I. The Vision of Mirza. NGLISH literature, throughout its whole range, possesses no writer of which the country has so great cause for pride as the author of the piece with which our volume opens. Joseph Addison, the son of the Rev. Lancelot Addison, a clergyman of great learning, was born at Milston, in Wiltshire, on the 1st of May, 1672, his father being at that time the rector; he afterwards became the Dean of Lichfield. At the age of fifteen Joseph was sent to Oxford, and in two years obtained a scholarship in Magdalen College. He gave early proof of poetic talent in some translations from the Latin. His first effort in English verse were some lines to Dryden, written in his 23rd year. Some complimentary verses to Lord Keeper Somers and King William III., were means of procuring a pension of 300l. a year, and, thus provided, he set out on a tour to Italy. The death of the King, in 1702, depriving him of his pension, he returned to England. The "Victory of Blenheim " was deemed by the Ministry deserving a poem to celebrate its glories, and Addison was applied to; the result was, "The Campaign," a poem of nearly five hundred lines, which so gratified the Minister, Godolphin, that he appointed the author to a Commissionership. In 1716 Addison married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, but the union was not a happy one. The year succeeding he was appointed one of the principal Secretaries of State. He died at Holland House, June 17, 1719. In connection with Steele he was engaged on the "Tatler," but the work by which Addison has immortalised himself is the "Spectator," of B 1 which, out of 635 papers, he contributed 274. As an English prose writer he is unsurpassed, and his merits need no other testimony than the emphatic summary of Johnson-" As a describer of life and manners he must be allowed to stand, perhaps the first, of the first rank. As a teacher of wisdom he may be confidently followed; all the enchantments of fancy, and all the cogency of argument are employed by him to recommend to the reader his real interest-the care of pleasing the Author of his Being. Truth is shown sometimes as a phantom of a vision; sometimes appeared half-veiled in an allegory; sometimes attracts regard in the robes of fancy; and sometimes steps forth in the confidence of reason. She wears a thousand dresses, and in all is pleasing. 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." The "Vision of Mirza," which is an excellent specimen of the author's style, is the 159th paper of the " Spectator;" and, as a comprehensive picture of human life, it is unequalled by anything in the English language. The difficulties that beset us here, and the rewards and punishments of everlasting life are eloquently delineated. THE VISION OF MIRZA. The cloud which, intercepting the clear light, I will remove -VIRGIL, EN. II. On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy, after having washed myself and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdad, in order to spend the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human life; and, passing from one thought to another, surely, said I, man is but a shadow, and life a dream. Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him he applied it to his lips and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious and altogether different from anything I had ever heard: they put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last agonies and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures. I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius; and that several had been entertained with that music who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs which he played to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that reverence that is due to a superior nature; and, as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and affability that familiarised him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and, taking me by the hand, "Mirza," said he, "I have heard thee in thy soliloquies ; follow me." He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and, placing me on the top of it, "Cast thy eyes eastward," said he, and tell me what thou seest." "I see," said I, "a huge valley and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it." "The valley that thou seest," said he, "is the vale of misery, and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great tide of eternity." "What is the reason," said I, "that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other?" "What thou seest," said he, "is that portion of eternity which is called time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now," said he, "this sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it." I see a bridge," said I, "standing in the midst of the tide." "The bridge thou seest," said he, "is human life; consider it attentively." Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which, added to those |