the sentiments here expressed are in strict accordance with good taste and suitable feeling. The occasion on which they are made, is, we think, of too solemn and pensive a nature for such sarcastic remarks, The contemplation of the memorials, whether more simple, or more gorgeous, of mortality, we should think, must dispose the mind to feelings of a subdued and tender nature. In such

a survey we must feel that death levels all distinctions arising from connection with the present world; and that it is the means of introducing all mankind into a state, in which it were unwise to form too sanguine conjectures respecting the fate of those who, in this world, were apparently as faultless as is consistent with the fallen state of humanity; or to indulge in too severe suspicions with regard to the condition of those who, in the eyes of their fellow-mortals, seemed less worthy of approbation. On such an occasion every harsher thought ought to be hushed, and every desire to be quenched to draw the frailties of the departed from their drear abode. To say that they erred, is but to say that they were mortal. The remark about the simplicity of most of the inscriptions is not

generally just. The more simple that a monumental inscription is, it is always the more appropriate; and there are some cases in which simplicity is far more striking than the most ornate eulogium. For example, could any inscription be more appropriate for a monument to Newton than the name alone, with the simple record of his birth and death? In such a case the name alone would convey an idea of affecting sublimity, which the most laboured epitaph could not impart. The mere inscription of the persons' names, with the dates of their births and deaths, cannot be justly regarded as a kind of satire on their memories. The absence of monumental encomium is no evidence that the deceased were unworthy of praise; and the most eulogistic epitaph may be undeserved. The remarks here, therefore, appear to us to be unworthy of the occasion, and at variance with the dictates of proper feeling and just views of human nature. The allusion to the heroes "mentioned in the battles of heroic poems," appears to us to be far-fetched and constrained; and the phrase, "knocked on the head," savours too much of vulgarity. Let us compare this passage with a corresponding extract from the essay of Irving. "The epitaphs were entirely effaced, the names alone remained, having no doubt been renewed in latter times. I remained some little while musing over these casual reliques of antiquity, thus left like wrecks upon the distant