In The Templar, we have a satire upon a certain class of lawyers.  It is indicative of that classical age, that he understands Aristotle and Longinus better than Littleton and Coke, and is happy in anything but law—­a briefless barrister, but a gentleman of consideration.

But the most charming, the most living portrait is that of Sir Roger de Coverley, an English country gentleman, as he ought to be, and as not a few really were.  What a generous humanity for all wells forth from his simple and loving heart!  He has such a mirthful cast in his behavior that he is rather loved than esteemed.  Repulsed by a fair widow, several years before, he keeps his sentiment alive by wearing a coat and doublet of the same cut that was in fashion at the time, which, he tells us, has been out and in twelve times since he first wore it.  All the young women profess to love him, and all the young men are glad of his company.

Last of all is the clergyman, whose piety is all reverence, and who talks and acts “as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities.”

It is said that Addison, warned by the fate of Cervantes,—­whose noble hero, Don Quixote, was killed by another pen,—­determined to conduct Sir Roger to the tomb himself; and the knight makes a fitting end.  He congratulates his nephew, Captain Sentry, upon his succession to the inheritance; he is thoughtful of old friends and old servants.  In a word, so excellent was his life, and so touching the story of his death, that we feel like mourners at a real grave.  Indeed he did live, and still lives,—­one type of the English country gentleman one hundred and fifty years ago.  Other types there were, not so pleasant to contemplate; but Addison’s Sir Roger de Coverley and Fielding’s Squire Allworthy vindicate their class in that age.

ADDISON’S HYMNS.—­Addison appears to us also as the writer of beautiful hymns, and has paraphrased some of the Psalms.  In this, like Watts, he catered to a decided religious craving of that day.  In a Protestant realm, and by reason of religious controversy, the fine old hymns of the Latin church, which are now renewing their youth in an English dress, had fallen into disrepute:  hymnody had, to some extent, superseded the plain chant.  Hymns were in demand.  Poets like Addison and Watts provided for this new want; and from the beauty of his few contributions, our great regret is that Addison wrote so few.  Every one he did write is a gem in many collections.  Among them we have that admirable paraphrase of the Twenty-third Psalm: 

    The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
    And feed me with a shepherd’s care;

and the hymn

    When all Thy mercies, O my God,
      My rising soul surveys.

None, however, is so beautiful, stately, and polished as the Divine Ode, so pleasant to all people, little and large,—­