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EXTRACTS 
 
 YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS, 
 
 OBSERVATIONS 
 
 UPON THEM. 
 
 By WILLIAM DANBY, Esq. 
 
 OF SWINTON PARK, YORKSHIRE. 
 
 LONDON: & 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, 
 
 AND SOLD BY J. G. & F. RIVINGTON, 
 
 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD, AND WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL 
 
 and J. & G. TODD, YORK; & C. UPHAM, EXETER. 
 1832. 
 
n< 
 
 ^ 
 
 LONDON! 
 GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 st. John's square. 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 HIS GRACE THE ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 
 
 MY DEAR LORD, 
 
 An acquaintance of many years' standing, with some 
 degree of family connexion, has given me the knowledge 
 of the many virtues which have raised your Grace to the 
 eminent situation in which you have been long placed, and 
 which has induced me to offer to your Grace the dedica- 
 tion of these extracts from, and observations on, a work 
 which so powerfully advocates the cause and the interests 
 of a religion which is our best support in this world, and 
 our highest object in the next. The Church, of which your 
 Grace is a distinguished member, has been considered by 
 many pious and learned men, and particularly by the illus- 
 trious Grotius, as established on a foundation which secures 
 its stability more than that of any other, whatever dissent 
 from its doctrines the varying opinions and feelings of men 
 may have produced ; those doctrines are as consonant to 
 reason, as the human intelligence of the mysteries that 
 
 a2 
 
IV DEDICATION. 
 
 religion must contain in itself, could make them ; and they 
 are no less calculated to secure that peace which, as our 
 great Shepherd has told us, will " give rest unto our 
 souls." 
 
 That we all, and your Grace in particular, may enjoy 
 that peace on earth, which is the foretaste of happiness in 
 heaven, is the sincere wish of, 
 
 My dear Lord, 
 Your Grace's affectionate and obedient Servant, 
 
 William Danby. 
 
 Swinton Park, October 30, 1832. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The great value of the " Night Thoughts," and the in- 
 estimable value of the subject, certainly deserved a more 
 able selector and commentator than I have proved myself 
 to be. However, as no attempt of the kind, that I know 
 of, has ever been made, I venture mine into the world, in 
 hopes that it may induce more to read the poem itself, 
 among those who most want its admonitions, or those who 
 have been deterred from it by a mistaken, as to many 
 parts of it at least, notion of its gloom and severity. If 
 they dislike seriousness, even upon the most important 
 subjects, their case is at least as desperate as Lorenzo's : 
 they will, it is to be feared, have nothing but a " dreadful 
 scene" before them, in the " unconsidered" One, in the 
 " worlds unknown," into which they must at some time be 
 "wafted." If they do not give their "consciences leave 
 to speak" now, they will speak, " their leave unasked," 
 when it is too late for them to be heard with any profit. 
 
 It is singular that Young's Night Thoughts have more 
 admirers (as I have been told) among our lighter neigh- 
 bours on the continent, than amongst us more serious 
 Islanders ; perhaps it is from the lively imagination dis- 
 played in them, as well as from their animation. They 
 are, however, much read among our countrymen, and a 
 little further acquaintance with them (for which some dis- 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 position to seriousness may be required), will no doubt 
 increase the number. In this age of urbanity and tolera- 
 tion, there is no fear of their having any but the best 
 effects upon social intercourse, inculcative as they are of 
 religious philanthropy. 
 
 Madame de Stael criticises the " Night Thoughts" (in 
 her ingenious " Corinne") for their want of taste. But 
 what is taste compared with force of description ? Do we 
 accuse the Scriptures of want of taste, in their mention of 
 " the sow wallowing in the mire," or " the dog returning 
 to the vomit?" And what can be more forcible, or more 
 appropriate, than these similes ? 
 
 Perhaps I may have been too fond of interlarding my 
 works with scraps of Latin, &c. ; but this I have done from 
 an idea that they would make a greater impression upon 
 those who understand those languages, who might commu- 
 nicate that impression to others whom they may translate 
 the quotations to. The best reason for introducing those 
 quotations, is from their greater conciseness and energy. 
 This is not pedantry. A further apology may be in the 
 recollections of early education, of the acquirements then 
 made, and the association of ideas which the passages 
 quoted, themselves furnish. But to justify the quota- 
 tions, a good deal must depend upon the character of the 
 language. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST 1 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND 9 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD 15 
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH 20 
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH 33 
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH ........... 49 
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH 71 
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH 85 
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH 98 
 
EXTRACTS 
 
 FROM 
 
 YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS, 
 
 WITH 
 
 OBSERVATIONS UPON THEM. 
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 
 
 This noble poem, though poetical throughout, does not, as 
 might be expected, begin with all the promise which is more 
 than fulfilled afterwards, when the poet displays all the rich- 
 ness and force of his imagination and feelings, as his ex- 
 pression rises with his subject. He begins, awakened only to. 
 the consideration of himself, as, 
 
 " Emerging from a sea of dreams, 
 Tumultuous," &c. 
 
 dreams of his natural sleep, which he confounds with those of 
 the " grave," of the sleepers in which he says, 
 
 How happy they, who wake no more 
 
 I" 
 
 How is this consistent with the main object of his poem, to 
 give proofs, in addition to and accordance with the assurances 
 of the Gospel, of our awakening in another life to an endless 
 enjoyment, or sufferance, of happiness or of misery ? Allowing, 
 however, for this first effusion of his imagination and feelings, 
 and giving all due applause to his beautiful description of 
 
% EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 night and its accompanying scenery, we may pass on to his 
 fervent address, 
 
 " O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck 
 That spark, the sun," 
 
 A spark, perhaps, in comparison with other luminous bodies, 
 among which it has been supposed that the principal star in 
 the constellation Lyra is two thousand times as large as 
 our sun. 
 
 " Strike wisdom from my soul : 
 
 My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure, 
 
 As misers to their gold, while others rest." 
 
 I think we cannot but observe, how subservient Young, 
 something like Shakspeare, makes the sallies of his imagina- 
 tion to what his subject requires. The specimens I have 
 given, I think, must induce the reader to go on with these 
 thoughts and aspirations, till he comes to the following general 
 reflections : 
 
 " How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
 
 How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! 
 
 How passing wonder He, who made him such ! 
 
 Who center'd in his make such strange extremes !" 
 ***** 
 
 " O what a miracle to man is man, 
 Triumphantly distress'd ! what joy, what dread ! 
 Alternately transported, and alarm'd ! 
 What can preserve my life ? or what destroy ? 
 An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave, 
 
 Legions of angels can't confine me there." 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal ; 
 Even silent night proclaims eternal day. 
 For human weal, Heaven husbands all events ; 
 Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain." 
 
 13 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 6 
 
 These, indeed, other animals, particularly dogs, seem to 
 have in common with us ; but as that is true of many of their 
 other faculties, it would put them upon a level with us (and 
 still higher, in their fidelity), did not the use of our reason, 
 abused as it often is, give us a decided pre-eminence. 
 
 Dogs follow their instinct, as being destined to the service 
 of man, who follows, sometimes his reason, sometimes his 
 passions or his caprice. 
 
 Considering, however, man as a rational creature, the 
 poet says, 
 
 " Why then their loss deplore, who are not lost ? 
 Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around, 
 In infidel distress ? Are angels there ? 
 Slumbers, rak'd up in dust, ethereal fire ? 
 They live ! they greatly live a life on earth 
 Unkindled, unconceiv'd, and from an eye 
 Of tenderness, let heavenly pity fall 
 On us, more justly number'd with the dead." 
 
 For further proof of this we must look to the succeeding 
 " Nights," remembering that in this life, as has been truly 
 said, " we are in the midst of death," liable as our passage 
 through it is, to be shortened by a thousand accidents, which 
 in the next we shall be out of the reach of. 
 
 " And is it in the flight of threescore years 
 
 To push eternity from human thought, 
 
 And smother souls immortal in the dust?" &c. &c. 
 
 Not entirely ; but sensible objects, when present, are too apt 
 to obliterate the thoughts of those which futurity presents, 
 and, indeed, it is partly intended that it should be so ; but 
 this partial attachment generally lessens as we approach to the 
 latter. 
 
 b 2 
 
4* EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " O ye blest scenes of permanent delight! 
 Full, above measure ! lasting, beyond bound ! 
 A perpetuity of bliss, is bliss." &c. &c. 
 
 This surely affords a satisfactory answer to Lord Byron's 
 foolish idea, that " no state can be conceived that duration 
 would not render tiresome." True, it cannot be conceived ; 
 but does it follow, that it cannot exist ? Duration of what is 
 unsatisfactory to us here, as all earthly enjoyments must be, 
 may well be tiresome, and our powers are probably unequal 
 to the enjoyment of what would be more satisfactory; but 
 both may be given (as they are promised) in a future state, by 
 Him to whom all things are possible, that He has made so ; 
 and the general adaptation that we see evinced here, no doubt 
 is fulfilled every where else. But, 
 
 " We cannot reason, but from what we know ;" 
 
 and what know we of a future state ? 
 
 By the by, should not this sense of ignorance have made 
 Mr. Hume a little more diffident, in his reasoning against the 
 belief of the miracles of our Saviour, from the want of that 
 probability which experience affords ? But is there no analogy 
 that supplies (as Dr. Butler has endeavoured to show) its 
 place ? and does not that, assisted by moral evidence, speak 
 sufficiently, both to our reason and our feelings ? But their 
 mutual dependence on each other keeps us in a suspense, 
 which, as our spirits vacillate, may be elevated into hope, or 
 depressed into fear. We may be " alternately transported 
 and alarmed." But there is an " asylum" for the " soul," 
 and Young has told us where to find it ; " in prayer." 
 
 After enumerating the evils of life, and the sufferers under 
 them, the poet says, 
 
 " What then am I, who sorrow for myself? 
 In age, in infancy, from others' aid 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 5 
 
 Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind. 
 That, nature's just, last lesson to mankind : 
 The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels : 
 More generous sorrow, while it sinks, exalts ; 
 And conscious virtue mitigates the pang." 
 
 Pope says, 
 
 " The broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears, 
 Less pleasing far than virtue's very tears." 
 
 Especially when shed in sympathy with the affliction of others. 
 
 Speaking of prosperity, Young says, 
 
 " Is heaven tremendous in its frowns ? most sure ; 
 
 And in its favours formidable too : 
 
 Its favours here are trials, not rewards ; 
 
 A call to duty, not discharge from care." 
 
 A " call," which our consciences sometimes (O si saepius !) 
 make us listen to ; and a " care," which, " atra comes" as it 
 is, we cannot well avoid being "pressed" by. 
 
 But besides this tax upon prosperity, the poet thinks it in- 
 cumbent on him to say, 
 
 " Beware what earth calls happiness ; beware 
 All joys, but joys that never can expire. 
 Who builds on less than an immortal base, 
 Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death." 
 
 And die they must ; but so must we also. Let us live then 
 while we can ; but let us live well ; and how well ? not as 
 " des bons vivants," but as rational creatures. 
 
 There are no lasting or real joys, but those which will bear 
 reflection, and are somehow connected with our future pros- 
 pects. If man is meant (as he certainly is) to look forward in 
 this life, there must always be something for him to look for- 
 
 H^ 
 
 ~i 
 
 
O EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 ward to. N This he does both with the eye of reason and of 
 faith. These joys, therefore, are immortal ; in leaning to that 
 they " lean also to our kind," as well as to Him, who has com- 
 manded us to love one another. 
 
 Speaking of " foresight," and its uncertainty, he says, 
 
 " Time is dealt out by particles ; and each, 
 Ere mingled with the streaming sands of life, 
 By fate's inviolable oath is swore 
 Deep silence, where eternity begins." 
 Pope says, 
 
 " Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, 
 All but the page prescrib'd, their present state ; 
 From beasts what men, from men what angels know, 
 Or who could suffer being here below ? 
 The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
 Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? 
 Pleas'd to the last, he crops the luscious food, 
 And licks the hand that's rais'd to shed his blood." 
 
 Such is the end of creatures which have no end but death 
 to look forward to, and therefore want not a foresight that 
 would keep them in perpetual terror. Man wants it to excite 
 his hopes, as well as his fears. Happy for him, when both 
 combine to produce the same effect ! 
 
 Confining, however, our prospects to this transitory life, the 
 poet says that, 
 
 " As on a rock of adamant we build 
 Our mountain hopes ; spin our eternal schemes, 
 As we the fatal sisters would out-spin ; 
 And, big with life's futurities, expire." 
 
 We look forward to every thing else before we look forward 
 \ to our own dissolution. And, indeed, if we did not, we should 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 7 
 
 skip over all the intermediate pages of life, which should be a 
 preparation for its end, which they will be, if these pages are 
 well prepared ere they are exhibited in action. I have heard \ 
 it said, that in some respects we should live as if we were to i 
 live for ever here; and in others, as if we were to die to- 
 morrow. I think the first must mean in what regards those 
 who are to come after us, in whom our life is, in a manner, 
 continued; and the second, in what regards ourselves, who 
 cannot reckon even upon the continuance of another day, and 
 we pray, therefore, for " our daily bread in this," only. But 
 as our existence is to be continued afterwards, we ought to pre- 
 pare for the day which will have no end, and for the " bread 
 of life" eternal; and in this respect our conduct too often 
 proves that 
 
 " Procrastination is the thief of time ; 
 Year after year it steals, till all are fled H 
 And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
 The vast concerns of an eternal scene." 
 
 We are told that " God will have mercy on whom he will 
 have mercy ;" but he has not reserved this knowledge entirely 
 to himself. He has told us on whom he will have mercy ; 
 who " shall save his soul alive ;" what will be " required" of 
 us ; but he has not encouraged our vain hopes, nor our self- 
 flatteries. He has withheld from us part of the knowledge of 
 ourselves, perhaps that our " secret faults" may keep us in 
 awe, and that we may not " speak" a false " peace to our 
 minds," in over-rating our virtues, or under-rating our faults ; 
 we are sinners all, and must " work out our salvation with 
 fear and trembling." 
 
 But such are our habits, which, however, are often coun- 
 teracted by reflection, for the mind will not give up its ac- 
 tivity, and if it does not meditate good, it will meditate evil, 
 or good-for-nothing trifles, though they may be comparatively 
 
 
 
O EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 innocent. What is said ,in Night the second, will at least 
 keep them so, 
 
 " Guard well thy thoughts ; our thoughts are heard in 
 heaven." 
 
 And thought is often a prelude to actions-It certainly has an 
 influence over our opinions, and, therefore, over our discourse. 
 Both these we have some power over, and therefore responsi- 
 bility for, the formation and utterance of. This responsibility 
 will be best secured by self-examination. By this, 
 
 " At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; 
 
 Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 
 
 At fifty chides his infamous delay, 
 
 Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; 
 
 In all the magnanimity of thought 
 
 Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same." 
 
 If this is accompanied with any degree of self-indulgence 
 that is inconsistent with; our " plans of reformation/' we are 
 proportionately responsible ; but if the purposed " resolution'' 
 has the effect of securing to us the " vitium fugere," we may 
 trust that it will be counted for something, if done with a 
 good intent, which must be in a wish to please God. 
 
 Young ends this " Night" with a lamentation on Pope, not 
 for his death but for his omissions, which Young has, I be- 
 lieve, much better supplied. Pope's description of religious 
 feeling, that, 
 
 " When lengthen/d. on to faith, and unconfln'd, 
 
 It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind," (with what?) 
 
 does not promise the close, strong, and persevering defence of 
 it that Young has given : Pope's is the reasoning of a philo- 
 sopher, Young's that of a Christian. 
 
YOUNG S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 
 
 After returning to his lamentations, he quits them to exhort 
 Lorenzo not to 
 
 " Think it folly to be wise too soon," 
 
 but to consider that, 
 
 " When spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes 
 Their lustre lose, and lessen in our sight, 
 Then toys will not amuse, thrones will be toys, 
 And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale." 
 
 Which then may well " kick the beam." 
 
 " Redeem we time ? — its loss we dearly buy. - ' 
 What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports? 
 He pleads time's numerous blanks ; he loudly pleads 
 The straw -like trifles on life's common stream. 
 From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee 1 
 No blank, no trifle, nature made, or meant. 
 Virtue, or purpos'd virtue, still be thine ; 
 This cancels thy complaint at once, this leaves 
 In act no trifle, and no blank in time." 
 
 This is a further intimation of the necessity of the wish 
 " to please God ;" without the hope (whether we are conscious 
 of it or not) of doing that, " virtue" would not be " its own 
 reward ;" the present satisfaction that it gives, must lead to 
 the hope of more in future. What other incentive will there 
 be ? and, as is said in the seventh Night, 
 
 " Virtue's a combat ; and who fights for nought ? 
 Or for precarious, or for small reward ? 
 Who virtue's self-reward so loud resound, 
 
10 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Would take degrees angelic here below, 
 
 And virtue, while they compliment, betray, 
 
 By feeble motives, and unfaithful guards. 
 
 The crown, the unfading crown, her soul inspires : 
 
 Tis that, and that alone, can countervail 
 
 The body's treacheries, and the world's assaults ;" 
 
 which require a " Herculean" force to resist, better done in 
 " Christian armour." 
 
 The encouragements of religion are built upon a natural 
 disposition; and that, fostered by them, looks forward to 
 another world. 
 
 To return to the second Night, Young says, that when time 
 is well employed, 
 
 " Every moment pays." 
 
 So Lavater says, 
 
 " Jouez avec les heures, mais economisez les moments." 
 
 For the value of moments consists in the habit they give. 
 Moments, well spent, pay a high interest ; they pay it in the 
 spending, and sometimes double it in the reversion. 
 
 Young says, 
 
 " Time, the supreme ! time is eternity ; 
 . Pregnant with all eternity can give." &c. &c. 
 
 The stress that Young here gives to the value of time 
 justifies his saying that 
 
 " Life's cares are comforts ; such by heaven design'd ; 
 He that has none, must make them, or be wretched. 
 Cares are employments, and without employ 
 The soul is on the rack, the rack of rest, 
 To souls most adverse ; action all their joy." 
 
young's night thoughts. 11 
 
 So Pope, with a more scenic representation : 
 
 " Thee, too, my Paridel, she saw thee there, 
 Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair ; 
 And heard thy everlasting yawn confess 
 The pains and penalties of idleness." 
 
 And Young, in a severer tone, 
 
 " If time past, 
 And time possest both pain us, what can please ? 
 That which the Deity to please ordain'd, 
 Time us'd. The man who consecrates his hours 
 By vigorous effort, and an honest aim, 
 At once he draws the sting of life and death ; 
 He walks with Nature ; and her paths are peace." 
 
 While these " efforts" are made by the body, the mind 
 need not be inactive, though the fixture of the eyes upon one 
 object may sometimes circumscribe her range. Constant 
 bodily employment, and on the same object, deprives the 
 mind of much of its activity, as is seen in labourers, &c. 
 
 Impressed with the value of time, the poet says, 
 
 " Hast thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence ? 
 
 For, or against, what wonders can he do 1 
 
 And will; to stand blank neuter he disdains. 
 
 Not on those terms was Time (heaven's stranger!) sent 
 
 On his important embassy to man. 
 
 Lorenzo ! no : on the long-destin'd hour, 
 
 From everlasting ages growing ripe, 
 
 That memorable hour of wond'rous birth, 
 
 When the dread Sire, on emanation bent, 
 
 And big with nature, rising in his might, 
 
 Call'd forth creation (for then Time was born) 
 

 V 
 
 12 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 By Godhead streaming through a thousand worlds ; 
 Not on those terms, from the great days of heaven, 
 I From old Eternity's mysterious orh, 
 
 Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the skies ; 
 J The skies, which watch him in his new abode, 
 \ Measuring his motion by revolving spheres, 
 \ That horologe machinery divine." 
 (As magnificent as it is true.) 
 
 If action, however produced, is necessary to satisfy the 
 mind, it may also be necessary to excite and keep alive the 
 desire of rest, which affords a temporary relief. Sed non in 
 terra quies. 
 
 The whole scope, or at least the main object of this poem, 
 is to shew the importance of time, in our use of it here, as a 
 preparation for eternity, along with the dispositions which 
 should accompany and direct it, under a still higher direction. 
 For this, he says, 
 
 ( " 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 
 
 \ And ask them what report they bore to heaven ! 
 
 i And how they might have borne more welcome news. 
 
 \ Their answers form what men experience call, 
 
 If wisdom's friend, her best; if not, worst foe." 
 \ 
 
 Without this, 
 
 " There's nothing here, but what as nothing weighs ; 
 The more our joy, the more we know it vain ; 
 And by success are tutor'd to despair." 
 
 Young's antitheses and flights of imagination will, I think, 
 be often found to add force to his arguments, if our feelings 
 are capable of being so excited ; for which a small share of 
 sensibility is required. 
 
 For this great purpose, the poet reminds us, that 
 
young's night thoughts. 13 
 
 " — All mankind mistake their time of day ; 
 Even age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly sown 
 In furrow'd brows : so gentle life's descent, 
 We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain." 
 
 The recollection of the conversations which the poet had 
 had on these subjects with his friend Philander, 
 
 " Whose mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue, 
 And strong, to wield all science worth the name," 
 
 makes him say, 
 
 " Know'st thou, Lorenzo, what a friend contains ? 
 As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flowers, 
 So men from friendship, wisdom and delight ; 
 Twins tied by nature ; if they part, they die." 
 
 And in these communications Cicero says, that natural be- 
 nevolence is the " Amicitiee fons," a natura constitutus :" and 
 the greatest " utilitas amicitiae" is, " ad emendandos ami- 
 corum mores .:" and that " et secundas res splendidiores facit 
 amicitia, et adversas, partiens communicansque, leviores." 
 
 " Thought too, deliver'd, is the more possest : 
 Teaching we learn ; and giving we retain 
 The births of intellect, when dumb, forgot. 
 Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; 
 Speech burnishes our mental magazine ; 
 Brightens, for ornament ; and whets, for use." 
 
 This would be acknowledged, either in or out of the gay 
 circles of society; with the different modifications and re- 
 liances that would be resorted to, more or less, in each. Apart 
 from these, he says, 
 
 " In contemplation is thy proud resource? 
 
14 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Tis poor, as proud, by converse unsustain'd. 
 Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit 
 Of due restraint ; and emulation's spur 
 Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd. 
 'Tis converse qualifies for solitude, 
 As exercise, for salutary rest ; 
 By that untutor'd, contemplation raves ; 
 And nature's fool by wisdom's is outdone." 
 
 For the arbitration of common sense is necessary to make 
 us keep within the bounds of it. A man may dream by him- 
 self, but he will not do it in society. These descriptions, how- 
 ever, will apply to both cases ; but with this difference, that 
 in the haunts of contemplation, the excitement to, and sus- 
 tainment by, converse, would be mutually felt, when oppor- 
 tunities occurred of their being resorted to : in the circles of 
 gay society, there would be little excitement to contemplation, 
 and no sustainment would be required but the light ones that 
 are necessary for such an intercourse, when a prominent part 
 is not acted. But in the more important uses of friendship, 
 
 " Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give 
 To social man true relish of himself." 
 
 And in still higher we shall find that 
 
 " Virtue alone en tenders us for life : 
 
 I wrong her much — entenders us for ever." 
 
 This may require some " contemplation," some " communing 
 with ourselves," to impress us fully with its truth ; though a 
 well-disposed mind cannot but feel it. The rest of this 
 " Night" is an exemplification of the joys of friendship, as 
 enjoyed by him in that of his friend Philander, whose recent 
 death he deplores; saying of him, 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 " His God sustains him in his final hour ! 
 
 His final hour brings glory to his God ! 
 
 Man's glory heaven vouchsafes to call her own.' 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD 
 
 Begins with the praise of solitude, (if, as Young says, 
 being " alone" may be called so) which, though the solitude 
 of " woe " to him, he eulogises, in exclaiming, 
 
 " O lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 
 Lost to the noble sallies of the soul ! 
 Who think it solitude to be alone. 
 Communion sweet ! communion large and high ! 
 _Our reason, guardian angel, and our God ! 
 Then nearest these, when others most remote ; 
 And all, ere long, shall be remote, but these." 
 
 This is the " communing with ourselves," recommended in 
 scripture, as an useful and necessary corrective of the enjoy- 
 ments of society, and to mix higher and holier principles with 
 the worldly ones which the latter infuse into our minds. To 
 enforce the former, he instances his recent loss of Narcissa, 
 in addition to that of Philander, whom he had before lamented ; 
 and the recollection of both leads him to say, 
 
 " For gay Lorenzo's sake, and for thy own, 
 My soul ! the fruits of dying friends survey ; 
 Expose the vain of life'; weigh life and death ; 
 Give death his eulogy ; thy fear subdue ; 
 And labour that first palm of noble minds, 
 A manly scorn of terror from the tomb." 
 
 \ 
 
16 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 ' The arguments by which he supports this, lead him at last 
 to say, 
 
 " Live ever here, Lorenzo ! — shocking thought ! 
 So shocking, they who wish, disown it too. 
 Live ever in the womb, nor see the light ! 
 For what live ever here ?" &c. 
 
 After enumerating the comparative nothings which that 
 " wish" extends to the enjoyment and endless repetition of, 
 he contrasts these, of which he says, 
 
 " A languid, leaden iteration reigns, 
 
 And ever must, o'er those whose joys are joys 
 
 Of sight, smell, taste," &c. 
 
 [These may be refined perceptions, however, sensual as 
 they are.] 
 
 With the more rational and elevated enjoyments, by which 
 
 " Nobler minds, 
 That relish fruits unripen'd by the sun, 
 Make their days various ; various as the dyes 
 On the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays. 
 On minds of dove-like innocence possest, 
 On lighten'd minds, that bask in virtue's beams, 
 Nothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves 
 In that for which they long, for which they live. 
 Their glorious efforts, wing'd with heavenly hope, 
 Each rising morning sees still higher rise : 
 Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents 
 To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame ; 
 While nature's circle, like a chariot wheel 
 Rolling beneath their elevated aims, 
 Makes their fair prospect fairer every hour ; 
 
young's night thoughts. 17 
 
 Advancing virtue, in a line to bliss : 
 
 Virtue, which Christian motives best inspire ! 
 
 And bliss, which Christian schemes alone ensure!" 
 
 The truth of this beautiful encomium must be acknow- 
 ledged by the manliest minds ; whatever they may think of 
 the attribute of " dove-like innocence," they cannot deny the 
 superiority of " virtue," nor the value of the " motives" 
 which " inspire" it, nor that of the 
 
 " Bliss which Christian schemes alone ensure," 
 
 If they do, we may fairly question the soundness both of 
 their reason and their feelings. 
 
 As undeniable is it, that 
 
 / " A truth it is, few doubt, but fewer trust, 
 
 \ He sins against this life, who slights the next." 
 
 
 " Life has no value as an end, but means : 
 An end deplorable ! a means divine!" 
 
 As a means of attaining future happiness ; as being 
 " The mighty basis of eternal bliss!" 
 
 And, 
 " Life makes the soul dependent on the dust." 
 
 (If considered as " an end" only.) 
 
 " Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres." 
 
 Which spirit may well do, even supposing it to be ma- 
 terial : it may have more than the volatility of gas. When 
 shall we get to the end of the attenuation of matter ? And 
 after all, what is matter ? O metaphysics, how near we ap- 
 proach to thee, without the possibility of arriving at thee ! 
 c 
 

 18 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Metaphysics seems to be a sort of lambent flame, that warms 
 and enlightens us, without our being able to touch it. 
 
 Of life, the poet says, 
 
 " If an age, it is a moment still : 
 A moment, or eternity's forgot." 
 
 For what given space of time will compare with eternity ? 
 
 Of death he says, 
 
 " Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts, 
 And life no joys, but what kind death improves." 
 
 So says reason and faith ; but still we cling to life, little as 
 we can know of 
 
 " That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne 
 No traveller returns" — fSkakspeare.J 
 
 To tell us what we can learn only from the gospel. En- 
 couraged by this, the poet triumphantly exclaims, 
 
 " Our day of dissolution ! name it right ; 
 
 'Tis our great pay-day ; 'tis our harvest, rich 
 
 And ripe ; what though the sickle, sometimes keen, 
 
 Just scars us, as we reap the golden grain ? 
 
 More than thy balm, O Gilead, heals the wound." 
 
 That is, if the " spirit" itself is not " wounded," beyond 
 the power of " bearing," or the possibility of healing. 
 
 After a continued and animated eulogium of death, the 
 poet ends with 
 
 " Death is the crown of life ; 
 Were death deny'd, poor man would live in vain ; 
 Were death deny'd, to live would not be life : 
 Were death deny'd, even fools would wish to die. 
 
young's night thoughts. 19 
 
 Death wounds to cure ; we fall ; we rise ; we reign ! 
 
 Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies ; 
 
 Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : 
 
 Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. 
 
 This king of terrors is the prince of peace. 
 
 When shall I die to vanity, pain, death? 
 
 When shall I die ? when shall I live for ever ?" 
 
 This is the language of reason, heightened by the colour- 
 ing of the imagination, and sanctioned by the authority of the 
 gospel. To this, however, our natural feelings oppose the 
 
 " To be or not to be ? that is the question : 
 
 To die, to sleep — 
 
 ***** 
 
 To sleep, perchance to dream — aye, there's the rub ; 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 Must give us pause. — There's the respect 
 That makes calamity of so long life : 
 
 i For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 
 ***** 
 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 
 To groan and sweat under a weary life, 
 But that the dread of something after death, 
 That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne 
 No traveller returns, puzzles the will, 
 And makes us rather bear the ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 
 c 2 
 

 20 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ;" &c. 
 
 ( Shakspeare.) 
 
 I know not whether this deserves to be put in opposition to 
 the much more reasonable and better founded arguments (as 
 founded on higher authority) of Young (who also combats 
 the fear of death), except as being the natural suggestions of 
 our feelings, and of our sense of the " unworthiness" which 
 deters, and of the " blindness" which disables us from " ask- 
 ing" for, and even receiving with confidence when offered to 
 us (little as we may have merited it), what we have so much 
 reason to wish for, and ought to make such efforts to deserve. 
 Perhaps, paradoxical as it may seem, the very hope of im- 
 mortality may make us more unwilling to part with a life 
 which is brightened with that hope, the sunshine of it, 
 clouded as it is apt to be. It is like tearing up the sheet- 
 anchor which fastens us to the bottom of life's ocean, on the 
 surface of which we are tossed by so many storms. Our fears 
 depress our thoughts to that bottom, instead of their being 
 elevated by the wings of hope, and the confidence of faith, to 
 those regions whither both should carry them. But there is 
 still buoyancy enough in them to prevent their total submer- 
 sion. Their spirituality, while that remains, will ensure their 
 rising. For that, therefore, they should prepare us. 
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 
 
 The poet goes on to " sing the sovereign cure" of " the 
 dread of death," by showing that the terrific accompaniment 
 of it, the " knell, the shroud," &c. are but 
 
 " The bugbears of a winter's eve, 
 The terrors of the living, not the dead." 
 
young's night thoughts. 21 
 
 Sometimes, however, the terrors of what may await the dead. 
 It is singular that the object of our fears should be held out 
 as that of our comfort. I mean the cessation of existence. 
 To remedy that fear, a future prospect is set in our view, and 
 the means of arriving at it shown to us. Perhaps there is 
 nothing on which reason and feeling are so apt to be at 
 variance with each other, as in considering the extinction of 
 life, which death is, as Young's poem is meant to show, and 
 with unanswerable arguments, more apparently than really. 
 There are, in fact, as many ways of alleviating, if not sub- 
 duing the fear of death, as there are of our being assailed by 
 it. The best defence against it is, no doubt, to be found in 
 religious faith, and a general reliance on the mercy of God, 
 and the promises of the gospel to those who fulfil its precepts, 
 and have a due veneration for him who gave them, and who 
 is recorded in it. All other defence must at least partake of 
 insensibility ; for what other solid ground is there of hope ? 
 To avail ourselves of its strength, we must first feel our own 
 weakness ; and will he do that, who never reflects ? or can 
 he who reflects, avoid doing it ? 
 
 The Deist may reason himself into a belief of the mercy of 
 God ; but he has no assurance of it ; in him, therefore, it is 
 mere matter of opinion ; and how often must he totter on the 
 brink of scepticism, and perhaps of atheism itself! He has 
 no authority to rely upon, no clue to lead him but what his 
 own imagination or reasoning traces out, and the unsteady 
 steps of his own variable feelings assist him in following. 
 He has no " crook" to guide him into the " ways of plea- 
 santness and the paths of peace." 
 
 To what the poet had said, he adds, that the terror of death 
 is still more unreasonable in old age, when the experience of 
 life should rather make us welcome, than fear death. 
 
 He says also, 
 But grant to life (and just it is to grant 
 
22 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 To lucky life) some perquisites of joy ; 
 A time there is, when like a thrice-told tale, 
 Long-rifled life of sweet can yield no more 
 But from our comment on the comedy, 
 Pleasing reflections on parts well sustain'd, 
 Or purpos'd emendations where we fail'd : 
 Or hopes of plaudits from our candid judge, 
 When, on their exit, souls are bid unrobe, 
 Toss Fortune back her tinsel, and her plume, 
 And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene." 
 
 Thus does the poet enliven his serious and sometimes 
 gloomy admonitions, with this scenic representation. But 
 serious, and even gloomy, as his admonitions and reflections 
 may be thought, there can be no question either of their truth 
 or their importance. 
 
 With this conviction, he says of the busiest occupations of 
 life, 
 
 " Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? 
 What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? 
 Earth's highest station ends in, ' Here he lies ;' 
 And ' dust to dust' concludes her noblest song." 
 
 Avarice he calls 
 
 " The rage canine of dying rich ; 
 Guilt's blunder ! and the loudest laugh of hell." 
 
 Avarice must have other excuses given for it than any 
 which reason can offer in its defence. It is indeed the im- 
 becility of reason. To feel the force of Young's arguments, 
 we must have an exciteable imagination, and some strength 
 of reason (or use of common sense) to support it. 
 
 " Man wants but little, nor that little long." 
 
young's night thoughts. 23 
 
 Man's necessary wants are indeed few and small; but 
 would the Creator have spread such a feast for him, if he did 
 not mean it to be enjoyed with moderation ? both as a gratifi- 
 cation of appetite, and a trial of reason. After these reflec- 
 tions, and others, on the mercies of recovery from sickness, 
 &c. bestowed on himself, he breaks out into the following 
 sublime apostrophe : — 
 
 " O thou great arbiter of life and death! 
 
 Nature's immortal, immaterial sun! 
 
 Whose all-prolific beam late call'd me forth 
 
 From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay 
 
 The worm's inferior, and in rank beneath 
 
 The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow, 
 
 To drink the spirit of the golden day, 
 
 And triumph in existence ; and could'st know 
 
 No motive but my bliss, and hast ordain'd 
 
 A rise and blessing ! with the patriarch's joy 
 r Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; 
 \ I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust ; 
 I Or life, or death, is equal ; neither weighs : 
 \ All weight in this — O let me live to thee !" 
 
 Does not the animation of such passages as this make 
 ample amends for all the gloom, obscurity, or redundancy 
 with which this poem can be reproached ? 
 
 But he says, 
 
 " Though nature's terrors, thus, may be represt, 
 
 Still frowns grim death ; guilt points the tyrant's spear. 
 
 And whence all human guilt? from death forgot." 
 
 Or despised, without a consciousness of innocence, a "murus 
 aheneus," to support us in that disregard. 
 
 Smarting with the wounds which this had drawn upon him, 
 he says, 
 

 24 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " Death's admonitions, like shafts upward shot, 
 
 More dreadful by delay ; the longer ere 
 
 They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound. 
 
 What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw ? 
 
 What healing hand can pour the balm of peace, 
 
 And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb ? 
 
 With joy, with grief, that healing hand I see." 
 
 In the great, the astonishing sacrifice of our Saviour and 
 Redeemer, who came upon earth to direct the attention of 
 man to the end of life, by his example and foreknowledge 
 (which even man may have of an event which is to happen at 
 some time) of his own death, and to give him an intimation 
 of his resurrection, in the visible proof he himself gave of it. 
 He then was the " first fruit" of what man may now be 
 assured of. Incomprehensible as this is to our understand- 
 ings, the truth of it is too well attested not to render our 
 belief of it indispensable, and of far too high importance not 
 to excite our greatest gratitude, and to receive both " with joy 
 and with grief" the benefit conferred upon us ; with joy for that 
 benefit, with grief for the dreadful circumstances that attended 
 it, as they are justly described by the poet to have been. 
 
 " Draw the dire steel — ah no ! — the dreadful blessing 
 What heart or can sustain, or dares forego ?" 
 
 Necessary as it was for our redemption, however little we 
 may be able to comprehend it. We know the facts of our 
 blessed Saviour's life and passion ; we know his miracles ; 
 we know his declarations ,• we know the excellence of his cha- 
 racter ; we know all that was predicted concerning him ,• we 
 know the fact of his resurrection and ascension ; and we 
 know what were the sufferings of the martyrs, who had been 
 eye-witnesses, or immediate ear-witnesses, of all that they at- 
 tested. What more would we know, to authorize and require 
 
young's night thoughts. 25 
 
 our belief that he was divine ? The precepts he has given 
 are of themselves sufficient to show it. 
 
 Impressed by all this, the poet says, 
 " To feel, is to be fired : 
 
 
 Religion not being less addressed to the feelings, than the 
 reason. What well-disposed Christian then will not say, 
 " Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief " ? or will attempt 
 to depreciate or lower that belief to which his reason is sub- 
 mitted, not violated by it. What can he substitute in lieu of 
 it, but the dictates of that reason, fallible and perverted as it 
 is by him ? Well may that be incomprehensible to us, which 
 " the angels themselves desire to look into;" an assertion 
 which was no more made " in a corner," than the " things 
 were done" which it alluded to : and truth is best seen in 
 open day-light. These things may be " foolishness" to some, 
 and " a stumbling-block" to others; but to those who be- 
 lieve, after due examination, they show " the power, the 
 wisdom, and the mercy of God." When we consider the 
 mystery of our redemption, and the authorities that confirm 
 it, we must feel that we cannot be too grateful for the bless- 
 ings it has bestowed upon us, nor too earnest in our endea- 
 vours to avail ourselves of them, by following the precepts 
 that have been given to us, which will be the surest, and 
 indeed the only way to obtain the favour of God, and the hap- 
 piness that has been promised to us on these conditions. For, 
 says the poet, 
 
 " A God all mercy is a God unjust." 
 
 There is an apparent boldness in thus laying ourselves 
 open to his justice, when we have so much need of his mercy j 
 but can we deny any of his attributes? This justice re- 
 quired 
 
26 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " The fund of heaven, 
 Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund," 
 
 For which there was a full demand, to 
 
 " Pour forth a price," 
 For what was 
 
 " All price beyond." 
 
 That is, the redemption of man. Let us not attempt to 
 explore the mystery, but believe it, on the evidence which 
 attests its truth : open our hearts to receive it, nor aim at a 
 knowledge, which " archangels faiFd" to gain. 
 
 The facts are before us ; let us decide upon them. Let us 
 leave the rest to 
 
 " That parent power, 
 Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to soar, 
 
 The soul to be." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " And shall not praise be his, not human praise, 
 While heaven's high hosts on hallelujahs live ?" 
 
 As we may well suppose them to do, for what but spiritual 
 food can they require ? 
 
 He then allows himself, as the Psalmist does, to ramble (in 
 imagination) in search of the " mighty mind," which produced 
 the wonders of the creation ; to which he subjoins, 
 
 " What mean these questions ? — trembling I retract; 
 
 My prostrate soul adores the present God ! 
 
 Praise I a distant Deity ? He tunes 
 
 My voice (if tuned ;) the nerve that writes, sustains ; 
 
 Wrapp'd in his Being, I resound his praise. 
 
 But though past all diffus'd, without a shore, 
 
 His essence ; local is his throne, as must, 
 
\ 
 
 young's night thoughts. 27 
 
 To gather the disperst, as standards call 
 The listed from afar, to fix a point, 
 A central point, collective of his sons, 
 Since finite every nature, but his own." 
 
 For this (as I have said elsewhere) our imaginations may 
 find some probability, especially in Mons. Lambert's System 
 of Astronomy ; but to decide upon or to explain it, otherwise 
 than as Young does, is out of our power. 
 
 Young's imagination sometimes carries him beyond the 
 bounds of intelligence, as well it may, on such a subject ; we, 
 however, have a glimpse of his meaning, through all his 
 sublime obscurity; as he seems to have had, through the 
 telescope of his imagination, of the objects which he describes 
 in such glowing colours. 
 
 " The great First-Last ! pavilion'd high he sits 
 In darkness from excessive splendor, borne 
 By gods unseen, unless through lustre lost." 
 
 Lustre not their own — unseen, from want of power of vision 
 — but Job says, "in my flesh shall I see God." 
 
 After dwelling on these transcendent objects, and on the 
 reasons which man has to believe and to be grateful for what 
 has been done for him, he says, 
 
 " O how is man enlarg'd, 
 Seen through this medium ! how the pigmy towers ! 
 How counterpois'd his origin from dust ! 
 How counterpois'd, to dust his sad return ! 
 How voided his vast distance from the skies ! 
 How near he presses on the seraph's wing! 
 
 What more can a seraph be, than the '* image of God V 
 These effusions the poet follows by asking, 
 "Is this extravagant ? of man we form 
 
 Which is the seraph ? which the born of clay V 
 
28 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Extravagant conceptions, to be just ; 
 Conception unconfin'd wants wings to reach him ; 
 Beyond its reach the Godhead only more." 
 
 This may be true, if it is true, as Young says elsewhere, 
 " Start'st thou at mysteries? The greatest thou." 
 
 Will this allow the " yvc»9t atavrov ?" * Yes, in some de- 
 gree. Young had said before, 
 
 " Man! know thyself, all wisdom centers there." 
 
 The poet (for surely he is one) goes on, inspired by his sub- 
 ject, to assimilate " angels and men 5 ' to each other, and, as 
 both must have the same object, he says, 
 
 " Religion's all. Descending from the skies 
 To wretched man, the goddess in her left 
 Holds out this world, and in her right the next : 
 Religion ! the sole voucher man is man ; 
 Supporter sole of man above himself ; 
 Even in this night of frailty, change, and death, 
 She gives the soul a soul that acts a god. 
 Religion ! Providence ! an after- state ! 
 Here is firm footing, here is solid rock ; 
 This can support us : all is sea besides ; 
 Sinks under us, bestorms, and then devours. 
 His hand the good man fastens on the skies, 
 And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl." 
 
 " Si fractus illabatur orbis, 
 Impavidum ferient ruinee." 
 
 The sentiment is much the same, but with the superiority of 
 religious faith in the Christian. The enthusiastic termination 
 of Young's reasoning surely cannot be blamed, if we make the 
 
 * Know thyself. 
 
young's night thoughts. 29 
 
 proper distinction between the ardent feelings of the mind, 
 and the infirmities of the body. In one we have the " divinse 
 particula aurae" given us; in the other, the eye of Pro- 
 vidence has " numbered even the hairs of our heads." The 
 exercise of our reason is the best guide that we can have in 
 the use of the first, and that of our faith (reasonable faith) in 
 our belief of, and reliance upon the second ; an omniscient 
 Providence must know the minutest concerns of his creatures. 
 This sublime and most interesting subject, far as it is above 
 the reach of man's comprehension, and only within that of his 
 wishes, hopes, and feelings, and his efforts to arrive finally at 
 their object, by the means here pointed out, carries the poet 
 from the highest abodes of divinity, down to these lower sub- 
 lunary regions, to which our Saviour and Redeemer descended 
 to assume the human form, and by his doctrines, his miracles, 
 the example of his most moral, religious, and beneficent life, 
 and his final sacrifice of it, followed by his resurrection and 
 ascension, to lead his followers to, and prepare them for, their 
 future ascent also to the abodes of eternal happiness in heaven, 
 after the trials they have undergone, and, with his assistance, 
 sustained on earth. This might well excite the poet's most 
 enthusiastic expressions of gratitude and praise, mixed with 
 all the astonishment and consequent hesitation of belief, which 
 is finally overpowered by the evidence that has been given of 
 the truth of our religion, and the necessary accordance of our 
 reason and our feelings, when neither are perverted in that 
 belief. The latter, as first excited, call forth the first effusion 
 of the poet's sense of them, which has all the sanction that his 
 reason can give it, for he says, 
 
 " Wear I the blessed cross, by fortune stampt 
 On passive nature, before thought was born ? 
 My birth's blind bigot ! fir'd with local zeal ! 
 No ; reason rebaptiz'd me when adult ; 
 Weigh'd true and false, in her impartial scale ; 
 
 6 
 
30 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 My heart became the convert of my head, 
 And made that choice, which once was but my fate : 
 On argument alone my faith is built : 
 Reason pursu'd is faith, and unpursu'd 
 Where proof invites, 'tis reason then no more : 
 And such our proof, that, or our faith is right, 
 Or reason lies, and heaven design'd it wrong : 
 Absolve we this ? what, then, is blasphemy ?" 
 
 Admitting this, as we surely must admit it, the poet is fully 
 justified in saying, 
 
 " Wrong not the Christian, think not reason yours : 
 (Addressing himself to unbelievers) 
 
 'Tis reason our great Master holds so dear ; 
 'Tis reason's injur'd rights his wrath resents ; 
 'Tis reason's voice obey'd his glories crown, 
 To give lost reason life, he pour'd his own. 
 Believe, and taste the pleasure of a God ; 
 Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb ; 
 Through reason's wound alone thy faith can die : 
 Which dying, tenfold terror gives to death, 
 And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting." 
 
 True, for what can give us more remorse than the sense of 
 having abused our reason ? and the abuse may lead to the com- 
 mission of every crime. The first effect is in producing the 
 infidelity which naturally follows the abuse or neglect of our 
 reason, much as our nature wants its guidance and admonition. 
 
 This abuse of reason, which, says the poet, " idolizes and 
 vilifies" at once, then " kills," and afterwards " deifies it," 
 (for reason is destroyed when too highly exalted) makes the 
 infidels 
 
young's night thoughts. 31 
 
 " Draw pride's curtain o'er the noontide ray, 
 (Reason's brightest sunshine) 
 
 Spike up their inch of reason, on the point 
 
 Of philosophic wit, call'd argument : 
 
 And then, exulting in their taper, cry, 
 
 1 Behold the sun! and, Indian-like, adore.' " 
 
 This is an example of the 
 
 " Ridiculum acri 
 Fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res." 
 
 So powerful is the imagination, when assisted by reason, in 
 using and directing its weapons in defence of the cause it 
 espouses. Encouraged by these auxiliaries, the poet triumph- 
 antly exclaims, 
 
 " A Christian is the highest style of man ; 
 
 And is there, who the blessed cross wipes off, 
 
 As a foul blot, from his dishonour'd brow ? 
 
 If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight : 
 
 The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge ; 
 
 More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell ?" 
 
 The feelings of angels may be similar to ours, though not 
 so painful. Milton frees them from pain (rather improbably, 
 I think) by representing them as, 
 
 " When mixt 
 With pity, violating not their bliss." 
 
 But pity is sympathy, and sympathy is fellow-suffering. 
 Addressing himself to the 
 
 " Sold to sense, the citizens of earth," 
 
 for, says he, 
 
32 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " Such alone the Christian banner fly," 
 
 he represents to them the little consequence that all their 
 earthly pursuits are of, in comparison with " eternity/' which, 
 he says, " is all." 
 
 " And whose eternity ? who triumphs there ? 
 
 Bathing for ever in the font of bliss ! 
 
 For ever basking in the Deity ! 
 
 Lorenzo ! who ? Thy conscience shall reply, 
 
 give it leave to speak ; 'twill speak ere long, 
 Thy leave unask'd ; Lorenzo, hear it now, 
 
 While useful its advice, its accents mild." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 In this strain he goes on, ending with, 
 
 " Ye deaf to truth! peruse this parson'd page, 
 And trust, for once, a prophet, and a priest: 
 Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die." 
 
 For then there will be nothing to interpose itself between 
 them and their consciences, the stings of which may be "en- 
 venomed" by their recollections. 
 /- Young presses to his object, through all the enthusiastic 
 / workings of feeling and of imagination, that the object so 
 powerfully excites ; and if his reader's imagination is also 
 warmed, and his attention fixed, I think he will generally, if 
 not always, keep pace with him, both in intelligence and in 
 , feeling. His " thoughts," deep and sublime as the " night" 
 
 1 they were written in, will both 
 
 I* Play round the head, and penetrate the heart." 
 
young's night thoughts. 33 
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH 
 
 Begins with an admirable answer to some criticisms of 
 Lorenzo's, to which the poet replies, 
 
 " Lorenzo ! to recriminate is just, 
 
 Fondness of fame is avarice of air. 
 
 I grant the man is vain, who writes for praise : 
 
 Praise no man e'er deserv'd, who sought no more." 
 
 unless he sought it as Horace did, 
 
 " Delectando, pariterque monendo." 
 
 as Young has done. 
 
 " As just thy second charge, I grant the muse 
 
 Has often blush'd at her degenerate sons, 
 
 Retain'd by sense" (sensuality) " to plead her filthy cause, 
 
 To raise the low, to magnify the mean, 
 
 And subtilize the gross into refin'd ; 
 
 As if to magic numbers' powerful charm 
 
 'Twas given, to make a civet of their song 
 
 Obscene, and sweeten ordure to perfume. 
 
 Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute, 
 
 And lifts our swine enjoyments from the mire." 
 
 The use of wit was never better exercised than in censuring 
 the abuse of it, which is amply done here. In fact, there is 
 nothing more licentious, more tempting, and therefore more 
 dangerous, than wit when ill employed. It lessens, if not puts 
 an end to, our veneration for the most sacred things, and 
 destroys all serious thought, all rational reflection : for it con- 
 founds, and puts on the same level, all the objects of the love 
 or hatred, the attachment to, or avoidance of, both ; all those 
 
34 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 objects being amalgamated together by wit, which has the 
 power of overcoming or reversing all moral attraction or 
 repulsion. 
 
 The poet goes on to investigate the " causes" of all this 
 perversion and confusion. He says, first, that 
 
 " We wear the chains of pleasure, and of pride, 
 These share the man ; and these distract him too, 
 Draw different ways, and clash in their commands ; 
 Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars ; 
 But pleasure, lark-like, nests upon the ground." 
 
 Alas, must we vilify the most beautiful of the animal crea- 
 tion, to assimilate them to their lord and master, man ? but they 
 will not abuse their instinct, however man does his reason. 
 
 " Joys, shar'd by brute creation, pride resents ; 
 Pleasure embraces ; man would both enjoy, 
 And both at once, a point how hard to gain !" 
 
 Reason has the power of regulating and reconciling both ; 
 how valuable then is her assistance ! 
 
 " Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprise." 
 
 Which she accomplishes, not by reconciling, but by con- 
 founding both, as Young goes on to shew. In the pleasures 
 of conviviality, where there is a temporary exultation, she 
 calls Bacchus to her assistance, who, as the catch says, 
 
 " Gave the charter, 
 That a man should barter 
 Wisdom and his health, for the joys of — a swine." 
 
 And 
 " Joys of sense can't rise to reason's taste," 
 unless she mixes the draught herself. 
 
young's night thoughts. 35 
 
 But, disgusted with the insipidity of this, 
 
 " Man smiles in ruin, glories in his guilt, 
 And infamy stands candidate for praise." 
 
 What can exceed Young's strength and acuteness ? So 
 heightened are his powers by the elevation of their object. He 
 rises still higher, however, in carrying us by his 
 
 " Solemn counsels, images of awe," to 
 " Truths, which eternity lets fall on man 
 With double weight, through these revolving spheres," 
 
 [The celestial bodies, that illuminated and inspired his 
 " Night Thoughts."] 
 
 " This death-like silence, and incumbent shade," 
 
 [Turn not away from this picture, gay reader, if you are not 
 quite a Lorenzo.] 
 
 " Thoughts such as shall revisit your last hour, 
 
 Visit uncall'd, and live when life expires." 
 
 [And is there no benefit for those who may want it — and 
 who does not ? — in these anticipations, which — but read it, 
 again I say to my gay readers, if I have such, and if they have 
 any taste or feeling, for what I faintly endeavour to extol — 
 read it, though it ends, if ending it may be called, with this 
 severe admonition :] 
 
 ST*** «.«.-«* Wow. 
 
 Her tender nature suffers in a crowd, 
 Nor touches on the world without a stain ; 
 The w r orld's infectious, few bring back, at eve, 
 Immaculate, the manners of the morn." 
 
 This, however, is not unexceptionably, or unrestrictiveljv 
 true ; for both good and evil may be learned in the world, 
 d 2 
 
( 
 
 36 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 and afterwards meditated upon, between " morn and eve," or 
 in their night thoughts, with their faithful counsellor, the 
 pillow. 
 
 These varied thoughts, and these sublime objects, naturally 
 suggest an apostrophe to the "blest Spirit," who created and 
 rules the whole, and 
 
 " Who, studious of our peace, doth turn the thought 
 From vain and vile, to solid and sublime !" 
 
 The poet pursues his subject, till he has in a manner ex- 
 hausted it, or at least drawn much of the spirit out of it, of 
 which, however, much still remains unexpressed; and he 
 fulfils Horace's precept, 
 
 " Servetur ad imum 
 Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet." 
 
 or rather he improves upon it, in the expansions of his fertile 
 and vivifying imagination. He draws another delightful pic- 
 ture, in saying, 
 
 11 The conscious moon, through every distant age, 
 Has held a lamp to wisdom, and let fall 
 On contemplation's eye, her purging ray." 
 
 This is followed by some beautiful thoughts, as beautifully 
 expressed, on nightly meditations and their utility, which 
 Young had so strongly felt himself (" the famed Athenian, 
 Plato," could not have felt it more), and must have so fully 
 impressed on those who read and relish his sublime poem ; 
 and he continues this with all the luxuriance and energy of 
 his poetic vein ,♦ lamenting, however (certainly more than it 
 deserved, for we can only infer from it that he felt even more 
 than he expressed), his own want of power, saying, at the 
 same time, 
 
 " 'Tis vain for man to seek for more than man." 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 6i 
 
 Yes, but man should endeavour to make the most of his 
 own powers, as Young has evidently done in this his favourite 
 work. His case entitled him to say, 
 
 " If wisdom is our lesson (and what else 
 Ennobles man ? what else have angels learnt ?) 
 Grief! more proficients in thy school are made, 
 Than genius, or proud learning, ere could boast." 
 
 This, too, he pursues with all the amusing variety of meta- 
 phors that his imagination could suggest, and ends with saying, 
 
 " Wisdom less shudders at a fool, than wit." 
 
 And well it may, for wit and wisdom are generally at vari- 
 ance with each other. The wit may be " wise in his own 
 conceit ;" but Solomon has told us, " that there is more hope 
 of a fool than of such." Wit, when ill employed, dazzles too 
 much to let a ray of reason pierce through its false glare. 
 Reason enlightens, wit blinds. 
 
 But, says Young, 
 
 " Wisdom smiles, when humbled mortals weep." 
 
 Yes, wisdom is often, as Gray's " Ode to Adversity" so 
 beautifully expresses it, 
 
 " In sable garb array 'd, 
 With keenly searching look profound." 
 
 and it makes us find that " it is good for us to have been in 
 trouble." After dwelling upon, and exemplifying this, and 
 saying that " worldly wisdom and divine differ," 
 
 " Just as the waning and the waxing moon ; 
 More empty worldly wisdom every day ; 
 And every day more fair her rival shines." 
 (another of Young's beautiful similes.) 
 
38 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 He instances the life of the " good man," of whom he says, 
 
 " O let me die his death ! all nature cries : 
 ' Then live his life'— * all nature falters there. 
 Our great Physician daily to consult, 
 To commune with the grave, our only cure." 
 
 For a disorder that meets with so many inflammatories in 
 the enjoyments and business of life, that " feverish dream," 
 that will not suffer us to wake till it closes. Young goes on 
 to say, 
 
 " What grave prescribes the best ? a friend's ; and yet, 
 
 From a friend's grave how soon we disengage !" 
 
 * * * & 
 
 " Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both 
 Combin'd, can break the witchcrafts of the world." 
 
 Severe as this may be, I fear there is too much truth in it ; 
 enough, at least, to call for the poet's admonitory caution 
 against suffering these " witchcrafts" to do more than fit us 
 for the business of encountering, without being seduced by 
 them. And witches are not all old women. 
 
 Human life is so crowded with varying facts and events, 
 that it hardly allows time or room for the mind to combine or 
 to reason generally upon them. If the ideas of them are asso- 
 ciated, it is often more from a concurrence of the times when 
 they took place, than from any analogy between them ; and 
 this adds to the difficulty of the combinations ; so that every 
 man's memory is, more or less, what the French punningly 
 call, " une memoire d'aubergiste." As Young says, 
 
 " Is it that life has sown her joys so thick, 
 
 We can't thrust in a single care between ? 
 
 Is it, that life has such a swarm of cares, 
 
 The thought of death can't enter for the throng ?" 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 39 
 
 Is it, that time steals on with downy feet, 
 Nor wakes indulgence from her golden dream ? 
 To-day is so like yesterday, it cheats ; 
 We take the lying sister for the same." 
 
 So that our minds are as much confounded by the simi- 
 larity, as by the variety of occurrences. 
 
 Still unable to solve this problem, he shews its final con- 
 clusion by saying, that 
 
 11 On a sudden we perceive a shock ; 
 Then start, awake, look out ; what see we there ? 
 Our brittle bark is burst on Charon's shore." 
 
 We have, however, our warnings of this, and sometimes, it 
 is to be hoped, profit by them ; and will not even a little profit 
 be accepted ? 
 
 If we are insensible to them, and to all such arguments as 
 are used in this sublime poem, and above all to the declarations 
 of the Gospel, and the facts and examples recorded in it, and 
 foretold by the prophets, and to the constancy with which the 
 early Christian martyrs testified their belief in them, by under- 
 going the most painful deaths, we shall have little reason to 
 hope for that mercy which is reserved even for " the eleventh 
 hour." But that belief which is so imperfect as to extort from 
 us the address of " Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief," 
 will, we may hope, obtain for us, if our lives are conformable 
 to it, the mercy which, we are told, " reacheth unto the 
 heavens." And how many are the sinners who are not too 
 hardened or too proud to " confess their sins," who, " few" 
 as the " chosen" may be, will be comprehended in it ! 
 
 But the last case which the poet adverts to, will, it is to be 
 feared, often place out of the reach of mercy, those who commit 
 the dreadful act of " suicide," of which he speaks with all the 
 horror and indignation it deserves. He says of it, 
 
40 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " I grant the deed 
 Is madness ; but the madness of the heart : 
 And what is that ? our utmost bound of guilt." 
 
 He had said before that it must be either satiety or privation 
 of worldly and sensual pleasures, that prepare men for this 
 desperate act, and makes them 
 
 " Thus bold to break 
 Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rush 
 Through sacred Nature's murder, on their own ; 
 Because they never think of death, they die." 
 
 That is, because they had never thought of death as the 
 proper "visitation of God," and therefore not to be anti- 
 cipated by their own voluntary act. 
 
 " Less base the fear of death, than fear of life." 
 
 The suicide rushes on death, because he fears a life of 
 remorse or of suffering ; the patient Christian (and the greatest 
 courage is passive) fears death because he knows not to what 
 it may lead, if he has not prepared himself for it by a life of 
 piety, patience, and resignation. Those who are not thus pre- 
 pared, either rush on death, which they dare not " think" 
 seriously of, or live on, in the hope that its sudden visitation 
 will save them from the pain of thinking, and its attendant 
 terrors, without any better hope that may alleviate them. The 
 Christian meets his death in hope ; the suicide anticipates his 
 in despair. This, however, will apply only to deliberate 
 suicide : in cases of absolute insanity, the act itself is pardon- 
 able, if not blameless, and may be considered as another 
 " visitation of God ;" and the culpability will rest on the pre- 
 vious conduct of the suicide, as far as it led to his insanity 
 and self-destruction. For 
 
young's night thoughts. 41 
 
 " A sensual, unreflecting life, is big 
 
 With monstrous births, and suicide, to crown 
 
 The black, infernal brood." 
 
 How far all this will "shut the gates of mercy," and ex- 
 clude the individual from the number of those to whom God 
 " will show it," He only can judge. The poet goes on to say, 
 
 " "lis equally man's duty, glory, gain, 
 At once to shun, and meditate his end." 
 
 which, says he, is best done, 
 
 " When by the bed of languishment we sit, 
 
 (The seat of wisdom, if our choice, not fate) 
 
 Or o'er our dying friends in anguish hang," &c. &c. 
 
 Stop not here, O reader, if you have the book in your hand, 
 and turn not away from the rest of this affecting representa- 
 tion, if it comes not too home to your own feelings. 
 
 After viewing this subject in various lights, and citing ex- 
 amples of various conduct in it, in which all the flow of 
 Young's imagination displays itself, he says that 
 
 " Half round the globe, the tears pumpt up by death 
 Are spent in watering vanities of life ; 
 In making folly flourish still more fair." 
 
 [In the solaces resorted to, the ostentation of mourning, &c] 
 
 He contrasts this with the permanence of his own grief for 
 the loss of " Narcissa," of whom he says, 
 
 " Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, 
 She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven." 
 
 How just is this simile, in all its particulars ! He dwells 
 on his recollection of her, and the tears which the softening 
 effects of grief force to flow ; but says that 
 
42 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs 
 Around us falling, wounded oft ourselves ; 
 Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal still." 
 [adhuc immortal], and though 
 
 " We see time's furrows on another's brow, 
 And death intrench'd, preparing his assault ;" 
 yet still, 
 
 " How few themselves, in that just mirror, see ! 
 Or seeing, draw their inference as strong!" 
 
 This ends with a metaphor, somewhat too forced : 
 " Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve." 
 
 This would be fitter for a caricature than a representation. 
 Reasoning more to the point, he says, 
 
 *' Absurd longevity ! more, more, it cries ; 
 
 More life, more wealth, more trash of every kind ! 
 
 And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails ?" 
 
 These " bawbles," however, are among the best that life (as 
 life) affords ; and they certainly were not given for nothing. 
 Does not too rigid a comparison between the two lives, ex- 
 clude some at least of the pleasures of this ? But Young 
 wrote by star-light. 
 
 To support his reasoning, he says, 
 
 " Think you, the soul, when this life's rattles cease, 
 Has nothing of more manly to succeed ? 
 Contract the taste immortal ; learn even now 
 To relish what alone subsists hereafter : 
 Divine, or none, henceforth your joys for ever, 
 Of age the glory is, to wish to die." 
 
young's night thoughts. 43 
 
 Well, we may concede this to old age, in which, however, 
 " the wish to die," is hardly consistent with resignation, nor 
 yet with the enjoyments that still remain, in which, indeed, 
 there are moments when we look forward to better prospects, 
 encouraged too by the feelings which Nature's beauties excite, 
 and the bounty which they manifest in the Creator. With 
 these enjoyments, 
 
 " Peace and esteem is all that age can hope ; 
 Nothing but wisdom gives the first ; the last 
 Nothing but the repute of being wise : 
 Folly bars both ; our age is then undone." 
 
 To attain or prevent these consequences, he says that 
 
 " Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat 
 Defects of judgment, and the will subdue ; 
 Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore 
 Of that vast ocean it must sail on soon ; 
 And put good works on board, and wait the wind 
 That shortly blows us into worlds unknown ; 
 If unconsider'd too, a dreadful scene !" 
 
 This is consistent enough with the reasonable enjoyment of 
 society (narrowed as its circle is towards the end of life) 
 without which we could not shew our example to others ; but 
 to do that to too many, would be ostentation ; nor, indeed, do 
 old people generally desire it ; such is providential adaptation. 
 Surely, the justness, animation, and vivacity of Young's | 
 thoughts and expressions make ample amends for their gloom 
 and asperity. He then urges Lorenzo to consider all this, 
 and passes again to Narcissa, calling on her (as seen in his 
 " mind's eye") to 
 
 " Aid him to keep pace 
 With destiny ; and ere her scissars cut 
 
44 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 His thread of life, to break the tougher thread 
 Of moral death, that ties him to the world." 
 
 If this is so, it is not only " one death" that we are in, " in 
 the midst of life." We should, indeed, be " dead to sin, but 
 alive to righteousness." This is the life that will last for ever. 
 Young then looks round the world, to see that 
 
 " Man, like a stream, is in perpetual flow ; 
 Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey." 
 
 To supply the vacancy made by this voracious destruction of 
 every succeeding generation, and in almost every day, it may 
 be said that 
 
 '* Novus saeclorum nascitur ordo." 
 Perhaps part of my readers will agree with me in hoping that 
 this may be peculiarly applied to the enactment of the lately 
 passed reform bill, June 1832. Is this too minute an object 
 for insertion in Young's general panorama of time, as far as 
 regards this world? I think not; and the destinies of one we 
 know are connected with those of the other. 
 
 Young then calls on the 
 
 " Partners of his fault and his decline." 
 
 [His fault in not preparing for the event towards which his 
 decline was bringing him] saying to them, 
 
 " That death you dread (so great is Nature's skill) 
 Know you shall court, before you shall enjoy." 
 
 . This, however, would depend upon their greater or less 
 longevity. But this, he says, they drive from their thoughts 
 by the pursuits of learning (every thing but what they ought 
 to learn, so severe he is both upon himself and others) and 
 much of what " need not be known," and (worse) what 
 makes them " sink in virtue as they rise in fame." Death, 
 however, is still at hand, as " his joy supreme" is 
 
young's night thoughts. 45 
 
 " To bid the wretch survive the fortunate, 
 The feeble, wrap the athletic in his shroud, 
 And weeping fathers build their children's tomb ; 
 Me thine, Narcissa ! what though short thy date ? 
 Virtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures ; 
 That life is long, which answers life's great end." 
 
 But death takes more than Lorenzo was disposed to " give 
 him, the young and gay," as well as " the wretched and the 
 old" — " and plunder is a tyrant's joy." 
 
 " Thus runs death's dread commission ! strike, but so 
 
 As most alarms the living by the dead. 
 
 Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise, 
 
 And cruel sport with men's securities." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " Most happy they, whom least his arts deceive ; 
 One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven, 
 Becomes a mortal, and immortal man." 
 
 [As we have two natures, the "■ mind's eye" may have two 
 objects ; and there cannot well be a less variety of mental 
 than of bodily " food."] 
 
 " Long on his wiles, a piqu'd and jealous spy, 
 I've seen, or dreamt I've seen, the tyrant dress ; 
 Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles." 
 
 " The farthest from the fear 
 Are often nearest to the stroke of fate." 
 
 Which is exemplified in the description of " Death," as 
 assuming the form of a " gay masquerader," and 
 
 " Treading in pleasure's footsteps round the world, 
 When pleasure treads the paths, which reason shuns," 
 
46 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 And when he has multiplied his followers, and 
 
 " When fear is banish'd, and triumphant thought, 
 Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, 
 Against him turns the key, and bids him sup 
 With their progenitors." 
 
 [Whom perhaps he had destroyed in the same manner.] 
 
 "He drops his mask ; 
 Frowns out at full ; they start, despair, expire." 
 
 This is a fearful picture, but only true 
 
 " When pleasure treads the paths which reason shuns." 
 
 And reason allows the enjoyment of pleasure in a moderate 
 degree, but not, perhaps, at a " masquerade," and certainly 
 still less, 
 
 " Where, against reason, riot shuts the door, 
 And gaiety supplies the place of sense. 
 There, foremost at the banquet, and the ball, 
 Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die, 
 Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown." 
 
 Such is the fate of the votaries of pleasure, or rather of 
 licentiousness; for certainly these pleasures are not of the 
 kind — " which neither blushes nor expires." 
 
 Authorised by this, the poet cautions Lorenzo against 
 
 " Wrapping his soul 
 In soft security, because unknown 
 Which moment is commission'd to destroy. 
 In death's uncertainty thy danger lies ; 
 Is death uncertain ? therefore thou be fixt ; 
 Fixt as a sentinel, all eye, all ear, 
 All expectation of the coming foe. 
 
young's night thoughts. 47 
 
 Rouse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy s'pear ; 
 
 Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul, 
 
 And fate surprise thee nodding. Watch, be strong ; 
 
 Thus give each day the merit, and renown, 
 
 Of dying well, though doom'd but once to die. 
 
 Nor let life's period, hidden (as from most) 
 
 Hide too from thee the precious use of life." 
 
 Then again he returns to " Narcissa," strengthening his 
 admonitions by the example of her " early, not sudden fate," 
 for which she was prepared, with all the " fortune, youth, and 
 gaiety/' that she was possessed of. Insensible as he finds 
 Lorenzo of this (and how many Lorenzos are there !) the poet 
 says to him, 
 
 " What makes men wretched? happiness denied? 
 Lorenzo ! no, 'tis happiness disdain'd : 
 She comes too meanly drest to win our smiles, 
 And calls herself Content, a homely name ! 
 Our flame is transport, and content our scorn. 
 Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her, 
 And weds a toil, a tempest, in her stead. 
 A tempest to warm transport near of kin. 
 Unknowing what our mortal state admits, 
 Life's modest joys we ruin, while we raise ; 
 And all our extacies are wounds to peace ; 
 Peace, the full portion of mankind below." 
 
 That is, as far as " the world can give it ;" what it cannot,, 
 we pray for in our Liturgy. Our worldly peace, however, we 
 often sacrifice to the pursuit either of fortune or happiness, 
 such as the poet instances in the case of " Lysander and 
 Aspasia," promising as it was, when 
 
 " In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were blest ; 
 All who knew, envied ; yet in envy lov'd : 
 
48 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Can fancy form more finisli'd happiness ? 
 Fixt was the nnptial hour." 
 
 But prevented by the shipwreck of Lysander, followed by 
 the death of his bride. This recals to the poet's mind the 
 loss of Narcissa and Philander, and he ends with 
 
 " And is it then to live ? when such friends part, 
 'Tis the survivor dies — my heart ! no more." 
 
 I think the want of pathos, imputed to Young by those 
 who, perhaps, dislike to attend to his admonitions, is by no 
 means just, for he wrote as if he felt, though he may not 
 please them by the expression of his feelings, any more than 
 he does by his admonitions. But if they will not feel one, I 
 should doubt their capability of feeling the other. I am 
 almost inclined to think, that the dislike of some (of the gay 
 at least) is to the nocturnal contemplations of this poem. 
 They had rather spend their nights under the glare of gas 
 lights, globe lamps, &c. They have no minds for star or 
 moon-light meditations. 
 
 But we are all fellow-sufferers as well as fellow-sinners, and 
 should have a fellow-feeling for the faults as well as the virtues 
 of others, which we shall, if we are not sour-headed or self- 
 conceited mortals, and do not " snatch the balance and the 
 rod from the hand" of our Creator and Judge. There is not, 
 perhaps, a single merit that we can claim to ourselves. 
 Horace's " causa fuit pater his," will be properly applied to 
 the " Pater qui est in ccelo," The only thing remaining for 
 us, is the sense of not having sufficiently availed ourselves of 
 what has been given to us. 
 
 " Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum." 
 
 So much will have been " left undone" in the general account. 
 Competition, however, has its advantages here, as well as in 
 trade. Such is the ' ' mixed yarn of the web" of our nature. 
 
young's night thoughts. 49 
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 
 
 Again the poet dwells upon the subject of his losses, in- 
 tense and forcible as his feelings and expression of them are, 
 opposing, however, to them their antidotes, of which the 
 thought of immortality is the first, and the sense of our dig- 
 nity which it inspires us with, saying, 
 
 " Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise. 
 His nature as man can o'er-rate, and none 
 Can under-rate his merit. Take good heed, 
 Nor there be modest, where thou shouldst be proud ; 
 That almost universal error shun. 
 How just our pride, when we behold these heights." 
 [Meaning, probably, the stars he was looking up to.] 
 
 " Not those ambition points in air, but those 
 Reason points out, and ardent virtue gains, 
 And angels emulate ; our pride how just !" 
 
 We should know how to value our nature, that we may act 
 up to its original purity. We are now more the objects of 
 mercy than of favour, and we must live in the hope of being 
 among those on whom " God will have mercy." This mercy 
 we can no more calculate upon, than upon the justice with 
 which it must be consistent. Whatever pride we may feel, as 
 being " the images of our Maker," we must look for its jus- 
 tification to Him who came down from heaven to save us : as 
 St. Paul says, "if we needs must glory, we must glory in 
 the cross." There shall we learn the value of the soul : a 
 value which, as Young afterwards says, 
 
 " Is writ in all the conduct of the skies." 
 
 E 
 
50 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Whether regarding 
 
 " The natural, civil, or religious world," 
 
 .all three being subservient to the great end of " rescuing souls 
 from death." 
 
 Here again he exerts the powers of his imagination and 
 feelings, in anticipating the enjoyments that the good may- 
 expect in a future life. 
 
 " In an eternity, what scenes shall strike ! 
 
 Adventures thicken ! novelties surprise ! 
 
 What webs of wonder shall unravel there ! 
 
 What full day pour on all the path of heaven, 
 
 And light the Almighty's footsteps in the deep !" &c. &c. 
 
 Magnificent as these ideas are, the two first seem to relate 
 too much to earthly enjoyments to be applied to celestial, in 
 which no ie adventures/' no " novelties/' are required to add 
 to the "fulness of joy" which must be found "in the pre- 
 sence (omnipresence) of God/' and will last for ever, in sing- 
 ing his praises, and admiring his works. 
 
 " Great ill is an achievement of great powers : 
 Plain sense but rarely lead us far astray." 
 
 It were well if this was more attended to ; but men of 
 " great powers," but little " plain sense," often neglect those 
 admonitions, and will not 
 
 " Let genius then despair to make them great — " 
 
 They 
 " Flatter station ; what is station high ? 
 'Tis a proud mendicant ; it boasts, and begs ; 
 It begs an alms of homage from the throng, 
 And oft the throng denies its charity." 
 
young's night thoughts. 51 
 
 As has been found by many who have depended solely upon 
 their rank, station, or riches to obtain this " charity" from 
 " the throng." Do not these want " reform ?" 
 
 The same may be said of 
 
 " Monarchs and ministers, those awful names ;" 
 
 whether they are ministers of state or of " religion," &c. to all 
 which we may bend the " knee," but — " all more is merit's 
 due :" and " merit's" alone. ' 
 
 " But what (says the poet) this sun of heaven ? 
 This bliss supreme of the supremely blest ? 
 Death, only death, the question can resolve." 
 [Why, then attempt to describe it?] 
 
 The means of attaining these he shews in the regulation and 
 restriction of ambition, love of gain, &c, saying, 
 
 " To doat on aught may leave us, or be left, 
 Is that ambition 1 then let flames descend, 
 Point to the centre their inverted spires, 
 And learn humiliation from a soul 
 That boasts her lineage from celestial fire." 
 
 [A little confusion of ideas here, perhaps ; but however — 
 
 " Yet these are they the world pronounces wise ; 
 The world, which cancels Nature's right and wrong, 
 And casts new wisdom ; even the grave man lends 
 His solemn face, to countenance the coin : 
 Wisdom for parts is madness for the whole." &c. &c. 
 
 This, however, is sufficiently intelligible ; in what preceded 
 it, the poet, perhaps, meant to imitate the confusion of worldly 
 estimation, by his way of describing it. Imagination is well 
 fitted for that. What follows will probabl also be understood 
 and admitted : 
 
 e 2 
 
52 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " Nothing can make it less than mad in man, 
 To put forth all his ardour, all his art, 
 And give his soul her full unbounded flight ; 
 But reaching Him, who gave her wings to fly." 
 
 Nor, perhaps, would any other object excite such efforts as 
 these ; all others would fail to satisfy : this would not, because 
 the incentive and the hope of satisfaction would remain to the 
 last, and would be an earnest of future satisfaction and reward. 
 
 In the pursuit of any other object, 
 
 " We glory grasp, and sink in infamy." 
 
 After thus describing ambition, and justly, if it is not in- 
 dulged to any useful purpose, he shews that alike is the pur- 
 suit of gain. He asks Lorenzo, 
 
 " Where thy true treasure ? gold says, ' not in me ;' 
 And ' not in me,' the diamond — gold is poor ; 
 India's insolvent" 
 
 [Surely for the payment of the price of true happiness.] 
 
 " Seek it in thyself; 
 Seek in thy naked self, and find it there ; 
 In being so descended, form'd, endow'd," 
 
 " Quod petis, in te est ; 
 Animus tibi si non deficit sequus." 
 
 Reason says this ; Christianity enforces it. 
 Dwelling on these powers in man, and saying that 
 
 " Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake, 
 Man makes the matchless image man admires." 
 
 He is surely right, if man is " the image of his Maker," in 
 the qualities he possesses, and perhaps in the exhibition of 
 
young's night thoughts. 53 
 
 them, in the " human face divine :" for can our ideas of ex- 
 pression rise higher ? 
 
 " Thee, beauty, thee 
 The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray, 
 The mossy roofs adore ; thou, better sun ! 
 For ever beamest on the enchanted heart 
 Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight 
 Poetic, brightest progeny of heaven !" &c. — (Akenside.) 
 
 So meet congenial minds. 
 
 But this external beauty must only be the " visible sign" 
 of an internal and spiritual beauty. Of — 
 
 " Virtue, our present peace, our future prize." 
 
 And Akenside also says, 
 
 " Mind, mind alone, bear witness, earth and heaven ! 
 The living fountains in itself contains 
 Of beauteous and sublime." &c. &c. 
 
 By the " endowments" which Young had spoken of, as 
 attached to the mind of man under his human form, being 
 together — 
 
 " Erect, immortal, rational, divine !" 
 
 he doubtless means religion (so graciously imparted to us by 
 the Gospel of Christ), wisdom, and virtue, the humanisers, as 
 their opposites are the brutalisers, of our species. He shows 
 the little comparative value or importance of worldly objects. 
 In the enjoyment of those of nature, however, he allows that 
 
 " Our senses, as our reason, are divine." 
 
 as they surely are ; for through their " magic organs" our 
 feeling and our reason are excited, expanded, and exalted. 
 But for the operation of both, 
 
54 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " Earth were a rude, uncoloured chaos still," 
 They (the senses) 
 
 / ** Give taste to fruits, and harmony to groves, 
 Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright sire," 
 [The sun.] 
 
 " Take in, at once, the landscape of the world, 
 At a small inlet, which a grain might close, 
 And half create the wondrous world they see." 
 
 Here again we are reminded of Akenside's animated and 
 beautiful description of the pleasure which natural objects 
 give us, of which, after asking from whence it is derived, 
 he says, 
 
 " Whence but from thee, 
 O source divine of ever-flowing love, 
 And thy unmeasur'd goodness ? Not content 
 With every food of life to nourish man, 
 By kind illusions of the wond'ring sense, 
 Thou mak'st all nature beauty to his eye, 
 Or music to his ear ; well-pleas'd he scans 
 The goodly prospect, and with inward smiles 
 Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain ; 
 Beholds the azure canopy of heaven, 
 And living lamps that over-arch his head 
 With more than regal splendour ; bends his ear 
 To the full choir of water, air, and earth ; 
 Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, 
 Nor doubts the painted green, or azure arch, 
 Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds, 
 Than space, or motion, or eternal time : 
 So sweet he feels their influence to attract 
 
YOUNG S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 55 
 
 The fixed soul ; to brighten the dull glooms 
 Of care, and make the destin'd road of life 
 Delightful to his feet." 
 
 We can feel more than we can express; and we can ex- 
 press what, it is to be feared, we do but imperfectly feel ; as 
 when we speak of the goodness of God. Poetry may awaken, 
 if it will not keep up, our feelings. And again, 
 
 " Ask the swain, 
 Who journeys homeward from a summer day's 
 Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils 
 And due repose, he loiters to behold 
 The sunshine gleaming, as through amber clouds, 
 O'er all the western sky ? Full soon, I ween, 
 His rude expression, and untutor'd airs, 
 Beyond the power of language, will unfold 
 The form of beauty smiling at his heart, 
 How lovely ! how commanding !" &c. &c. 
 
 What observer of " his kind" has not seen this exemplified ? 
 
 The " swain's untutor'd airs," the " music's mingling 
 sounds,' 5 when heard " in the full choir of water, air, and 
 earth," may be considered as an expression of praise and 
 thanksgiving, involuntary in the swain, instinctive in animals. 
 They have their best effect in a space so open or enclosed, as 
 the loudness and nature of the music requires. Thus the song 
 of the blackbird is heard farther, and is more pleasing when 
 so heard, than the less sonorous song of the thrush, and so of 
 other birds and animals ; for even the braying of an ass is not 
 altogether unpleasing, when heard at a sufficient distance, and 
 properly placed. So of domestic animals, most of which have 
 what may be called a domestic sound, as the " come back" of 
 the Guinea-fowl (gallina), &c. The least agreeable (to say 
 no more) is the cry of the peacock, which is said to foretel 
 
56 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 weather as disagreeable as itself. But in the fields, woods, 
 and groves, &c. all the sounds, " harsh and discordant" as 
 they may be when " heard alone," contribute to 
 
 " Aid the full concert, while the stockdove breathes 
 A melancholy murmur through the whole." 
 
 The nightingale is best heard in the silence of the groves or 
 on her favourite thorn, which better suit the deep and " me- 
 lancholy," but " musical" guttural sound of her notes, her 
 loud whistle sometimes intervening, all which is not a " mise- 
 rable carmen," as Virgil mistakenly calls it, but an expres- 
 sion of praise and gratulation to the great Creator. This is 
 all vocality. The sound of stringed instruments requires the 
 confinement and reverberation of walls to make it heard and 
 relished, and the more powerful sounds of the flute, hautboy, 
 clarionet, French horn, trumpet, &c. must be tempered, ex- 
 cept when principal, accordingly. Wind instruments, indeed, 
 are generally better suited to the open air, as the vocality of 
 animal utterance is. The organ is best adapted to a vaulted 
 church, in which it, as Gray says, 
 
 " Swells the note of praise." 
 Or as Milton, 
 
 " And in sweetness, through our ears, 
 
 Dissolves us into exstacies, 
 
 And brings all heaven before our eyes." 
 
 Thus is a concert variously produced, which, after all, ex- 
 cept in sacred music, that of Handel particularly, is inferior 
 in the pleasure it gives to that which nature, with the asso- 
 ciation of ideas, objects, and feelings, affords. Nature, lively 
 but chaste goddess, never intended that her choristers should 
 be shut up in cages or in a room, nor her beautiful flowers 
 exhibited (the daisy, ranunculus, lychnis, veronica, cowslip, 
 &c.) in pots in a garden. These objects are what the fastidious 
 
young's night thoughts. 57 
 
 and blunted taste (or no taste) of man despises or overlooks, 
 secretly as they may affect him, from his familiarity with them. 
 
 The perception of the " music's mingling sounds," is pro- 
 duced by the combination of the organs of the animal (or in- 
 strument) with the medium (the air) through which it acts 
 upon the ear : and the same instrumentality probably takes 
 place, by different means, in other sensible objects. Colours 
 are made visible by the refraction or combination of the rays 
 of light, united in white, compounded or darkened in black. 
 Taste and smell are probably too subtle to be analyzed. All 
 this is effected by the power which thus manifests itself for the 
 " glory" of Him who possesses it, and for the enjoyments of 
 his creature man, and perhaps for still higher orders of beings, 
 as the degrees of perception may be infinite. These sources 
 of enjoyment our blessed Saviour seems to have alluded to, 
 when he said, " Consider the lilies of the field," &c. by which 
 he meant the general garden of Nature, and her productions. 
 For what can art produce in competition with (I do not say in 
 the improvement of, for that is a stimulus to human industry) 
 these ? But even all these improvements, in the multiplication 
 of the leaves, or the enlargement of the flowers, leaves them 
 inferior in beauty to the more vivid colours and more elegant 
 forms of the wild plants. 
 
 All these demonstrate the power, as well as the goodness of 
 God. Both are in proportion to his other attributes. What 
 is Almighty Power ? Fiat, et fit. "Let there be light ; and 
 light was." What, velocity of effect ? See (for you cannot 
 follow it) what the lightning has done. What, that of motion ? 
 Consider the earth, moving at the rate of 68,000 miles in an 
 hour, and 1 9 miles in a moment, and yet being five minutes 
 in moving the space of its own diameter. Is this quick or 
 slow, thou comparative judge ? What is extension ? measure 
 infinity. What, duration ? calculate eternity. What is time 
 itself ? in itself nothing ; in prospect, ages ; in retrospect, a 
 moment. What is force ? an impelling or resisting power. 
 
58 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 What, when graduated ? preservation. When not ? destruc- 
 tion. See then what God can do; and see what he does. 
 Fear Him for the one ; love Him for the other. 
 
 In turning over the pages of Young and Akenside, we find 
 the same sublimity and ardour of thought and expression in 
 both, mixed indeed with more severity, and what may be 
 called gloom, at least by the "■ sons of earth," to whom they 
 address themselves, in the former than the latter, whose ob- 
 jects, sublime as he is, are less elevated. Both, however, are 
 sublime ; Akenside's effusions, though sometimes protracted, 
 are always beautiful ; and if Young's text is sometimes ob- 
 scure, the context will generally make it clear. I am inclined, 
 however, to think that a secret dislike will now and then in- 
 dispose us from endeavouring to penetrate through his ob- 
 scurity, though if we did, the perforation made by it might 
 make a hole for our consciences to creep out at, in applying 
 his censures to ourselves. 
 
 Young goes on, like Akenside, to say, 
 
 " What wealth in senses such as these ! what wealth 
 
 In fancy, fir'd to form a fairer scene 
 
 Than sense surveys, in memory's firm record, 
 
 Which, should it perish, could this world recal 
 
 From the dark shadows of o'erwhelming years ! 
 
 In colours fresh, originally bright, 
 
 Preserve its portrait, and report its fate ! 
 
 What wealth in intellect, that sovereign power, 
 
 Which sense and fancy summons to the bar, 
 
 Interrogates, approves, or reprehends. 
 
 * * * ■* » 
 
 What wealth in faculties of endless growth, 
 In quenchless passions violent to crave, 
 [Of which curiosity is the first.] 
 
 In liberty to choose, in power to reach, 
 6 
 
59 
 
 And in duration (how thy riches rise !) 
 Duration to perpetuate — boundless bliss ! 
 Ask you, what power resides in feeble man 
 That bliss to gain ? Is virtue's then unknown ? 
 Virtue, our present peace, our future prize, 
 Man's unprecarious, natural estate, 
 Improvable at will, in virtue lies ; 
 Its tenure sure ; its income is divine." 
 
 With this he compares the folly of 
 
 " High-built abundance ! heap on heap ! for what? 
 To breed new wants, and beggar us the more ; 
 Then make a richer scramble for the throng." 
 
 Instead of this, he says, 
 
 " A competence is all we can enjoy ; 
 
 O be content, when heaven can give no more !" &c. &c. 
 
 " How few can rescue opulence from want ! 
 
 Who lives to nature, never can be poor ; 
 
 Who lives to fancy, never can be rich. 
 
 Poor is the man in debt : the man of gold, 1 ^ 
 
 In debt to fortune, trembles at her power." } 
 
 For, " riches make themselves wings and fly away :" and 
 the " man of gold," generally either lavishes it on his plea- 
 sures, or lays it out in expensive projects, that keep him poor, 
 with the expectation of being rich. How few spend it in 
 doing real good ! 
 
 " Cur eget indignus quisquam, te divite ?" &c. &c. 
 
 All this, and what follows, is as true as it is well expressed ; 
 but I fear difficult to be practised, such are our mistaken 
 views. The poet, however, endeavours to direct them right 
 by adding, 
 
60 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " Immortal ! ages past, yet nothing gone ! 
 Morn without eve ! a race without a goal ! 
 Unshorten'd by progression infinite ! 
 Futurity for ever future ! life 
 Beginning still where computation ends ! 
 'Tis a description of a Deity ! 
 'Tis the description of the meanest slave : 
 The meanest slave dares then Lorenzo scorn ? 
 The meanest slave thy sovereign glory shares." 
 [For all are equal in the sight of God.] 
 
 " Proud youth ! fastidious of the lower world ; 
 Man's lawful pride includes humility, 
 Stoops to the lowest ; is too great to find 
 Inferiors ; all immortal ! brothers all ! 
 Proprietors eternal of thy love." 
 
 How true and forcible is all this ? And how does his de- 
 scription of immortality make the heart 
 
 " Tremble at so strange a bliss !" 
 
 Surely, there is nothing obscure in all this. Where, indeed, 
 the subject is itself obscure (as immortality must be), we 
 cannot expect a clear definition of it; it is a field for the 
 imagination to rove and to lose itself in ; but it can look back, 
 as well as about it, and compare the ra otcigo), the to 7rapov, 
 and the ra ttdo* It can imagine some of the privileges given 
 to souls celestial, souls ordained to breathe 
 
 " Ambrosial gales, and drink a purer sky." 
 
 It can say, 
 " O vain, vain, vain all else ! eternity ! 
 A glorious and a needful refuge that 
 
 * The past, the present, and the future. 
 
young's night thoughts. 61 
 
 From vile imprisonment, in abject views. 
 'Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, 
 Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, 
 The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. 
 That only, and that amply, this performs ; 
 Lifts us above life's pains, her joys above : 
 Their terror those, and these their lustre lose. 
 Eternity depending, covers all : 
 Eternity depending, all achieves." 
 
 In the just expectation of those who can justly depend upon 
 its happiness. It cannot, however, make us lose sight of pre- 
 sent objects, nor much lessen our attachment to them; they 
 constitute our present enjoyment here, and that enjoyment is 
 of the more importance, as on the regulation of it depends our 
 fate in eternity. That can only " cover all," when it is begun. 
 Here, indeed, our virtues or our vices may anticipate the re- 
 ception that we shall meet with in it. 
 
 No two things can differ more from each other than time } 
 and eternity. Time is fleeting, and its existence dependent on 
 the continuance and succession of motions and events, .. its » 
 quickness or slowness being determined by these, and by the 
 estimation of those who are affected by them, as Shakspeare 
 well observes. When we look back on time, it appears short 
 indeed ; when forward or to the present, it appears short or 
 long, according to the state of our mind or body. If we have 
 to hope from futurity, the object of our hopes, which may be 
 death itself, seems slow in its approach; if to fear, quick. 
 Time, if marked by events, may be measured ; if not, it will 
 appear even to those who are in a state of quiet, quick to those 
 who are in a state of enjoyment, and slow to those who want 
 to have something to employ their thoughts about, and who 
 therefore seek to beguile or while away their time, not knowing 
 or not caring how to " use it." Eternity, on the contrary, is 
 fixed and permanent, having neither a progressive nor revo- 
 
62 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 lutionary movement; it is, as the schoolmen define it, a 
 " punctum stans," an eternal now j what it now is, it will ever 
 be,* though the state of things may change in it, which will 
 bring it back to time, as furnishing an aera. But whether this 
 will take place or not, we cannot know, nor consequently 
 whether the state of those who suffer punishment in it, will 
 undergo the change which such an sera might produce, the 
 previous state being a sort of purgatory. That of the blessed 
 surely will not, unless it is " a rise in bliss." If we look 
 forward to having many things to do in our present state, we 
 may be discouraged by their number or magnitude ; if back- 
 ward, when we have done them, we may be agreeably sur- 
 prised at the ease and quickness of their performance, and 
 this may encourage, as the first may excite us, to future ex- 
 ertions, juvante Deo. 
 Young says that 
 
 " Earth, and all that earthly minds admire, 
 Is swallow'd in eternity's vast round ;" 
 
 but I know not whether eternity can be said to be a round, 
 unless it is that of an unbounded circle, whose centre has 
 been said to be every where, and its circumference no where. 
 But this is a play upon words, for a centre supposes a circum- 
 ference, or a multiplicity of centres, a multiplicity of circles. 
 But in eternity there can be no round, unless as it figures 
 neither beginning nor ending, as in the typical snake of the 
 ancients ; and revolutions would bring it back to time. 
 Still pursuing his subject, the poet says, 
 
 " Fortune's dread frowns, and fascinating smiles, 
 Make one promiscuous and neglected heap, 
 The man beneath, if I may call him man, 
 Whom immortality's full force inspires." 
 
 * As we say in the Doxology, " as it was in the beginning-, is now, 
 and ever shall be, world without end." 
 
young's night thoughts. 63 
 
 No, indeed, I think you cannot ; man ceases to be man 
 when he is something higher ; he then knows the force as 
 , well as the value of immortality. 
 
 He then knows, or will know, what it is 
 
 " To lay hold 
 By more than feeble faith on the Supreme, 
 Whom he will see, as he himself is seen." 
 
 But, however "the poet's eye" maybe " in a fine frenzy 
 rolling," he goes on to say, 
 
 " Enthusiastic this ? then all are weak, 
 But rank enthusiasts : to this godlike height 
 Some souls have soar'd, or martyrs ne'er had bled, 
 And all may do, what has by man been done." 
 
 By those who have the same assistance that the martyrs 
 had. Men's passions may do much, but not so much, nor in 
 so many instances, as in those of the primitive martyrs. Their 
 " blood" was indeed the " semen ecclesiae." A semen that 
 will bear eternal fruits, which, nor " hell's gates," nor the 
 " sharp scythes of time, shall ere destroy." 
 
 Animated by these thoughts, the poet says, 
 
 " Her own immense appointments to compute, 
 Or comprehend her high prerogatives, 
 In this her dark minority, how toils, 
 How vainly pants the human soul divine ! 
 Too great the bounty seems for earthly joy : 
 What heart but trembles at so strange a bliss !" 
 
 A bliss that we are accordingly told has never " entered 
 into the heart of man to conceive." Sufficient, however, is it 
 for us to know that it will be bliss to those who shall be judged 
 worthy of it. " Happiness is happiness." Our best feelings 
 
G4 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 here anticipate that enjoyment, but with the " fear and trem- 
 bling" with which we are to " work out our salvation." 
 
 " How great the bounty which by mercy's given ! 
 Those, who wTap the world so close about them, 
 They see no farther than the clouds." 
 
 and still less those (still more amazing ! ) 
 
 " Who resist 
 The rising thought, who smother in its birth, 
 The glorious truth, who struggle to be brutes :" 
 
 will either anticipate, or endeavour to " work out" their way 
 to the happiness of a spiritual existence. 
 But, says the poet, 
 
 " To contradict them, see all nature rise ! 
 
 What object, what event, the moon beneath, 
 
 But argues, or endears, an after-scene ? 
 
 To reason proves, or weds it to desire ? 
 
 All things proclaim it needful, some advance 
 
 One precious step beyond, and prove it sure!" 
 
 With this persuasion, founded on the authority of the 
 Gospel, he thus addresses our common Father, 
 
 " Thou ! whose all-providential eye surveys, 
 
 Whose hand directs, whose Spirit fills and warms 
 
 Creation, and holds empire far beyond ! 
 
 Eternity's inhabitant august ! 
 
 Of two eternities amazing Lord ! 
 
 One past, ere man's or angel's had begun ; 
 
 Aid ! while I rescue from the foe's assault 
 
 Thy glorious immortality in man. 
 
 A theme for ever, and for all of weight, 
 
young's night thoughts. 65 
 
 Of moment infinite ! but relish'd most 
 
 By those who love thee most, who most adore." 
 
 To effect this rescue, he appeals to nature, 
 
 " The daughter and the ever-changing birth 
 Of Him, the great Immutable, to man 
 Who wisdom speaks." 
 
 In the changes of the seasons and their produce. These, 
 he observes, are revolutionary, as the course of life is pro- 
 gressive. 
 
 " Nature revolves, but man advances, both 
 Eternal, that a circle, this a line. 
 That graduates, this soars ; the aspiring soul, 
 Ardent and tremulous, like flame, ascends ; 
 Zeal and humility her wings to heaven." 
 
 As therefore matter, with all its changes, lias a continued 
 existence, he infers that the spirit of man shall have the same, 
 in aeternum. He asks, 
 
 " Matter immortal ? and shall spirit die ? 
 Above the nobler shall less noble rise ? 
 Shall man alone, for whom all else revives, \ 
 No resurrection know ?" &c. &c. 
 
 All cannot be annihilated, for then God's power could not 
 be exercised, except in the creation of something out of no- 
 thing, and the scholiasts say, " Ex nihilo nihil fit." And can 
 we suppose that his power will rise above itself? No, its 
 greatest exertion will surely be shown in the eternal endurance 
 of spirit, as well as its greatest justice and benevolence in its 
 destinations. 
 
 Subordinate spirits are probably an emanation from the 
 Supreme, of whom, in their purest state, they are " the image." 
 
66 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 And Akenside well says, 
 
 " Mind, mind alone, bear witness earth and heaven ! 
 The living fountains in itself contains 
 Of beauteous and sublime." &c. &c. 
 
 God is a spirit ; He is the " first perfect, first fair ;" and 
 souls mil be made like unto Him, which even here reflect 
 " His image." 
 
 Assured of this, the poet goes on to say, 
 
 " If so decreed, the Almighty will be done. 
 Let earth dissolve, yon ponderous orbs descend, 
 And grind us into dust ; the soul is safe ; 
 The man emerges ; mounts above the wreck, 
 As towering flame from nature's funeral pyre." 
 [Beautiful metaphor.] 
 
 " O'er devastation, as a gainer, smiles ; 
 
 His charter, his inviolable rights, 
 
 Well pleas'd to learn from thunder's impotence, 
 
 Death's pointless darts, and hell's defeated storms." 
 
 This is indeed a " lofty style," and if Horace's 
 
 *' Justum et tenacem propositi virum 
 ***** 
 
 Si fractus illabatur orbis, 
 Impavidum ferient ruinae," 
 
 may be put in competition with it, the picture which Young 
 draws, is far superior in its representation of the soul's aspira- 
 tion after, and certain assurance of, immediate happiness. 
 Horace, indeed, seems to aim at the separation of matter and 
 spirit ; but he had no authority for making his " divinse par- 
 ticula aui'ae" ascend to the heights from which it came. Reve- 
 
young's night thoughts. 67 
 
 lation had not thrown its light on the "dark" transmissions 
 of his " glass." 
 
 Seeing, or rather supposing, that Lorenzo is not " touched" 
 by these "chimeras" (as he would call them), the poet makes 
 an effort to reach his heart, by a magnificent detail of the 
 " monuments of genius, spirit, and power," that the various 
 works of man, and his exploits by sea and land, the exertions 
 of his talents, exhibit on the face of the earth ; after which, 
 he says, 
 
 " And now, Lorenzo, raptur'd at this scene, 
 Whose glories render heaven superfluous," 
 [We must pardon this poetical licence.] 
 
 " Say, 
 Whose footsteps these ? immortals have been here. 
 Could less than souls immortal this have done ? 
 Earth's cover'd o'er with proofs of souls immortal, 
 And proofs of immortality forgot." 
 
 [By vain, unthinking, and consequently unfeeling mortals.] 
 
 " To flatter thy grand foible, I confess 
 These are ambition's works, and these are great ; 
 But these the least immortal souls can do ; 
 Transcend them all. — But what can these transcend ? 
 Do'st ask me what ? — one sigh for the distrest. 
 What then for infidels ? — a deeper sigh. 
 'Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man, 
 How little they, who think aught great below ! 
 All our ambitions death defeats, but one : 
 And that it crowns. — Here cease we ; but ere long, 
 More powerful proof shall take the field against thee, 
 Stronger than death, and smiling at the tomb." 
 f 2 
 
68 EXTRACTS PROM 
 
 Well aware of the "proofs" that still remained to be given, 
 which he does in the next and the succeeding " Nights/' the 
 poet leaves Lorenzo, and his fellow-infidels (alas, how many !) 
 in all the hardness of their unbelief, hoping to reach the feel- 
 ings, of some of them at least, by the strong moral wisdom 
 that attends the promulgation of the gospel, and evinces the 
 truth of its doctrines. These are certainly exempt from all 
 the imputations that can be charged to the passions of men, 
 and must proceed only from the attributes of that Being, of 
 whom the best qualities of man make him " the image." 
 Moral evidence then, supported as it is by historical, is the 
 great voucher for the truth of Christianity; moral evidence 
 which is addressed both to the reason and the feelings, the 
 absence or perversion of both which can alone make us un- 
 touched by it. Rash then, to say the least, are those who 
 endeavour to lower the effect of both, in lowering the sub- 
 limity of the doctrines to which both are called upon to assent. 
 If our reason cannot comprehend them, nor perhaps perfectly 
 accord with some of them ; if our doubts keep us in suspense, 
 let us be content with remaining in that suspense, and let us 
 not vainly attempt to put an end to it by substituting the pre- 
 sumptuous decisions of our reason (for if pride is one of the 
 bad qualities of man, surely his reason may be tainted by it), 
 unequal as it is to save us from a trial which we are meant to 
 undergo. Let us rather save ourselves from the additional, 
 and I think the severer pain, that our presumption must give 
 us in the sense of it, which all our vanity will afford us but a 
 " flattering unction" for. Let us remember that if " Hu- 
 manum est errare et nescire," humanum est peccare too : let 
 us humiliate ourselves before the throne of Him who alone is 
 " good," and the example of Him who was, but would not 
 acknowledge himself to be so ; let us hope for the mercy to 
 which that humiliation, and a consequent conduct and de- 
 meanour will entitle us (for so he has declared), and let us 
 
young's night thoughts. 69 
 
 end with saying, " Lord, I believe, help thou mine un- 
 belief." 
 
 To what I have said in comparing Young and Akenside, I 
 would add, that the object of the latter is to qualify his readers 
 for the rational and moral enjoyment of this life ; and the 
 superior one of the other, to prepare them for the next ; for 
 which he depreciates, perhaps too much, the enjoyments of 
 this ; of which, however, he allows us to take a moderate 
 share, and a more ample one of the beauties of nature, making 
 it subservient to the more important observance of our reli- 
 gious and social duties ; and his attention to the former makes 
 him consider all the business of life as of no value, unless it 
 contributes to the eternal welfare of our souls. This, indeed, 
 is true in regard to us all, and particularly as a consolation 
 to the unfortunate. This is all that Young requires, severe 
 as he is to the " Lorenzos" of his or any other time, for he 
 writes not thus severely for those who are " well" (if such 
 there be), " but for those who are (morally) sick." The well 
 may read him with pleasure, and the sick with profit, which, 
 indeed, may be common to both, if they are capable of it ; 
 and what soul wants not a " physician ?" 
 
 Much of Akenside's poem is addressed to the " imagination, 
 the pleasures of which" it treats of, and with the flowers of 
 which both the poems are plentifully, and often agreeably, 
 sprinkled. Both are moral, but not equally religious, as 
 perhaps might be expected from the different professions of 
 the authors. Both, however, express a high reverence for the 
 supreme object of our worship, but of Christianity, on which 
 Young lays so much stress, we find no mention in Akenside. 
 His object is natural, Young's revealed religion; but moral 
 duties are recommended by both. Akenside endeavours to 
 win us, Young to awe us into the performance of them ; but 
 the exhortations of the former are defective in omitting the 
 great model of them and of piety, Jesus Christ, without whose 
 example all exhortation would be of little avail, for we should 
 
70 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 want our greatest incentive in the life lie lived, and the pro- 
 mises he made, and died and rose again to confirm, without 
 which latter, St. Paul well says, that " our faith, and his 
 preaching, would be vain." In him was united all excellence, 
 human and divine, themselves being so nearly allied. The 
 former is the chief object of Akenside's praise, which he be- 
 stows on the examples of it, both in public and private life, 
 contrasting the heroic exhibitions of the one with the " mild 
 majesty" of the other. For this he exerts all the powers of 
 his imagination, but with less energy, but perhaps more elo- 
 quence than Young does, in dwelling upon his far more im- 
 portant subject, for the flight of " three" or four " score 
 years," when " life is but labour and sorrow," (let me be 
 thankful that it is very partially so to me), is not to be com- 
 pared with the steady duration of eternity ; if of a happy one, 
 how great the difference ! 
 
 I have spoken, in p. 43, of the benefits which may be ex- 
 pected from the provisions of the reform bill ; and to this I 
 will add, that I think it will tend to make every one sensible 
 of what he owes to himself and his country, which include 
 what he owes to his God also ; for I strongly suspect that the 
 repugnance which many of us feel (some who ought to enter- 
 tain better sentiments) to such a reform, arises in a great 
 measure from a desire, of which we may be ourselves uncon- 
 scious, to indulge ourselves in our usual habits of ease and in- 
 dolence (the natural suggesters of "let well alone"), of which, 
 indeed, many examples may be seen, as well in private families 
 as in the general family of the country, at the head of which 
 is the Deity whom we ought to serve, instead of our own 
 voluptuous, or at best, self-indulgent propensities ; selfish 
 ambition, the desire of power, and sometimes personal par- 
 tialities ; for the maxim, " Amicus Cato, sed magis arnica 
 Veritas," is not always adhered to. The correction of all these 
 should be one great object of any general reform, or of national 
 education, and all is surely comprehended in the plans of re- 
 
young's night thoughts. 71 
 
 form intended or begun upon, not less in private families, 
 where the servants are often idle in proportion to their num- 
 bers, than in the great family of the country. 
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 
 
 In this his promise is amply fulfilled. Invigorated by his 
 subject, and confident of the truth of what he asserts, he says, 
 
 " Man but dives in death ; 
 Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise ; 
 The grave, his subterranean road to bliss." 
 
 Having before shown the high probability of this resur- 
 rection, by its analogy with the general order and course of 
 things, he brings another proof of it, in the common feelings 
 of humanity : he says, 
 
 " Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life, 
 Or nature there, imposing on her sons, 
 Has written fables ; man was made a lie. 
 Why discontent for ever harbour'd there ? 
 Incurable consumption of our peace ! 
 Resolve me, why the. cottager and king, 
 He whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he 
 Who steals his whole dominion from the waste, 
 Repelling winter-blasts with mud and straw, 
 Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh, 
 In fate so distant, in complaint so near ?" 
 
 The ennuis of life are the stimulants to action ; the desire 
 of repose is the check to them ; the desire of eternal repose, 
 
%2 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 and of the happiness promised with it, is the proper regulator 
 both of the desire of action and of rest in this life. Thus do 
 our passions and feelings alternately act upon each other, if 
 regulated, for our eternal benefit. 
 Pope says, 
 
 " Mourn our different fortunes as we please, 
 Equal is common sense, and common ease." 
 
 Which is partly made up by habit (" second nature as it is") 
 giving a more uninterrupted content to the cottager than the 
 king, who sometimes pays dearly for his enjoyments. But 
 both must look up to the " King of kings" for their comfort 
 and support. Thus is Providence just to all, in showing that 
 
 " If to all men happiness was meant, 
 God in externals could not place content." 
 
 Nor has he, in a state which admits of nothing more, and 
 even that dependent on the ' ' patience and resignation" (the 
 " pillars" both of high and low life) with which we bear the 
 trials we are subject to, one of which is the impossibility of 
 our attaining " our being's end and aim" here, the happiness 
 reserved for those on whom the justice and " mercy" of God 
 will bestow it hereafter, through the merits and mediation of 
 Christ ; and such a reserve may well be made of what we can 
 have no conception of. The " peace which this world cannot 
 give" will be given in another, where the " sigh" after hap- 
 piness will be changed for that degree of it that we are capable 
 and deserving (in some degree demonstrated by the mere hope 
 of it) of the possession of. Where mercy is implored, if sin- 
 cerely, mercy will surely be shown; and "the sins that were 
 as scarlet will be made white as snow." When the " mercy 
 which reacheth unto the heavens" will receive us there, what 
 can the hardened sinner expect who will not implore and 
 endeavour to merit it ? Bold as it may be thought, Young 
 has not gone too far in saying, 
 
young's night thoughts. 73 
 
 "'A God all mercy, is a God unjust." 
 
 For a perfect Being must be so in all his attributes, one of 
 which, is justice, indulgent as we may wish him to be to " the 
 devices and desires of our hearts/' Our very virtues may 
 presume too much upon the regard we expect from him. That 
 regard will be in proportion to the obedience we pay to his 
 commandments, and not to the estimation we make of those 
 virtues, " shining sins," as they may sometimes be ; for what 
 else is vanity ? 
 
 Young goes on to compare the state of beasts with that of 
 man ; he says, 
 
 " Is it that things terrestrial can't content ? 
 
 Deep in rich pasture, will thy flocks complain ? 
 
 Not so ; but to their master is deny'd 
 
 To share their sweet serene ; man, ill at ease, 
 
 In this, not his own place, this foreign field, 
 
 Where nature fodders him with other food 
 
 Than was ordain'd his cravings to suffice, 
 
 Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast, 
 
 Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd. 
 
 Is heaven then kinder to thy flocks than thee ? 
 
 Not so ; thy pasture richer, but remote ; 
 
 In part remote ; for that remoter part 
 
 Man bleats from instinct, though perhaps, debauch'd 
 
 By sense, his reason sleeps, nor dreams the cause. 
 
 The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes ! 
 
 His grief is but his grandeur in disguise ; 
 
 And discontent is immortality." 
 
 Yea ; for we should not be discontented with our present 
 state, if we did not look forward to a better, which we are en- 
 couraged to expect. A feeling so sanctioned must be founded 
 in truth. 
 
74 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " Shall sons of aether, shall the blood of heaven, 
 Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here, 
 With brutal acquiescence in the mire 1 
 Lorenzo ! no ! they shall be nobly pain'd ; 
 The glorious foreigners, distrest, shall sigh 
 On thrones, and thou congratulate the sigh ; 
 Man's misery declares him born for bliss. 
 His anxious heart asserts the truth I sing, 
 And gives the sceptic in his head the lie." 
 
 This may appear to be a high-flown and unnecessary way 
 of accounting for the taedium vitae that sometimes attends the 
 passage through life, at times more or less ; and it may pro- 
 ceed from different causes, and require different remedies ; but 
 it surely indicates a want of happiness, " our being's end and 
 aim ;" if this is not to be completely attained here, where can 
 it but in another state of existence ? for that, therefore, it is 
 reserved, when not forfeited in our trial here, by our having 
 recourse to improper means of attaining happiness, for that is 
 the secret object of all our exertions, of whatever kind they 
 are. Young therefore truly says, 
 
 " Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our powers, 
 Speak the same language, call us to the skies." 
 
 As is proved by the beautiful lines that follow. Indeed the 
 whole poem is a train of irrefragable arguments. Were not 
 the enjoyments of this life so insufficient to satisfy the desires 
 of man, their short duration would make him sigh (and still 
 deeper, if they were sufficient) for a longer. This life then is 
 shortened to make us look forward to another in eternity. 
 With this regard the poet says, 
 
 " Since virtue's recompence is doubtful here, 
 If man dies wholly, well may we demand, 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 75 
 
 Why is man suffer'd to be good in vain ? 
 
 Why to be good in vain is man enjoin'd ? 
 
 Why to be good in vain is man betray'd ? 
 
 Betray 'd by traitors lodged in his own breast, 
 
 By sweet complacencies from virtue felt?" &c. &c. 
 
 And he asks, 
 
 " Why is man wise to know, and warm to praise, 
 And strenuous to transcribe, in human life, 
 The mind almighty ? can it be, that fate, 
 Just when the lineaments begin to shine, 
 And dawn the Deity, shall snatch the draught, 
 With night eternal blot it out, and give 
 The skies alarm, lest angels too may die ?" 
 
 For, 
 
 " If human souls, why not angelic too 
 
 Extinguished ? and a solitary God, 
 
 O'er ghastly ruin, frowning from his throne ?" 
 
 After mentioning some of the ills of life, he asks, 
 
 " In future age lies no redress ? and shuts 
 Eternity the door on our complaint ? 
 If so, for what strange ends were mortals made ? 
 The worst to wallow, and the best to weep : 
 The man who merits most, must most complain ; 
 Can we conceive a disregard in heaven 
 What the worst perpetrate, or best endure ? 
 This cannot be," &c. &c. 
 
 After a strong " demonstration" of this, and a beautiful 
 contrast of man with brutes, though still unable to subdue the 
 
76 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 "stubborn heart" of Lorenzo, he endeavours to "introduce him 
 to himself," and brings in ambition, pleasure, and the love of 
 gain (the favourite objects of a Lorenzo), as witnesses against 
 him — instancing Caesar, Xerxes, &c. — the love of praise, of 
 pleasure, the delicate moralities of sense, all the 
 
 " Stratagems 
 By skill divine inwoven in our frame." 
 
 And calling upon 
 
 " Heaven's holiness and mercy," 
 
 Not to 
 
 " Laugh, at once, at virtue and at man, 
 For else is this discourag'd, that destroy 'd." 
 
 Even avarice is appealed to. 
 
 He then, in answer to Lorenzo's sophistries, and his defence 
 of " abhorr'd annihilation," which the poet justly says, 
 
 " Blasts the soul, 
 And wide extends the bounds of human woe ;" 
 
 He says, 
 
 " Could I believe Lorenzo's system true, 
 
 In this black channel would my ravings run." 
 
 Which they do through several pages, in a manner only 
 admissible, and even more than admissible, on the supposition 
 of man's existence being confined to this life, with all the 
 " high intellectual powers" which he possesses. In that case 
 we might well say, 
 
 " Sense, take the rein ; blind passion, drive us on ; 
 And, ignorance, befriend us on our way ; 
 Ye new, but truest patrons of our peace ! 
 
young's night thoughts. 77 
 
 Yes, give the pulse full empire, live the brute, 
 Since, as the brute, we die. The sum of man, 
 Of godlike man ! to revel and to rot." 
 
 The necessary admission of these conclusions, " raving," 
 as the poet calls them, is in itself a strong proof of our future 
 existence. 
 
 The poet ends them with, 
 
 Deep in the rubbish of the general wreck, 
 Swept ignominious to the common mass 
 Of matter never dignify'd with life, 
 Here lie proud rationals I the sons of heaven, 
 The lords of earth, the property of worms ! 
 Beings of yesterday, and no to-morrow ! 
 Who liv'd in terror, and in pangs expir'd ! 
 All gone to rot in chaos ; or to make 
 Their happy transit into blocks or brutes, 
 Nor longer sully their Creator's name." 
 
 All the passions, all the feelings are here appealed to, as 
 testifiers of the soul's immortality, and above all, the feeling 
 of hope, which, as Young says, 
 
 " Turns us o'er to death alone for ease," 
 
 And Pope, that it 
 
 " Travels through, nor quits us when we die." 
 
 If this is true, it must remain unsatisfied till our death ! 
 and its continuance through life is an earnest of its future 
 satisfaction, which the Christian dies assured of. 
 
 The boldest flights of Young are surely allowable while 
 they are sanctioned by the Scriptures ; and a stronger eulogy 
 cannot be given, nor a higher reverence paid to the Divine 
 
78 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 ordinations, than in showing the consequences of an opposite 
 system. The opposite to the perfection of good is the com- 
 pletion of evil. Either God or Mammon must reign. 
 
 He says of annihilation, that it is 
 
 " An after-thought, 
 A monstrous wish, unborn till virtue dies. 
 And Oh ! what depth of horror lies enclos'd ! 
 For non-existence no man ever wish'd, 
 But first he wish'd the Deity destroy'd. 
 
 Instead of this, the poet asks, 
 
 " Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin, 
 
 (as supposed in Lorenzo's system) 
 
 Is there no rock, on which man's tossing thought 
 
 (tossing indeed on such a sea) 
 Can rest from terror, dare his fate survey, 
 And boldly think it something to be born ?" 
 
 (which it would not be, if we were not to be regenerated,) 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 He says, 
 
 " How bright my prospect shines ? how gloomy thine ! 
 A trembling world ! and a devouring God ! 
 Earth but the shambles of Omnipotence ! 
 Heaven's face all stain'd with causeless massacres 
 Of countless millions, born to feel the pang 
 Of Being lost," &c. &c. 
 
 He says also, 
 " Know'st thou the value of a soul immortal? 
 Behold this midnight glory ; worlds on worlds ! 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 79 
 
 Amazing pomp ! redouble the amaze : 
 
 Ten thousand add ; add twice ten thousand more : 
 
 Then weigh the whole ; one soul outweighs them all ; 
 
 And calls the astonishing magnificence 
 
 Of unintelligent creation poor." 
 
 (Which it is, compared to intelligence, to the " image of 
 the Deity, to a being destined to survive all those worlds.") 
 In proof of this the poet says, 
 
 " In this small province of his vast domain 
 (All nature bow, while I pronounce His name !) 
 What has God done, and not for this sole end, 
 To rescue souls from death ? the soul's high price 
 Is writ in all the conduct of the skies." 
 
 But when we make these comparisons, we should re- 
 member that all size is nothing, when compared with infinity, 
 of which this and all the other worlds that exist are parts, if 
 we may speak of parts of an unbounded whole. The gospel 
 dispensation might then as well have been expected (foretold 
 too as it was) " in this small province,'' as in any other. As 
 to its general effect on our minds, it has been said, and I 
 believe truly said, that it would be the greatest miracle of all 
 if Christianity was not true. That is, a mass of evidence 
 would have been thrown away, which the able lawyer Dunning, 
 who Mr. Fox said was " the most Christian profligate, and 
 profligate Christian that he had known," declared " would 
 be sufficient to prove the truth of any system that could be 
 brought into a court of justice." What is Hume's " previous 
 improbability," that can preclude such evidence ? 
 
 He then compares the value of time with that of eternity, 
 the end of time ; and says 
 
 " All is delusion ; nature is wrapt up 
 
 6 
 
80 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 In tenfold night, from reason's keenest eye : 
 
 There's no consistence, meaning, plan, or end, 
 
 In all beneath the sun, in all above, 
 
 (As far as man can penetrate) or heaven 
 
 Is an immense, inestimable prize ; 
 
 Or all is nothing, or that prize is all." &c. &c. , 
 
 This he proves by the insignificance of earthly rewards and 
 punishments, compared with those of another life, and re- 
 monstrates with those who disbelieve it. He says, 
 
 " The skies above proclaim immortal man ! 
 And man immortal! all below resounds. 
 The world's a system of theology, 
 Read by the greatest strangers to the schools : 
 If honest, learn'd ; and sages o'er a plough." 
 
 For common sense and common feeling are sufficient to 
 convince us of the existence of God ; and the same faculties 
 will also convince us of the truth of Christianity. Of those 
 who will not believe because they cannot understand, it may 
 be said, that " much learning has made them mad," in the 
 extravagant value they set upon their reason, and the extent 
 of its powers. But the poet does not " overrate the nature 
 of man," when he says 
 
 " Turn up thine eye, survey this midnight scene ; 
 What are earth's kingdoms to yon boundless orbs, 
 Of human souls, one day, the destin'd range ? 
 And what yon boundless orbs, to godlike man ? 
 Those numerous worlds that throng the firmament, 
 And ask more space in heaven, can roll at large 
 In man's capacious thought, and still leave room 
 For ampler orbs ; for new creations there." 
 
young's night thoughts. 81 
 
 The mind of man can form some idea of infinity; for the 
 utmost conceivable bound must itself be bounded by some- 
 thing beyond it, and so on, ad infinitum : but " orbs," how- 
 ever ample, must find as ample room to " roll" in " heaven," 
 that is, in infinity, as they can possibly have " in man's 
 capacious thought." Perhaps, however, it is not easy to 
 compare an idea with a substance. Must not one arise from 
 the other ? Or is thought independent of existence ? I mean 
 of the existence of its object; which indeed it cannot well be, 
 as it is not in its power to create, however it may be to 
 combine. 
 
 Passing then to animation and rationality, the poet says, 
 
 " Life animal is nurtur'd by the sun ; 
 Thrives on his bounties, triumphs in his beams ; 
 Life rational subsists on higher food, 
 Triumphant in his beams, who made the day." 
 
 The animal spirits are exhilarated by the sun. This is the 
 happiness of animals. That of man consists in the effect 
 which the exhilaration of the spirits, together with the ap- 
 plause of the conscience, and the trust in Divine mercy, 
 manifested as it is, have upon the mind. As our God will 
 be thanked, so will He be intreated. 
 
 And that rationality is surely sufficient to qualify us for the 
 enjoyment of that day (sunshine) with the hope of a brighter 
 day in heaven, where " the sun goes not down," &c. ; but for 
 this, our religious belief is required, which must be founded on 
 comprehensible evidence : the " things seen must vouch for 
 the things unseen," for of the latter we can have little or no 
 comprehension ; we can only judge of things by comparison ; 
 and to do this, we must have a sufficient knowledge of the 
 different objects of our comparisons : of mysteries (and surely 
 religion is one) we can have little or no knowledge, and there- 
 fore can but very imperfectly compare them with any thing 
 g 
 
82 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 that we have more knowledge of; knowledge that our senses 
 give us. Of ourselves we have more knowledge, but as it is 
 derived from intellect, and as that is limited in us, when we 
 are arrived at a certain point in our disquisitions into man's 
 nature, we find our knowledge defective, and we are there- 
 fore embarrassed: we have no knowledge but what has been 
 given us from above, which we receive and trust to, on the 
 evidence of its divine authority. We cannot know what are 
 the limits of man's free agency, but we may be sure that it is 
 in due proportion to his responsibility ; and this must vary as 
 the degree of his intellectual powers varies, and his ability to 
 resist temptation. We may be sure also that God has all the 
 moral attributes that constitute perfection; of which justice 
 tempered by mercy is one. That both these attributes would 
 be violated by the denial of a future life I think is fully made 
 out by the very powerful train of reasoning in the " black 
 channel" in which Young's " ravings ran," on the supposition 
 of " annihilation." 
 
 " A nature rational implies the power 
 Of being blest, or wretched, as we please ; 
 Else idle reason would have nought to do ; 
 And he that would be barr'd capacity 
 Of pain, courts incapacity of bliss ; 
 
 (in insensibility.) 
 
 Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom ; 
 Invites us ardently, but not compels ; 
 Heaven but persuades, almighty man decrees ; 
 
 (almighty in being left to his own discretion.) 
 
 Man is the maker of immortal fates. 
 Man falls by man, if finally he falls ; 
 And fall he must, who learns from death alone 
 
young's night thoughts. 83 
 
 The dreadful secret — that he lives for ever." 
 
 Still he urges his point to Lorenzo, in the most forcible 
 manner, saying to him, 
 
 " Still seems it strange, that thou should'st live for ever? 
 
 Is it less strange, that thou should'st live at all ? 
 
 This is a miracle ; and that no more. 
 
 Who gave beginning can exclude an end. 
 
 Deny thou art ; then doubt if thou shalt be." 
 * * * * 
 
 " What less than miracles from God can flow? 
 Admit a God — that mystery supreme ! 
 That cause uncaus'd ! all other wonders cease ; 
 Deny him — all is mystery besides. 
 Millions of mysteries ! each darker far 
 Than that thy wisdom would, unwisely, shun. 
 If weak thy faith, why choose the harder side? 
 We nothing know, but what is marvellous ; 
 Yet what is marvellous we can't believe." 
 
 This is not exactly true, if what is said of the credulity of 
 infidels is true — they " believe/' only to " tremble" — super- 
 stitious, not religious, their fears. 
 
 " Give the sceptics in their heads the lie." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " So weak our reason, and so great our God, 
 What most surprises in the sacred page, 
 Or full as strange, or stranger, must be true : 
 Faith is not reason's labour, but repose." 
 
 The poet then exhorts Lorenzo 
 " To be a man, and strive to be a God ;" 
 
 (in being a Christian.) 
 
84 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " ' For what' (thou say'st) ' to damp the joys of life ?' 
 No — to give heart and substance to thy joys," 
 
 Speaking of hope, 
 
 " Rich hope of boundless bliss ! 
 Bliss, past man's power to paint it, time's to close !" 
 
 He says, 
 
 " Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though strong, 
 Man's heart, at once, inspirits and serenes, 
 (as sedatives do.) 
 
 Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys," &c. &c. 
 [Hope, to be effectual, must be founded in reason.] 
 
 The poet ends one of his trains of reasoning with this just, 
 and not audacious conclusion, that 
 
 *' If man's immortal, there's a God in heaven," 
 
 For if man is not to expect immortality from a God who will 
 grant what he has promised, on terms that are consistent with 
 all his attributes, it signifies little to man whether he exists or 
 not. That there is a God, and that man is immortal, whether 
 in happiness or misery, as he deserves, are therefore corre-* 
 lative truths. 
 
 The poet then ends with, 
 
 " A blest hereafter then, or hop'd, or gain'd, 
 
 Is all — our whole of happiness ; full proof 
 
 I chose no trivial or inglorious theme." 
 
 ***** 
 
 (t If there is weight in an eternity, 
 
 Let the grave listen ; — and be graver still," 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 85 
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 
 
 Having enumerated the evils and errors of the world in this 
 Night, he thus addresses himself to the Supreme Being. 
 
 " O Thou ! who dost permit these ills to fall 
 
 For gracious ends, and would'st that man should mourn ; 
 
 O Thou, whose hands this goodly fabric fram'd, 
 
 Who know'st it best, and would'st that man should know ! 
 
 What is this sublunary world ? a vapour 
 
 From the damp bed of chaos, by thy beam 
 
 Exhal'd, ordain'd to swim its destin'd hour 
 
 In ambient air, then melt, and disappear. 
 
 Earth's days are number'd, nor remote her doom : 
 
 As mortal, though less transient, than her sons ; 
 
 Yet they^doat on her, as the world and they 
 
 Were both eternal, solid ; Thou, a dream." 
 
 [To those only who give their waking thoughts to the 
 world.] 
 
 The " Night Thoughts" have been called " angry and \ 
 gloomy," because they show a disposition to see human follies 
 and vices without sparing them in the representation, by one 
 whose mind was in some degree soured by misfortunes, and 
 strongly impressed with a sense of the necessity of making a 
 life that must be transitory, and may be short, a " means" of 
 preparing us for a life to come, which will be eternally happy 
 or miserable, according to our fulfilment or neglect of the 
 duties of this. What those duties are, we are told in the 
 injunction given us, to " do justly, to love mercy, and to 
 walk humbly with our God." These comprehend a great 
 deal, especially the first, for the demands of justice are various 
 and extensive. As to the idea of a " short life and a merry 
 
5b EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 one/' or of " strewing over with flowers/' what is " a passage 
 at best/' they are only, as Mrs. Barbauld calls them, agree- 
 able nonsense, or at least, levity ; for thorns will spring up in 
 the midst of these flowers, and the course of mirth will be 
 interrupted by sadness, unless it is supported by a selfish in- 
 sensibility, either to the joys or sorrows of our fellow-crea- 
 tures, or, perhaps, by dissimulation, which will not long de- 
 ceive. And this insensibility will make us as indifferent to 
 the characters of others, as careless of preserving the real 
 goodness of our own. That preservation can alone secure to 
 us the satisfaction of " the stern monitor within us," our con- 
 science, which can only be maintained by following the dictates 
 of it and our reason. If we disregard both, we shall probably 
 be looked upon as knaves and fools. Error is common to 
 man, but a more than ordinary degree of it will deprive us of 
 that general excuse for it, as it must then be a defect of the 
 head or heart, or perhaps of both, and the mischief it will do 
 will be in proportion to the truth of the proverb, that " one 
 fool (or knave) makes many ;" so tempting are the ways of 
 folly and vice to those who are apt to imitate the examples of 
 whoever they associate with. This is what Young calls " the 
 infection of the world," against which we must either carry 
 our own antidote, or seek it in the society of those who are 
 free from the poison ; and health (moral health) may be com- 
 municated as well as disease. By a due regimen in the main- 
 tenance of it, we shall 
 
 " Bring back at eve, 
 Immaculate, the manners of the morn." 
 
 Nay, more, we shall add to their purity j the stains we see in 
 others, we shall not be defiled with ourselves, for we shall 
 have that within us, which will prevent our imbibing them, 
 and favour our acquisition of the better qualities of others. 
 We shall enjoy that internal sunshine, which we see and enjoy 
 
young's night thoughts. 87 
 
 from without, and which gives us a foretaste of the heaven 
 which will 
 
 " Be given above, for heaven enjoy'd below." 
 
 The poet then makes an address to the " ocean," with his 
 equal display of imagination, and connects it with an appeal 
 to Lorenzo's feelings, in his mention of his young " Florello," 
 left him as a " care succeeding to poor Clarissa's throes," 
 and as a trial how far 
 
 " A father's heart 
 Is tender, though the man's is made of stone." 
 
 [How far he is susceptible of parental, though not of reli- 
 gious feelings.] 
 
 And he draws an interesting picture of the " heedless child," 
 and of the dangers he is to undergo at his " reception into 
 public life," surrounded as he will be 
 
 " By friends eternal, during interest ; 
 
 By foes implacable, when worth their while." 
 
 Open as his ingenuous disposition will make him to their 
 attacks ; with various other dangers that attend the course of 
 his life, in which, 
 
 " If less than heavenly virtue is his guard, 
 Soon a strange kind of curst necessity 
 Brings down the sterling temper of his soul, 
 By base alloy, to bear the current stamp, 
 Below call'd wisdom ; sinks him into safety ; 
 And brands him into credit with the world, 
 Where specious titles dignify disgrace, 
 And nature's injuries are arts of life ; 
 Where brighter reason prompts to bolder crimes ; 
 
88 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 And heavenly talents make infernal hearts ; 
 That unsurmountable extreme of guilt !" 
 
 This, with some exaggeration, is perhaps too true a descrip- 
 tion of worldly practice ; for " credit" is not always founded 
 upon sterling worth; but worldly "wisdom," against which, 
 however, we may have a " guard," and the only sure one, in 
 " heavenly virtue," a very different rule to follow from those 
 of the " Machiavelian" school. And so much for the pursuits 
 of ambition. Of those of pleasure, he says, 
 
 s -" They are the purpose of my gloomy song. 
 j Pleasure is nought but Virtue's gayer name ; 
 / I wrong her still, I rate her worth too low ; 
 
 Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flower ; 
 
 And honest Epicurus' foes were fools." 
 
 Epicurus might be " honest," but his system was certainly 
 deceptive, in placing both pleasure and virtue upon the same 
 level, for he would have them both brought above ground, 
 where the sweets of pleasure may soon be found to arise from 
 other sources than the salutary " roots" of virtue. The former 
 may court the senses, but the latter only can purify the heart. 
 The former intoxicates, and at length poisons ; the latter gives 
 health and vigour both to the mind and body. 
 
 There may be a bias in a man's mind which has the same 
 effect that caprice would have, by a spleen that disposes him 
 to confound good and bad, in seeing every thing in an unfa- 
 vourable point of view; but true wisdom consists in distin- 
 guishing whatever may conduce to real good. This, Young 
 seems to have constantly in his view. 
 
 Pleasure arising from such a source, Young says, 
 
 " Is good, and man for pleasure made, 
 But pleasure full of glory, as of joy ; 
 
young's night thoughts. 89 
 
 Pleasure which neither blushes nor expires." 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 " Pleasure first succours virtue ; in return, ; 
 Virtue gives pleasure an eternal reign." 
 
 That is, pleasure encourages virtue, as being the immediate 
 consequence of it; and virtue, so encouraged, ensures the 
 duration of pleasure. But pleasure often attracts at first for 
 its own sake, and not through the medium of virtue, which, 
 from the mistaken experiments of the world, has often more 
 repulsion than attraction in it. But the attraction of pleasure 
 may draw us into the gulf of perdition, when it has not the 
 stay of virtue. * Piety and humanity" contribute alike to 
 the happiness and the welfare of life, which are still more 
 secured by 
 
 " Piety itself; 
 A soul in commerce with her God, is heaven ; 
 Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life ; 
 The whirls of passion, and the strokes of heart. 
 A Deity believ'd, is joy begun ; 
 A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd ; 
 A Deity belov'd, is joy matur'd," &c. &c. 
 
 For the love of perfection is the assurance of every good 
 that can flow from it. 
 
 " With piety begins all good on earth ; 
 'Tis the first-born of rationality." 
 
 The poet then says to Lorenzo, 
 
 " Art thou dejected ? is thy mind o'ercast ? 
 
 Amid her fair ones, thou the fairest choose 
 
 To chase thy gloom. — Go, fix some weighty truth ; 
 
90 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Chain down some passion, do some generous good ; 
 
 Teach ignorance to see, or grief to smile ; 
 
 Correct thy friend ; befriend thy greatest foe ; 
 
 Or, with warm heart and confidence divine, 
 
 Spring np, and lay strong hold on Him who made thee." 
 
 [By prayer.] 
 
 The employments that have another life in view, will always 
 be a remedy for any dejection or weariness in this. 
 
 Praising equanimity, in opposition to any excess of passion, 
 the poet says, 
 
 " Laughter, though never censur'd yet as sin/ 
 
 (Pardon a thought that only seems severe) r 
 
 Is half immoral ; is it much indulg'd ? 
 
 By venting spleen, or dissipating thought, 
 
 It shows a scorner, or it makes a fool ; 
 
 And sins, as hurting others, with ourselves. 
 
 'Tis pride, or emptiness, applies the straw, 
 
 That tickles little minds to mirth effuse ; 
 
 Of grief approaching, the portentous sign ! 
 
 The house of laughter makes a house of woe. 
 
 A man triumphant is a monstrous sight ; 
 
 A man dejected is a sight as mean. 
 
 What cause for triumph, when such ills abound ? 
 
 What for dejection, when presides a Power, 
 
 Who call'd us into being to be blest ? 
 
 So grieve, as conscious grief may rise to joy ; 
 
 So joy, as conscious joy to grief may fall. 
 
 Most true, a wise man never will be sad ; 
 
 But neither will sonorous, bubbling mirth 
 
 A shallow stream of happiness betray ; 
 
 Too happy to be sportive, he's serene." 
 
young's night thoughts. 91 
 
 To promote this, Young recommends the perusal of the 
 Bible. For, says he, 
 
 " There, truths abound of sovereign aid to peace," &c. &c. 
 
 Such equanimity is a just medium between the laughter of 
 Democritus and the tears of Heraclitus. As for laughter, it 
 may sometimes be useful to serve the purposes of ridicule, 
 when that is deserved, as it generally carries more or less 
 " scorn" with it. 
 
 Akenside has shown how the love of ridicule influences the 
 commerce between man and man, either when 
 
 " Folly's awkward arts 
 Excite impetuous laughter's gay rebuke," 
 
 Or when 
 
 " Opinion tells us that to die, 
 Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill, 
 Than to betray our country ; and in art, 
 We shall prefer to be despis'd, and live ; 
 Here vice begins then." 
 
 And excites scorn and contempt, as mere folly had excited 
 ridicule, whose superior force will " touch and shame" what is 
 
 " Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne." 
 
 While its opposites, approbation and esteem, will encourage 
 every thing good and laudable in society. 
 
 He then shows what are the true sources of joy ; the first 
 of which is a good conscience. This is Horace's " murus 
 aheneus ;" this is what he recommends in saying, 
 
 " iEquam memento rebus in arduis 
 Servare mentem ; non secus in bonis 
 Ab insolenti temperatam 
 Laetitia, moriture DellL" 
 
92 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Horace seems to give himself credit for this equanimity, 
 when, speaking of Fortune, he says, 
 
 " Laudo manentem ; si celeres quatit 
 Pennas, resigno qu.se dedit, et mea 
 Virtute me involvo, probamque 
 Pauperiem sine dote quaero." 
 
 But had he been tried ? 
 
 By the by, does not the sense of our own faults or defects, 
 sometimes instigate us to give advice to others, what to seek 
 for, or what to avoid ? 
 
 On this equanimity Young enlarges with all his force, in- 
 genuity, and variety. As connected with this, he says, 
 
 " Pleasure, we both agree, is man's chief good ; 
 Our only contest, what deserves the name." 
 
 He goes on to say, 
 
 " Some joys the future overcast ; and some 
 
 Throw all their beams that way, and gild the tomb." 
 
 Are not these splendid pictures ? nor are they overcharged j 
 for the gilding is solid. 
 
 Young ends this series of admonitions with, 
 
 " Short is my lesson, though my lecture long ; 
 Be good — and let heaven answer for the rest." 
 
 And it has answered — in the promises made. He, however, 
 is obliged to own, that, 
 
 " Patience and resignation are the pillars 
 Of human peace on earth." 
 
 This is certainly true, if life is a trial ; but Young may be 
 a little too severe, in requiring us 
 
 " To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain." 
 
young's night thoughts. 93 
 
 For what more did the stoics pretend to ? and could they 
 always act up to their pretensions ? 
 
 " What reason bids, God bids ; by his command, 
 How aggrandis'd the smallest thing we do !" 
 
 " When, spite of conscience, pleasure is pursu'd, 
 Man's nature is unnaturally pleas'd : 
 (That is, his best nature.) 
 
 And what's unnatural, is painful too 
 At intervals. 
 
 (When conscience takes the rein.) 
 
 Virtue's foundations with the world's were laid ; 
 Heaven mixt her with our make, and twisted close 
 Her sacred interests with the strings of life." 
 
 As we may suppose the display of power and wisdom to be 
 as great in the moral as in the natural world, we may also sup- 
 pose all moral results to be relative to and dependent upon the 
 subsisting order of things, and to be a part of the general 
 economy, such as the great Creator has ordained it ; and that 
 from a different order different results might have followed ; 
 there would otherwise have been natural necessities inde- 
 pendent on him, who is bound only by his own attributes. 
 All that is wise, all that is good, must originate in Him 5 and 
 " truth and good are one." Whatever may be the general 
 plan established, and however it may be varied, it must have 
 the seal of those attributes ; but what those varieties might be, 
 or actually are, we cannot tell ; as our knowledge is partial, it 
 must be relative too. All is possible that it pleases God to 
 make so j we can only know what we are given by Him to 
 know. 
 
 <( Man's science is the culture of his heart," 
 
94 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 The pursuit of other knowledge is allowable enough, if pro- 
 perly followed, especially as it must lead to a sense of our 
 ignorance, the great advantage of which is, the conviction 
 that there is a power, as well as an intelligence, which is far 
 above ours. It 
 
 " Teaches this lesson, pride is loath to learn — • 
 Not deeply to discern, not much to know, 
 Mankind was born to wonder, and adore." 
 
 And that we may be fully sensible of this, he has given us 
 the power, if we choose to use it, of thinking for ourselves. 
 
 And if it is true that " Humanum est errare," the sincerity 
 of the heart will atone for any mistakes or aberrations of the 
 head ; and that sincerity will be fully shown in " doing justly, 
 loving mercy, and walking humbly with our God." These, 
 in an extended sense, may comprehend all the virtues that can 
 be practised ; but that practice will require that we should be 
 continually on the " watch." The two first are doubtless 
 recommended to us as imitations of our Creator ; the last ap- 
 pertains wholly to his imperfect and dependent creatures. 
 
 There is a light in which mankind may be viewed, and 
 which may almost indispose us from considering them as 
 worthy of any future retribution. In this light Frederic of 
 Prussia professed to consider them, and even as unworthy the 
 regards of their Creator, if his soi-disant philosophy admitted 
 of their having such an origin. Voltaire, at one time his friend 
 and favourite, says, in a letter to him, that he thinks there is a 
 Supreme Governor, whose power is limited ; I suppose by the 
 evil spirit possessing a superior share of it. These idle and 
 impious fancies fall to the ground when we consider the 
 miseries which mortals are subject to, in a world where there 
 would only be for " the worst to wallow, and the best to weep," 
 if there were not a compensation, which all who have any 
 sensibility look for, and, which even the savages have a hope, 
 but the enlightened Christian a full assurance of, promised as 
 6 
 
YOUNGS NIGHT THOUGHTS. 95 
 
 it is by the Gospel. This at once vindicates the justice of 
 God, and the reasonable expectations of his creature, man. 
 This gives " heart and substance" to the best hope we can 
 form, and rescues it from all imputation of delusion ; sanctions 
 the confidence of the many who die full of that hope, and the 
 trust in God's mercy in the minds of those who may see their 
 friends die with a hope more alloyed by remorse, or even ex- 
 tinguished by mental imbecility ; for what God has deprived 
 them of, he may again restore, as he 
 
 " Who gave beginning, may exclude an end." 
 
 The last feeling of the dying Christian then is " resurgam." 
 With ideas that are never exhausted, and metaphors that 
 
 are ever at hand, the poet pursues his theme, till he sums it 
 
 up in the description of 
 
 " A man on earth devoted to the skies ; 
 
 Like ships on seas, while in, above the world." 
 
 The excellence of this description authorises him to say of 
 the object of it, 
 
 " Himself too much he prizes, to be proud ; 
 And nothing thinks so great in man, as man." 
 
 Surely, if man is " the image of God," 
 
 " His nature no man can o'er-rate," &c. &c. 
 
 Contrasting this with Lorenzo's estimations, and showing 
 the motives that instigate the " man" he has been describing, 
 he says, 
 
 " Bliss has no being, virtue has no strength, 
 But from the prospect of immortal life." 
 
 Hovering in triumph over the fallen Lorenzo, prostrate as 
 he lies in his stumblings, the poet shows him how to regain 
 his lustre, by saying, 
 
96 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound ; 
 When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam ; 
 
 (As Young's poetry does.) 
 Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still. 
 
 (A " rough" one perhaps.) 
 
 Wit, widow'd of good sense, is worse than nought ; 
 
 It hoists more sail, to run against a rock. 
 
 Thus, a half- Chesterfield is quite a fool ; 
 
 Whom dull fools scorn, and bless their want of wit." 
 
 Has Lord Chesterfield deserved this encomium ? Johnson 
 would not have allowed it. 
 
 But to return to more serious admonitions. The poet ex- 
 horts us to aspire to 
 
 " A joy high privileg'd from chance, time, death ! 
 A joy which death shall double ! judgment crown ! 
 Crown'd higher, and still higher, at each stage, 
 Through blest eternity's long day ; yet still, 
 Not more remote from sorrow, than from him, 
 Whose lavish hand, whose love stupendous pours 
 So much of Deity on guilty dust. 
 There, O my Lucia ! may I meet thee there, 
 Where not thy presence can improve my bliss !" 
 
 I believe there cannot be a stronger instance of the union of 
 divine and human love, than in these two lines. But all is, 
 of course, absorbed in the love divine. If human love is 
 mixed with it, it must be in the participation of the happiness 
 that love divine must give. 
 
 We may add to this, 
 
 11 God, and his mercies, fill the ample space, . 
 Those objects must require in minds, whose 'joy 5 
 Is full, as it is perfect ; other joys 
 
 12 
 
young's night thoughts. 97 
 
 Would lessen, not increase it ; that alone 
 Can fill its cup of happiness ; the cup 
 In which the foretaste was already given, 
 Even in this sublunary world ; how far 
 Beneath that glorious blaze, with which the Sun 
 Of Righteousness in fullest lustre shines ! 
 
 The poet sends us to our rest, in saying, 
 
 " Soul, body, fortune ! every good pertains 
 To one of these ; but prize not all alike ; 
 The goods of fortune to thy body's health, 
 Body to soul, and soul submit to God." 
 
 He still, however, has a parting " bon repos" to give us ; 
 for his ideas will neither suffer him nor his readers to sleep, 
 and his thoughts are no dreams. 
 
 The feelings inspired by autumn are well worthy of 
 Thomson's expression of them ; they are suited to the rational 
 and grateful character of declining age, much better than the 
 animating growth of spring, or the calm maturity of summer, 
 and are a fit preparation for the settled repose of old age, and 
 the approaching quiet of the grave, " our subterranean road 
 to bliss." Thomson, I think, is the only poet who has sung 
 inspiring autumn; Akenside has not touched that tender 
 string of his " harp ;" and Mrs. Barbauld has displayed her 
 sprightly feelings in her unrhimed lines upon spring, though 
 I think she has hardly done justice in others to the delicate 
 beauties of the snowdrop, that child of winter. But surely, 
 Mason's pious and poetical sonnet on his birthday (Feb. 24), 
 should not be forgot. Such an old age as his (" seventy years 
 and one"), is indeed a second spring, " veiling stern winter's 
 frown." It may well excite us to 
 
 " Give praise to Him, from whom all blessings flow." 
 
98 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 The autumnal feelings which Thomson describes, delightful 
 as they are, have, perhaps, too great a degree of melancholy 
 in them to suit those who require more social enjoyments. 
 Thomson's early habits, as he relates them in his " Winter," 
 seem to have fitted him for the former ; but he shows himself 
 to have been not less open to the impressions of philanthropy. 
 The pupil of nature cannot want natural affections. 
 
 A fine autumnal day is a calm prelude to winter ; and so 
 ought the autumn of life to be to the winter of the grave ; and 
 what can that be, if the winter of a well-spent life, but a 
 prelude to the spring and summer of life eternal ? (Sept. 25, 
 1832). 
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 
 
 Having gone on, with unabated force, among his other 
 effusions in the preceding Eight Nights, to show how mixed 
 with vice, and consequent unhappiness, are the pleasures of 
 life, in which the only " buckler" that can shield us from 
 despair or danger, is in the " single sentence" last quoted, the 
 poet ends his series of " complaints" with " the consolation" 
 announced in the ninth and last Night, expressing, as we may 
 suppose, his own consolation in this exordium, 
 
 " As when a traveller, a long day past 
 
 In painful search of what he cannot find, 
 
 At night's approach, content with the next cot, 
 
 There ruminates awhile his labour lost ; 
 
 Then cheers his heart with what his fate affords, 
 
 And chants his sonnet to deceive the time, 
 
 Till the due season calls him to repose ; 
 
young's night thoughts. 99 
 
 Thus I, long travell'd in the ways of men, 
 
 And dancing, with the rest, the giddy maze, 
 
 Where disappointment smiles at hope's career ; 
 
 Warn'd by the languor of life's evening ray, 
 
 At length have hous'd me in an humble shed ; 
 
 Where, future wand'ring banish'd from my thought, 
 
 And waiting, patient, the sweet hour of rest, 
 
 T chase the moments with a serious song ; 
 
 Song sooths our pains ; and age has pains to sooth." 
 
 I trust the reader will agree with me, that greater beauty, 
 greater pathos, greater or more well-founded feeling, cannot 
 be expressed than are in these lines. It is the poetry of nature, 
 of reason, and of virtuous feeling, which must find a sympathy 
 in the breast of every one so endowed. 
 
 Again the poet attacks Lorenzo, saying, 
 
 " Has not the muse asserted pleasures pure, 
 Like those above, exploding other joys ? 
 Weigh what was urg'd, Lorenzo ! fairly weigh ; 
 And tell me, hast thou cause to triumph still ! 
 I think thou wilt forbear a boast so bold ; 
 But if, beneath the favour of mistake, 
 Thy smile's sincere, not more sincere can be 
 Lorenzo's smile, than my compassion for him." 
 
 Incited by this compassion, he goes on to expostulate with 
 Lorenzo, upon the vanities and deceits of this world, and the 
 threats and dangers of the next, looking forward to the general 
 conflagration, which he supposes will happen 
 
 " At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace, 
 And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams ; 
 To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour ; 
 h 2 
 
100 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 At midnight, 'tis presum'd, this pomp will burst 
 
 From tenfold darkness ; sudden, as the spark 
 
 From smitten steel ; from nit'rous grain, the blaze. 
 
 Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more I 
 
 The day is broke, which never more shall close ! 
 
 Above, around, beneath, amazement all ! 
 
 Terror and glory join'd in their extremes ! 
 
 Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire ! 
 
 All nature struggling in the pangs of death ! 
 
 Dost thou not hear her ? dost thou not deplore 
 
 Her strong convulsions, and her final groan ? 
 
 Where are we now ? Ah me ! the ground is gone 
 
 On which we stood, Lorenzo ! while thou may'st, 
 
 Provide more firm support, or sink for ever ! 
 
 Where ? how ? from whence ? vain hope ! it is too late ! 
 
 Where, where, for shelter shall the guilty fly, 
 
 When consternation turns the good man pale ? 
 
 ***** 
 
 Thrice happy they, that enter now the court 
 Heaven opens in their bosoms ; but how rare, 
 Ah me ! that magnanimity, how rare ! 
 What hero, like the man who stands himself, 
 Who dares to meet his naked heart alone," &c. &c. 
 
 And is there, indeed, any one who is thoroughly prepared 
 to meet the " day of His coming ?" or to abide the antici- 
 pation of it ? 
 
 Imprest with these feelings, and vainly asking when and 
 how this " great day" shall come, and losing himself in con- 
 jectures about it, he at length exclaims, 
 
 " Great God of wonders ! (if, thy love survey'd, 
 Aught else the name of wonderful retains) 
 
young's night thoughts. 101 
 
 What rocks are these on which to build our trust ? 
 
 Thy ways admit no blemish ; none I find ; 
 
 Or this alone — that none is to be found : 
 
 Not one, to palliate peevish grief's complaint," &c. &c. 
 
 Before the tremendous description he has just given, he had 
 enumerated the kindnesses of Him, 
 
 " Whose threats are mercies, whose injunctions guides, 
 Assisting, not restraining, reason's choice ; 
 Whose sanctions, unavoidable results 
 From nature's course, indulgently reveal'd ; 
 If unreveal'd, more dangerous, not less sure." 
 
 (More dangerous, because we should not then- have known 
 how to have acted respecting them, " sure" as the consequence 
 of our errors would have been.) 
 
 *' Thus, an indulgent father warns his sons, 
 * Do this, fly that,' — nor always tells the cause ; 
 Pleas'd to reveal, as duty to his will, 
 A conduct needful to their own repose." 
 
 (The reason of the revelation may not always have been 
 given, but was it not because it would be understood without 
 that? Our blessed Saviour appeals to our reason, as the 
 guide to our " faith," and consequently to our obedience. 
 How else can we expect that our " repose" will be secured by 
 it ? and how has that repose been attended to ! O man, un- 
 grateful man !) 
 
 The poet says afterwards, 
 
 " Amid my list of blessings infinite, 
 
 Stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled." 
 
 (" It is good for me that I have been in trouble, that I may 
 learn thy statutes/') 
 
102 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 " 'Tis heaven's last effort of good-will to man ; 
 When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair. 
 Who fails to grieve, when just occasion calls, 
 Or grieves too much, deserves not to be blest ; 
 Inhuman, or effeminate his heart. 
 Reason absolves the grief, which reason ends." 
 
 Then we may reason ourselves out of our grief; but will 
 our feelings always let us do this, stronger as they often are 
 than our reason ? Time is necessary to allay, and gradually 
 to expel grief. As to " pain blessing," it is not easy to con- 
 ceive how that can be, for it is the solace that must bless, 
 though pain may soften us for the reception of it, if the pain 
 does not entirely overcome us; but surely resignation will 
 afford a remedy. 
 
 The poet then reviews his past work, and what it contains ; 
 but finds that much still remains, in the tribute due to 
 " night," of gratitude for the reflections it suggested, which 
 the moon " also added to, being," as the worthy Mons. Bonnet 
 once said to me at Geneva, in 1/89, " Le compagnon de ceux 
 qui meditent :" and though her own light is rendered faint by 
 the sunshine of the day, outshining that of " ten thousand 
 suns," in the immensity of space which their different 
 distances measure. " Velut inter ignes luna minores," is 
 Horace's expression, little as he was aware what these ignes 
 minores were. So little does our unassisted reason supply 
 the defects of our sight. O Lucretius, could you say, 
 
 " Os homini sublime dedit, ccelumque tueri 
 Jussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus," 
 
 and not feel that this power of contemplation was given to 
 excite " man" to aspire to what he contemplated ? No, 
 Epicurus had misled you, and made you follow his wretched 
 conclusions. You expected no other life, and you quitted this 
 in satiety and despair. 
 
young's night thoughts. 103 
 
 So did Atticus, and probably others, who may have put an 
 end to their lives, as Cicero says, " injussu imperatoris, id est, 
 Dei." And are these the fruits of that Epicurism, which 
 some are still so partial to ? Is this the union of virtue and 
 pleasure, which it professes to teach ? O Religion ! thou only 
 canst unite them ! thou canst make martyrs, but not suicides. 
 
 The poet then says, elevated as he is by his contemplations, 
 and by the " immortal silence' \ that favours them, 
 
 " O majestic night ! 
 Nature's great ancestor, day's elder born, 
 [As having existed before " light was."] 
 
 And fated to survive the transient sun, 
 
 By mortals and immortals seen with awe ! 
 
 A starry crown thy raven brow adorns, 
 
 An azure zone thy waist ; clouds, in heaven's loom 
 
 Wrought through varieties of shape and shade, 
 
 In ample folds of drapery divine, 
 
 Thy flowing mantle form, and, heaven throughout, 
 
 Voluminously pour thy pompous train." 
 
 (This> however, the poet must have seen " in his mind's 
 eye," as the " mantle" would wrap all in darkness.) 
 
 " Thy gloomy grandeurs (nature's most august, 
 Inspiring aspect !) claim a grateful verse, 
 And like a sable curtain starr'd with gold, 
 Drawn o'er my labours past, shall close the scene.t' 
 
 This magnificent description is followed by an invocation to 
 the great Creator of these wonders, and to the angels and 
 archangels, who, with man, join in admiring them, to 
 
 " Assist his daring song, 
 Contracted circle." 
 
 Loose him from earth's inclosure, from the sun's 
 
104 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 (Contracted certainly, in comparison with infinity.) 
 
 " Set his heart at large ; 
 Illuminate his spirit, give it range 
 Through provinces of thought, yet unexplor'd :" 
 
 (As being thoroughly metaphysical, the visible " scenes'* 
 being already " closed.") 
 
 " Teach him, by this stupendous scaffolding, 
 Creation's golden steps, to climb to thee. 
 Teach him with art great Nature to control, 
 And spread a lustre o'er the shades of night." 
 
 The poet says, 
 
 " Stars teach, as well as shine ; at Nature's birth, 
 Thus their commission ran — be kind to man." 
 
 Exhorting Lorenzo to study their lessons, he says, 
 
 " What read we here ? the existence of a God? 
 Yes, and of other beings, man above ;" 
 
 There seems to be a strong probability that the chain of in- 
 telligent beings is carried above us, from the gradation that 
 we see below us, and from the confined limits of our own 
 knowledge and faculties, which may both be progressive. 
 He who is made " ruler over many things," must have powers 
 given him to exercise that rule. 
 
 " Natives of aether ! sons of other climes ! 
 
 And what may move Lorenzo's wonder more, 
 
 Eternity is written in the skies. 
 
 And whose eternity ? — Lorenzo ! thine ; 
 
 Mankind's eternity. Nor faith alone, 
 
 Virtue grows here ; here springs the sovereign cure 
 
young's night thoughts. 105 
 
 Of almost every vice ; but chiefly thine ; 
 
 Wrath, pride, ambition, and impure desire. 
 ***** 
 
 Why, from yon arch, that infinite of space, 
 With infinite of lucid orbs replete, 
 
 (This infinite may, I think, be doubted, as it would make 
 the creation commensurate with its Creator.) 
 
 Which set the living firmament on fire, 
 At the first glance, in such an overwhelm 
 Of wonderful, on man's astonish'd sight, 
 Rushes Omnipotence ? — to curb our pride, 
 
 (And at the same time to " give glory to God ;" which may 
 well curb the vain-glory of man.) 
 
 Our reason rouse, and lead it to that power, 
 
 Whose~love lets down these silver chains of light ; 
 
 To draw up man's ambition to Himself, 
 
 And bind our chaste affections to his throne. 
 ***** 
 
 Thus man his sovereign duty learns in this 
 
 Material picture of benevolence. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 And see ! day's amiable sister sends 
 
 Her invitation, in the softest rays 
 
 Of mitigated lustre, courts thy sight, 
 
 Which suffers from her tyrant brother's blaze." 
 
 Moonlight seems to be doubly formed for contemplation, 
 as it does not afford sufficient fight for work, but enough for 
 meditation, which it also excites, as well as 
 
 " Devotion ! daughter of astronomy ! 
 An undevout astronomer is mad." 
 
106 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Yes, or at least irrational ; but it is to be feared that some 
 are merely Deists, because they have studied the heavens and 
 not the Scriptures. Moral evidence is required for a religion 
 that exhibits and enjoins the perfection of moral practice. The 
 poet, however, unwilling to quit the skies, says, 
 
 " Vast concave ! ample dome ! wast thou design 'd 
 A meet apartment for the Deity ? 
 Whose omnipresence wants a larger space 
 Than limited existence can afford." 
 
 Infinite as that omnipresence is. 
 
 " Not so ; that thought thy state impairs, 
 Thy lofty sinks, and shallows thy profound, 
 And straitens thy diffusive ; dwarfs the whole,. 
 And makes the universe an orrery." 
 
 This, however, like other inflated language, is exaggerated ; 
 for what can exceed infinity ? It is something like 
 
 " Eternity's too short 
 To utter all thy praise." 
 
 These are surely solecisms ; and, therefore, instead of ex- 
 alting the subject, they lower it, by making it liable to irre- 
 verent ridicule. And the same may perhaps be said of the 
 expression, "most highest;" for are there different degrees 
 of the superlative ? What do we not risk, when we get be- 
 yond common sense ? or when we make a wrong use of terms ? 
 
 The poet, now ascended to the sublimest heights of poetry, 
 describes the day when Time 
 
 " As a king depos'd disdains to live, 
 Upon his own scythe falls ; nor falls alone ; 
 His greatest foe falls with him ; Time, and he 
 Who murder'd all Time's offspring, Death, expire. 
 
young's night thoughts. 107 
 
 Time was ! eternity now reigns alone ! 
 Awful eternity ! offended queen ! 
 
 (Offended only by those who had given her just cause of 
 offence, by neglecting her frequent admonitions, when she — 
 often called, and with the voice of God, a voice proclaimed 
 in his written word, and repeated to us by our consciences.) 
 Then the " offended queen," 
 
 " Eternity, the various sentence past, 
 
 Assigns the sever'd throng distinct abodes 
 
 Sulphureous, or ambrosial ; what ensues ? 
 
 The deed predominant ! the deed of deeds ! 
 
 Which makes a hell of hell, a heaven of heaven. 
 
 The goddess, with determin'd aspect, turns 
 
 Her adamantine key's enormous size 
 
 Through destiny's inextricable wards, 
 
 Deep driving every bolt, on both their fates. 
 
 Then, from the crystal battlemeuts of heaven, 
 
 Down, down she hurls it through the dark profound, 
 
 Ten thousand thousand fathom, there to rust, 
 
 And ne'er unlock her resolution more. 
 
 The deep resounds, and hell, through all her gloom, 
 
 Returns, in groans, the melancholy roar." 
 
 (This is a tremendous picture, and not the less so for the 
 probability of its spiritual truth. For how severe must the 
 " wounds of the spirit" be !) 
 
 " O how unlike the chorus of the skies ! 
 O how unlike those shouts of joy, that shake 
 The whole ethereal ! how the concave rings ! 
 Nor strange, when deities their voice exalt ! 
 And louder far, than when creation rose, 
 6 
 
108 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 To see creation's godlike aim, and end, 
 So well accomplish'd, so divinely clos'd !" 
 
 The poet then asks — " What then ami?" which he an- 
 swers by reproaching himself (suspending his censure on 
 Lorenzo) for making complaints, when submission and resig- 
 nation was his duty ; resignation to what was done, and will 
 ever be done, for his best interest. 
 
 " Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene ; 
 
 Resumes them, to prepare us for the next. 
 
 All evils natural are moral goods ; 
 
 All discipline, indulgence, on the whole. 
 
 None are unhappy ; all have cause to smile, 
 
 But such as to themselves that cause deny." 
 
 But if life is a trial, tears may sometimes be mixed with 
 our smiles ; and why do we call life " a vale of sorrows ?" 
 The poet's conviction, however, makes him promise 
 
 " To pay life's tax 
 Without one rebel murmur, from this hour; 
 Nor think it misery to be a man." 
 
 Assimilating natural to moral changes, he says, 
 
 " The winter is as needful as the spring ; 
 
 The thunder, as the sun ; a stagnant mass 
 
 Of vapours breeds a pestilential air ; 
 
 Not more propitious the Favonian breeze 
 
 To nature's health, than purifying storms. 
 
 The dread volcano ministers to good, 
 
 Its smother'd flames might undermine the world," &c. &c. 
 
 " May heaven ne'er trust my friend with happiness, 
 
 Till it has taught him how to bear it well 
 
 By previous pain, and made it safe to smile." 
 
young's night thoughts. 109 
 
 There is every probability that can be inferred from analogy, 
 of the existence of higher orders of beings, above man, from 
 analogy with what we know of the creation, from the lowest 
 to the highest steps of the ladder. For this contemplation, 
 the poet exhorts Lorenzo to " wake at midnight," 
 
 " To lift his eye 
 To yonder stars ; for other ends they shine, 
 Than to light revellers from shame to shame, 
 And thus be made accomplices in guilt." 
 
 This is followed by showing the utility of this contemplation, 
 to curb our pride, 
 
 " Our reason rouse, and lead it to that Power, 
 Whose love lets down these silver chains of light, 
 To draw up man's ambition to himself, 
 And bind our chaste affections to his throne. 
 Thus man his sovereign duty learns, in this 
 Material picture of benevolence." 
 
 Again the poet reverts to his own feelings, which of course 
 are wrought up to their highest pitch ; and he says this in- 
 finity of wonders has been exhibited by the Deity, " that man 
 might ne'er presume to plead amazement for disbelief of 
 wonders in himself." 
 
 " Shall God be less miraculous, than what 
 His hand has form'd ? shall mysteries descend 
 From unmysterious," &c. &c. 
 
 This subject too he pursues with his usual elevation of 
 thought and expression. He says, 
 
 " Know this, Lorenzo, seem it ne'er so strange, 
 Nothing can satisfy, but what confounds, 
 Nothing but what astonishes, is true." 
 
110 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 And this the use of our senses is sufficient to convince us 
 of. Still the poet goes on in endeavouring to rouse Lorenzo's 
 blunted feelings. For this exertion of them, 
 
 " Wouldst thou on metaphysic pinions soar ? 
 
 Or wound thy patience amid logic thorns ? 
 
 Or travel history's enormous round ? 
 
 Nature no such hard task enjoins ; she gave 
 
 A make to man directive of his thought ; 
 
 A make set upright, pointing to the stars, 
 
 As who should say, ' read thy chief lesson there.' 
 
 Too late to read this manuscript of heaven, 
 
 When, like a parchment roll shrunk up by flames, 
 
 It folds Lorenzo's lesson from his sight, 
 
 Lesson how various," &c. &c. 
 
 Here again the poet enlarges and multiplies his imaginative 
 and descriptive powers, descending from these heights to view 
 with horror and indignation the crimes and abasements of 
 unfeeling and unreflecting men, among whom, however, 
 
 " In Christian hearts O for a pagan zeal !" 
 
 So much more are men excited to search after truths them- 
 selves, than to profit by the discoveries of others, and so to 
 gain for themselves what they consider as a kind of second- 
 hand credit. Some have done honour to their nature. 
 
 " They taught, 
 That narrow views betray to misery ; 
 That, wise it is to comprehend the whole ; 
 That, virtue rose from nature, ponder'd well, 
 [Nature, to which Cicero so often appeals.] 
 
 The single base of virtue built to heaven ; 
 That God and nature our attention claim ; 
 
young's night thoughts. Ill 
 
 That nature is the glass reflecting God, 
 
 As by the sea reflected is the sun, 
 
 Too glorious to be gazed on in his sphere ; 
 
 That, mind immortal loves immortal aims ; 
 
 That, boundless mind affects a boundless space ; 
 
 That vast surveys, and the sublime of things, 
 
 The soul assimilate, and make her great ; 
 
 That, therefore, heaven her glories, as a fund 
 
 Of inspiration, thus spreads out to man. 
 
 Such are their doctrines ; such the night inspir'd." 
 
 He goes on to show the truth and importance of this, in the 
 proofs there are, that 
 
 " The soul of man was made to walk the skies ; 
 Delightful outlet of her prison here ! 
 There, disincumber'd of her chains, the ties 
 Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large ; 
 There freely can respire, dilate, extend, 
 In full proportion let loose all her powers 
 And, undeluded, grasp at something great 
 
 (So evident is the superiority of the mind over the body.) 
 
 This he says he will do in " the firmament," where, 
 
 «• 
 "-As earth- the body, since the skies sustain , 
 
 The soul with food, that gives immortal life, j 
 
 Call that the noble pasture of the mind ; 
 
 Which there expatiates, strengthens, and exaltsy 
 
 And riots through the luxuries of thought ; / 
 
 Call it the garden of the Deity, 
 
 Blossom'd with stars, redundant in the growth 
 
 Of fruit ambrosial ; moral fruit to man. 
 
 Call it the breastplate of the true high-priest, 
 
112 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Ardent with gems oracular, that give, 
 
 In points of highest moment, right response ; 
 
 And ill neglected, if we prize our peace." 
 
 He then enlarges on the immense (infinite ?. probably not) 
 space occupied by the stars, with the distances of their spheres 
 from each other. 
 
 " What then the wondrous space through which they roll ? 
 At once it quite engulphs all human thought : 
 'Tis comprehension's absolute defeat." 
 
 Going on with this maze of moving bodies, unsustained as 
 they apparently are, he says, 
 
 " Mark how the labyrinthian turns they take 
 The circles intricate, and mystic maze, 
 Weave the grand cypher of Omnipotence ; 
 To gods how great ! how legible to man !" 
 
 This is indeed a grand " cypher \" a cypher in which all 
 existence is comprehended ; and of which man has as much 
 knowledge as astronomy can give him. 
 
 Here he speculates upon the possibility of these stars being 
 destined " majestic seats" of the " angelic delegates of heaven," 
 " ministering" for the high purposes of the Deity. There 
 may be some foundation for this supposition. " Angels" are 
 " messengers." 
 
 Justly ascribing all these wonders to the power and majesty 
 of God, he exclaims, 
 
 " Say'st thou the course of nature governs all ? 
 The course of nature is the art of God." 
 
 For if this is not supernatural, what is ? 
 
 He truly says, that both sight and thought are bewildered 
 
young's night thoughts. 113 
 
 here ; perhaps Virgil has expressed as much as natural reli- 
 gion could, in 
 
 " Deum nam que ire per omnes 
 Terrasque, tractusque maris, ccelumque profundum." 
 
 Asking for the great Director of all these operations, the 
 poet is as much at a loss as the Psalmist, when he looked all 
 around, and could not see Him whom in vain he searched for. 
 
 " How glorious then appears the mind of man, 
 When in it all the stars and planets roll !"* 
 
 Is the mind of man then infinite ? Surely not ; for then it 
 would be equal to its Creator ; and this limitation of its powers, 
 I think, shows that the material universe is limited also ; for 
 if it were not, both would be commensurate with their Creator, 
 as the human mind can comprehend, at least in a certain de- 
 gree, all the material universe ; f the space beyond, (the " ex- 
 tra-mundane" space) is occupied (if the term may be used) by 
 the Being who fills it ; and it may be the womb of future 
 creations, for his power is inexhaustible, and his agency must 
 always be going on, secure as it is (not the Epicurean " secu- 
 rity") in its own power ; and the omnipresence of the Deity 
 excludes a vacuum. We may believe that the mind (soul) of 
 man is coeternal, in futurity, with God himself, but in a subor- 
 dinate eternity, in which it will exist under the protection of 
 its Supreme Source. But even in that case, what more can it 
 be, than what we are told it is here below, " the image of 
 God?" 
 
 We may say, then, of the " mind of man," that " what it 
 seems, it is ;" that is, under the destination and protection of 
 the great Being, who formed that " poor, that rich, that abject, 
 that august, that wonderful creature, man." What is this 
 
 * Night the Ninth. 
 
 f And that comprehension will, no doubt, be more fully extended 
 in a future life. 
 
 I 
 
114 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 creature, who has within himself " such strange extremes ?" 
 who has in his make that elastic principle, which can evolve 
 into radiations of mental circumspection (if I may so speak), 
 of which he is himself the centre, and which, like infinity 
 itself, " have no circumference ?" of which, in fact, the great, 
 the universal centre is God himself. He is the great, the 
 supreme object to which his finite creature man must look, 
 when, in following that golden rule, " Respice finem," he 
 finds in that infinite end (for language is itself confounded in 
 the ideas it would express) an ample reason for thanking 
 and trusting in Him whose Being comprehends infinity and 
 eternity, and who gave his creature man this power of looking 
 towards it, spread as it is all around him. What are the 
 '* many littles" that make up this immeasureable " mickle," 
 and what is the being who, with this power, is affected by the 
 least of those " littles," and who can, in his " mind's eye," 
 span the whole of them? What can constitute the indivi- 
 duality of such a being, of whom there are " countless mil- 
 lions," of which, as individuals, St. Paul says, he will have to 
 "present" such and such, at the great audience day of the 
 Sovereign of the universe ? What are those, who will bow 
 before His throne, great as they will be in the contemplation 
 of their " Sovereign," however little in the contemplation of 
 themselves ? Well may Young say, " His nature no man can 
 o'er-rate ;" — but alas ! who " can under-rate his merit ?" — 
 Alas, shall I say ? why lament an " unworthiness," which is 
 compensated by the incomparable and incomprehensible "wor- 
 thiness" of the Son of God, the Saviour and Redeemer of 
 man ? And what is this man, who is himself the " temple of 
 his God, his Saviour and Redeemer?" Can the " yvwOi GeavTov"* 
 be carried to such an extent, or comminuted into such an in- 
 finite divisibility of particles, each as infinitely divisible ? Yet 
 all these are within the omniscience and the omnivident eye of 
 
 * Know thyself. 
 
young's night thoughts. 115 
 
 Him, who can see every " sparrow" that " falls to the ground," 
 and by whom the very " hairs of our heads are numbered." 
 
 How are we lost, how buried, in the mathematical calcula- 
 tions, the metaphysical and ideal abstractions, that occupy 
 our minds ! Do we indulge a blameable curiosity in thus an- 
 ticipating what we are ultimately destined to enjoy ? For will 
 not the 'progress, thus begun, be continued ? a progress 
 which, if " coeval with the sun," would still be unfinished. 
 Do we incur any blame in availing ourselves of the sunshine 
 of our breasts, to throw a light into them, the rays of which 
 are emanated from the Source of all light ? Can man " at his 
 peril imitate his God?" can he be blameable, in attempting 
 to rise, to the height and vastness of an original of whom he 
 is himself " the image ?" to acquire new powers, which may 
 gradually bring him nearer to that original? and are the 
 powers already given him, to be repressed, or wasted on 
 unworthy objects ? 
 
 " Nothing can make it less than mad in man, 
 To put forth all his ardour, all his art, 
 And give his soul her full unbounded flight, 
 But reaching him, who gave her wings to fly." 
 
 So soars the eagle, aiming at the sun. But, 
 
 " Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man." 
 
 And the perfection of morality is, to know, and to be con- 
 sistent with itself. 
 
 " And what it seems, it is ; great objects make 
 Great minds, enlarging as their views enlarge ; 
 Those still more godlike, as these more divine." 
 
 He says also that 
 " Wisdom and choice their well-known characters 
 Here deep impress ; and claim it for their own ; 
 
 i 2 
 
116 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Though splendid all, no splendour void of use. 
 Use rivals beauty ; art contends with power ; 
 No wanton waste, amid effuse expense : 
 The great Economist adjusting all 
 To prudent pomp, magnificently wise !" 
 
 (As nothing is made, so nothing is expended in vain.) 
 
 " Then those aerial racers, O how swift! 
 
 How the shaft loiters from the strongest string ! 
 
 Spirit alone can distance the career." 
 
 (For nothing but spirit can well exceed the swiftness of 
 some substances, light, for instance, if substance it is.) 
 
 " Orb above orb ascending without end ! 
 Circle in circle, without end, inclos'd!" 
 
 There may be varieties of expanse of space, as well as of 
 size of substances, moving in them ; and these may balance 
 each other by their projectile and centripetal forces, as far as 
 we may presume to interpret the laws of the great Creator. 
 As to quickness or slowness of motion, that, as well as size, 
 seems to be entirely comparative *. Perhaps we may suppose 
 a body in the centre of the universe (as in Mons. Lambert's 
 system), large enough to be itself the centre of all gravitation, 
 and having no projectile force given to it by the divine im- 
 pulse, to be constantly at rest, and to be, as Mons. Lambert, 
 and, indeed, our nocturnal bard, both suppose, the immediate 
 and " local throne" of the Deity. As such a central body, it 
 can have no revolutionary, nor any other motion, unless it is 
 a libratory one. Perfect stagnation seems to be at variance 
 with the general order of things. 
 
 * And not real : proved, I think, by the motion of the earth round 
 the sun, which, though at the rate of 68,000 miles in an hour, and 
 nineteen miles in a moment ! makes the earth be about five minutes 
 in moving the length of its own diameter. 
 
young's night thoughts. 117 
 
 Pursuing this astonishing subject, and comparing it with 
 the pursuits of ambition, the poet says, 
 
 " Now go, ambition! boast thy boundless might, 
 In conquest o'er the tenth part of a grain." 
 
 He goes on in the praises of the " great Artist," the " dread 
 Deity," and his works, and considering Him as the object of 
 our prayers as well as praises, he says, 
 
 " In every storm, that either frowns or falls, 
 What an asylum has the soul in prayer ! 
 And what a fane is this, in which to pray ! 
 And what a God must dwell in such a fane !" 
 
 But while we humiliate ourselves, he says, 
 " The mind that would be happy, must be great 
 Great in its wishes ; great in its surveys." 
 
 (Great in the consciousness of its own weakness, and in 
 knowing whom it depends upon.) 
 
 He then advises Lorenzo to question himself deeply, in 
 order to know the ends of his existence, and to be convinced 
 of that of a God. From this the poet endeavours to ramble 
 in thought to the utmost bounds of creation. 
 
 " Where rears its terminating pillar high 
 
 Its extra-mundane head ; and says, to gods, 
 
 In characters illustrious as the sun, 
 
 ' I stand, the plan's proud period ; I pronounce 
 
 The work accomplish'd, the creation clos'd,' " &c. &c. 
 
 Dwelling on this stupendous subject, and vainly attempting 
 
 to equal it in his images, for he had before said, of the 
 
 Creator, 
 
 " I am, thy name ! existence, all thine own ! 
 Creation's nothing ; natter'd much, if styl'd, 
 The thin, the fleeting atmosphere of God." 
 
118 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 Looking for more worlds, and above all, the great Creator, 
 he says, 
 
 " Like him of Uz, 
 I gaze around ; I search on every side — 
 O for a glimpse of Him my soul adores ! 
 As the chas'd hart, amid the desert waste, 
 Pants for the living stream ; for Him who made her, 
 So pants the thirsty soul, amid the blank 
 Of sublunary joys." 
 
 The existence of a supreme Being is in a manner an abstract 
 idea in the human mind ; but in ascending the scale of ex- 
 cellence, we cannot stop till we arrive at the " first good, first 
 perfect, and first fair." Man finds the idea and the desire of 
 realising it in his own mind ; and they both imply its reality. 
 If not, from whence does the idea arise ? In our comparative 
 estimations, we find that " God alone is good," a title which 
 Christ himself would not allow to be given to him. 
 
 Lost in vain inquiries and interrogations upon points on 
 which no information has been or will be given, the poet 
 despairs of attaining a summit towards which he has made so 
 little approach, and he concludes with, 
 
 " Here human effort ends ; 
 And leaves me still a stranger to his throne." 
 
 Convinced of his error, he says, 
 
 " Full well it might ; I quite mistook my road. 
 Born in an age more curious than devout ; 
 More fond to fix the place of heaven, or hell, 
 Than studious this to shun, or that secure. 
 'Tis not the curious, but the pious path, 
 That leads me to my point ; Lorenzo ! know, 
 Without or star, or angel, for their guide, 
 
young's night thoughts. 119 
 
 Who worship God, shall find him. Humble love, 
 And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven ; 
 Love finds admission, where proud science fails." 
 
 (Love regulated by reason, which should govern both our 
 " hearts, our souls, and our strengths." It would otherwise 
 be " love and madness *.") 
 
 The " amor divinus" is mixed and tempered with fear ; 
 fear heightened by ignorance ; for, 
 
 " Not deeply to discern, not much to know, 
 
 Mankind was born to wonder and adore." 
 
 But the poet still finds matter for discussion, for conjecture, 
 and for remonstrance, though he still finds Lorenzo insensible 
 to the latter ; for vain are all addresses to the reason, if the 
 feelings are not touched; whence the Italian proverb, " Mu- 
 overe sol e vittoria f." A man may be, 
 
 " Though blind of heart, still open in his eye." 
 
 If " passion is pleased," reason is silenced, and can " ask 
 no more," though 
 
 " By strong guilt's most violent assault, 
 Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd." 
 
 Man, feeling that he has the power of speaking to his own 
 conscience, and of arguing and disputing with it, fancies that 
 he has also the power of dictating to it, which his passions 
 assist him in doing. But conscience will return to the attack, 
 and will make itself heard, perhaps when it is too late for it 
 to be heard with any profit. 
 
 It may be observed, that the disbelief of a future life is 
 often, if not generally accompanied by the disbelief of the 
 reality of virtue, which the infidel considers as a mere calcu- 
 lation of interest, in what it may look forward to, or else in 
 
 * The madness of some enthusiasts, 
 t " To conquer, we must move," that is, the feelings. 
 2 
 
120 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 the esteem that its pretensions may procure for it here. The 
 former the infidel considers as a chimera, and the latter only 
 as real. Viewing it in this light, he makes nothing of the 
 goodness of God, the importance of virtue in this world, &c. 
 All this he regards as a delusion, from which no solid benefit 
 can arise, or he may say, that we should not pretend to know 
 what we cannot know to a certainty ; that we should set no 
 value on the knowledge we have, because we cannot obtain 
 still greater; and that, therefore, with the Pyrrhonists, we 
 should doubt of, and in doubting, reject every thing, except 
 what a superficial observation may suggest to us. This, no 
 doubt, will save trouble, and remove doubt ; but it will sub- 
 stitute despair in its stead. 
 
 In whatever light we regard the person and nature of Christ, 
 I think we must consider the sacrifice made by him of himself, 
 as requiring to be made by a being of the highest order, and 
 so nearly approaching to an equality with the Supreme, as to 
 justify the attribution of a perfect equality with him ; and that 
 Christ was, as Sir Humphry Davy expresses it in his " Last 
 Days of a Philosopher," " an integrant part of the Deity 
 himself." However mysterious and incomprehensible this 
 may be by us, it is no more so than the other mysteries of 
 religion, and all that belongs to the nature and attributes of 
 the Father and Creator of all existence. A mystery, therefore, 
 attested by such evidence as this is, demands our fullest accep- 
 tation, and will not allow of its being lowered to the standard, 
 or any thing near the standard, of human reason. It is a 
 trial, and perhaps the greatest trial, of our faith, to believe the 
 " Son of God, and the equal to, and coexistent with, God 
 himself," was incarnate (" made man,") and underwent all 
 that is recorded of Christ in the most authentic of all nar- 
 ratives, to save his creature man, who had, by the abuse of 
 his conditional power of free agency, fallen from his original 
 nature, and ceased to be, what he was first intended to be, 
 " the image of his Maker ;" a state to which, by the asto- 
 
young's night thoughts. 121 
 
 nishing but necessary sacrifice made for him by our Saviour 
 and Redeemer, he is now restored, and may, if he falls not 
 again, maintain himself in. The goodness of God, which 
 ordained the sacrifice, will extend the mercy required for 
 giving to man the full benefit of it ; what man was created 
 for, he is again made capable of being. The Spirit of God 
 assimilated him to itself, and has restored what was first given 
 to him. Man is, or may be if he will, again the image of his 
 Maker. Thus is " the power, the wisdom, and the mercy of 
 God," fully displayed ; and to be fully sensible of it, we must 
 believe all that can reasonably be inferred from the Gospel. 
 
 " For what, my small philosopher, is hell? 
 'Tis nothing but full knowledge of the truth." 
 
 So awful a truth may well require the greatest acquire- 
 ments of philosophy to " know it fully," that 
 
 " Truth may not be sworn our foe, 
 Nor call eternity to do her right." 
 
 If she does, we shall indeed find that 
 " A little learning is a dangerous thing, 
 
 and that we must 
 " Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. 
 
 But this " drinking deep," must be accompanied with a 
 good taste and a good digestion, otherwise what we " drink" 
 may turn sour in our stomachs, as it appears to have done in 
 " Lorenzo's." 
 
 The poet, however, still continues to urge his point, not 
 omitting an appeal to the Father, the Controller, the Judge of 
 all, who alone can determine the time when many 
 
 " Shall wake, when the creation sleeps ; 
 When, like a taper, all these suns expire ; 
 
122 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath, 
 Plucking the pillars that support the world, 
 In nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd ; 
 And midnight, universal midnight ! reigns." 
 
 This ending with universal darkness is consonant enough 
 with the title and general tenor of this poem, but not, I think, 
 with the best idea that we can form of the designs of the 
 Creator. " Light" was not designed, nor supported by so 
 many suns, to be entirely extinguished ; universal light, there- 
 fore, in its highest splendour, is more to be expected. The 
 angels are angels of light; Satan, the prince of darkness. 
 What other light may take place of that we now enjoy, we 
 cannot know. Whatever is short of perfection now, will pro- 
 bably be perfected hereafter. 
 
 The sublimity of this poem surely atones for its obscurity ; 
 nor is that obscurity impenetrable, by those who feel them- 
 selves enough interested in the most important truths, to be 
 inclined to attend to them. 
 
 The fortitude with which we meet death, depends perhaps a 
 good deal upon the credit that we expect to meet with by it 
 from our fellow-creatures ; for we are apt to value the " praise 
 of men more than the praise of God." But both may concur, 
 and one will be given by the rational part of our species, in 
 proportion to our claim to the other. By those who do not 
 think with equal seriousness of that claim, the mere exhibition 
 of fortitude will often (not always, for it must be determined 
 by the conduct of our past lives) be attributed to our sense 
 of having sufficient grounds for it ; but this can only be 
 thoroughly known to God and ourselves. 
 
 So little information has been given us in the sacred 
 writings, or even in the mysterious expressions of St. Paul, 
 respecting the state of the soul after death, or the time when 
 its reanimation in another and a more " glorious body" will 
 take place, that we are left in a manner to the dictates of our 
 
young's night thoughts. 123 
 
 reason and our feelings, powerfully and unanswerably as they 
 are appealed to in this poem, to that little information that has 
 been given us, to the firm belief which the sufferings of the 
 early martyrs (whose blood might well be called " the seed of 
 the church")? witnesses as they had been of the general con- 
 firmation of the truth of his religion by our blessed Saviour, 
 witnesses too of his life and miracles, of his sacrifice of himself, 
 and, above all, his resurrection and ascension (without which 
 our "faith would be vain") testified, to found our opinion of 
 them upon. The uncertainty in which we are left, with the 
 " tremulous" hope of a " bliss" to which we are total 
 " strangers," is probably necessary to keep us in awe, and to 
 secure, by our religious faith and our moral conduct (in those 
 who have that faith) our title to the future happiness which 
 is conditionally promised to us, and to add to the many trials 
 which we are destined to undergo in our present state ; trials, 
 which the hope of reward, or the fear of punishment, eternal 
 as it is announced to be, and our persuasion of the justice, as 
 well as the mercy, of God, may well induce us to sustain. 
 All our feelings are thus acted upon ; and to qualify us for 
 being influenced by them, we have the fortitude which our 
 hopes, and the general estimation of our fellow-creatures, 
 enforce our maintenance of. In many of them we see the 
 manifestation of that hope and fortitude, assisted perhaps by 
 constitutional influence; and the feelings of them exist, we 
 may hope, in many more than we see the open manifestations 
 of them in (prevented sometimes by false shame), especially as 
 age advances upon them, and when the tenor of their past lives 
 has strengthened those feelings. These support them in their 
 decline, and the promises of pardon to repentant sinners (and 
 who has not sins to repent of?) gives additional strength to 
 that support. Thus they are left to " fear and tremble," 
 which the stoutest and best of us may do, but neither to do 
 that, nor to " mourn" for the loss of friends or relations, 
 " without hope ;" hope which has all the encouragement that 
 
124 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 we are capable of receiving, or can reasonably expect to 
 receive. That capacity, and those grounds of expectation, 
 will differ in different minds, to which is generally given that 
 degree of capacity which the " requirements" made of them 
 will, as our blessed Saviour has told us, be proportioned to. 
 Justice in this is fully accordant with mercy ; we are respon- 
 sible for no more than the first requires, and that responsi- 
 bility is measured by all the allowances that the second can 
 suggest. Of what then have we to complain, when we have 
 so many inducements given us, to support the trials which we 
 may expect such rewards for our sustainment of?* The duties 
 of " doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with our 
 God," are among those trials, and our performance of them 
 will be accepted, if suited to our ability for it ; nor will our 
 Creator be " extreme to mark what is amiss," in the defects 
 of that performance, if we " confess" and repent of them, for 
 which " He will be faithful and just to forgive us." Let us 
 then, sinners as we all are, rely upon the assurances that we 
 have received, in our endeavours to merit the fulfilment of 
 them ; let us live in obedience, that we may die in hope. As 
 Young says, " Religion's all ;" nor can the "■ joys of life" 
 have any ' ' heart or substance," but as they are consistent 
 with the respect which reason itself requires for our religious 
 duties, which comprehend all that we owe to God, to our 
 fellow-creatures, and to ourselves. We cannot surely allow 
 any truth to Voltaire's 
 
 " Dieu a fait les hommes legers et vains, 
 Pour les rendre moins miserables."f 
 
 For vanity and levity will go farther than as mere excuses for 
 the neglect of our more serious duties, and an " aimable 
 vautrien" (an agreeable but good for nothing man,) which 
 
 * And which " patience and resignation " are amply sufficient to 
 enable us to support. 
 
 f God has made men light and vain, that they maybe less miserable. 
 
young's night thoughts. 125 
 
 that neglect may make, will never have the real esteem of 
 mankind, nor any consideration but what charity allows him, 
 and the due regulation of our own conduct requires, without 
 our assuming a right to judge finally of his. In this too our 
 pride (that " lawful pride" that " includes humility,") may 
 assist us, and may correct itself. Like Madame de Stael's 
 " Lord Nelvil" in her ingenious " Corinne," we may be 
 " severes pour les nations," severe to nations, though to a 
 certain degree " indulgents pour les individus," indulgent 
 to individuals, and we may well suppose that God himself will 
 make the same distinctions in his judgments, that of each will 
 be " required" according to what to each " is given." The 
 French, indeed, have had a most severe lesson in their revo- 
 lution, and many of them no doubt have profited by it. We 
 must hope that the " irritamenta malorum," excitements of 
 evils, amongst us, will not bring on a similar one. 
 
 Reasoning from induction requires thought ,- its conclusions, 
 therefore, do not immediately occur to the mind, which is 
 often left exposed to the influence of the animal spirits, or the 
 varying suggestions which either they, or the natural changes 
 of our minds produce. Thus we have always a battle to fight, 
 in adhering to reasonable conclusions, or in resisting unrea- 
 sonable ones. Our ability to fight this battle will, I think, be 
 assisted by our perusal of, and meditation upon, the sublime 
 poem which I have made the subject of my thoughts and 
 discussions. 
 
 Young says of the happiness of a future life, 
 
 " What heart but trembles at so strange a bliss ?" ' *— * 
 And well may tremble, for so vast a bliss 
 (Vast without waste, and lasting without end) 
 No head can comprehend, no " heart conceive." 
 What wonder then, if so unknown a state 
 Should more our doubts excite, than our belief 
 Command ? and, spite of God's own word, his voice 
 
126 EXTRACTS FROM YOUNg's NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 That still within us speaks, in reason's spite, 
 
 Shall find no answer from the ardent thought 
 
 That " weds it to desire ?" shall rather raise 
 
 Doubts, that to reason and to feeling still 
 
 Obdurate foes, shall to " the charmer's voice," 
 
 Like " the deaf adder," no assent return ? 
 
 Speak then the truth, say, that whate'er our wish 
 
 True happiness to gain, in " pleasure's paths 
 
 We still the steps pursue that reason shuns ;" 
 
 We still " the dance, the die, the midnight bowl, 
 
 Which death ne'er fails to crown," with ardour follow ; 
 
 " Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, 
 
 Against him turn the key, and bid him sup 
 
 With our progenitors ; he drops his mask," 
 
 (A mask the " pamper'd spendthrift" well might wear) 
 
 " Frowns out at full; we start, despair, expire." 
 
 Or say, that to the ground with fullest sense 
 
 Prest of our own " unworthiness," the boon 
 
 Which God's own mercy offers, to accept 
 
 We dread, nor trust that mercy, nor the wishes 
 
 Which urge us to believe the mercy real. 
 
 So heavy is the " burthen of our sins," 
 
 " The particle of air divine" within us, 
 
 With all " the weight of yesterday's debauch " 
 
 Their own still more increasing, they forbid 
 
 Aloft to rise, " and fix it to the ground*." 
 
 * To be raised only by the mercy of Him who has promised it. 
 
 THE END. 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 
 
 Page 5, line 2, for "just," read first. Either of these, indeed, will do, 
 for " Nature's lessons" must always be just, and first to be attended to, 
 given as they are by Nature's God. 
 
 Page 7j line 29, "procrastination" — will hardly allow us to " work" 
 out our salvation with fear and trembling, which then may come too 
 late. But " guarding our thoughts" is in itself a " work." 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 
 
 Page 9, line 10,— 
 
 " Redeem we time ? Its loss we dearly buy." 
 
 Such a " loss" would hardly have any " gain" in it, except as an 
 Irish bargain. But we may make a purchase that we lose by, if we are 
 cheated, or cheat ourselves. In " beguiling time," we may often be- 
 guile ourselves. " C'est le plus gros jeu, celui des moments." Time 
 was made for man, in his mortal state, and is given him to " use." One 
 of its best uses is in mutual instruction, by words or by example. 
 
 Page 14, line 14, " converse" with men requires loquacity ; converse 
 with nature, silence. Both in the communication of knowledge : with 
 nature, solely in the mind ; with man, through the medium of speech. 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 
 
 Page 17, line 26. — As an excuse for my metaphysical question, I may 
 say, that if we place all existence in God, "matter" will have none in 
 itself. How then can it be palpable, except through the probably de- 
 lusive medium of our senses ? Spiritual existence must have spiritual 
 perceptions ; comprehend them as little as we may, they will not be such 
 as attend " this mortal coil." These spiritual perceptions will tell us 
 
128 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 that " death is more apparently than really the extinction of life." 
 Want of these perceptions must be insensibility, or rather " annihila- 
 tion." The sensibility of the deist must be very imperfect. 
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 
 
 Page 22, line 29. — Shall we not excuse what arises from the weakness 
 of our nature? And does not " avarice" often do so? Profusive enjoy- 
 ments may be still more selfish, as they leave us nothing to be generous 
 with. But these, as well as our other faults, require the great atonement 
 that has been made. 
 
 Page 25, line 16. — Rousseau's assertion was indeed a strange one, 
 " that the sight of Christ's miracles would not have convinced, but only 
 confounded him." What other conviction did he require, than what 
 the evidence of the senses gave, that the miracles were done by a person 
 divinely gifted, and himself divine. But Rousseau's pride would not 
 allow that belief. If he was justly called " un fou sublime," it shows 
 that the highest flights of human sublimity, when winged by pride, are 
 weak opponents to the language of truth ; for Rousseau himself acknow- 
 ledges that the " language" of the Gospel was not that " of invention." 
 
 Page 27, line 8. — I know not whether Mons. Lambert's localising the 
 seat of God's power is at variance with his omnipresence, which may be 
 considered as universal locality, and we see the peculiar marks of his 
 power in the " worlds celestial," that people the " proud arch," appa- 
 rently over our heads, but in fact spread all around us. Their locality 
 then is at least very extensive. 
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 
 
 Page 34, line 16. — So men are often obliged to act the hypocrites in 
 repressing the licence in others which they indulge in themselves, and 
 their sacrifice to propriety is in fact a sacrifice to pride. But how easily 
 this is seen through ! 
 
 Page 35, line 27. — If it is true, as Young says, that 
 
 " Few bring back at eve, 
 Immaculate, the manners of the morn," 
 
 Those "manners" may return on the succeeding " morn," if there is a 
 prevalence on the side of virtue ; and thus men may live, as so many of 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 129 
 
 them do, in a state of vacillation between right and wrong, if not between 
 virtue and vice. If the latter prevails, the "manners" that "virtue" 
 should suggest, will have been more than " maculated" already, and 
 such a man may add to, inscead of escaping from, the " infections of the 
 world." Young may be thought too severe in his censures of the world, 
 but a compliance with its customs and manners depends so much on the 
 character and disposition of the individual, that it is, perhaps, impos- 
 sible to lay down the same rule for all : one truth, however, is of uni- 
 versal application, that 
 
 " 'Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man." 
 
 And that is a standard which we cannot lower with safety. 
 
 Page 36, line 8. — Those who are capable of " thoughts solid and 
 sublime," must be " regenerated," not by man, but by God. 
 
 Page 38, line 26, at " une memoire d'Aubergiste." 
 
 Note. — An innkeeper's bill ; where all unconnected things are to be 
 found. 
 
 Page 40, line 30. — The " suicide," who has lived only for himself 
 (for his own sensual enjoyments), atones for it by the ruin which be 
 rushes into. He will not wait for the " stratagems and surprises of 
 death" (page 45), though he courts and anticipates them by his licen- 
 tious enjoyments. 
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 
 
 Note to page .50, line 18. — If we consider the pleasure that " admi- 
 ration" and the expression of it give, I think we shall hardly doubt of 
 these being the chief enjoyments of a future life. 
 
 Page 50, line 29. — Will not the possessors of " rank, station, or 
 riches," attend to these admonitions? or will they continue in their 
 *' proud mendicancy ?" 
 
 Page 51, line 29, for " probabl," read probably. 
 
 Page 55, line 8, " ask the swain, &c."— Much of this, however, must 
 depend on the state of the mind ; mental insensibility is much the same 
 as ocular blindness. 
 
 From what is said here of the enjoyments which Nature affords, I 
 think it may be inferred, that her scenery has this advantage over the 
 representations of art, vary them as we will, that the former may suit 
 
 K 
 
130 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 any disposition that we can be in, whether grave, gay, or even gloomy, 
 better than any thing that art can do. The revolutions of the seasons 
 show this in sensible minds, and it is according to the effect of the state 
 of the atmosphere, as well as to the changes in the face of Nature her- 
 self. These changes produce a continual variety, so that no impression 
 remains long enough on our minds to wear out, or to become oppressive 
 of itself; and even all human changes or reverses lose their force on us 
 by long continuance, and the natural ones of our minds make the ac- 
 cordance of the objects, on which their attentions are fixed, necessary; 
 if we are seriously disposed, we require serious objects, if gaily, gay 
 ones, &c. This versatility, whatever Young has said against it, and 
 against " the witchcrafts of the world," that encourage it, and in praise 
 of equanimity, is necessary to enable us to bear the mutability of all on 
 earth, to " disengage ourselves" even " from a friend's grave," and to 
 prevent us from continuing 
 
 " To weep in earnest, and yet weep in vain, 
 As deep in indiscretion, as in woe." 
 
 This indiscretion, then, we are chiefly saved from by the inconstancy of 
 our feelings. Happy, however, it is for us, that there are some feelings 
 which are more durable, especially those which are excited by social 
 opinions, and by our future expectations. "Without this, our conduct 
 might be as versatile as our feelings. Neither of these can be much in 
 our favour, when we " live to fancy," as is described in page 59, instead 
 of "doing real good." This is, indeed, a bad preparation for the "im- 
 mortality" that all have to expect; we may then find to our cost the 
 difference between " time, used and misused, in eternity." How envi- 
 able must be the state of the man, 
 
 " Whom immortality's full force inspires !" 
 
 No " enthusiasm" can make us over-rate this, unable as we are either to 
 " compute," or to " comprehend" it. How godlike then the desire of it ! 
 Page 65, line 10.— 
 
 " Nature revolves, but man advances, both 
 Eternal," &c. 
 This does not agree with what we are told in the Scriptures, that the 
 works of nature (God) are to perish. To man is promised an eternity 
 of existence, happy or miserable, as he deserves. What will become of 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 131 
 
 matter, we are not informed, nor indeed do we know what matter is. 
 Perhaps we may say, that as " Ex nihilo nihil fit" so ad nihilum nihil 
 redire potest. Something must endure ; and what, beside spirit ? As 
 gravitation is peculiar to material bodies, spiritual ones are probably 
 exempt from it ; to them, then, there are neither ups nor downs, and 
 they may, it is presumed, move in any direction : upwards, if the term 
 may still be used, they will surely fly ; the term " elevation" is not pre- 
 cluded. But in our present state of ignorance, what can we affirm of 
 metaphysical essences ? Of the most metaphysical, God himself, we 
 should be careful how we set any limits to His power. 
 
 Page 70, line 32, for " Cato," read Plato. — I have, indeed, purposely 
 substituted " Cato," as the application of his name is to political ideas, 
 unbending as they were in him, and more suited to pride than truth. 
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Page 70, line 17, for " p. 43," read " p. 44." 
 
 Page 74, line 9. — It is no small objection against scepticism, that it 
 will not allow the feelings to be at rest, for it proves that neither 
 they nor the reason are satisfied with it. A state of agitation will 
 only gratify the passions, pride particularly. Perfect peace of mind 
 cannot perhaps be obtained in a state of trial ; but an endeavour to sa- 
 tisfy both the reason and the feelings (the milder ones) will be an ap- 
 proach to it ; the more we are thrown upon ourselves, the more our 
 pride has to struggle with, the more it will feel its own weakness. 
 
 " Nothing is dead; nay, nothing sleeps; each soul 
 That our animated human clay, 
 Now wakes : is on the wing ; and where, O where, 
 Will the swarm settle ?" 
 
 (Page 78, before " How bright," &c.) 
 
 In infinite space, no doubt ; in which may be " a valley of Jehosa- 
 phat," reserved for souls superior in goodness and other attainments. 
 This, Voltaire very foolishly and impiously ridicules, forgetting the 
 nature of space and spirit, neither of which we can at all comprehend, 
 except by the desires that we continually feel of future, greater, and 
 more certain "joys" than any that this world affords. When we look 
 upon our friends or our relations, upon a beloved and affectionate wife, 
 
 K 2 
 
<y 
 
 132 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 our second self, we cannot but wish the enjoyment ensured which is here 
 so precarious, and therefore, so mixed with anxiety : we dread to be 
 left alone, we wish to live for ever with her who, perhaps, will receive 
 our last breath, (still more dreadful if we receive hers,) who will give 
 us the last embrace, and will unite her prayers with ours, that our union 
 may be perpetuated where no sorrows will embitter, no fears allay it; 
 but where it will be consummated and perpetuated, in the supreme 
 happiness which the contemplation, the praise of, and gratitude to, the 
 Giver of all good will secure to us. That such a consummation will take 
 place, to those who wish for and will strive to deserve it, we have been 
 assured. This immortality, and the Gospel which assures us of it, are 
 mutual confirmations of each other ; our reason and our feelings tell us 
 that the first must take place, and the second only has assured us of it ; 
 we have, therefore, every reason (besides the powerful evidence of the 
 latter) to believe in both. 
 
 To this may be added the strength of reasoning which there is in the 
 " Night Thoughts," and not the least in those passages, which Madame 
 de Stael censures for their want of taste, as being almost impossible to 
 be read. For instance, in Night the Ninth, 
 
 " Can yonder Moon turn Ocean in his bed 
 From side to side, in constant ebb and flow, 
 And purify from stench his watery realms ?" 
 (Which there probably was no other way of doing) 
 " And fails her moral influence ? Wants she power 
 To turn Lorenzo's stubborn tide of thought 
 From stagnating on earth's infected shore, 
 And purge from nuisance his corrupted heart ?" 
 
 This is a metaphorical union of physical and moral ideas, similar to 
 the comparison of" a dog returning to his vomit," and " a sow wallow- 
 ing in the mire," in Scripture, the force of which far outweighs any 
 objection that can be made against it. 
 
 For further force, we may cite, 
 
 " Imagine from their deep foundations torn 
 The most gigantic sons of earth, the broad 
 And towering Alps, all tost into the sea, 
 And light as down, and volatile as air, 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 133 
 
 Their bulks enormous dancing on the waves, 
 
 In time and measure exquisite ; while all 
 
 The winds, in emulation of the spheres, 
 
 Tune their sonorous instruments aloft, 
 
 (To produce the ' harmony of the spheres') 
 
 The concert swell, and animate the ball. 
 
 Would this appear amazing ? What then, worlds 
 
 In a far thinner element sustain' d, 
 
 And acting the same part, with greater skill, 
 
 (Skill not their own) 
 More rapid movement," 
 
 (Incomparably) 
 
 " and for noblest ends?" 
 
 Ends, as he goes on to state, still nobler than those relative to man. 
 So supreme is the " great God of wonders," in the command of time, 
 weight, measure, &c. &c. How great, how exact, how sublime, and 
 yet how inadequate is all that Young has said ! How much more for- 
 cible is the simple language (poetical or not) of the Scriptures ! Poetry, 
 indeed, is little more than amplification. 
 
 Page 73, line 1, " A God all mercy is a God unjust." 
 This, which he had said in Night the Fourth, I must own is rather a 
 bold appeal to the justice of God, in creatures who have so much need 
 of his mercy. Let us then be careful how we provoke his justice. 
 * * * " * * * 
 
 " To love, and know, in man 
 Is boundless appetite, and boundless power," &c. 
 
 Without a future life, there would indeed be a wasle, both of human 
 " appetite" and human " power." Man would be a " monster," how- 
 ever " faultless" a one he might be. The greatest of the final causes of 
 his existence would be wanting. A link would be broken in the chain 
 of causes and effects, and that link, pertiaps, the nearest to Him who 
 " holds the chain." 
 
 " Thus far ambition, what says avarice ?" (Page 76, line 13). 
 ***** 
 
 " The wise and wealthy are the same," &c. 
 
184 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 If it is not too great a play upon words, it may be said that " what I 
 gave, that I have," may be applied to the " avarice" which gives the 
 wisdom it has " stored up," to be repaid with ample interest, either in 
 the conduct of those who have received it, or by Him who will let no 
 merit go unrewarded. The " avarice" that covets His reward, is indeed 
 " a virtue most divine." 
 
 ****** 
 " Heaven's promise dormant lies in human hope ; 
 Who wishes life immortal, proves it too." 
 
 A wish that has been given by Him, who is the Fountain of Truth, 
 must be truth itself. 
 
 " How small a part — of nothing, shall I say 1 
 Are our chief treasure, friends," &c. 
 
 Of " nothing," while perishable here, like the rest ; but of something, 
 and that not a little, when we meet them hereafter in heaven. 
 
 " Hope, like a cordial, innocent though strong, 
 Man's heart at once inspirits and serenes." 
 
 Hope, indeed, is a sedative ; but a sedative that doubles the elasticity 
 of " man's heart," by the compression which it gives, and which the 
 heart is ever ready to burst through, and to break the chains of its 
 " tyranny," for a time " scarcely less" oppressive " than the overpower- 
 ing ones of despair." Nay, still more so ; for despair has given the " coup 
 de grace" to hope ; and without hope, what is life* ? 
 
 Has not Young prepared us, if " grave," to be " graver still ?" and 
 will not that " gravity" both " inspirit and serene ?" 
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 
 
 Page 85, before " Having enumerated," &c. 
 
 " There's not a day, but to the man of thought 
 Betrays some secret, that throws new reproach 
 On life, and makes him sick of seeing more." 
 
 * How much soever " hope" may be said to be, 
 " The assassin of our joys." 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 135 
 
 And is life then given us only to be the continual object of our 
 " reproaches V should they not rather fall on ourselves, for our misuse 
 of life ? and may not both these reproaches be prevented, or at least ex- 
 tenuated? Men of "business," and men of "pleasure," may both de- 
 serve " approbation." 
 
 The " beaten track" should be trod with candour as well as truth. 
 But Young was addressing himself to " Lorenzo." 
 
 " Ocean ! thou dreadful and tumultuous home 
 Of dangers, at eternal war with man !" 
 
 Life, alas !" is an ocean, and its state a " warfare ;" but a way to the 
 " peace," unattainable here, of a future life. What elements, when 
 " full against wind and tide," have we not to struggle with ! Can 
 " Caesars" do it 1 No, they are " beaten down at last," and not always 
 by " the rush of years." We may begin " Florellos ;" but in what do 
 we end ? In having the " cover" of our disguise thrown off, and all our 
 sins laid bare. 
 
 What but the hand of grace will stay the rod ? 
 What but the balm of mercy heal its wounds ? 
 
 " If Wisdom has her miseries to mourn, 
 How can poor Folly lead a happy life ?" 
 
 Let " folly" be as " happy" as it will, the tears of " wisdom" will 
 still be more " pleasing." They are not shed for crimes, but misfortunes ; 
 and if for crimes, those of others, not our own. " Purity of thought," 
 and " an humble spirit," wipe away all tears ; or at least, soften their 
 bitterness. " Lorenzo" may " scorn," but he will " gnash his teeth," 
 too ; and, not the less, for his being " seen," though that, for a while, 
 may prevent his turning his eyes inward. If the conscience is clear, 
 what storms can assail us ? Certainly not those of " detraction." But 
 no " vanity" is long proof against these. 
 
 " Is virtue then, and piety the same ? 
 No," &c. 
 
 Faith then must precede good works, (what folly, to confound 
 " faith" and good works ! or to make one a substitute for the other !) but 
 not be a substitute for them, for it only gives them " heart and sub- 
 
136 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 stance ;" and without piety there can be no true faith ; nor can faith 
 have any truth, unless it is founded in reason : for 
 
 " Reason pursu'd is faith ; and unpursu'd, 
 Where proof invites, 'tis reason then no more." 
 
 But reason cannot do its duty, when perverted by pride ; when that 
 emboldens us to " smile at piety," yet boast aloud 
 
 " Goodwill to men, nor know we strive to part 
 What nature joins; and thus confute ourselves. 
 With piety begins all good on earth ; 
 "lis the first-born of rationality." 
 
 " Some we can't love, but for the Almighty's sake," &c. 
 What a sacrifice of pride is here required ! Little as we know how 
 much our self-love would be expanded, exalted, and justified by it; and 
 how much " happiness" would be " built" upon it ! with what delight 
 we should 
 
 " To the great Founder of the bounteous feast 
 Drink glory, gratitude, eternal praise !" 
 
 All which proceed from the love of man, excited by the love of God. 
 
 The love of others is the love of ourselves. In one sense, every one, 
 be he our enemy or not, is an " alter idem." This will 
 
 Promote our future, while it forms our present joy. 
 This Young verifies in his picture of 
 
 " What nothing less than angel can exceed, 
 A man on earth devoted to the skies." 
 
 The poet then says to Lorenzo, 
 
 " And thou, Lorenzo ! bigot of this world I 
 Wont to disdain poor bigots caught by heaven ! 
 Stand by thy scorn, and be reduc'd to nought ! 
 For what art thou ? thou boaster ! while thy glare, 
 Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth, 
 Like a broad mist, at distance, strikes us most, 
 And, like a mist, is nothing when at hand," &c. 
 
 This simile is as bold as it is just. For the " mists" of " worldly" 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 137 
 
 pretensions are impenetrable but by the nearer view of reason, and not 
 always then, unless enlightened by divine communication. This will 
 make us see the difference between a false " glare," and the splendour 
 of true " worth." The " bigots of this world" will be made to feel their 
 inferiority to the converts of the next ; when their " brittle barks" are 
 wrecked on the " rock of Sirens." Happy would it then have been for 
 the Lorenzos, if they had been previously sunk in " annihilation." 
 How blind had they been, in neglecting, in Young's admonitions, what 
 would have " saved their fame, and made two worlds their own !" 
 
 For this world is not all subject to " mammon." Sound reason, as 
 well as piety, may make " a dunce" of " Satan." Young, T think, has 
 established his right to call him so. 
 Page 90, line 26.— 
 
 " So grieve, as conscious, grief may rise to joy ; 
 So joy, as conscious, joy to grief may fall." 
 ***** 
 
 " 111 firmly to support, good fully taste, 
 
 Is the whole science of felicity," &c. &c. 
 A man is said to be in high spirits, when his spirits are in a state of 
 effervescence ; but their exhaustion will leave nothing to make the calm 
 agreeable that will succeed. To make wine preserve its flavour, it 
 should not be shaken. Real happiness must be accompanied by feeling * ; 
 without that, it is mere levity. Wine may be pleasant and brisk to the 
 taste, without having any " body." So "joys" may be without " heart 
 or substance." 
 
 " Vain are all sudden sallies of delight; 
 Convulsions of a weak distemper'd joy. 
 Joy's a fix'd state ; a tenure, not a start ; 
 Bliss there is none, but unprecarious bliss," &c. &c. 
 Page 95, line 11, note to "resurgam," I shall rise again. 
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 
 
 Young says, speaking of his starlight contemplations, 
 " Who can satiate sight 
 In such a scene ? in such an ocean wide 
 * And not agitation. 
 
138 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 Of deep astonishment 1 where depth, height, breadth, 
 Are lost in their extremes ; and where to count 
 The thick- sown glories in this field of fire, 
 Perhaps a seraph's computation fails." 
 
 And who can " compute" such " depth, height, breadth," &c, where 
 alL " computation" must " fail ?" He only knows, who made and who 
 fills them. He who is himself extended through all extent, his know- 
 ledge and power (such " wisdom" may well be " power !") are infinite, 
 as his mercy, which " reaches unto the heavens," is great ; its greatness 
 being only bounded by the justice which it "tempers." 
 
 It is peculiar to our religion to combine the most awful denunciations 
 of punishment of hardened sinners, with the most encouraging assurances 
 of mercy to repentant ones ; and surely this must make the case of the 
 impenitent much more desperate when they reject these assurances; 
 though even to them the sentence will probably be modified by the 
 powers and opportunities given them to attend to those assurances ; in 
 all this, no doubt, all will be considered that is consonant with the justice 
 and the honour of God ; and when we consider of these allowances, and 
 of the mercy that makes them, can we reasonably doubt of the severest 
 punishment being inflicted on those upon whom that promised mercy 
 has no effect ? unless we are to suppose that the " madness of the heart" 
 will in another world be considered in the same light as common lunacy 
 is in this, where the " heart" can be so little known. Who then are we, 
 that thus set limits to God's justice ? that say to it, " Thus far shalt 
 thou go, and no farther?" That measure his omnipotence and all his 
 attributes by our erring notions and desires ? Can either his promises or 
 his threats be delusive ? He has veiled them both in uncertainty, it is 
 true ; but he has not thrown a false colouring over them. We cannot 
 conceive the possibility of a thoroughly hardened sinner (as I have said 
 before), being either inclined to, or capable of, happiness in heaven. 
 The power of God may make him so, no doubt ; but will his justice or 
 his truth allow it 1 And is it any way consistent with the responsibility 
 which must accompany the free agency of man, whose passions we 
 know, of whom we know that, " humanum est" peccare, as well as 
 " errare ;" and we can easily suppose, though we cannot know, the 
 opportunities given him of " turning away from the wickedness that he 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 139 
 
 has committed," that he may " save his soul alive." But do we not 
 continually see the renunciation of heaven, in the actions of the wicked, 
 as well as hear it in their speech, if they do not positively declare it ? 
 and can the justice of God do otherwise than take them at their word ? 
 than give the retribution of punishment to their imprecations, instead of 
 the mercy which he has promised to their prayers ? Young says, in his 
 seventh Night, supposing, 
 
 " A disregard in heaven 
 What the worst perpetrate, or best endure," 
 ***** 
 
 " Where are heaven's holiness and mercy fled ?" 
 
 And, supposing the same disregard for what the worst perpetrate, as 
 for what the best endure, we may ask, 
 
 " Where are heaven's holiness and justice fled?" 
 
 For its mercy and justice must be correlative to each other ; and he has 
 told us so. This correlation is proved by future rewards as well as 
 punishments being denounced as " cliqjvioi."* What then signifies 
 cavilling about the meaning of the word 1 Can Dr. Southwood Smith's 
 absurd, however well-meant, supposition of the number of infidels being 
 increased by the severity of the denunciation, justify the cavil ? Take 
 care then, ye sceptics, for God's sake and your own, take care ! 
 ***** 
 
 " In every Storm that either frowns or falls, 
 What an asylum has the soul in prayer !" 
 
 How often must these lines occur to us, when we consider either our- 
 selves, or the objects which this poem presents to our view ! 
 
 The more effect Young's admonitions have, the more secure will be 
 the influence of " Britain" over the rest of the world ; the more she will 
 be "ruler of the waves," if she exercises that rule as she ought; if she 
 makes a proper use of her means of doing it, and amongst others, of 
 that " oak," of which the poet, perhaps, without much exaggeration, 
 says, 
 
 " The loud blast, that rends the skies, 
 Serves but to root thy native oak." 
 
 * Eternal ; and can they be otherwise, when " time is no more ?" 
 
140 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 And this may be the best physical representation of the moral strength 
 which is rooted in the virtues which this poem recommends. 
 
 Page 110, line 20. — From " so much more," &c, to " their nature," 
 should have been included in a parenthesis. 
 
 Page 112, line 17, for " comprehend," read comprehended. 
 
 This, " consolatory" as it is to those who attend to it, is the awful 
 conclusion of Young's nocturnal prospects, in the "great day" which it 
 announces, and, no doubt, faintly describes ; for what description can 
 come up to the " melancholy roar" of hell, or the exhilarating " chorus 
 of the skies?" or, if the sceptic will, the simple absence or presence of 
 the source of all happiness, all joy, of which " His presence is the 
 fulness?" Is not this, of itself, "eternal punishment?" And can we 
 suppose that his justice will look with any complacency on the " im- 
 purity of all iniquity ?" And what, O ye sceptics, can we know of 
 " eternity?" what, but from the hopes or fears which our virtues or our 
 vices give us ? O let us not throw a veil over either ! Is Young's 
 " song" too daring for us " to read it ?" Do not our " hearts assert the 
 truth he sings ?" Will the " scepticism of our heads," veil them as we 
 will, soften the view of that " eternity," which, when the consum- 
 mation arrives, must " reign alone ?" May not the illusions of scepti- 
 cism destroy (in fancy) that " equipoise," which " even-handed justice" 
 requires ? And is every man's opinion a perfect " court of equity," 
 when " common law" will enable him to decide ? Will the mere view 
 of the " worlds of glory," which Young's nocturnal contemplations pre- 
 sented to him, seat us on the throne of Him who is the source and 
 creator of them ? Let us humbly learn his will from a reasonable in- 
 terpretation of his " word." Let us not indulge in speculations in which 
 both " sight and thought are the more bewildered," the more they 
 dwell upon them. There are " second thoughts." Consult yours too, 
 and let them not lead you astray ! We can no more foresee the de- 
 crees of Divine Justice, than we can measure the duration of the rewards 
 or punishments which it denounces. Parties as we are, how liable are 
 we to be biassed by our own expectations ! the rule of justice is here 
 inverted ; what we " mete" to ourselves, we should, as far as candour 
 will allow us, mete to others too. Let our reason, our unbiassed reason, 
 temper the warmth of our hearts. If we are brave " to men," let us 
 not be " braves to our God !" 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 141 
 
 " Thus an indulgent father warns his sons, 
 Do this ; fly that— nor always tells the cause : 
 Pleas' d to reward, as duty to his will, 
 A conduct needful to their own repose." 
 
 That God, then, is " our Father" too ; and how can he be less, who 
 created us out of nothing? how much this surpasses mere generation! 
 He is no less our Father, in leaving us our free agency, restrained only 
 by his " injunctions ;" and reserving his punishments (for here we feel 
 only his " chastisements") for those who " die in their sins." If he 
 forbears to use his power in restraining the sins of men, it is because he 
 leaves them to deserve his mercy or not, as their freedom of choice 
 prompts them to do ; and he will even pardon the errors of that choice, 
 if not wilfully and presumptuously run into. 
 
 Young had said, 
 
 " The grandeur of my subject is my muse." 
 
 This, with the alteration of a word, and still more of the sense, is 
 similar to Juvenal's — " Facit indignatio versum." 
 
 Young's muse was, the admiration " of his subject," admiration only 
 to be exceeded by love ; for which there are so many calls. How little 
 do they feel it, who, like Lorenzo, 
 
 " Can wake at midnight too, 
 Though not on morals bent." 
 
 And can make the very stars their " accomplices in guilt." 
 ***** 
 " Wrath, pride, ambition, and impure desire." 
 
 Ambition, as well as pride, is one of the terms which is most liable to 
 be misconstrued, from the want of that precision in language that should 
 connect every passion or feeling of the mind with the motive that in- 
 spires it. Instead of this, the generalisation of them makes them appli- 
 cable to very opposite feelings. A man may be ambitious of power, 
 honours, even riches (for avarice itself is included in it), fame, &c. ; or 
 he may be ambitious of that applause which may likewise be called for, 
 and can only be attained by real merit, often manifested by the self- 
 denial which is incompatible with a selfish ambition. This is the am- 
 
142 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 bition which an honest man will feel, the " honest man" that Pope pro- 
 bably meant to describe. This is the ambition that such a man may- 
 well be proud of, without a wish to glory in it ; this is the pursuit of 
 that " human praise" which Young well says, is not 
 
 " Absolutely vain, 
 When human is supported by divine." 
 
 The latter will be the great object of the honest and well-meaning 
 man, and the consciousness of deserving it will be to him an ample 
 recompence, for the want or loss of human praise, little as " divine" can 
 want its " support." Neither of these, indeed, can be obtained without 
 that occasional sacrifice of self-interest which the good of others or of his 
 country may require ; and such a man may say with Horace, and per- 
 haps with more truth, 
 
 " Mea 
 Virtute me involvo, probamque 
 Pauperiem sine dote qusero." 
 
 Be this either ambition or pride, it is equally laudable, and equally 
 compatible with humility, which, as Young says, 
 
 " Man's lawful pride includes." 
 
 Nay, they are inseparable, for the sense of his incapacity to obtain the 
 objects worthy of ambition and pride to their full extent, must necessarily 
 make a man humble himself before the power of him who possesses 
 those objects to their fullest extent, and who alone can " swear by him- 
 self," because he perfectly knows and can command himself, a know- 
 ledge and command which can alone entitle and empower him to 
 exercise it over all his creatures. To act up to this standard, indeed, 
 requires that rectitude, both of head and heart, which is necessary to 
 enable a man to " think right and mean well." If he can do both these, 
 he is calculated to benefit society ; if he cannot, he must have recourse 
 to him who will " require" no more of each man than " has been given 
 to him," and whose mercy will make up the rest. That rest will be 
 given by him on whom he can rely, who knows all our hearts, who will 
 " strengthen such as do stand," will " comfort and help the weak- 
 hearted," will " raise up them that fall," and will " finally beat down 
 Satan under our feet." 
 
 2 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 143 
 
 " Wrath" is generally offended " pride," which is sometimes coun- 
 teracted by " ambition," in making it necessary to conciliate the good- 
 will of others. " Impure desire" is well described by Cicero, in " quod 
 est in juventute vitiosissimum." He might have added, in senectute 
 contemnendissimum, si non " ablatum" fuerit. Such propensities are 
 incompatible with our love of " that power," 
 
 " Whose love lets down these silver chains of light, (the stars) 
 
 To draw up man's ambition to himself, 
 
 And bind our chaste affections to his throne," &c. 
 
 " Wrath," too, is soon forgotten in contemplating 
 
 " This 
 Material picture of benevolence." 
 
 " 'Tis comprehension's absolute defeat," — that is, what is visible to 
 the eye, is incomprehensible to the mind. What could not have been 
 conceived, is natural and easy to observation and experience. What 
 then cannot Omnipotence do ? 
 
 " Lorenzo calls for miracles, 
 To give his tottering faith a solid base." 
 
 " Seeketh for a sign, and no sign shall be given him, but" — the world 
 of " signs and wonders" that he sees above, and all around him ; and 
 that he may feel, if not dead to feeling, in himself. But what grows 
 familiar to us, in time loses its effect upon us. We want to have our 
 lazy, unfeeling, and torpid minds roused, to what at least would be a 
 momentary feeling of surprise, though not of conviction and veneration *. 
 The heart may have been previously hardened, or at least, may have 
 lost much of its sensibility ; its feelings may have been debased by the 
 objects of this world, and none left to be touched by any higher ; they 
 may have been absorbed by present enjoyments, and may have no 
 " affections" to " set on things above." A " miracle" to them would 
 only be " a reproach," that would " censure," perhaps without satis- 
 fying, the man who sees, 
 
 " Nature's controller, author, guide, and end," 
 
 * Like Lucretius's, 
 
 " Cceli clarum, purumque colorem." 
 
144 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 sees Him in his works, and needs no other miracle to move his feelings, 
 or to convince his reason ; the man who sees and feels this, will know 
 that 
 
 " In every storm that either frowns or falls, 
 
 What an asylum has the soul in prayer !" 
 
 He will know too, that 
 
 " The mind that would be happy, must be great, 
 Great in its wishes, great in its surveys." 
 
 These will make him sensible that though 
 
 " God is a spirit ; spirit cannot strike 
 These gross, material organs," 
 Yet, 
 
 " God by man 
 As much is seen, as man a God can see, 
 In these astonishing exploits of power." 
 
 Such as 
 
 " Lead in triumph the whole mind of man." 
 Young had said (in Night Seventh), 
 
 " Behold this midnight glory ; worlds on worlds ! 
 Amazing pomp ! redouble this amaze ; 
 Ten thousand add ; add twice ten thousand more ; 
 Then weigh the whole," 
 
 (Intreason's scales) " one soul outweighs them all; 
 
 " And calls the astonishing magnificence 
 Of unintelligent creation poor." 
 
 This seems a bold assertion in Young ; but it is an estimate of the 
 exercise of power, compared with that of benevolence. 
 
 Power must be exercised to some purpose ; and to what purpose more 
 admirable than that of beneficence ? 
 
 " Man was made for glory, and for bliss." 
 
 The " glory" is his Creator's ; the " bliss," and the " eternal weight 
 of glory," which he will have in future, are his own. 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 145 
 
 This glory must be either in the contemplation of God's glory, or in 
 the tribute paid by the intelligent creature, who alone can give it ; and 
 it comprehends all " intelligent creation," though all the works of God 
 redound to his " glory." His enjoyment of this may be called selfish * ; 
 that of the " tribute" paid him, is the expansion of self-love into the love 
 of all the beings who partake of the qualities of their great Creator, and 
 this love, and the gratitude of his creatures, can alone put in action the 
 qualities which He possesses, of universal benevolence, which is the soul 
 of power. The sun, the animating life of creation, and without which 
 what is done can have no value f ; for what can give true value to the 
 wisdom of God, but the display of it in his goodness ? and where is true 
 and perfect " goodness" to be found, but in God ? and how is that 
 goodness to be shown, but in doing good ? which the Son of God, while 
 on earth, " went about to do." Without this goodness, power can only 
 be exercised for selfish purposes, and God would no longer be " good," 
 were he influenced only by them. Man may well be exhorted to imitate 
 the Being who contains in himself all the qualities which constitute per- 
 fection, but who cannot taste the fruits of them, till they have been dis- 
 played in the exercise of wisdom and benevolence. " God then is love ;" 
 and by and for his love, man was created. This love is both man's 
 glory and his bliss. The perfection of these resides in the Creator, who 
 gives them to his creatures, that they may return with accumulated 
 force to Himself. All proceeds from him, all returns to him, after a 
 dispersion which comprehends all existence ; and throughout all exist- 
 ence his glory, his beneficence, are spread. We may say with Young, 
 
 * The enjoyment of an omnipotent, omnipresent Being must be 
 " selfish ;" for in loving himself, he must love all that proceeds from 
 him. Our self-love cannot have a greater expansion than his. 
 
 f " Prime cheerer, light! 
 
 Of all material beings first, and best ! 
 Efflux divine ! nature's resplendent robe ! 
 Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt 
 In unessential gloom ; and thou, O sun ! 
 Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom best seen, 
 Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee !" 
 
 Thomson's Summer, 
 
 L 
 
146 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 " But wherefore this redundancy ? this waste 
 Of argument ? one sets my soul at rest ; 
 One obvious, and at hand, and oh ! at heart. 
 So just the skies, Philander's life so pain'd, 
 His heart so pure : that, or succeeding scenes 
 Have palms to give, or he had ne'er been born." 
 
 And every man who deserves a friend, will have his " Philander." 
 To return to Night Ninth ; who can answer the question, 
 
 " What am I ? and from whence ?" 
 
 A question that can only be solved by the consciousness of existence, 
 and that is feeling ; feeling that will raise us, as the " divinse particula 
 aurse," to " something eternal." A rise that must take place, even if 
 we begin from " nothing," which we can as little conceive. This chain, 
 inextricable as it is, must end in the belief of a God. All disbelief of 
 Him must be found in mere credulity, to the misrepresentations of 
 others, and of our own " disbelieving" minds. 
 
 " Those who wish religion true, believe it too." 
 
 What shelter can we find, but in that belief? what "rest can our 
 souls" have, without it? The greatest trust that we can have in God, 
 does not over-rate either his power, or his other attributes ; and it will 
 make us say of him, 
 
 " I am, thy name ! existence, all thine own !" 
 
 And, with Young, almost at least, 
 
 " Creation's nothing; flatter'd much, if styl'd 
 The thin, the fleeting atmosphere of God." 
 
 So much stronger are the impressions made upon our feelings, than 
 our reason ; if the former are guided by the latter, which will sanction 
 what it cannot comprehend. And, indeed, we may say, that any works 
 of infinite power, however great, are as nothing, compared to the in- 
 finity of the power itself, which, inexhaustible as it is, must piobably 
 be always going on in making, or at least consummating, what, when 
 consummated, can never be on a level with its Creator. How vainly 
 then do we endeavour to stretch our minds to that level, any more than 
 
 6 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 147 
 
 in an acknowledgment of possibility. But how much nearer will they 
 arrive to it hereafter, when man, already his image in his corporeal 
 state, will be much more his image in his spiritual ! As we are, we are 
 totally unable to conceive the nature of God ; but this we know, that he 
 is just as well as merciful to his creatures, and just to himself; and 
 that, without these qualities, he could not be God. Vainly might we 
 " search" for him " on every side," and throughout all his works. But 
 both our reason and our feelings convince us, that he is what is 
 required, to make him the God of gods- To follow Young's enthusiastic 
 flights, however just the incitement may he, would plunge us into that 
 " night," in which he delights to lose himself, and to bewilder his 
 readers, at the same time that he engages their attention, beneficially 
 for them, if they will give it; and elevates their minds, if they are 
 capable of it. But what is the diameter of " Saturn's ring," compared 
 with that of the whole starry firmament ? which still, I think, cannot be 
 immeasurable, measureless as is its great Creator. Young might well 
 " mistake his road," in travelling through the vast maze of worlds 
 celestial, " in search of the Builder" of such a world of wonders. Still 
 he feels that 
 
 " Humble love, 
 
 And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven ; 
 
 Love finds admission, where proud science fails," &c. 
 
 Love therefore has the master key, even of " God's own heart." How 
 strange, then, that the poet should have " failed" to move this feeling, 
 even in the " adamantine" heart of Lorenzo ! he is obliged to leave 
 him to find that 
 
 " By strong guilt's most violent assault, 
 Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd." 
 
 This " final effort of his moral muse," ends with an address to Him 
 who is sure to hear the united voice of reason and feeling, when ad- 
 dressed to him " in prayer." 
 
 Young says, 
 
 " Sayst thou, the course of nature governs all ? 
 The course of nature is the art of God." 
 
 The common course of nature is so incomprehensible by us, except in 
 L 2 
 
148 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 its final causes, that we may well ascribe it to the " art," that is, the 
 wisdom, " of God," which is evident to us in the final causes of his 
 dispensations. But we are so governed by our attention to present 
 objects, that we pay none to what preceded them. We consider the 
 common, or current, " course of nature," as being self-produced (as we 
 say, " that is a matter of course") without considering who must have 
 pronounced the " fiat," and how followed the " fit." How the first im- 
 pulse was given ; all power was surely required for this. And, addressing 
 himself to Lorenzo, in Night Third, he says, 
 
 " There's nought, thou sayst, but an eternal flux 
 
 Of feeble essences, tumultuous driven 
 
 Through time's rough billows into night's abyss." 
 
 (Not the brilliant " nocturnal" display that Young was contemplating). 
 What contemptible, what detestable folly and impiety ! To assign such 
 " astonishing exploits of power" to " feeble essences ?" which can have 
 no power whatever in themselves, " tumultuously" as they may be 
 " driven," and therefore confusedly (which they certainly are not, but, 
 on the contrary, most wisely arranged), into the all-confounding " abyss 
 of night." This would indeed be " chaos come again." How fond 
 must such reasoners be, of losing in folly what the little wisdom they 
 were capable of might have gained ! Such is human pride and per- 
 verseness ! 
 
 Young, speaking of the celestial bodies, calls them, 
 
 " The mathematic glories of the skies, 
 
 In number, weight, and measure, all ordain'd." 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Wisdom and choice, their well-known characters 
 Here deep impress, and claim it for their own. 
 Though splendid all, no splendour void of use ; 
 
 Use rivals beauty ; art contends with power ; 
 No wanton waste, amid effuse expense ; 
 The great Economist adjusting all 
 To prudent pomp, magnificently wise." 
 
 A " wisdom" that affords as important a lesson to his creature man, in 
 the use of his limited means, as it is necessary to the " great Economist" 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 149 
 
 himself, whose unbounded " means," without the " wisdom" and bene- 
 volence that regulate his use of them, might ruin all the plans that his 
 power had made. Infinite space gives him ample room for this, and 
 eternity an equal duration of it ; but both are limited, for the best pur- 
 poses, by his other attributes. These regulate the ambition of his 
 creature man, which, when its impulses spring from a desire to rise, is 
 one of his most powerful and dangerous temptations. It is then more 
 or less selfish ; and if it is accompanied by a desire of doing good, that is 
 more an after-thought than a natural impulse ; it is the mere suggestion 
 of prudence, to further the purposes of his ambition. His natural im- 
 pulses make his " charity begin at home," and, but for his better qua- 
 lities, would never let it " stir abroad," so narrow is the circle, wide as 
 it may seem in our view, that our passions move in. 
 
 " Now go, ambition ! boast thy boundless might, 
 In conquest o'er the tenth part of a grain." 
 
 And what may that " grain " produce ? Disappointment ; and, per- 
 haps, death here ; and misery hereafter. 
 
 Reason is surely the highest faculty that an intelligent being can 
 possess, and the different degrees of it must determine the different 
 heights of that intelligence. It can enable the being to judge, more or 
 less of things moral and physical, of probabilities, though not of cer- 
 titudes, except by the senses which give it their evidence to judge from, 
 or by some substitute for them, and by the power which it has of draw- 
 ing consequences from that evidence, and also of forming analogies, 
 which increase that power to a greater or less extent, by their nearness 
 or remoteness ; and this power will depend on the acuteness, both of 
 the reason and the feelings. But all these are only relative ; for when 
 reason attempts to go beyond them, and to judge of things as they really 
 are, she finds herself quite at a loss, and she is obliged to have recourse 
 to the assistance which she has received in the information which has 
 been given to her, and which has been addressed, as well to herself as 
 to the feelings, which both stimulate and guide her in judging of truths 
 which are addressed to them both, and which they, when properly 
 made use of, enable the being who possesses them to judge of, in what 
 is placed before him. The defect of either of these faculties creates a 
 defect in the judgment; of reason, in not extending the judgment to 
 what its powers make it equal to, or in extending it beyond that, from 
 
150 ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 
 
 the too little or too great value which it sets on its powers : of the 
 feelings, in stimulating the reason to exert itself, beyond the reach of its 
 powers, or in instigating it to pervert them. Any of these must lead to 
 error, the first to scepticism, the second to fanaticism. Scepticism, when 
 carried too far (for there is the scepticism of ignorance as well as of pre- 
 sumption), ends in a doubt that amounts (for extremes meet) to universal 
 rejection, as it did with the Pyrrhonists, who rejected every thing, be- 
 cause they could fully comprehend nothing, and who had not the proper 
 feelings to guide them. Wanting these, the reason becomes a victim to 
 the tendency which it has, under the stimulus of the passions, to 
 
 " Wrath, pride, ambition, or impure desire." 
 
 All which may, I believe, be found in Pyrrhonism or Epicurism. 
 
 Thus are reason and feeling equally necessary to each other, one in 
 preserving us from bigotry and fanaticism ; the other from scepticism 
 and infidelity ; in confining our conclusions to what we know, or in pre- 
 venting their leading us into bigotry and fanaticism ; the other, in giving 
 our hopes or our fears their proper direction, for all which, indeed, the 
 mutual aid of reason and feeling is required, and the full benefit of it 
 will only be felt, when the " full knowledge of the truth " is obtained. 
 In the mean time, the " fear and trembling," counteracted as it may be 
 by other feelings, which attends a state of ignorance, imperfection, and 
 dependence on superior power and intelligence, is the proper state for 
 man to remain in, till "death" has given him that "instruction," 
 which will ensure his happiness or misery; which will give him heaven 
 or hell. 
 
 The enjoyments which aright use of our reason and employment of our 
 time, and an attention to worthy objects, and a tolerable share of health 
 and spirits will afford us, are more easily felt than described ; and when 
 they are crowned by religious feelings, they open to us a prospect of 
 future happiness, which is far beyond any description that can be given, 
 or conception that can be formed. They alone can heighten the joys 
 or alleviate the sorrows which this life may expose us to, and their 
 efforts are heightened by communication, which will tell us, that 
 
 " Divine, or none, henceforth our joys for ever." 
 And that 
 
 " Reverberated pleasures" (of converse) " fire the breast." 
 
ERRATA ET DESIDERATA. 151 
 
 This communication must be " inter bonos," who will increase each 
 other's " goodness," by mutual example, and the experience of the 
 pleasure which goodness gives. 
 
 " Teaching we learn, and giving, we retain 
 The births of intellect," &c. 
 
 And each is a foster father to his friend's children. Such a communi- 
 cation may well be expected to continue in heaven, where it will have 
 increased the number of " the chosen ;" and either by that, or the 
 united enjoyment of still higher pleasures, we shall find that 
 
 " Virtue alone entenders us for ever." 
 
 For love there,' as well as here, will be the mainspring of our enjoy- 
 ments, and for its source, we must look up to God. 
 
 To what I have said of Mons. Lambert's system, I may add, that I 
 think the extremest dispersion is not inconsistent with concentration, 
 especially as we must, I think, suppose a comparative vacuum in infinite 
 space, to prevent material existence from being commensurate with the 
 Great Being who fills that space, or at least who is Omnipotent in all 
 His works. There may be a time when, in the final consummation of 
 all things, we may suppose the " kingdom" of " our Father which is 
 in heaven " will be fully " come ;" when the works of the great Creator 
 will be finished, and nothing left but the universal enjoyment of happi- 
 ness, by those who are " chosen," or to whom mercy is granted. This 
 will leave to Him, the exercise of the only attribute by which He is 
 described in the gospel, " Love." Then will his kingdom be fully come, 
 and the reign of evil be entirely at an end, its chief agents being con- 
 signed to their merited fate, unless we are to suppose them too anni- 
 hilated, for which however we have no authority given us in the Scrip- 
 tures. But when all trial is over, and the final sentence passed, as 
 represented by Young in his description of " Eternity," it should seem 
 that nothing can subsist which will make any farther trial necessary. 
 Sed " humanum est errare," et nescire ; sed credere, et sperare. For 
 how great must be the mercy, that encourages that hope ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 ST. JOHN'S SQUARE. 
 
153 
 
 ADDENDA 
 
 YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 Page 30, line IT, for " in page 43," read, in page 44. 
 
 Page 81, line 11, note to " combine*,'" 
 
 * Invention is creation ; both, therefore, belong only to 
 Almighty Power. 
 
 Page 92, line 10, note to " what to avoid *," 
 
 * The sense, then, of the "beam in our own eye," makes us 
 wish to " pluck the mote out of our neighbour's." 
 
 Page 93, line 4, note to " thing ive do *," 
 
 * Any thing that we do in obedience to His commands, be 
 it great or small, will add to our merit, but cannot add to His 
 greatness. Let us not, then, pride ourselves upon the import- 
 ance of our own estimations. 
 
 Page 94, lines 22 and 25,* (note to). 
 
 * I think that neither Frederic of Prussia nor Voltaire men- 
 tions Young's Night Thoughts — They durst not. 
 
 If, as is required of us, we can " give a reason for our faith," 
 nothing more is necessary to authorise our fullest confidence in 
 it. That reason must be in the evidence given for it, and in the 
 natural desires and dictates of our minds. So shall we find that 
 
 " Faith is not reason's labour, but repose." 
 
154 
 
 ERRATUM 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM CICERO'S DIALOGUES. 
 
 Page 124, line 24, for "Faith founded on Heaven," read "Faith 
 founded on Reason," 
 
EXTRACTS 
 
 FROM, AND 
 
 OBSERVATIONS 
 
 CICERO'S DIALOGUES, 
 
 DE SENECTUTE AND DE AMICITIA, 
 
 TRANSLATION OF HIS SOMNIUM SCIPIONIS, 
 
 WITH NOTES, 
 
 By WILLIAM DANBY, Esq, 
 
 OF SWINTON PARK, YORKSHIRE ; 
 AUTHOR OF IDEAS AND REALITIES, &TC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED TOR THE AUTHOR, 
 
 AND SOLD BY J. G. & F. RIVINGTON, 
 
 st. Paul's church yard, and Waterloo place, pall mall 
 and J. & G. TODD, YORK ; & C. UPHAM, EXETER. 
 
 1832. 
 
LONDON : 
 GILBERT & RIVINGTGN, PRINTERS, 
 
 st. john's square. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Having elsewhere remarked upon the sublimity (particularly 
 of the Somnium Scipionis) as well as simplicity and truth of 
 reasoning, in Cicero's writings, I now venture to lay before the 
 public a series of extracts from two of them, and a translation 
 of the third, in all which I think that every reader of taste and 
 feeling will agree with me, that these excellences are displayed ; 
 and perhaps he will allow the justness of the observations I have 
 made upon them. We see that Cicero's feelings as a Roman 
 Senator did not prevent him from having higher views than any 
 which those feelings could inspire ; and we may trust that he 
 is now enjoying the rewards of his adherence to the "laws" by 
 which he was to be "judged," and of his ultimate reference of 
 the motives of human conduct to the approbation of the Great 
 Ruler of the Universe, imperfect and erroneous as were his theo- 
 logical notions, and unenlightened by that revelation which alone 
 can communicate truths to us that are far above the comprehen- 
 sion of man. This ignorance will, it may be presumed, atone 
 for the errors of his moral as well as his religious opinions, and 
 it will teach us to appreciate that revelation which tells us that 
 our regards for our fellow-creatures, and our attention to our 
 duties, must be sanctioned by our regard to the far more exten- 
 sive and elevated object than any that patriotism or human 
 attachments can present to us : for they must yield to the more 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 sacred injunctions of the Gospel, in which we read that "God 
 is no respecter of persons, but that in every nation he that feareth 
 him and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him." This, 
 we may be sure, will accord with every duty that man can owe 
 to his fellow-creatures, and will attest the truth of that cause to 
 which the Christian Martyrs were victims, as Cicero himself was, 
 with far less suffering, to his endeavours to save his country from 
 the ruin that overwhelmed it, and from which the milder tyranny 
 of Augustus alone could raise it. 
 
 As for the extracts which I have made from the two first of 
 these works of Cicero, I hope my choice of them will not be 
 disapproved of, unless my remarks on them are objected to, as 
 interruptions of his interesting garrulity. I know not whether 
 I may have substituted my own garrulity in lieu of his; but 
 I think I may leave this to the candour of my reader. 
 
 I cannot help adding, that as the dryness and repetitions of 
 Cicero's Treatise "de Officiis" render it incapable of being ele- 
 gantly translated, it would be most advisable to reprint the cor- 
 rect, though homely translation of it, made in 1739, by Dr. Cock- 
 man, Master of University College, Oxford. Those who know 
 the value of Cicero's works, would find something more in it 
 than what was merely "in usum Scholarum." 
 
 Exeter, June, 1829- 
 
EXTRACTS FROM and OBSERVATIONS 
 
 ON 
 
 CICERO'S DIALOGUE DE SENECTUTE, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO HIS FRIEND TITUS POMPONIUS ATTICUS. 
 
 THE SPEAKERS, 
 
 CATO MAJOR, SCIPIO, AND L.ELIUS. 
 
 " Nunquam satis laudari digne poterit philosophia, 
 cui qui pareat, omne tempus setatis sine molestia possit 
 degere." (Cap. 1.) 
 
 It would have been well if Atticus could have 
 availed himself of this resource, or of the consolations 
 which his friend Cicero offered to him. Atticus was 
 an Epicurean ; he was indifferent to the public cha- 
 racters of his friends (" pravos cives parum odit," was 
 the reproach thrown upon him) however he might 
 esteem that of Cicero ; and so little resource did these 
 dispositions leave him, either in religion, or in friend- 
 ship, with all the " moderation and wisdom" that 
 Cicero gave him credit for, that he anticipated his 
 
sinking under the burthens of old age, by starving 
 himself to death. Such was the end of a life devoted 
 to present, though perhaps rational gratifications ; and 
 no wonder, since he availed himself so imperfectly of 
 the best consolations which this world or the next 
 can afford. How vain are all accomplishments, how 
 weak is self-reliance, when thus unsubstantiated and 
 unsupported ! 
 
 Cap. 2. (Scipio loquitur) " Senectus plerisque seni- 
 bus sic odiosa est, ut onus se iEtna gravius dicant 
 sustinere." 
 
 May not we give Christianity the credit of allevi- 
 ating this and other burthens of life ? Surely we may ; 
 for what better supports can there be, than what true 
 religion affords ? 
 
 Cato, however says, " Quibus nihil opis est in ipsis 
 ad bene beateque vivendum, iis omnis gravis est setas ; 
 qui autem omnia bona a seipsis petunt, iis nihil potest 
 malum videri, quod naturae necessitas afferat ; quo in 
 genere in primis est senectus, quam ut adipiscantur, 
 omnes optant ; eamdem accusant adepti ; tanta est 
 inconstantia stultitise, atque perversitas 1 ." 
 
 Sound philosophy is certainly in accordance with 
 religion ; the latter gives its sanction to what reason 
 suggests. As to our natural feelings, we wish to live 
 to grow old, as being a continuation of our existence 
 here ; we are dissatisfied with old age when it arrives, 
 
 1 What a strength of mind had Cato's prompter, Cicero ! 
 
because it deprives us of the enjoyments which we 
 had when we were young, and brings us nearer to the 
 end of that existence, which, with all our " folly, in- 
 consistency, and perverseness," we still wish for the 
 continuance of. 
 
 We find, however, on reflection, compensations for 
 these and other evils of old age, which are justly and 
 forcibly dwelt upon in the course of Cicero's treatise, 
 and which, with a tolerable share of health, will make 
 a " mollem etiam et jucundam senectutem." Of these, 
 increase of knowledge, when properly made use of, is 
 not one of the least that are confirmed by the pros- 
 pects which Christianity opens to us : all those that 
 nature and reason could dictate, are pointed out by 
 Cicero. 
 
 The examples which he mentions of Quintus Max- 
 imus and Lucius Paulus, Plato, Isocrates, &c. and 
 of his spokesman Cato, cannot indeed well be fol- 
 lowed by those who are not gifted as they were ; still 
 less that of Ennius, who, as he says, almost took 
 delight in poverty and old age : but the charges which 
 he mentions against the latter, of " disqualification 
 for business, weakness of the body, privation of plea- 
 surable enjoyments, and approach to death," he 
 shows may be at least extenuated by those who have 
 any faculties given to them by nature, and who will 
 make a proper use of them ; in which, he says, we 
 have only to follow nature, " a qua, non verisimile 
 est, cum ceterae partes setatis bene descriptae sint, 
 
 b2 
 
extremum actum, tamquam ab inerti poeta, esse neg- 
 lectum 1 ." 
 
 This provision of nature (or, as we should rather 
 say, of the Author of Nature) is, he says^ in making 
 our advance in life the means of acquiring wisdom ; 
 for though " in summa inopia levis esse senectus non 
 potest, ne sapienti quidem: insipienti autem, etiam 
 in summa copia, gravem esse necesse est." 
 
 Of this description of old age he gives a (perhaps 
 not perfectly apt) illustration, by " ut Themistocles 
 fertur Seriphio cuidam in jurgio respondisse, cum ille 
 dixisset, non eum sua, sed patriae gloria splendorem 
 assecutum : ' nee hercule,' inquit, ( si ego Seriphius 
 essem, nobilis ; nee tu, si Atheniensis esses, clarus 
 umquam fuisses.' " 
 
 That is, " your country is not worthy to have a 
 good citizen (or at least an illustrious one) in it, nor 
 could you be illustrious in any country, even in Athens." 
 This might be excusable, " in jurgio," as an approach 
 towards Billingsgate ; but may not a man be a good 
 citizen any where ? The plain English Billingsgate 
 of Themistocles's answer seems to be " your country- 
 men are a parcel of blackguards, and you are as great 
 a blackguard as any of them." But Themistocles was 
 an Athenian, 
 
 1 O Reason, how forcible are thy suggestions, in favour of a future 
 life ! But, O Faith, how necessary art thou to supply the defects of 
 Reason ! 
 
After enumerating many of the higher studies 
 (" divina studia") to which old age may still be equal, 
 as was " Sophocles" and others, Cicero passes to those 
 of agriculture, of which he makes Cato say, " quibus 
 ego incredibiliter delector : quae nee ulla impediuntur 
 senectute, et mihi ad sapientis vitam proxime videntur 
 accedere." — (Cap. 15.) 
 
 " Nemo est tarn senex, qui se annum non putet 
 posse vivere ; sed iidem elaborant in eis, quae sciunt 
 nihil omnino ad se pertinere. 
 
 Serit arbores, quae altevi seculo prosint. 
 
 Nec vero dubitet agricola, quamvis senex, quaerenti, 
 cui serat, respondere ; ' Diis immortahbus, qui me 
 non accipere modo a majoribus voluerunt, sed etiam 
 posteris prodere.' " — (Cap. 7.) 
 
 Very different this from some one, who being asked 
 why he had not planted for posterity, replied, " what 
 has posterity done for me ?" Cicero's (or Cato's) sen- 
 tence indicates a return made to posterity (to whom 
 alone, " sub Diis immortahbus," the heathens might 
 suppose it could be made) for benefits received from 
 those who had lived before. And how otherwise could 
 that debt be paid, either to men, or to that Being, 
 who overlooks the actions of men ? 
 
 The desire of immortality makes us wish to con- 
 tinue our existence here, in what we leave behind us : 
 but can we suppose that no other fulfilment is reserved 
 for us, of a desire so strong in, and so inseparable from, 
 the mind of man ? and that the traces we shall leave of 
 
6 
 
 our short existence here, will be the only veil between 
 that and the " abhorred annihilation," the "thoughts 
 of which," as Young truly says, 
 
 -" blast the soul, 
 
 And wide extend the bounds of human woe." 
 
 But is it not strange, that with all the assurances 
 that we can have of a future life, both from our own 
 reflections, and the authorities that sanction and con- 
 firm them, there should be so little confidence in our 
 expectation of it ? The apparent reason is, that we 
 cannot conceive it. 
 
 Among the enjoyments of old age, Cicero says, " ut 
 adolescentibus bona indole prseditis sapientes senes 
 delectantur, leviorque fit eorum senectus, qui a juven- 
 tute coluntur et diliguntur; sic adolescentes senum 
 praeceptis gaudent, quibusadvirtutum studia ducuntur : 
 nee minus intelligo me vobis (says Cato to his excellent 
 young friends Scipio and Leelius) quam vos mihi esse 
 jucundos." 
 
 These considerations might well make him add, 
 " ne nunc quidem vires desidero adolescentis, non 
 plus, quam, adolescens, tauri aut elephantis deside- 
 rabam. Quod est, eo decet uti; et quicquid agas, 
 agere pro viribus." Who but must admire the exer- 
 tions of Cato's old age, and the uses to which he ap- 
 plied them ? And this, he says, may be done even 
 in oratory ; for though he fears ' ' orator ne langues- 
 cat senectute ; est enim munus ejus non ingenii solum, 
 sed laterum etiam et virium :" and though " omnino 
 
 
canorum illud, in voce splendescit etiam, nescio quo 
 pacto, in senectute;" yet, "decorus est sermo senis 
 quietus et remissus ; facitque persaepe ipsa sibi audien- 
 tiain diserti senis comta et mitis oratio." The benefit 
 of this he clearly shows in the example and instruction 
 it may hold out to youth, especially such youths as 
 Scipio and Lselius, to whom Cato addresses himself; 
 adding, " Quid enim est jucundius senectute, stipata 
 studiis juventutis?" After instancing several ex- 
 amples of this in Scipio's family, Gato says, " nee ulli 
 bonarum artium magistri non beati putandi, quamvis 
 consenuerint vires, atque defecerint ; etsi ista ipsa 
 defectio virium adolescentiae vitiis efficitur saepius, 
 quam senectutis. Libidinosa etenim et intemperans 
 adolescentia effcetum corpus tradit senectuti." How 
 true this is, those best can tell, who have most to 
 repent of, in the sins of their youth. 
 
 Cato goes on to apologise for the garrulity of old 
 age in speaking of himself, then in his 84th year, and 
 still equal to all the duties of civil life, and declaring 
 that he never approved of the proverb, " quod monet 
 mature fieri senem, si diu velis esse senex. Ego vero 
 (says he) me minus diu senem esse mallem, quam esse 
 senem antequam essem." The proverb seems to mean, 
 that to insure an old age, we should previously use 
 the prudence of it: which indeed agrees with his 
 saying, " quod est, eo decet uti ; et quicquid agas, 
 agere pro viribus." He says indeed, " Resistendum 
 est senectuti, ej usque vitia diligentia compensanda 
 
8 
 
 sunt. Pugnandum, tamquam contra morbum, sic 
 contra senectutem." But the pugnare contra morbum, 
 is remedia adhibere. And the remedia proposed by 
 Cato, when old age is not " imbecilla propter vitium 
 commune valetudinis," we see in what follows : 
 
 " Habenda ratio valetudinis ; utendum exercita- 
 tionibus modicis ; tantum cibi et potionis adhibendum, 
 at reficiantur vires, non opprimantur ; nee vero corpori 
 soli subveniendum est, sed menti atque animo multo 
 magis ; nam haec quoque, nisi tamquam lumini oleum 
 instilles, extinguuntur senectute." 
 
 All this is excellent ; and the more it is attended to, 
 in resisting the temptation of more immediate enjoy- 
 ments, or sensual gratifications, the better. The con- 
 sequences of having lived a life thus regulated by 
 reason, is shown in the following admirable description : 
 
 " Quatuor robustos filios, quinque filias, tantam 
 domum, tantas clientelas, Appius regebat, et senex et 
 caecus ; intentum enim animum, tamquam arcum, ha- 
 bebat ; nee languescens succumbebat senectuti ; tene- 
 bat non modo auctoritatem, sed etiam imperium in 
 suos ; metuebant servi, verebantur liberi ; carum omnes 
 habebant ; vigebat in ilia domo patrius mos, et dis- 
 ciplina." 
 
 The "metuebant servi" in the above description 
 seems to require the correction of the " carum omnes 
 habebant," with which indeed it but little agrees : 
 but perhaps the metus servorum, slaves as they were, 
 was rather awe than fear. 
 
9 
 
 Cap. 12. " Sequitur tertia vituperatio senectutis 1 , 
 quod earn carere dicunt voluptatibus. O prseclarum 
 munus setatis siquidem id aufert nobis, quod est in 
 adolescentia vitiosissimum !" After this, follows a 
 condemnation of immoral pleasures, a detail of the 
 fatal consequences they lead to, and a citation of the 
 authorities against them. To which is added, " Quor- 
 sum hsec ? ut intelligatis, si voluptatem aspernari ra- 
 tione et sapientia non possemus, magnam habendam 
 senectuti gratiam, quae efficeret, ut id non liberet, 
 quod non oporteret." 
 
 Who will deny this ? And if it is admitted, what 
 reason have not we Christians to be thankful, that 
 such a forced reformation is effected, and accepted ! 
 Accepted, if accompanied with more voluntary addi- 
 tions of our own. To make these, 
 
 " Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat 
 Defects of judgment, and the will subdue ; 
 Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore 
 Of that vast ocean it must sail on soon ; 
 And put good works on board ; and wait the wind 
 That shortly blows us into worlds unknown, 
 If unconsider'd too, a dreadful scene." 
 
 All this is consistent enough with a moderate en- 
 joyment of society. If age wants more, it wants still 
 better resources. 
 
 1 The four charges against old age (Cap. 5.) were " quod avocet a 
 rebus gerendis" — " quod corpus faciat infirmius" — (of both which he 
 has shown the futility) — " quod privet omnibus fere voluptatibus" — and 
 fourthly, " quod haud procul absit a morte." 
 
10 
 
 " Bene Sophocles, cum ex eo quidam jam affecto 
 aetate qusereret, utereturne rebus venereis ? Dii me- 
 liora, inquit." And well he might say so, if the en- 
 joyments of the mind are superior to those of the 
 body ; if not, we may 
 
 " Envy every sparrow that we see," 
 
 at least in that advanced stage of life, for which the 
 habits of youth are, more or less, a preparation. In 
 the early part of it, indeed, sense and sentiment may 
 be mixed; and not improperly, when the union is 
 sanctioned by reason and religion : in the latter part 
 of life, tenderness may and ought to remain ; but cer- 
 tainly without the turpitude of sensuality. 
 
 The command of our passions must at all times be 
 conducive to happiness; and still more when that 
 command is made easier, as well as more becoming, 
 by the decline of their ardour in old age, when they 
 may be exchanged for much better enjoyments, with 
 which they will not then interfere ; in youth, indeed, 
 they are more importunate ; and when they are in- 
 dulged, the comparison between the enjoyments of 
 youth and old age will depend on that of those which 
 reason or imagination can give ; but if they are op- 
 posed to each other, can there be a doubt which to 
 prefer, when we consider the value that " the highest 
 faculty" in man must have, and the uses to which it 
 may be put ? It gives a sanction to the highest sug- 
 gestions that the imagination can form, when it is 
 regulated by it ; when it is not, they are but delu- 
 
 13 
 
11 
 
 sions, and will leave nothing but regret, fruitless 
 regret, behind them. 
 
 What says Young in favour of Reason ? 
 
 " From the soft whispers of that God in Man, 
 Why fly to folly, why to frenzy fly, 
 For rescue from the blessings we possess?" 
 
 " Rescue," indeed! " Ridiculum acri," &c. 
 
 " Ilia quanti sunt, animum, tamquam emeritis sti- 
 pendiis libidinis, ambitionis, contentionis, inimicitia- 
 rum, cupiditatum omnium, secum esse, secumque, ut 
 dicitur, vivere ! Si vero habet aliquod tamquam pabu- 
 lum studii atque doctrinse, nihil est otiosa senectute 
 jucundius." 
 
 The " secum esse, secumque vivere," reminds us of 
 Young's 
 
 " O lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 
 Lost to the noble sallies of the soul ! 
 Who think it solitude to be alone ; 
 Communion sweet ! communion large and high ! 
 Our reason, guardian Angel, and our God ! 
 Then nearest these, when others most remote ; 
 And all, ere long, shall be remote, but these V 
 
 (Sfc. Night 3d. J 
 
 1 If a man is alone, his communings must either be with himself or 
 his God : his " reason" should be his guide, his conscience must be his 
 " guardian angel," though his conscience may sometimes mislead his 
 reason ; himself he may deceive ; his God he cannot. If he is in society, 
 his demonstrations must of course proceed from himself, and will be dic- 
 tated either by his real feelings, or by a wish to deceive, or at least to 
 gratify others by a forced complaisance with their inclinations ; or, 
 thirdly, by the better feeling of a diffidence in himself. If by a wish to 
 
12 
 
 But Young's praise of solitude is not exclusive, for 
 he says also (Night 2d.) 
 
 " As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flowers, 
 So men from friendship, wisdom and delight ; 
 Twins tied by nature ; if they part, they die." 
 ******* 
 
 " Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; 
 Speech burnishes our mental magazine ; 
 Brightens, for ornament; and whets, for use !" 
 ******* 
 
 " In contemplation is our proud resource ? 
 "lis poor, as proud, by converse unsustained." 
 ******* 
 
 " Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give 
 To social man true relish of himself." 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Those who wish to do justice to the " Night 
 Thoughts," should treat them as (with reverence be it 
 spoken) they should the Scriptures, in comparing the 
 different passages, and not judging them from what 
 they may think the gloomy ones, however true these 
 may be. If true, are they the less so, or less important 
 to us, for our not attending to them? Young tells 
 us, that he does not mean 
 
 ■ " to damp the joys of life, 
 
 But to give heart and substance to its joys." 
 
 deceive or gratify others, he may do it awkwardly for a time, but habit 
 will give it an apparent ease, not readily seen through by those whom he 
 addresses himself to, but whom he cannot long deceive ; if by the third, 
 their reception of it will depend on their inclination and ability to do him 
 justice. I believe these descriptions will extend to all situations in life. 
 
13 
 
 And how? By considering what they are, and 
 what is to follow them. 
 
 After having given several examples of the supe- 
 riority of mental pleasures, Cato says, " Quae sunt 
 igitur epularum, aut ludorum, aut scortorum volup- 
 tates cum his voluptatibus comparandae ? Atque haec 
 quidein studia doctrinae ; quae quidem prudentibus, et 
 bene institutis pariter cum aetate crescunt ; ut hones- 
 turn Solonis sit, quod ait versiculo quo dam, ut ante 
 dixi, senescere se, multa indies addiscentem; qua 
 voluptate animi nulla certe potest esse major." 
 
 He then speaks (Cap. 15, as before cited) of the 
 " Voluptates Agricolarum," and gives a beautiful de- 
 scription of, and encomium on, agricultural and horti- 
 cultural occupations, and on the persons who had 
 practised them, or treated of them. After this, he 
 says, " Hac igitur fortuna frui licet senibus" — and 
 goes on, as before, to enumerate the persons who had 
 enjoyed it : concluding with " Habet senectus, hono- 
 rata praesertim, tantam auctoritatem, ut ea pluris sit, 
 quam omnes adolescentiae voluptates." 
 
 Cap. 18. " Sed in omni oratione, mementote, earn 
 me laudare senectutem, quae fundamentis adolescentiae 
 constituta sit; ex quo id efhcitur (quod ego magno 
 quondam cum assensu omnium dixi) miseram esse 
 senectutem, quae se oratione defenderet. Non cani, 
 non rugae, repente auctoritatem arripere possunt ; sed 
 honeste acta superior aetas fructus capit auctoritatis 
 extremes." 
 
 Such an old age may indeed be properly considered 
 
14 
 
 as a consummation (as far as an eartKly one goes) of 
 what youth was a preparation for ; and to youth, as 
 such, the admonition is properly addressed. Those 
 who have thus "remembered their Creator in the 
 days of their youth," need not the " praeclarum munus 
 aetatis, iis auferre, quod est in adolescentia vitiosissi- 
 mum." — By the account which Cato gives of himself 
 (Cap. 14 and 15) he seems at least not to have carried 
 the " mero caluisse virtus" to excess. 
 
 He then mentions instances of respect being paid 
 to old age, particularly by the Lacedaemonians, and 
 even, though with much less consistency, by the vain 
 and capricious Athenians ; and passes to some of the 
 vices, or rather infirmities, incident to old age (which 
 " habent aliquid excusationis, non illius quidem justae, 
 sed quae probari posse videatur" — may rather be ac- 
 counted for than justified) saying also " severitatem 
 in senectute probo, sed earn (sicut alia) modicam ; 
 acerbitatem nullo modo 1 . Avaritia vero senilis quid 
 sibi velit, non intelligo. Potest enim quidquam esse 
 absurdius, quam quo minus viae restat, eo plus viatici 
 quaerere ?" " No, certainly not," in the eye of reason ; 
 but as reason here cannot calculate, it may be better 
 able to explain, than to direct the feelings ; which, 
 however, if still equal to its functions, it should have 
 some control over. If all the causes of avarice in 
 
 1 This corresponds, in some degree at least, with what the French say 
 suits old age : " La proprete, et l'indulgence," a union which Cicero 
 would most probably have approved of. But the " modern Athenians" 
 will hardly adopt (in practice at least) all his maxims. 
 
15 
 
 old age are examined, it may perhaps be found, that 
 " habet aliquid excusationis," and this may be an addi- 
 tional reason for our being on our guard against it 1 . 
 
 Perhaps our being less able to enjoy the use of 
 money in old age, may be one inducement, no doubt 
 among other less reasonable ones, to hoarding it ; not 
 so much for ourselves, as for those who are to follow us, 
 whose stewards Providence seems to intend us to be ; 
 and this too may be a reason for our not giving it away 
 during our life time. Thus is answered the design of 
 Providence ; which, however, means that it should be 
 under the control of our reason, and be counteracted 
 by better feelings for our contemporaries. The selfish- 
 ness of old age may in part arise from a sense of weak- 
 ness. 
 
 Cap. 19. " Quarta restat causa, quae maxime 
 angere atque sollicitam habere nostram setatem videtur, 
 appropinquatio mortis, quae certe a senectute non 
 potest longe abesse. O miserum senem, qui mortem 
 contemnendam esse in tarn longa aetate non viderit ! 
 quae aut plane negligenda est, si omnino extinguit 
 animum; aut etiam optanda, si aliquo eum deducit, 
 ubi sit futurus aeternus. Atqui tertium certe nihil 
 inveniri potest. Quid igitur timeam, si aut non miser 
 post mortem, aut beatus etiam futurus sum ?" 
 
 If we are intended to live again, as we certainly are, 
 how can we be indifferent to the total loss of existence, 
 as stated in this alternative ? But on the other hand, 
 
 1 The " imbecility of reason," as I have called it elsewhere, may 
 well be excused. 
 
16 
 
 we see how far the heathens had got, in their expec- 
 tations of a future life; but they did not see that 
 something more than the mere suggestions of reason 
 was wanting, to counteract the instinctive wish for 
 self-preservation and the .continuance of existence 
 here, powerful as that must still be. That that con- 
 tinuance will take place in a future life, could only be 
 confirmed by the Gospel, which alone can impress our 
 feelings with a conviction that our reason can but im- 
 perfectly attain. As to the mode of it, 
 
 " The wide and boundless prospect lies before us ; 
 But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it," 
 
 only to be cleared away by " the great teacher, 
 Death." 
 
 Cato goes on to show the uncertainty of life, and 
 the folly of hoping, even in youth, to live to old age. 
 " Quid eirim stultius, quam incerta pro certis habere, 
 falsa pro veris ?" (It may however be observed, that 
 hope does not imply certitude, nor uncertainty false- 
 hood.) " Senex, ne quod speret quidem, habet. At 
 est eo meliore conditione, quam adolescens ; cum id, 
 quod ille sperat, hie jam consecutus est. Ille vult 
 diu vivere ; hie diu vixit. Quamquam (O Dii boni !) 
 quid est in hominis vita diu ?" 
 
 There is something of a play upon ideas, if not upon 
 words in this reasoning ; for hope looks forward, which 
 the young man may do, but the old one cannot : how, 
 then, is the latter in the " better condition ?" He 
 has indeed attained the object; but the " hope," as to 
 
17 
 
 this life, is lessened, if not destroyed. Cato goes on, 
 with more reason, to show the futility of this object, 
 as it regards the mere continuance of life, and after 
 giving one or two instances of longevity, he says, 
 " sed mihi ne diuturnum quidem quidquam videtur, 
 in quo est aliquid extremum. Cum enim id advenit, 
 tunc illud quod prasteriit, effluxit : tantum remanet, 
 quod virtute et recte factis consecutus sis." 
 
 " Man's unprecarious natural estate, 
 Improveable at will, in virtue lies ; 
 Its tenure sure, its income is divine." 
 
 "Breve enim tempus aetatis, satis est longum ad 
 bene honesteque vivendum." 
 
 All limited time, when compared with eternity, 
 sinks to nothing. And can we suppose, that this 
 power of comparison is given to us, merely to make 
 us sensible of the nothingness of what we do, or can 
 possess? O no, it is to make us look forward to 
 something better. 
 
 " Life has no value as an end, but means ; 
 
 An end deplorable, a means divine ; 
 
 When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing" &c. 
 
 ******* 
 " Life makes the soul dependent on the dust : 
 
 Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres." 
 
 ******* 
 " Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts ; 
 
 Nor life true joy, but what kind death improves ;" 
 
 Which seems to be often anticipated in our thoughts 
 c 
 
18 
 
 on futurity, and our reflections on the past and the 
 present time. 
 
 -" Death is the crown of life 
 
 Were death denied, poor man would live in vain ; 
 
 Were death denied, to live would not be life : 
 
 Were death denied, even fools would wish to die." 
 ******* 
 " But grant to life, (and just it is to grant 
 
 To lucky life) some perquisites of joy ; 
 
 A time there is, when, like a thrice told tale, 
 
 Long rifled life of sweet can yield no more, 
 
 But from our comment on the comedy, 
 
 Pleasing reflections on parts well sustain'd, 
 
 Or purposed emendations where we fail'd, 
 
 Or hopes of plaudit from our candid judge, 
 
 When, on their exit, souls are bid unrobe, 
 . Toss fortune back her tinsel and her plume, 
 
 And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene." 
 
 ******* 
 : ' O thou great Arbiter of life and death ! 
 
 Nature's immortal, immaterial sun ! 
 
 Whose all-prolific beam late call'd me forth 
 
 From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay 
 
 The worm's inferior, and in rank beneath 
 
 The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow, 
 
 To drink the spirit of the golden day, 
 
 And triumph in existence ; and couldst know 
 
 No motive but my bliss, and hast ordain'd 
 
 A rise in blessing ! With the patriarch's joy, 
 
 Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; 
 
 I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust : 
 
 Or life, or death, is equal ; neither weighs ; 
 
 All weight in this — O let me live to thee !" ' 
 
 Night Thoughts, Night 4. 
 
19 
 
 After this follows a beautiful comparison of human 
 life with the course of vegetation, and the succession 
 of the seasons ; and a farther mention of the advan- 
 tages of old age over youth, when the means, which 
 nature has provided for its final dissolution, have their 
 full operation. 
 
 Cap. 20. — " Omnium aetatum certus est terminus ; 
 senectutis autem nullus certus est terminus." — Pro- 
 bably not ; for the "senectutis maturitas" (Cap. 10.) 
 can only be determined by the author of our being ; 
 as in the case of Cato's son, " quo nemo vir melior 
 natus est, nemo pietate prasstantior" (Cap. 23.) who 
 may have fulfilled the purposes of his existence at an 
 earlier period than we might suppose would have been 
 required. 
 
 " Ita fit, ut illud breve vitae reliquum nee avide 
 appetendum senibus, nee sine causd deserendum est. 
 Vetatque Pythagoras 1 , injussu Imperatoris (id est, 
 Dei) de praesidio et statione vitae decedere." 
 
 " Non lugenda mors est, quam immortalitas conse- 
 quatur." 
 
 No, but if one feeling did not take place, the con- 
 solation of the other would not be wanted, as it cer- 
 tainly is, to give any solid support to whatever argu- 
 ments or examples may be urged by reason against 
 the fear of death, which, considered as the extinction 
 of our being (which it certainly is not) could only be 
 
 1 And how much more does Young forbid it ! Dreadful Suicide, that 
 murders both body and soul ! 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 calmly met by insensibility. For as Young says, as 
 before quoted, 
 
 " Oh ! with what thoughts, 
 
 Abhorr'd annihilation! blasts the soul, 
 
 And wide extends the bounds of human woe." 
 
 But Christianity tells us that we have not that to 
 fear, and Cicero himself (loquente Cyro Majore) says, 
 " Mihi quidem numquam persuaderi potuit, animos 
 dum in corporibus essent mortalibus, vivere ; cum 
 exissent, emori; nee vero, turn animum esse insipi- 
 entem, cum ex insipienti corpore evasisset ; sed cum, 
 omni admixtione corporis liberatus, purus et integer 
 esse ccepisset, turn esse sapientem." 
 
 This is the voice of reason ; and it has been con- 
 firmed by the Gospel ; with this hope therefore we 
 live ; in this hope we die. 
 
 " Ut superiorum aetatum studia occidunt, sic occi- 
 dunt etiam senectutis ; quod cum evenit, satietas vitae 
 tempus maturum mortis affert 1 ." 
 
 [Manet autem spes altera, studiis prsecedentibus longe anteponenda.] 
 
 Cap. 21. — " Credo, Deos immortales sparsisse ani- 
 mos in corpora humana, ut essent, qui terras tue- 
 rentur," &c. 
 
 1 When the mind has lost its activity, the " tempus maturum mortis" 
 may indeed become, the " spes altera ;" however, what I have spoken 
 of, will still " remain." 
 
21 
 
 (Sic, in Somnio Scipionis, Cap. 3. 
 
 " Homines sunt hac lege generati, qui tuerentur 
 ilium globum — quae terra dicitur," &e.) 
 
 " Si quis Dens mihi largiatur, ut ex hac aetate re- 
 pueriscam, et in cunis vagiam, valde recusem ; nee 
 vero velim, quasi decurso spatio, ad carceres a calce 
 revocari." 
 
 In this, every thinking man will join with Cato and 
 Cicero : to the past we would not, and cannot return, 
 nor can we remain in the present, fleeting as the 
 moment is ; what then is left us, but to look forward 
 to the future ; not so much in this life, for its remain- 
 ing moments will be as fleeting, as the past or present ; 
 but to a future, that will last for ever, and for which 
 the present life is, or should be, a preparation. 
 
 " Quid enim habet vita commodi ? Quid non potius 
 laboris ? Sed habeat sane ; habet certe tamen aut 
 satietatem, aut modum. Non lubet enim mihi deplo- 
 rare vitam, quod multi, et ii docti, ssepe fecerunt. 
 Neque me vixisse pcenitet ; quoniam ita vixi, ut non 
 frustra me natum existimem : et ex vita ita discedo, 
 tamquam ex hospitio, non tamquam ex domo ; com- 
 morandi enim natura diversorium nobis, non habitandi 
 locum dedit 1 ." 
 
 No, certainly this is no " abiding place" for us ; 
 but if we have spent our time well during our stay in 
 it, it will prepare a happy one for us hereafter. As to 
 
 1 What an assurance of future expectation does this contain ! And 
 yet it was but an effort of philosophy : the general belief of the " poor" 
 was not confirmed by the " Gospel" being " preached" to them. 
 
22 
 
 the pains and pleasures of life (labores et commoda) 
 they are mixed, and their frequent vicissitudes serve 
 to give a mutual allay to each other ; and to beget a 
 third feeling, which gives a sterling value to them 
 both, or rather to the metal which they then compose l . 
 
 Cato goes on to say, that amongst many of his 
 predecessors, he shall, after his death, join the son 
 whom he had lost, "quo nemo vir melior natus est, 
 nemo pietate praestantior. Animus vero, non me de- 
 serens, sed respectans, in ea profectd loca discessit, 
 quo mihi ipsi cernebat esse veniendum," &c. 
 
 Can Christianity tell us more than this ? Perhaps 
 not ; but it has given us the assurance of it, and the 
 foundation of a " Rock," to build it upon : we see 
 here, that the first stone is laid by reason ; the 
 tc corner stone" is Christ himself. 
 
 " Si in hoc erro, quod animos hominum immortales 
 esse credam, lubenter erro : nee mihi hunc errorem, 
 quo delector, dum vivo, extorqueri volo." 
 
 This is a persuasion suggested both by reason and 
 instinct ; and if we are not to trust to that, confirmed 
 as it is by the Gospel, to what are we to trust ? 
 
 " Quod si non sumus immortales futuri, tamen ex- 
 stingui homini suo tempore optabile est. Nam habet 
 natura, ut aliarum omnium rerum, sic vivendi modum. 
 Senectus autem peractio setatis est, tamquam fabulse ; 
 cujus defatigationem fugere debemus, praesertim ad_ 
 juncta satietate." 
 
 Yes, but this satiety is only of what we have had 
 
 1 A third feeling, in which all the "commoda" of life are included. 
 
23 
 
 here ; we still wish for something further, at least if 
 our feelings are of the proper kind ; if that wish was 
 not to be fulfilled, which we are told from better au- 
 thority that, it will, we should not feel it. 
 
 Beasts lie down and die quietly; so does the body 
 of man; both perhaps feel equally the necessity of 
 repose, and of the absence of molestation ; but the 
 mind of man is still in action, and often to the last 
 moment. Ita, non est " vivendi modus." For that 
 will not be the end, but rather the beginning of the 
 mind's action, when separated from the body 1 . 
 
 Hope, fear, or insensibility, attend our last mo- 
 ments ; from hope or fear conclusions may be drawn, 
 of what they arise from, and of what they forebode ; 
 from insensibility no conclusions can be drawn, except 
 that it is either the extinction of the thinking faculty, 
 the absence of all feeling, or the last refuge of despair. 
 
 Cicero's supposition of the possibility of the expec- 
 tation of a future life being founded in error (" si in 
 hoc erro," &c.) shews the necessity of a further assu- 
 rance of it, than all the arguments of philosophy could 
 give ; and it shews too, perhaps, that without an im- 
 mediate and obvious analogy, no assurance could be 
 gained by the Heathens : for though there was enough 
 to interest and incline both the reason and the feelings 
 in favour of that belief, still something more was 
 wanting, to confirm the best dispositions in the expec- 
 tation of it, and probably to connect that with the 
 performance of the moral and religious duties : that 
 
 1 " Mihi quidem," &c. — See page 20. 
 
24 
 
 has been supplied by the Gospel, but without a com- 
 munication of knowledge, which the human mind 
 probably is not capable of, and which would have 
 left no room for faith ; faith in the promises that 
 are given, and in the authority from whence they pro- 
 ceed 1 . 
 
 Dr. Butler has made an able effort to supply the 
 analogy, but not so perhaps as to dispel all doubt, 
 and silence all opposition, in a matter, where the con- 
 currence both of reason and feeling are required to 
 produce conviction and agreement. Authorized, how- 
 ever, as we are, we may say, as Cicero has almost 
 made Cato do, 
 
 Ut hyems, ita senectus ; 
 Ut finis anni, sic finis vitae ; 
 Ut ver, sic vitae renovatio ; 
 Ut aestas, sic vitse novas fruitio ; 
 Quae omnes autumni fruges in se continet, nullo hyeme rescindendos ; 
 aestas enim ilia aeterna erit. 
 
 We must not be surprised that Cicero has not 
 touched in this work, upon the apprehensions that 
 the fear of punishment after death may excite in the 
 mind of man, as his object was to shew the consola- 
 tions which old age is capable of receiving ; and so 
 little does he enter into what are generally supposed 
 to be the natural feelings of the mind, that he makes 
 the alternative, of happiness after death, or cessation 
 of all existence, one of the chief of those consolations. 
 He might have learnt more from Socrates and Plato. 
 
 1 So shall our faith be founded in reason. 
 
25 
 
 But indeed the heathens had not then those feelings 
 which Christianity afterwards inspired 1 . 
 
 Cato's arguments in favour of the immortality of 
 the soul, in Cap. 21, similar to those in the " Somnium 
 Scipionis," are drawn from the properties of the mind, 
 its inherent (as he calls it) power of motion ; its indi- 
 visibility, &c. Against these 2 , we may oppose the 
 power of God, as intimated in the Scriptures, to re- 
 assemble the particles of our divisible bodies, after 
 their dissolution : so unsatisfactory are all the argu- 
 ments that are drawn from any supposed self-inherent 
 qualities of the mind ; and that seem to make it in- 
 dependent on the absolute will of our Creator, from 
 whose promises alone we can expect a future exist- 
 ence. 
 
 But the reasoning, which this treatise shews the 
 uninformed heathens to have been capable of, shews 
 also the goodness of God, in not leaving them entirely 
 without hopes, of which the confirmation was reserved 
 for his Son, and those inspired by him, to reveal. 
 
 1 And what could the " feelings" be, that made it a moot point 
 whether there is a future life or not. 
 
 2 I should rather have said, in concurrence with these. 
 
EXTRACTS FROM and OBSERVATIONS 
 
 CICERO'S L^LIUS, or DIALOGUE de AMICITIA. 
 
 THE SPEAKERS, 
 
 L^LIUS, FANNIUS, AND SC^VOLA. 
 
 
 After a short exposition of the reasons which had 
 induced him to put these treatises into the form of 
 dialogues, Cicero, addressing himself to his friend 
 Atticus, says, " ut turn ad senem senex de senectute, 
 sic hoc libro ad amicum amicissimus de amicitia 
 scripsi." 
 
 So well does he introduce the subject, not only to 
 his friend Atticus, but also the " multis, quibus pro- 
 desse voluit." 
 
 Of Lselius's two companions, Fannius and Scaevola, 
 the former, after mentioning Africanus, who had died 
 only a few days before, as one, than whom " nee 
 melior vir fuit quisquam, nee clarior," and making 
 some observations on Lselius not having appeared in 
 public since the death of his friend, says, " existimare 
 debes omnium oculos in te esse conjectos ; unum te 
 
 13 
 
27 
 
 sapientem et appellant et existimant," — and " Hanc 
 esse in te sapientiam existimant, ut omnia in te posita 
 ducas, hiimanosque casus virtute inferiores putes." 
 So is wisdom well described, if we add the proper 
 reference to the Divine source from whence it pro- 
 ceeds; without which it would be self-sufficiency. 
 Laelius, after modestly disclaiming the preference 
 which Fannius had given him for wisdom, over Cato 
 and others, says, " Ego, si Scipionis desiderio me 
 moveri negem — certe mentiar. Moveor enim, tali 
 amico orbatus, qualis, ut arbitror, nemo umquam erit : 
 et, ut confirmare possum, nemo certe fuit. Sed non 
 egeomedicina ; me ipse consolor, et maxim e illo solatio, 
 quod eo errore careo, quo, amicorum decessu, plerique 
 angi solent. Nihil enim mali accidisse Scipioni puto ; 
 mihi accidit, si quid accidit. Suis autem incommodis 
 graviter angi, non amicum, sed seipsum amantis est." 
 
 This certainly is heroic self-disregard ; but the pain 
 we feel on our friends' account, must surely revert on 
 ourselves ; what else is sympathy 1 ? 
 
 But this " solatium" of Lselius's, to account for its 
 early effect in removing his grief for the loss of his 
 friend (or at least in so powerfully alleviating it) must, 
 as well as the exclusio " mali," be referred, as pro- 
 bably was done by him, to the same Divine source ; 
 for how are " error" and " evil" to be excluded or 
 
 1 The " sympathy" of human nature, in this world. But such 
 friends may well hope to meet in another, as Christianit y has assured 
 them they will. 
 
28 
 
 opposed, but by Him, from whom all wisdom, truth, 
 and good proceed ? and surely this reference is further 
 shewn in what follows ; for, continues Lselius, " Cum 
 illo quis neget actum esse praeclare ?" 
 
 " Et a quo actum, nisi a Deo?" 
 
 " Nisi enim (quod ille minime putabat) immortalitatem 
 op tare vellet, quid non est adeptus, quod homini fas 
 esset optare ?" 
 
 The "immortality" which Scipio (as Lselius says) 
 did not look for, was only that which the "praise of 
 man" can give, and to which indeed the beautiful 
 enumeration given by Laslius of Scipio's virtues, 
 shews he was entitled : but an immortality of a far 
 higher kind is pointed out by Laelius, when he says, 
 " neque enim assentior iis, qui haec nuper disserere 
 cceperunt, cum corporibus simul animos interire, atque 
 omnia morte deleri." 
 
 With this persuasion (" quod item Scipioni videba- 
 tur") and with the confirmation we have received of 
 its truth, we may say with Young, " or life or death 
 is equal." 
 
 A man values, or ought to value his existence ac- 
 cording to the power it gives him to live in a manner 
 worthy of his nature, which Young truly says, " No 
 man can o'er-rate ;" and of the sense of his relation to 
 the Almighty Being who created him : the value he 
 sets on his existence, and on the feelings which the 
 sense of that relation excites, should surely make him 
 wish for a continuation of the one (with submission 
 
29 
 
 however to the Divine will) and a nearer approximation 
 to the other, source as it is of the noblest feelings of 
 his mind : who then will not say with Socrates, Scipio, 
 and Cicero, " animos hominum esse divinos, iisque, 
 cum e corpore excessissent, reditum in ccelum patere, 
 optimoque et justissimo cuique expeditissimum." 
 
 If any thing could add to the force of the persua- 
 sions mentioned by Lselius, it must have been the 
 cessation of existence on earth, of one, " quern esse 
 natum et nos gaudemus, et haec civitas (Rome), dum 
 erit, laetabitur." So shall the best feelings of those 
 creatures, whom God has created in his own image, 
 be, authorized as they are by his own revelations, the 
 vouchers of their future existence in another and a 
 better world. " Quamobrem, cum illis quidem op- 
 time est actum." 
 
 What a force too do the feelings of friendship (to 
 go on with Cicero and Lselius) add to all the above ! — 
 "recordatione nostrae amicitiae sicfruor, ut beate vixisse 
 videar, quia cum Scipione vixerim ; quocum mihi con- 
 juncta cur a de re public a et de privata fuit, quocum 
 et domus, et militia communis; et (id, in quo est 
 omnis vis amicitiae) voluntatum, studiorum, senten- 
 tiarum, summa consensio." — And shall not this " con- 
 sensio" be renewed and perpetuated, in an " enten- 
 derment" that will last "for ever?" It will, the 
 consensio animorum being concentrated (if concen- 
 tration can be in infinity) in one great object, and that 
 object the sum and source of all perfection. 
 
 This mention of a friendship of which Lselius said, 
 
30 
 
 " Amicitiae nostras memoriam spero sempiternam fore," 
 induces Fannius and Scaavola to press him to declare 
 to them his sentiments regarding human friendships ; 
 to which, after a modest confession of his insufficiency 
 for the discussion of the subject, he says, "Ego vos 
 hortari tantum possum, ut amicitiam omnibus rebus 
 humanis anteponatis ; nihil est enim tarn naturae 
 aptum, tarn conveniens ad res vel secundas vel ad- 
 versas. Sed hoc primum sentio ; nisi in bonis, ami- 
 citiam esse non posse." — In this his first position, 
 Laslius is surely right ; and not less so, in rejecting 
 the opinion of those, "qui haec subtilius disserunt, et 
 ad vivum resecant ;" for their insisting upon a wisdom, 
 which, as Laslius says, " adhuc mor talis nemo est 
 consecutus," as bemg necessary to friendship, and 
 even to form the " vir bonus," tended much less " ad 
 communem utilitatem," than to gratify their own 
 pride, which might perhaps make them consider them- 
 selves as the possessors of that wisdom, or at least that 
 it was the attainable object of their philosophy; little 
 were they aware, that this is not the wisdom that 
 " cometh from above," and of which Lactantius more 
 truly says, " Sapientia non in sermonis ornatu sed in 
 corde atque sensu est." If the heart is right, the head 
 will be so too ; and so far indeed these philosophers 
 seem to agree with Lactantius ; and not improbably 
 also in their general estimation of human nature. 
 
 Laelius goes on " pingui Minerva," as he says, in 
 making " fidelity, integrity, equity, liberality," the 
 tests of his "wise and good men:" "quia sequantur 
 
31 
 
 (quantum homines possunt) naturam" (the Christian 
 would say, the precepts of the Gospel) " optimam bene 
 vivendi ducem. Sic enim mihi perspicere videor, ita 
 natos esse nos, ut inter omnes esset societas quaedam ; 
 major autem, ut quisque proxime accederet : itaque 
 cives potiores quam peregrini ; et propinqui, quam 
 alieni ; cum his enim amicitiam natura ipsa peperit." 
 But he makes the bonds of friendship necessary to 
 give " firmness" to those of society : " quia ex pro- 
 pinquitate benevolentia tolli potest, ex amicitia non 
 potest." 
 
 Here the superiority of Christianity shews itself, in 
 enjoining the extension of benevolence, not only to 
 relatives, friends, and neighbours, but to enemies; 
 without which, indeed, there cannot be what Laelius 
 calls " omnium divinarum humanarumque rerum 
 summa consensio." A consension, which, if perfect, 
 would put an end to all enmity ; instead of being, as 
 Christianity enjoins, its antidote and corrective ; more 
 than which, in the present state " rerum humanarum," 
 it cannot be 1 . 
 
 Lselius however establishes this consensio among 
 those who are the most, or rather alone, capable of it ; 
 for he says, " Qui in virtu te summum bonum ponunt, 
 praeclare illi quidem ; sed hsec ipsa virtus amicitiam et 
 gignit, et continet ; nee, sine virtute, amicitia esse 
 ullo pacto potest." 
 
 1 Who but a Christian can " love his enemies ?" Who else can hope 
 to be a friend with them, in heaven ? The dross of human passions 
 will be all refined away, there. 
 
32 
 
 And in what can there, must there be, a permanent 
 " consensio," but in an object which embraces all the 
 interests of mankind ? and how is it, that our passions 
 make us overlook it ? To what an extreme does the 
 " Humanum est errare" extend ! 
 
 After enumerating the Paulus's, Cato's, &c. as ex- 
 amples of this, he says, " Tales inter viros amicitia 
 tantas opportunitates habet, quantas vix queo dicere." 
 No, it could only be told us by the Gospel ; and in the 
 precept, " Do to all others as ye would they should 
 do unto you 1 ." 
 
 The opportunities of conversing and acting on such 
 a subject, and in such a cause as that of virtue, are 
 certainly more than we can either tell or foresee ; 
 for every hour may bring occasions for them, either in 
 what regards ourselves, or others ; and every passing 
 hour in which those opportunities are taken, will give 
 us a fresh impulse to look forward to the final reward 
 that virtue, and the attribution of it to its proper 
 source, Religion, presents to our view ; if it is " its 
 own reward" now, it is chiefly in the hope it gives of 
 a still better reward hereafter : for how else is the sen- 
 timent to be excited ? 
 
 Such characters as the Paulus's, Cato's, Scipio's, &c. 
 ennobled the times in which they lived. 
 
 Then follows a most beautiful description of the 
 advantages and enjoyments of friendship, " confidence, 
 sympathy," &c. as embracing and surpassing all that 
 
 1 This leaves no room for enmity, 
 
33 
 
 riches, power, honours," &c. can give ; and concluding 
 with " et secundas res splendidiores facit amicitia, et 
 adversas, partiens communicansque, leviores." 
 
 " Yerum amicum qui intuetur, tamquam exemplar 
 aliquod intuetur sui." Self-love then, the great 
 moving principle, is reflected and doubled by this 
 contemplation or intuition. 
 
 " Si exemeris ex natura rerum benevolentias con- 
 junctionem, nee domus ulla, nee urbs stare poterit : 
 ne agri quidem cultus permanebit." 
 
 The happiness of all society depends upon mutual 
 good will; of which friendship is the concentration 
 and completion. 
 
 " Quanta vis amicitiaa concordiasque sit, ex dissen- 
 sionibus atque discordiis percipi potest." 
 
 Here, however, no greater power nor praise can be 
 assigned to friendship, than in its being opposed to , 
 and counteracting (and that perhaps only for a time) 
 the evils of its opposites, enmity and discord ; which 
 the universal benevolence, the " good-will towards 
 man," recommended by the Gospel, will not only check 
 or oppose, but, if practised, totally eradicate. If the 
 passions, and mistaken interests of mankind make 
 this benevolence impracticable in its utmost extent, 
 any dereliction of it will shew its excellence, in the 
 consequences which that dereliction will bring on our- 
 selves. The " friendship" of the heathens is, on a 
 smaller scale, what the " charity" of the Gospel is on 
 an unlimited one. The practice of both will perhaps 
 depend on the moral, and possibly the constitutional 
 
34 
 
 qualities possessed by each individual; all however 
 must see their excellence. 
 
 This charity (caritas, x a 9 1 ^) indeed is not ill des- 
 cribed by Lselius under the name of Love (" amor, 
 ex quo amicitia nominata") which he says is " prin- 
 ceps ad benevolentiam conjungendam ;" being " anti- 
 quior et pulchrior, et magis a natura ipsa, profecta," 
 than from any sense of utility in friendship, from 
 mutual assistance to mutual weakness, or than, any 
 other demonstrations, which are often given and re- 
 ceived by those " qui simulatione amicitia? coluntur, 
 et observantur causa temporis : in amicitia autem nihil 
 fictum, nihil simulatum ; et quicquid in ea est, id est 
 verum et voluntarium. Quapropter, a natura mihi vide- 
 tur potius, quam ab indigentia, orta amicitia, et appli- 
 catione magis animi cum quodam sensu amandi, quam 
 cogitatione, quantum ilia res utilitatis esset habitura." 
 
 Thus is the disposition to love implanted in us, 
 prior to, and independent of, any thing arising from 
 the circumstances we are in : and it is to this that 
 the Gospel probably appeals in enjoining the duties 
 of charity ; for without such a disposition to appeal 
 to, the injunction, we may presume, would hardly 
 have been given. What then philosophy, from the 
 mouth of Lsglius, or the pen of Cicero, has delivered 
 to us, has been confirmed by an authority, which we 
 justly consider as divine. — Lselius then goes on to 
 notice the " sensus amandi," as being observable in 
 beasts, particularly in their love of their young ; and 
 as being much more evident in man : " primum ex 
 
85 
 
 e|i caritate, quae est inter natos et parentes ; quae 
 dirimi, nisi detestabili scelere, non potest; deinde, 
 cum similis sensus exstitit amoris, si aliquem nacti 
 sumus, cujus cum moribus et natura congruamus, 
 quod in eo quasi lumen aliquod probitatis et virtutis 
 perspicere videamur : nihil est enim amabilius virtute ; 
 nihil quod magis alliciat ad diligendum ; quippe cum, 
 propter virtutem et probitatem, eos etiam, quos num- 
 quam vidimus, quodam modo diligamus 1 ." — Of which, 
 either in those, or any other times, instances may be 
 cited, in the impressions, favourable or unfavourable, 
 according to our estimation of their characters, which 
 are made on our minds, either in reading their works, 
 or what is recorded of them. — Laalius then says, " If 
 the power of virtue is so great, as to induce us to love 
 it in those whom we never saw, and even in an enemy, 
 what wonder, if our minds are affected by the same 
 quality in those, with whom we are conversant in life ? 
 and though this sentiment is confirmed * beneficio 
 accepto, et studio perspecto, et consuetudine adjuncta,' 
 (by benefits received, attention, observation and habit) 
 yet, if it is attributed to the sense of our weakness, 
 and the advantages we may reap from the good qua- 
 lities of others, in our intercourse with them, all its 
 nobleness and generosity will be taken away from it." 
 The error of the reasoning condemned by Laalius 
 seems to be, in making that an affair of calculation, 
 
 1 O congeniality, how valuable art thou, when so produced ! This is 
 indeed the 
 
 -" Virtue, that entenders us for ever. 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 which must be an affair of sentiment 1 ; and even the 
 desire of increasing our good qualities, implies our 
 possessing them already in some degree ; what winder 
 then, that we should desire the increase of what must 
 give us such solid satisfaction ? This is true self-love, 
 but not self-interest ; and to confound them with each 
 other, is no less a blasphemy against our Maker, than 
 it is a calumny upon our nature 2 . Our best impulses 
 are from God ; the perversion of them from our pas- 
 sions ; our first "instigations" can hardly be from 
 " the Devil ;" we must hope that even a Calvinist 
 would not say that. As to the mind being " humilis 
 et minime generosus," when thus deprived of its best 
 qualities, the pride of philosophy needed not to have 
 urged that as its chief argument. But it could soar 
 no higher 3 . 
 
 Cicero's reasoning, just as it is, shews how imper- 
 fect all morality must be, unless refined and exalted 
 by religion, without which the brightest displays of 
 human virtue are, in truth, but " shining sins." For 
 what motive is left, but pride ? Or, if they are exempt 
 from that, and spring from better sources, how do 
 they accord with the use of reason, which is often little 
 apparent in other actions that accompany them ? 
 
 1 Yes ; but " sentiment" may arise from a sense of interest — what 
 feeling does not "begin at home, stir abroad" as it may ? Self-love 
 and social then are, or ought to be, the same. 
 
 2 The worth of each individual may depend greatly upon the pro- 
 portion that these bear to each other. 
 
 3 Philosophy must keep its own level. 
 
37 
 
 Without that use, the impulses they proceed from 
 are often unaccompanied with religious feelings, or if 
 they have that accompaniment, it only serves to lead 
 them more astray. As to pretended, or interested 
 friendships, they are sure, sooner or later, to be de- 
 tected; for there is as much inconsistency in false- 
 hood, as uniformity in truth. 
 
 " Quod si ita esset ; ut quisque minimum in se esse 
 arbitraretur, ita ad amicitiam esset aptissimus ; quod 
 longe secus est." " For," says Lselius, " the more con- 
 fidence a man has in himself, the more that confidence 
 is confirmed, and the more he is rendered indepen- 
 dent on others, by the virtue and wisdom which he 
 possesses, the more he will be disposed to seek and to 
 cultivate friendship," which was the case between 
 Africanus and himself 1 . It appears, I think, from 
 what is last said, that the confidence which a man has 
 in himself, that is, in his being worthy of an union 
 with others whose qualities resemble his own, is the 
 first incitement to form a friendship with them, and 
 begets a sympathy and congeniality between them, 
 w T hich is the strongest bond of that friendship : the 
 enjoyment and benefit of this is mutual, and the 
 friendship is formed and cemented by the instinctive 
 feeling of it, but not from any calculation of advantage 
 to be derived from it. Mutual worth, and mutual 
 dependence, are the best foundations of friendship ; 
 
 1 Each of them was an "alter idem" to the other. 
 
38 
 
 and the consciousness of both, and of dependence 
 upon a higher power, its best security. 
 
 " Ab iis, qui pecudum ritu ad voluptatem omnia re- 
 fer unt, longe dissentimus." And well might he dis- 
 claim such brutal sensuality, as applicable to man ; 
 however, even in the " pecudum ritus," we should 
 perhaps have a somewhat higher idea of what has 
 been given to them by their Creator, to answer and 
 ameliorate the purposes of their existence : in this 
 view, the " voluptas" may be considered as a sort and 
 degree of happiness 1 ; much inferior however to that 
 which, mixed as it is with troubles, man is capable of 
 and is born for. 
 
 " Sic et utilitates ex amicitia, maxima? capiuntur ; 
 et erit ejus ortus a natura, quam ab imbecilitate, et 
 gravior et verior ; nam, si utilitas amicitias congluti- 
 naret, eadem commutata dissolveret 2 : sed quia natura 
 mutari non potest, idcirco veras amicitiae sempiternse 
 sunt." (Cap. 9.) 
 
 Utility then is the end of this, as of the other dis- 
 pensations of the Author of Nature ; though it is not 
 always the immediate motive that actuates his crea- 
 tures, to whom he has given instincts that properly 
 used (in beasts they must, in man they may) will 
 
 1 Is not this evident in the fidelity of the dog or horse, the playful- 
 ness of the lamb, &c. ? 
 
 2 Yes, if the "utilitas" was not of a superior kind. But how imper- 
 fect language is ! 
 
39 
 
 promote their happiness, the chief object, as it is the 
 chief glory, of his works. 
 
 " Ille (Scipio) quidem nihil difficilius esse dicebat, 
 quam amicitiam usque ad extremum vitae permanere." 
 (Cap. 10.) 
 
 Does not the truth of this shew the benevolent in- 
 tent of our Creator, to raise our desires to what is 
 more permanent, after the temporary ends of our 
 existence here, in promoting our mutual happiness, 
 have been answered ? For which " summi puerorum 
 amores ssepe una cum praetexta ponerentur." This 
 change too may be made, either " adversis rebus," or 
 " setate ingravescente 1 ," 
 
 Laehus proceeds to shew how friendships are liable 
 to be abused or forfeited either by rivalry, or " cum 
 aliquid ab amicis, quod rectum non esset, postulare- 
 tur ;" and how far they ought to be carried, with the 
 justice due to ourselves, still more than to others. 
 
 " Hsec ita multa, quasi fata, impendere amicitiis, ut, 
 omnia subterfugere, non modo sapientise, sed etiam 
 felicitatis, diceret sibi videri." 
 
 There is then an object, higher and surer, than 
 earthly friendships ; if not, why " omnia subterfu- 
 gere?" That object is, our own and our Creator's 
 approbation. 
 
 The question " quatenus amor in amicitia pro- 
 
 1 When all are (nearly) gone, but the " amor divinus," 
 " On some fond breast," however, &c. 
 But still there is a looking forward to a heavenly reunion. 
 
 6 
 
40 
 
 gredi debeat," is well discussed in Cap. 11, and the 
 danger of carrying it too far strikingly shewn in the 
 case of C. Blosius, the friend and adherent of Tib. 
 Gracchus. 
 
 " Nulla est igitur excusatio peccati, si amici causa 
 peccaveris ; nam, cum conciliatrix amicitiaa virtutis 
 opinio fuerit, difficile est amici tiam manere, si a virtute 
 defeceris." 
 
 This is most true ; and it is equally true, that 
 
 " Virtue alone is happiness below." 
 
 Virtue sanctioned and confirmed by religion. 
 " Perfecta sapientia rectum statuere," belongs only 
 to Almighty wisdom. 
 
 Of several persons whom Lselius mentions as models 
 in the choice of a friend, he says, " ne suspicari 
 quidem possumus, quemquam horum ab amico quip- 
 piam contendisse, quod contra fidem, contra jusjuran- 
 dum, contra rempublicam esset. Nam hoc quidem in 
 talibus viris quid attinet dicere, si contendisset, scio 
 impetraturum non fuisse? Cum illi sanctissimi viri 
 fuerint: seque autem nefas sit, tale aliquid et facere 
 rogatum, et rogare." 
 
 With this, and this alone, there will be perfect con- 
 fidence in friendship ; when both look up to the. same 
 law, and are under the controul of the same prin- 
 ciple ; a principle equally sacred, equally efficacious 
 in all times, and under all circumstances : if not in 
 obtaining the immediate object of men's desires, yet 
 in securing their real and permanent interests. For 
 
41 
 
 what will compensate the loss of our own esteem and 
 self-approbation ? Or, in the higher and more autho- 
 ritative and impressive language of Scripture, " What 
 profiteth a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose 
 his own soul ? Or what shall a man give in exchange 
 for his soul ?" 
 
 Laelius afterwards says, " eo loco, Fanni et Scaevola, 
 locati sumus, ut nos longe prospicere oporteat futuros 
 casus reipublicae. Deflexit enim jam aliquantulum de 
 spatio curriculoque consuetudo majorum." 
 
 Well might he say so, after the temporary success of 
 Tiberius Gracchus's ambitious attempts, and in the 
 uncertainty there then was, of what the tribunate 
 of Caius Gracchus might produce : and still greater 
 reason had Cicero afterwards to say, " serpit deinde 
 res ; quae proclivius ad perniciem, cum semel ccepit, 
 labitur. Plures enim discent, quemadmodum haec 
 fiant, quam quemadmodum his resistatur." — So it may 
 be said of all similar times ; and so little power have 
 men, in resisting the progress of national decay; 
 Cicero did resist it, and with success, against Catiline ; 
 but he afterwards fell a victim to it, when the ruin of 
 the republic was completed by Caesar and Antony ; 
 when " suis et ipsa viribus Roma ruit." — Augustus 
 restored the prosperity of Rome, but could not restore 
 its virtue. 
 
 " Mihi autem non minori curae est, qualis respub- 
 lica post mortem meam futura sit, quam qualis hodie 
 sit." 
 
 How nobly does Laelius, and Cicero with him, ex- 
 
42 
 
 press the " ruling passion," which no doubt was 
 their last feeling, " strong in death." — " Oh save my 
 country, Heaven !" 
 
 For, with the sentiments that both expressed, they 
 would not exclaim with Brutus, that " virtue was but 
 a name." The suicide indeed of Brutus indicated no 
 other reliance but on his own and his party's exertions ; 
 and perhaps, amiable as the character of Brutus was, 
 it betrayed a feeling in which self was predominant ; 
 at least at that moment ; a moment of despair, and 
 of — insanity. 
 
 How frail is the confidence which men have in 
 human speculations or exertions ! 
 
 Brutus put an end to his life because he could not 
 save his country: •• Coriolanus and Themistocles" 
 fought against theirs, because they had been treated 
 with ingratitude ; did not they all desert their posts ? 
 or was the post of Brutus untenable ? 
 
 " Mortem sibi, 
 
 et unus et alteri " consciverunt :" sed pro patria, nee unus, nee 
 alteri." 
 
 Lselius's fears that the " improborum consensio," 
 in bringing ruin upon their country, would not in 
 future meet with the punishment it deserved, " quod 
 quidem, ut res ccepit ire, haud scio, an aliquando fu- 
 turum sit ;" may be answered by Horace's 
 
 " Raro antecedentem scelestum 
 Deseruit pede poena claudo." 
 
 Various are the ways which Providence reserves 
 
43 
 
 to itself, of punishing these and other crimes, without 
 always employing the agency of man, in the usual 
 means of doing it. The very success of crime may 
 bring with it its own punishment. The possession 
 of absolute power could not secure Caesar from the 
 swords of his assassins : but that a violent death is not 
 always a punishment, was evinced in that of Cicero : 
 these events however were only preparatory to more 
 important and extensive judgments of Providence ; 
 the religion as well as the republic of Rome was to 
 be overturned ; and a " new order" of things was to 
 " arise," which, after the various trials it has under- 
 gone, will, we may hope in these our later times, be 
 brought nearer to perfection, by the character of 
 tolerance which Christianity is at length enabled to 
 assume. We may hope then perhaps, that, ere long, 
 the " sword" which our Saviour " came to bring," 
 will be buried for ever in its sheath. 
 
 " Sine sociis nemo quidquam tale (nefas) conatur." 
 (Cap. 12.) 
 
 The social principle acts more or less on all dis- 
 positions ; but what at first puts that principle in 
 action, and directs its movements (except the sense of 
 dependence) we cannot say. Rousseau's " l'homme 
 est bon, mais les hommes sont medians," is perhaps 
 not truer than its opposite, l'homme est mediant, 
 mais les hommes sont bons. If men corrupt one 
 another, they correct one another too. The exem- 
 plification of the proverb " noscitur a sociis," depends 
 much on the choice which an individual makes of his 
 
44 
 
 companions : farther back than this we cannot go, 
 unless we take him into the nursery, and there too he 
 will give some manifestation of what may be called 
 his natural disposition, which will be expanded or 
 corrected in the great nursery of life : for what is life, 
 but a preparatory state? We are variously gifted, 
 and our responsibility must probably depend on the 
 use we make of the gifts we have received, and have 
 the power of using. " To whom much is given, of 
 him much will be required." Who shall say how 
 much is comprehended in this ? Who shall estimate, 
 or trace back to its source, the share which each indi- 
 vidual, be his or her condition what it may, has in 
 forming or influencing the characters of his fellow- 
 creatures ' ? " Offences must come," but from whence 
 do they first come ? 
 
 Cap. 13. " Hasc igitur prima lex amicitiae sancia- 
 tur, ut ab amicis honesta petamus, amicorum causa 
 honesta faciamus; ne exspectemus quidem, dum ro- 
 gemur ; studium semper adsit, cunctatio absit ; con- 
 silium vero dare gaudeamus libere ; plurimum in 
 amicitia amicorum bene suadentium valeat auctori- 
 tas ; eaque et adhibeatur ad monendum non modo 
 aperte, sed etiam acriter, si res postulabit ; et adhi- 
 bitge pareatur." 
 
 To those who are equal to these tasks, and know 
 how and when to perform them, better rules for 
 
 1 Men will never know, or do justice to, each other, till they feel all 
 the force of the duty. 
 
45 
 
 friendship cannot be given. — The opinions, which 
 Laelius cites, of some " wise men" in Greece (and 
 which he calls " mirabilia quaedam") " partim fugien- 
 das esse nimias amicitias, ne necesse sit unum solli- 
 citum esse pro pluribus ;" and " commodissimum esse, 
 quam laxissimas 1 habenas habere amicitias, quas vel 
 adducas, cum velis, vel remittas :" also " (multo etiam 
 inhumanius) praesidii adjumentique causa, non bene- 
 volentiae neque caritatis, amicitias esse expetendas," 
 are all so false and selfish, that they might well excite 
 him to exclaim (ironically of course) " O praeclaram 
 sapientiam ! solem enim e mundo tollere videntur, 
 qui amicitiam e vita tollunt : qua a Diis immortalibus 
 nihil melius habemus, nihil jucundius." — " Neque 
 enim est consentaneum, ullam honestam rem ac- 
 tionemve, ne sollicitus sis, aut non suscipere, aut 
 susceptam deponere ; quod si curam fugimus, virtus 
 fugienda est :" that is, when virtue gives us the feelings 
 which make us despise and hate the things that are 
 opposed to them : as " goodness hates malice, tem- 
 perance lust, fortitude cowardice." *' Ergo hoc pro- 
 prium est animi bene constituti, et laetari bonis rebus, 
 et dolere contrariis :" the bonaa et contrarias res being 
 such as are favourable or unfavourable to what virtue 
 makes us love or hate. 
 
 He goes on to shew, how much this selfishness and 
 want of sympathy would debase our nature ; and how 
 little it could avail, to exempt us from the troubles of 
 life ; justly observing, that, as virtue " quidem est, 
 
 1 " Laxissimas," indeed ! 
 
46 
 
 cum multis in rebus, turn in amicitia, tenera atque 
 tractabilis;" therefore " angor iste, qui pro amico saepe 
 capiendus est, non tantum valet, ut tollat e vita ami- 
 citiam; non plus, quam ut virtutes, quia nonnullas 
 curas et molestias afferunt, repudientur." — (Cap. 13.) 
 
 " Non utilitatem amicitia, sed utilitas amicitiam 
 consecuta est." — (Cap. 14.) 
 
 The first moving principle is, goodness, and the 
 love of virtue ; " utility" is the reward which follows 
 our being influenced by them. 
 
 The Greek Philosophers whom Laelius cites, seem 
 to have aimed at making life cease to be a mixed state 
 of pain and pleasure, and at having all the happiness 
 of their " wise man" concentrated within himself, 
 and subject to his own power: a system which might 
 suit the extremes either of Stoicism or Epicurism, 
 but not the good sense which would steer between 
 them. Even the Epicurean Horace says " Est modus 
 in rebus," &c. — The " lex amicitiae," which Laelius 
 had laid down before, is surely sufficient, to shew the 
 importance of friendship for the purposes of life, and 
 for the social enjoyment of it. 
 
 How true it is, " bonis inter bonos quasi necessa- 
 riam benevolentiam esse ; qui est amicitise fons a na- 
 tura constitutus :" and further, " eadem bonitas etiam 
 ad multitudinem pertinet 1 — virtus enim populos uni- 
 
 1 " Equal" therefore is common goodness, as well as 
 
 " Common sense, and common ease." 
 
 The great dependence of the man who possesses it, will be upon his 
 God, and himself. Let the great consider this, and let them do justice 
 to the lower ranks. 
 
47 
 
 versos tueri, eisque optime consulere soleat ; quod non 
 faceret profecto, si a caritate vulgi abhorreret." He 
 ends this chapter (14) with " non utilitatem amicitia, 
 sed utilitas amicitiam consecuta est." As had been 
 the case between himself and Scipio : and indeed 
 without a previous " amicitia," the " utilitas" would 
 hardly have been conferred. 
 
 It may however be said, that we are all more or 
 less dependent on each other, and the sense of that 
 dependence may be an excitement to friendship ; but 
 it is not the only one ; if it were, the utilitas would 
 hardly be mutual ; nor would self-love (perhaps the 
 primum mobile) bear such beautiful ramifications, nor 
 produce such excellent fruits as we see it does. 
 
 How different this, from the " tyrannorum vita" 
 however " deliciis diffluens" it may be, of the next 
 (15.) Chapter ! " in qua, nimirum nulla fides, nulla ca- 
 ritas, nulla stabilis benevolentise potest esse fiducia : 
 omnia semper suspecta atque sollicita ; nullus locus 
 amicitiae. Quis enim aut eum diligat quern metuit, 
 aut eum a quo se metui putat ?" 
 
 Such is the penalty inflicted upon the want of jus- 
 tice and brotherly love ; in the corroding passions of fear 
 and hatred. " Tarquin" found in his exile, " quos fidos 
 amicos habuisset, quos infidos, cum jam neutris gra- 
 tiam referre posset. Quamquam miror," says Laglius, 
 " ilia superbia et importunitate, si quemquam habere 
 potuit. Atque ut hujus, quern dixi, mores veros amicos 
 parare non potuere ; sic multorum opes praepotentium 
 excludunt amicitias fideles ; non enim solum ipsa for- 
 
48 
 
 tuna caeca est ; sed eos etiam plerumque efficit caecos, 
 quos complexa est." In making them proud, unrea" 
 sonable, and capricious, — " neque quidquam insipi- 
 ente fortunato intolerabilius fieri potest." No, indeed ; 
 for the fool of fortune must be the worst and the most 
 troublesome of all fools. " Riches make themselves 
 wings, and fly away;" how foolish then to depend 
 upon them, and what they can procure, without en- 
 suring the enjoyment of them to their possessors, who 
 have it in their power "amicos parare, optimam et 
 pulcherrimam vitae, ut ita dicam, supellectilem" — for 
 " amicitiarum sua cuique permanet stabilis, et certa 
 possessio." — Yes, when the friendship is sincere, and 
 its object well chosen ; not when " coluntur, ut 
 tyranni, aut opibus praepotentes, simulatione dun- 
 taxat ad tempus. Quod si forte (ut fit plerumque) 
 ceciderint, turn intelligitur, quam fuerint inopes ami- 
 corum." 
 
 " Etiam si ilia maneant, qua? sunt quasi dona for- 
 tunae, tamen vita inculta, et deserta ab amicis, non 
 possit esse jucunda." — (Cap. 15.) 
 
 So Young, 
 
 " Poor is the friendless master of a world ; 
 A world in purchase of a friend is gain." 
 
 (Night 2d.) 
 
 " Sed haec hactenus," as indeed it was time for 
 Laelius to say, much as his subject deserved to be 
 dwelt upon. 
 
 Of the three " in amicitia fines, et quasi termini 
 
49 
 
 diligendi," objected to by Laslius, (in Cap. 16.) the 
 first is, ut eodem modo erga amicum affecti simus, 
 quo erga nosmetipsos ; as falling short of the height, 
 to which friendship ought to be carried ; but if it is 
 not sufficient for this, it is for the love of our neigh- 
 bours, enjoined by the Gospel; higher feelings are 
 reserved for higher duties : sacrifices may be made to 
 friendship, but the greatest sacrifice is due to religion ; 
 this forbids us " acerbius in aliquem invehi, insec- 
 tarique vehementius ;" however " honestum in amico- 
 rum rebus" the world may think it, 
 
 " One should our interest, and our passions be ; 
 My friend should hate the man that injures me." 
 
 According to this, the " love of our enemies," en- 
 joined by the Gospel, is to be confined (if the precept 
 is observed) to the injured person ; but his friend is 
 to be allowed, nay is enjoined, to have a feeling of 
 hatred which is not permitted to the other (unless in- 
 deed he hates by proxy) ; but in that case how are 
 the passions to be one and the same l ? 
 
 Such is the extension, or rather transference (for it 
 is no more) recommended by an old song. 
 
 As to the preference of our friends to ourselves, it 
 does not appear that this " Charity which begins" 
 abroad, is in perfect accord with the classical inscrip- 
 tion, " sibi et amicis ;" which modern sentiment has 
 
 1 " Alter idem" does not imply identity. 
 E 
 
50 
 
 altered to " amicis et sibi," but which I think would 
 be better expressed by " sibi, ut amicis impertiatur :" 
 for certainly the first bestowal must come from the 
 owner himself. But such exaggerations more resem- 
 ble those of the Spaniards, unmeaning as they are. 
 
 The friendships of the heathens seem to have re- 
 quired enemies, both to prove their truth and warmth 
 against, (an odd jumble this of love and hatred) and 
 to carry them to their greatest height (like the effer- 
 vescence of acids and alkalies, rising into froth) : 
 the charity of the Gospel, like the calm of a homoge- 
 neous mixture, poured forth by a divine hand, finds its 
 greatest elevation and durability in the suppression of 
 all enmity and effervescence whatever. 
 
 " Altera sententia est, quae definit amicitiam pari- 
 bus officiis ac voluntatibus." — If this only means a 
 parity of love, which will show itself in demonstra- 
 tions of one kind or another, it seems no more than 
 what friendship, to be mutual, requires ; and not to 
 deserve the censure of " nimis exigue et exiliter ad 
 calculos vocare amicitiam, ut par sit ratio acceptorum 
 et datorum ;" or " observare restricts, ne plus reddat, 
 quam acceperit." 
 
 Mutual confidence will neither make these calcu- 
 lations, nor wait for these trials. But Cicero seems 
 to have been so afraid of sentiment being made subor- 
 dinate to reason (or rather to interest) that he would 
 not allow it to be regulated by it. 
 
 The truth is, that there is not room enough in 
 human concerns, for sentiment to expand and elevate 
 
51 
 
 itself in, whatever attempts or profession it may make ; 
 the feeling and the wish indeed remain, like a castle 
 in the air, to be realized thereafter. There we shall 
 find that 
 
 " To love, and know, in man 
 Is boundless appetite and boundless power ; 
 And these demonstrate boundless objects too, 
 Objects, powers, appetites, heaven suits in all : 
 
 (&c.) 
 
 " Tertius vero ille finis deterrimus, ut quanti quisque 
 se ipse faciat, tanti fiat ab amicis." 
 
 Deterrimus certainly ; for this makes friendship to 
 be founded on self-estimation, or perhaps self-conceit, 
 which may know no bounds 1 ; excluding the " animus 
 abjectior, aut spes amplificandae fortunae fractior," 
 both which may be very consistent with a goodness of 
 disposition that deserves the assistance of a more san- 
 guine and active friend, " eniti, et efhcere, ut amici 
 jacentem animum excite t, inducatque spem, cogita- 
 tionemque meliorem." Such " efficiency" can only 
 be substantially hoped from a heavenly friend ; but 
 the degree to which it may be afforded on earth, is 
 one instance of the " utilitas, quae amici tiam conse- 
 cuta est." 
 
 As for the " alius finis verae amici tiae, — ita amare 
 oportere, ut si aliquando esset osorus," it requires 
 nothing more than what Scipio said of it, when he 
 " negabat ullam vocem inimiciorem amicitiae potuisse 
 
 1 Such " self-love" knows no other. 
 
52 
 
 reperiri :" for such a mixture of love and hatred can 
 only suit the caprices of a selfish and ambitious mind, 
 " qui omnia ad suam potentiam revocare vult." 
 
 " Quonam modo quisquam amicus esse poterit, cui 
 se putabit inimicum esse posse?" — (Cap. 16.) 
 
 By no " means," certainly : for this very " possi- 
 bility" will be realized, in a constant preparation for, 
 if not anticipation of, the enmity it calculates upon, 
 and which it perhaps wishes may be excused and pro- 
 voked by the fault of the friend who may become the 
 object of hatred and enmity. 
 
 Such calculations are best precluded, either by 
 caution in the choice of friends, or toleration of their 
 faults, when chosen. 
 
 How much better is Scipio's maxim, " ut earn 
 diligentiam adhiberemus in amicitiis comparandis, ut 
 nequando amare inciperemus eum, quern aliquando 
 odisse possemus. Quinetiam si minus felices dili- 
 gendo fuissemus, ferendum id potius, quam inimici- 
 tiarum tempus cogitandum ;" any feeling being better 
 than that of hatred, or the suspicion that prepares us 
 for it. 
 
 Cap. 17. — " His igitur flnibus utendum arbitror, 
 ut, cum emendati mores amicorum sint, turn sit inter 
 eos omnium rerum, consiliorum, voluntatum, sine 
 ulla exceptione, communitas ; ut etiam si qua for- 
 tuna accident, ut minus justse amicorum voluntates 
 adjuvandae sint, in quibus eorum aut caput agatur, 
 aut fama, declinandum sit de via, modo ne summa 
 turpitudo sequatur." 
 
53 
 
 The " utilitas amicitiae" then extends " ad emen- 
 dandos amicorum mores :" and well it may ; for, as 
 the foundation of friendship is to be in a good dispo- 
 sition (" inter bonos") that must be the best prepara- 
 tion for any mutual improvement, that mutual com- 
 munication may afterwards make ; an improvement 
 which confirms and completes the confidence between 
 them. 
 
 In saying " ut etiam si qua fortuna acciderit," &c. 
 (as above) Lselius seems to carry this " communitas" 
 still further ; and in the " declinandum de via" (via 
 recti) to tread upon tender and slippery ground. 
 Cicero indeed, the prompter of Lselius, had trod upon 
 it, in the affair of his friend Milo ; in which he pro- 
 bably meant to shew, " quatenus amicitias dari venia 
 possit ;" and also that " nee vero negligenda est fama : 
 nee mediocre telum ad res gerendas existimare oportet 
 benevolentiam civium" (non " prava jubentium ?") 
 quam blanditiis et assentando colligere turpe est ; 
 (certainly, si " pravajubent,") "Virtus quam sequitur 
 caritas, (yes, and the only " caritas" that is worth 
 having) minime repudianda est." 
 
 With however the saving clause in the connexion 
 of " virtue and friendship," there may be some laxity 
 of morals in this ; at least it does not come up to the 
 " Amicus Plato, sed magis arnica Veritas." 
 
 Perhaps there may be times and cases in which the 
 rigidity of truth may be departed from ; but in this 
 " declinatio de via' we should take care not to hasten 
 the " proclivior ad perniciem lapsus ;" nor yet should 
 
54 
 
 we make too great a sacrifice, even to a virtuous 
 friendship. 
 
 Cicero had to prop a falling republic ; and the 
 means he chose might be the proper ones. Cato was 
 left to himself, and when "impious men bore sway," 
 to choose " a private station," (Utica indeed was not 
 one) and, as he did, a final refuge in death. This 
 indeed, desperate as the act was, was " liberare 
 animam suam" — a vinculo corporis — but how much 
 further ? What would become of the ' ' atrox animus ?" 
 If indeed we are to adopt the Courtier Horace's 
 phrase. — The heathen philosophers and heroes (the 
 Stoics at least) had not learnt submission to any 
 masters but those of their own school ; and their 
 courage was not of the passive kind, nor certainly was 
 it exempt from pride. Such an exemption was to be 
 learnt at a better school than that of the Epicurean 
 Horace, who might be better able to preach than to 
 practise the " animum regere." 
 
 In abandoning a post where we can no longer be of 
 any service (at least in our own opinion) the greatest 
 sacrifice we make, may be that of our duty. For we 
 do it " injussu imperatoris, id est, Dei." 
 
 Scipio's complaint, " quod omnibus aliis rebus 
 homines diligentiores essent, in amicis vero eligendis 
 negligentes," Lselius answers properly enough by 
 "judicare difficile est, nisi expertum : ita praecurrit 
 amicitia judicium, tollitque experiendi potestatem." 
 
 Experience cannot begin friendships, but it may 
 confirm them, by proving who are " firmi et stabiles, 
 
oo 
 
 et constantes ;" till when perhaps " prudentis est 
 sustinere, ut currum, sic impetum benevolentise.'' 
 This " impetus" indeed may require an experience of 
 the qualities above mentioned in our friends, to en- 
 courage it towards them ; especially if we are endowed 
 with these qualities ourselves ; in this case there will 
 be a sense of congeniality, which will be confirmed 
 by habit (" consuetudine adjunct a") as well as by a 
 mutual want of, and consequent dependence on, each 
 other : the latter indeed is best placed on ourselves, 
 and ought, in some measure at least, to be so, even 
 when we most want the assistance of others, which 
 will be bestowed upon us in vain, unless we contribute 
 something of our own, in the efforts we make, or the 
 prudence we use. So far " every man is for himself;" 
 and not for himself only, but for others also, in the 
 example which he gives them. Of such a man it 
 may well be expected, " ut in amicitiis expetendis 
 colendisque maxime excellat :" as was mutually the 
 case between Scipio and Lselius. 
 
 To Laelius's observation, that in the trials of friend- 
 ship men are apt to be seduced from it, " some by 
 the prospect of small profit (or fear of loss) others of 
 greater, and still more by honours, power," &c. it may 
 be said, that where the friendship is real, the acqui- 
 sition of these objects will rather tend to increase the 
 opportunities for the demonstrations of it, which they 
 may be expected to be more favourable than adverse 
 to ; when they are the latter, it is indeed a trial which 
 few perhaps can stand ; so foolish are we often, in 
 
56 
 
 preferring the applause of many, precarious and in- 
 sincere as it may be, to the more real approbation of 
 a few, or of one only ; and that one perhaps the voice 
 of our own conscience. If the pursuit of honours, 
 power, &c. is ever in accordance with the last-men- 
 tioned, it must be in such instances as that of " Went- 
 worth," in the interesting novel of " De Vere ;" if it 
 may be allowed here to compare fictitious with real 
 characters ; both however drawn from observation of 
 human life, and both perhaps mixed, more or less, 
 with hypothesis ; founded, it may be, on a too favour- 
 able, but not altogether imaginary view of human 
 nature, blind as that is apt to be to its real interest, 
 which must consist in promoting the good of our 
 fellow-creatures. This indeed is generally made the 
 pretext in following those intricate paths which lead 
 to the attainment of riches, honours, and power, among 
 the sons of men ; who assist or thwart each other in 
 the pursuit of them. We are now, I think, arrived 
 at a period (A. D. 1829,) when the attainment of them 
 is likely to be directed to the best purposes, in pro- 
 moting the interest of our country, and the general 
 good of mankind. God grant that these prospects 
 may be realized ! 
 
 If a man refuses all accommodation to the world, he 
 must live only to himself, and perhaps to his God ; 
 if he accommodates, he must take care, as far as he 
 can, to " keep himself unspotted by it ;" mixing as 
 much as he can of the " wisdom of the serpent with 
 the innocence of the dove." 
 
57 
 
 " Ubi istum invenias, qui honor em amici anteponat 
 suo ?" Probably no where ; nor would the " ante- 
 ponere" be reasonable, if the candidate thinks, and 
 has reason to think himself as well, or better qualified 
 " in honoribus reque publica versari." In such a case, 
 the sacrifice "verae amicitiae" would be a sacrifice, 
 not only of his own, but of the public interest. In 
 regarding friendship, we are not to have that alto- 
 gether exclusively in view ; nor need we, to avoid our 
 being said, " in bonis rebus contempsisse, aut in malis 
 deseruisse amicos." — " Qui igitur utraque in re gravem, 
 constantem, stabilem se in amicitia praestiterit, hunc 
 ex maxime raro hominum genere judicare debemus, 
 et pcene divino." — (Cap. 18.) 
 
 As much as you please, my good Laelius ; but at 
 any rate you can make your friend no more than your 
 second self, unless you make him penitus " divinum," 
 whatever sacrifices you may make to him ; and if the 
 duties of friendship are to be reciprocal, how are these 
 sacrifices to be made ? Must we not call in a third 
 interest, both to appeal and to sacrifice to ? If not, 
 will there not be some danger of a dispute, in deter- 
 mining which of the two friends shall prefer the 
 " honour" of the other to his own ? This certainly 
 would be a new " bone of contention," neither very 
 amicable, nor a "jucundabenevolentiae remuneratio." 
 
 But there is a third interest superior to that of any 
 earthly objects; and when Laelius calls friends the 
 " optima et pulcherrima vitae supellex," (Cap. 15.) 
 he names a " supellex" with which, like most other 
 
58 
 
 goods, he has shewn that we cannot completely furnish 
 ourselves ; and why ? because there is a higher, with 
 which we can. Friendship, like other blessings, must 
 be perfected in heaven : there only is the " entender- 
 ment," which must be founded in " virtue," and will 
 last "forever;" its trials on earth shew the allays, 
 the dross, from which it must be purged 1 . Of the 
 other objects of our earthly desires, Laelius had said 
 (Cap. 15.) " ejus est istorum quodque, qui vincit vi- 
 ribus." Yes truly ; the possession of them is obtained 
 and kept by strength ; that of friendship is often lost 
 by weakness ; the weakness of human nature. 
 
 " Firmamentum autem stabilitatis, constantiaeque 
 ejus, quam in amicitia quaerimus, fides est. Nihil 
 enim stabile est, quod inndum est. Simplicem prae- 
 terea, et communem, et consentientem, qui rebus 
 iisdem moveatur, eligi par est : quae omnia pertinent 
 ad fidelitatem." 
 
 Yes ; but the " multiplex" (not " tortuosum") in- 
 genium, which Laelius opposes to these, may be re- 
 quired in the great businesses of the world ; and may 
 it not be consistent with the qualities which friend- 
 ship requires? May they not all be comprised in 
 Pope's line, 
 
 " There needs but thinking right, and meaning well ?" 
 
 " Accedat hue suavitas quae dam oportet sermonum 
 atque morum, haudquaquam mediocre condimentum 
 
 1 As well as from all interests, but those of religion and virtue. 
 
59 
 
 amicitias. Tristitia autem, et in omni re severitas, 
 habet ilia quidem gravitatem ; sed amicitia remissior 
 esse debet, et liberior, et dulcior, et ad omnem comi- 
 tatem, facilitatemque proclivior." 
 
 These are the balms with which we may soften and 
 sweeten the hardnesses and bitternesses of life, with- 
 out derogating from the duties of it : — " non amici- 
 tiarum esse debent, sicut aliarum rerum, satietates." 
 (Cap. 19.) — No ; for real goodness, on which friend- 
 ship must be founded, never tires, though it may not 
 always amuse ; but " maxima est vis vetustatis, et 
 consuetudinis," (et necessitatis, might be added) and 
 though it may be true, that "multos modios salis 
 simul edendos esse, ut amicitiae munus expletum sit :" 
 yet this " salt" is but the seasoning of a better sub- 
 stance. 
 
 " Old friends, old horses, and old wines." 
 
 Yes, Lselius ; we know the value, and the necessity 
 of them too, as we advance in life. 
 
 Scipio (says Laelius, Cap. 19.) " suos omnes per 
 se esse ampliores volebat." — The superior qualities 
 which he possessed, were directed to the benefit of 
 his friends, " quod faciendum, imitandumque est 
 omnibus," &c. 
 
 " Fructus ingenii et virtu tis, omnisque praestantiaa, 
 turn maximus capitur, cum in proximum quemque 
 confertur."— (Cap. 19.) 
 
 No doubt the first objects of our regard should be 
 
 6 
 
60 
 
 ou nearest relatives, at least if they are deserving 
 of it. 
 
 " Officia amicorum meminisse debent ii in quos 
 collata sunt ; non commemorare ii, qui contulerunt.' 
 —(Cap. 20.) 
 
 Gratitude in friendship ought to be voluntary, not 
 exacted, nor particularly expected ; it should be exhi- 
 bited in the same, or perhaps increased attachment, 
 that before subsisted. 
 
 The ingratitude of mankind has often been com- 
 plained of, and perhaps not without reason ; if so, it 
 may be considered as one of the trials of life ; and as 
 one of the evils, which is sure to have its counterpoise 
 of good. However, it may have its excuse ; or the 
 fault may be on both sides 1 . 
 
 — " ii, qui superiores sunt, submittere se debent in 
 amicitia." — Yes ; for can superiority be more properly 
 shewn, than in the services which it enables men to 
 render? If contrariwise shewn, or in mere selfish 
 gratifications, the superiority of intellect is lost in the 
 degradation of moral turpitude. 
 
 — " sunt quidam, qui molestas amicitias faciunt, 
 cum ipsi se contemni putant ; quod non fere contin- 
 git, nisi iis, qui etiam contemnendos se arbitrantur ; 
 qui hac opinione, non modo verbis, sed etiam opere, 
 levandi sunt." 
 
 There are cases, in which we are to be made to 
 think well of ourselves, to enable us to think fairly 
 
 1 From want of right feeling. 
 
61 
 
 of others. Perhaps it may be an instance of the 
 " Charity," which is to " begin at home ;" or the 
 " Justice," which should be " even-handed." 
 
 There will always be a model, before which we 
 should humble ourselves ; and the " Publican" who 
 acknowledged himself to be "a sinner," made no 
 comparisons. 
 
 — " non tu possis, quantumvis excellas, omnes tuos 
 ad honores amplissimos perducere." 
 
 We must assist our fiiends, not in proportion to our 
 powers or their wishes, but to their merits ; " viden- 
 dum est, quid ille possit sustinere" — as Scipio found 
 it necessary to do, in the cases of " Rutilius," and his 
 brother " Lucius." 
 
 — " Omnino amicitia9, corroboratis jam confirmatis- 
 que et ingeniis et setatibus, judicandse sunt." 
 
 The wants and inclinations of our advanced age, 
 will of course supersede those of our childhood ; we 
 should however preserve some regard for those who 
 supplied and gratified the latter, " negligendi quidem 
 non sunt, sed alio quodam modo colendi : aliter ami- 
 citiae stabiles permanere non possunt." — The seeds of 
 friendship then must be sown in early life, and upon 
 congenial soils ! for at any rate something more than 
 mere habit must be required. The " dispares mores," 
 and the " maxima morum studiorumque distantia," 
 which must especially be the case "inter bonos et 
 improbos," cannot but be an effectual bar to friend- 
 ship, and sufficient " dissociare amicitias," at any 
 stage of life. 
 
62 
 
 — " in omni re considerandum est, et quid postules 
 ab amico, et quid patiare a te impetrari." — The first 
 address, and last appeal a man should make, is to his 
 own judgment and conscience. 
 
 " Saepe incidunt magna? res, ut discedendum sit ab 
 amicis ; quas qui impedire vult, quod desiderium 
 non facile ferat, is et infirmus est, mollisque natura, 
 et, ob earn ipsam causam, in amicitia parum Justus." 
 (Cap. 20.) 
 
 To shew too great indulgence in friendship is neither 
 doing justice to our friends nor ourselves; it is to con- 
 sult our own ease (ease dearly bought) at their expense. 
 
 Cap. 2\. — " Est etiam quasi quaedam calamitas in 
 amicitiis dimittendis nonnunquam necessaria." — 
 Friendships ought certainly to be dissolved, or at 
 least the bond relaxed (" dissuendae magis, quam 
 discindendae") when they are not supported by mu- 
 tual esteem. 
 
 " Si morum aut studiorum commutatio quaedam 
 (ut fieri solet) facta erit, aut in reipublicae partibas 
 dissensio intercesserit — cavendum erit, ne non solum 
 amicitia? deposits?, sed inimicitias etiam susceptae, 
 videantur." 
 
 If any circumstances oblige us to dissolve our friend- 
 ships, we should take care that they are not succeeded 
 by enmity : it may be just to give up our friends, but 
 it cannot be just to treat them as enemies. 
 
 " Digni autem sunt amicitia, quibus in ipsis inest 
 causa, cur diligantur." 
 
 Certainly ; and to be assured of this, our " una 
 
63 
 
 cautio," and " una provisio" is, " ut ne nimis cito 
 diligere incipiamus, neve non dignos :" — which will be 
 more difficult, if (Cap. 17.) "praecurrit amicitia judi- 
 cium, tollitque experiendi potestatem." — The only 
 security against which perhaps is " sustinere, ut 
 currum, sic impetum benevolentiae ;" and to consider, 
 " quid postulare ab amico," &c. — (Cap. 20.) 
 
 So shall we do justice, both to our friends, and our- 
 selves. 
 
 " Rarum genus, (et quidem omnia praeclara rara) 
 nee quidquam difflcilius, quam reperire, quod sit omni 
 ex parte in suo genere perfectum." 
 
 It is the nature of man to look out for perfection, 
 and it is his lot not to find it upon earth either in 
 himself or others. What he looks for here, he will 
 see hereafter. Else why look for it ? 
 
 " Sed plerique neque in rebus humanis quidquam 
 bonum norunt, nisi quod fructuosum sit." — " Ita pul- 
 cherrima ilia, et maxime naturali carent amicitia, per 
 se, et propter se expetenda." 
 
 And why expetenda ? From the satisfaction that 
 we hope to derive from it; an instinctive hope, of 
 which we may be ourselves unconscious, and which, 
 like other feelings, may be undefmable. But surely 
 this is the " fructum capiendi spes ;" and immature 
 as it is, we find in it the congeniality that makes both 
 us and our friend look up to, and aim at that perfec- 
 tion, from the undisturbed and unalloyed contempla- 
 tion of which, perfect satisfaction can only be derived. 
 
64 
 
 This is the " peace," the hope of which this life can 
 only "give." 
 
 " Ipse se quisque diligit, non ut aliquam a se ipse 
 mercedem exigat caritatis suae, sed quod per se sibi 
 quisque carus est ; quod nisi idem in amicitiam trans- 
 feratur, verus amicus nunquam reperietur ; est enim 
 is tamquam alter idem." 
 
 Obscure and involved as this may be, we see by it 
 that Cicero found himself obliged to refer all friend- 
 ship to the principle of self-love, whatever elevation 
 and disinterestedness he might wish to ascribe to 
 human nature, the dependence of which on himself, 
 our Maker has made as apparent in man, as " in 
 bestiis, volucribus, nantibus 1 ," &c. &c. 
 
 "Sed plerique perverse (ne dicam impudenter) 
 amicum habere talem volunt, quales ipsi esse non pos- 
 sunt: quaeque ipsi non tribuunt amicis, haec ab iis 
 desiderant." 
 
 And why do they desire this ? unless it is that they 
 may place their whole confidence in, their whole re- 
 liance on them. Man's desires exceed his powers ; 
 but his desires are natural ; and who has given them 
 to him, but the Author of Nature ? And why has 
 he given them to man, but that they should be placed 
 on himself, and that from him their fulfilment should 
 be expected? 
 
 1 Esteem, like " charity," must " begin at home." — The " alter 
 idem" must not be a " fellow -rogue " 
 
65 
 
 " Par autem est, primum ipsum esse virum bonum, 
 turn alterum similem sui quaerere." 
 
 True friendship certainly must be " inter bonos ;" 
 but perfect " good" can only, as our Saviour said, be 
 found in " God." 
 
 Cicero has endeavoured in this work, as in his 
 " Offices," &c. to give an elevation to human nature 
 that it is not capable of: we find him however obliged, 
 perhaps involuntarily, to acknowledge its inferiority to, 
 and dependence upon a higher power ; not f nature," 
 but the Author of it. — His encouragements of human 
 endeavours indeed may be countenanced by the scrip- 
 tural injunction, " Be ye perfect," &c. — but they are 
 unaccompanied with those checks to human pride, 
 that are to be found only in the Gospel. In the 
 " Somnium Scipionis," Cicero makes Africanus say, 
 " Deum te igitur scito esse." St. Paul much more 
 properly says, " Know ye not that ye are the temple of 
 God, and that the spirit of God dwelleth in you ?" &c. 
 — 1 Cor. chap. 3. v. 26. 
 
 The utmost exertions of our reason give us assu- 
 rances which, when those exertions are relaxed (and 
 they cannot always be kept up) we cease to feel : but 
 the desires which they have excited, remain : and 
 have not the utmost exertions of our reason sanc- 
 tioned them ? The mind of man is too often the slave, 
 the humble follower of his senses : the " divinae par- 
 ticula auras" however sometimes disengages itself; 
 and often too, " reason re-assumes her empire." 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 That reason tells us, that man is, in spirit, the " image 
 of his Maker." 
 
 " Neque solum se colent (amici) inter se, ac dili- 
 gent, sed etiam verebuntur ; nam maximum orna- 
 ment um amici tiss tollit, qui ex ea tollit verecun- 
 diam." 
 
 A modest diffidence, not so much of others, as of 
 ourselves, becomes a man, as much as " stillness and 
 humility" do : we are made to observe, and should be 
 in awe of each other, as well as of ourselves : but not 
 in fear, which must arise from a consciousness of some- 
 thing more than weakness, and must subsist only be- 
 tween those who cannot trust each other, and are not 
 themselves " armed strong in honesty." Whoever is 
 so armed, will look on others with the same candour 
 with which he expects to be looked upon by them : 
 or if he does not meet with that, will find a sure re- 
 source in his " nil conscire sibi." 
 
 " Virtutum amicitia adjutrix a natura data est, non 
 vitiorum comes." We want no help to vice, except 
 to countenance us in the practice of what we are 
 ourselves ashamed of. All the rest of this chapter is 
 equally admirable, and affords a satisfactory answer 
 to Rousseau's " L'homme est bon, mais les hommes 
 sont mechants." If they are "mechants," they are 
 sure to suffer by it. 
 
 " Ea (virtute) neglecta, qui se amicos habere arbi- 
 trantur, turn se denique errasse sentiunt, cum eos 
 gravis aliquis casus experiri cogit." (Cap. 22.) 
 
67 
 
 This, it is to be feared is too true ; for there are 
 few who " learn to be wise from others' harm." 
 
 " Prasposteris utimur consiliis, et acta agimus," &c. 
 
 How much truth is expressed in this play upon 
 words ! An after-thought may be a substitute for a 
 fore-thought, when it is too late to act upon it, and 
 either to " do," or undo, what is already " done." 
 
 Cap. 23. — " Una est amicitia in rebus humanis, de 
 cujus utilitate omnes uno ore consentiunt ; — de ami- 
 citia omnes ad unum idem sentiunt; — serpit enim, 
 nescio quomodo, per omnium vitas amicitia *," &c. 
 
 All other enjoyments in life must give way to those 
 which the social feelings excite : for if " life is feeling," 
 what can awaken it more than friendship, in the 
 bosom of which, even misanthropy, hateful as it is, 
 will seek to disburthen itself 2 ; and the highest feelings 
 will become more vivid, by participation with it. But 
 if Gray truly says, 
 
 " To each his sufferings ; all are men, 
 Condemn'd alike to groan ; 
 The tender for another's pain, 
 Th' unfeeling for his own ;" 
 
 this feeling must produce pain as well as pleasure; 
 and indeed must add to the pain which our own 
 " sufferings" excite, subject as we are to the privation, 
 or at least interruption, of our enjoyments. Sym- 
 pathy surely implies some degree of suffering ; on 
 
 1 Et non modo " serpit," sed eas internectit, jungitque. 
 
 2 Or at least to lessen its load by communication. 
 
 f2 
 
68 
 
 which account I never could approve of Milton's 
 expedient to save the happiness of angels from being 
 injured by the regret which they felt (I quote from 
 memory) at man's transgressions, which, he says, 
 * f mixed with pity, violated not their bliss." For what 
 is pity, but sympathy ? 
 
 Young, with more reason, attributes a different 
 feeling to them, when he says, 
 
 " A Christian is the highest style of man ; 
 And is there, who the blessed cross wipes off, 
 As a foul blot, from his dishonour' d brow ? 
 If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight ; 
 The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge ; 
 More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell ?" 
 
 These feelings may be counteracted, but not en- 
 tirely expelled. I think the angelic feelings must, 
 not unlike those of men, be of a mixed kind ; and 
 they, like us, may want some consolation, to 
 
 -" balance all amiss, 
 
 And turn the scale in favour of the just." 
 
 And where shall we find it, but in looking up to 
 Heaven ? To him, who is the God of Mercy, as well 
 as of Justice ? Without these feelings, life, nay ex- 
 istence itself, cannot be enjoyed ; and as they are 
 necessary to alleviate our pains, so are they to heighten 
 our pleasures — " Quis tarn esset ferreus, cui non 
 auferret fructum voluptatum omnium solitudo ?" 
 
 But the feelings of devotion, which are by no means 
 " taken away" by solitude, are heightened by the 
 
69 
 
 gratitude which our very existence will still leave to 
 us, and are strengthened by a reliance attended by 
 no fears which resignation will not remove, and by a 
 confidence far more perfect than any earthly friend- 
 ship can give. In religion there is all that can excite 
 every good or pleasureable feeling of the heart, and 
 overcome every painful or bad one. It may then be 
 much more truly said of this, that " haec est societas, 
 in qua omnia insunt, quae putant (aut putare possunt) 
 homines expetenda." 
 
 -" I cannot go 
 
 Where universal love smiles not around, 
 Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns," &c. 
 
 Thomson's Seasons. 
 
 Laalius indeed might allude to the feelings, when he 
 said (Cap. 22.) " si id volumus adipisci, virtuti opera 
 danda est :" but, he was not aware of any divine com- 
 munications, that could give virtue an immediate 
 connection with religion. A feeling of submission, 
 and a looking up "ad summum bonum," or as Pope 
 makes Plato express it, 
 
 " To the first good, first perfect, and first fair," 
 
 was all that the heathens could arrive at. 
 
 " Sed, cum tot signis eadem natura declaret, quid 
 velit, anquirat, ac desideret ; obsurdescimus tamen, 
 nescio quomodo ; nee ea, qu.ee ab ea monemur, audi- 
 mus." — And no wonder, as nature gives us so many 
 passions to make us deaf to the " still, small voice of 
 reason ;" and when the immediate impulse of the one 
 
TO 
 
 is so much stronger than that of the other. The 
 struggle then must be ended by a submission to, or 
 subjugation of, the passions, which latter can only be 
 effected with the aid of that appeal which religion 
 makes to the feelings : {{ senza muovere, non ce vit- 
 toria V Our passions impel us to action : reason, ad- 
 versity, and religion, make us think and feel ; with 
 the exception of some hardened hearts. Will not 
 this solve Lselius's " nescio quomodo ?" 
 
 " Obsequium amicos, Veritas odium parit." 
 
 This may be so ; but the " obsequium, peccatis indul- 
 gens," will no more consolidate friendships, than the 
 " Veritas, sine monitionis acerbitate," will dissolve 
 them ; unless indeed where " aures veritati clausae 
 sunt, ut ab amico verum audire nequeant." In this 
 case, there can neither be " utilitas," nor " fides in 
 amicitia," — " nam et monendi amici ssepe sunt, et 
 objurgandi : et haec accipienda amice, cum benevole 
 hunt," — where there is this freedom used, the " mo- 
 nitio et objurgatio," when required, maybe mutual. 
 
 Perhaps however the " objurgatio" supposes a de- 
 gree of necessity for it, that makes its effect at least 
 doubtful ; and when Lselius says " illud absurdum 
 est, quod ii, qui monentur, quam debent capere, non 
 capiunt ; earn capiunt, qua, debent vacare : peccasse 
 enim se non anguntur ; objurgari moleste ferunt ; 
 quod contra oportebat, delicto dolere, correctione 
 
 1 " Notwithstanding, there is no victory :" that is, to convince or per- 
 suade, the feelings must be moved. 
 
71 
 
 gaudere," he seems to put the monitio et objurgatio 
 upon the same level ; if they are so as modes of 
 " correction," they may differ much, in the manner 
 and degree in which that correction is administered ; 
 and their effects may differ accordingly. The right 
 of administering them may also be a matter of 
 question 1 . 
 
 Laelius's reprobation of the opposites of these, 
 " adulatio, blanditia, assentatio," is surely just; as 
 they are the " vitia levium hominum atque fallacium, 
 ad voluntatem loquentium omnia, nihil ad veritatem, 
 sine qua nomen amicitias valere non potest," &c. — 
 they are indeed like the " obsequium," which, as he 
 said before, " peccatis indulgens, prgecipitem amicum 
 ferri sinit." A kind of suicide, to which the other is 
 accessary. 
 
 " Cum autem omnium rerum simulatio est vitiosa, 
 (tollit enim judicium veri, idque adulterat) turn ami- 
 citias repugnat maxime. Delet enim veritatem, sine 
 qua nomen amicitiaa valere non potest." — (Cap. 25.) 
 
 Without sincerity there can be no real friendship ; 
 for either self-interest, or corruption must be the 
 object in view. 
 
 This sincerity however needs not to have any rough- 
 ness in it ; for though " secerni blandus (i. e. more 
 than gentle) amicus a vero, et internosci, tarn potest, 
 adhibita diligentia, quam omnia fucata, et simulata 
 
 1 Friendship gives this : and it gives it to both sides- A friend will 
 take, as well as give, reproof, but not flattery. 
 
72 
 
 a sinceris atque veris :" yet, " et monere et moneri 
 proprium est verse amicitise et alterum libere facere, 
 non aspere : alterum patienter accipere, non repug- 
 nanter" — which will hardly be done, unless the " ad- 
 monition" is given with gentleness. 
 
 " Omnino est amans sui virtus : optime enim se 
 ipsa novit; quamque amabilis sit, intelligit." — (Cap. 
 26.) 
 
 Yes, but this " self-love" will have little " utilitas" 
 in it, unless " virtue" is also beloved by others : take 
 away the urbanity that most recommends it, and it 
 may be hated, though esteemed, more perhaps than 
 its mixture of pride may deserve. 
 
 After doing justice to himself, and still more to his 
 deceased friend Scipio, in both of whom was the 
 " amans sui virtus, ut optime se noscens, quamque 
 amabilis sit, intelligens," Lselius sums up all with, 
 " virtus, virtus, inquam, C. Fanni, et tu, Q. Muci, et 
 conciliat amicitias, et conservat:" describing and ex- 
 patiating upon the properties and effects of virtue, 
 and instancing them in various characters which he 
 mentions ; ending with that of his friend, of whom he 
 says, " Mihi quidem Scipio, quamquam est subito 
 ereptus, vivit tamen, semperque vivet ; virtutem enim 
 amavi illius viri quae extincta non est." This he 
 might say with a further reference than what is con- 
 tained in " nee mihi soli versatur ante oculos, qui illam 
 semper in manibus habui ; sed etiam posteris erit clara 
 et insignis." But more than this he probably felt 
 (and Cicero with him) that he could not affirm, without 
 
73 
 
 a higher authority to sanction it. Emboldened by 
 that authority, we say, 
 
 " Why then their loss deplore, who are not lost ? 
 Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around, 
 In infidel distress 1 Are angels there ? 
 Slumbers, rak'd up in dust, etherial fire ? 
 They live ! they greatly live a life on earth 
 Unkindled, unconceived ; and from an eye 
 Of tenderness, let heavenly pity fall 
 On us, more justly number' d with the dead," &c. &c. 
 
 The " recordatio et memoria" of his friend, and 
 the diutius in hoc desiderio esse non posse, were the 
 chief consolations which Lselius had for the loss of him, 
 and for the privation of the enjoyments which he had 
 shared with him. 
 
 " Omnia autem brevia, tolerabilia esse debent, si 
 magna sint" could afford little consolation to the sense 
 of his loss, unaccompanied as it was with the hope of 
 its being ever replaced — except what might be implied 
 in the " nihil mali Scipioni accidisse puto :" or the 
 "reditum in ccelum patere optimoque et justissimo 
 cuique expeditissimum." — (Cap. 3.) 
 
 His " magnum solatium" — " quod in hoc desiderio 
 diutius esse non potuit," seems hardly to have ex- 
 tended beyond the bounds of this life. 
 
 This work of Cicero's is a sublime, and, in general 
 a just description of friendship ; with the exception 
 (as to both these qualities, as I have before observed) 
 of the necessity of its having enemies, to prove itself 
 upon. This may be friendship, but it is not the 
 
74 
 
 %( charity" of the Gospel, which wants no such oppo- 
 sition, to give it its greatest elevation. Laelius's friend- 
 ship wants a better sanction, to raise it to a level with 
 that : the best friendship is with God ; and it is the 
 friendship of the Christian. In that all human in- 
 terests and desires are included. Those who attempt 
 to carry human benevolence higher than the Gospel 
 requires, will find that altitudinibus suis ipsi se 
 perdunt \ 
 
 There is a sort of heroism, or rather of philosophical 
 indifference, if not insensibility, in the declarations 
 and physical comparisons of the ends of human and 
 vegetable life, in the 19th chap, of " de Senectute," 
 mixed indeed with a faint hope of escaping the anni- 
 hilation, the " harbour" of eternal rest (which Cato 
 felt his approach to, and supposed might be his destiny) 
 by a continuation of existence, and enjoyment of hap- 
 piness after death; a hope which, as I have said, 
 appears to have been permitted to the heathens, before 
 it was confirmed by the declarations of the Gospel. 
 I know not whether it was to be expected from the 
 pen of Cicero, crude, superficial and incomplete as 
 were the religious notions of the heathens, that he 
 would rest his ideas of a future existence upon the. 
 justice and benevolence of the Creator, as Young does. 
 The heathens had nothing to sanction this, but the 
 ideas of their poets, which were so much at variance 
 
 1 As Young says, all our fellow-creatures, except the unworthy, are 
 " Proprietors eternal of our love." 
 
75 
 
 with each other and with themselves, that Horace 
 opposes the " perpetuus sopor" of " Quinctilius," to 
 the " splendida arbitria" which " Minos" was to 
 pronounce upon " Torquatus" after his death. 
 
 And Virgil, taught no doubt by his brother poet and 
 Epicurean Schoolmaster Lucretius, says, 
 
 " Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
 Atque metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum 
 Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari." 
 
 The heathens had too much confidence in them- 
 selves ; their " omnia sua in se posita ducere," had 
 little humility in it : but indeed, in the agency of a 
 plurality of Gods, they could not well ascribe all they 
 had (their " omnia sua") to the bounty of any one of 
 them. And what a substitute was their " natura" 
 for this ! No, we must be told from a divine authority, 
 even what appears to be essential to the common prin- 
 ciples of justice ; that is, if we may apply its obliga- 
 tions to the Creator and Disposer of all things. The 
 ancients could look for no immortality but what was 
 to perpetuate their memories on earth. Cicero tried, 
 but could not succeed, either in consoling himself for 
 the loss of existence, or in assuring himself of the con- 
 tinuance of it, and of the enjoyment of happiness after 
 death. His own death was a submission to necessity ; 
 that of Cato (of Utica), a sacrifice to pride. Of that 
 of Brutus I have already spoken. 
 
 It was perhaps a little extraordinary that the an- 
 cients did not admit (that I recollect) the agency 
 
 6 
 
76 
 
 of any malignant principle into their mythology, as 
 that would have accounted for the existence of evil 
 (which they could not but acknowledge) in a way 
 similar to that of the Manichagan system ; which, 
 excepting the extreme absurdity of supposing two 
 opposite principles of equal power, seems to make a 
 near approach to the religion of the Bible ; but how 
 order was to result from such a conflict as that in 
 the Manichasan system, even if Justice herself had 
 held the scales^ cannot well be conceived. Lactantius, 
 I think, proves the necessity of the existence of evil, 
 to give occasion for the justice of God, and the free 
 will of man, to exercise themselves : in this, as in 
 other dispensations, the means are evidently adapted 
 to the end ; why the plan, in which this adaptation 
 is made, was adopted, we need neither know nor 
 inquire ; the " great teacher, Death," will probably 
 inform us, of what even the " docti senes" must wait 
 at least with anxiety for, however the " adolescentes 
 et ii quidem non solum indocti, sed etiam rustici" may 
 " despise," or be indifferent about it. 
 
 " Omnium setatum certus est terminus, Senectutis 
 autem nullus certus est terminus," (Cap. 20.) shews, 
 that the necessity of preparation for death (the " ex- 
 trema studia senectutis," or rather the finis vitae 
 totius) is enforced by the " certitude of the termina- 
 tion" of each preceding age of life, and of our pro- 
 
 1 How absurd then to suppose that if God permits evil, it is because 
 He cannot prevent it ! But some prefer a bad solution to an acknow- 
 ledgment of ignorance. 
 
 
77 
 
 gress towards the end of it ; but that certitude is not 
 required in the final period of our earthly existence, 
 as all preparation, as well as all excuse for the delay 
 of it, must then be over ; the " night is come, when 
 no man can work." The " explorare, num se ad ves- 
 perum esse victurum," (Cap. 19.) may be answered 
 by, " Thou fool, this night shall thy soul be required 
 of thee." 
 
 I have said, in page 6, of " de Senectute," that our 
 want of confidence in the expectation of a future life, 
 arises apparently from the impossibility of our con- 
 ceiving it ; to which I might have added, that this 
 very impossibility is one of the strongest arguments 
 in favor of it ; as that power of conception would have 
 been equally incompatible with the enjoyment of life, 
 and the fulfilment of our responsibility in it, and with 
 the awful uncertainty and suspense which enforces 
 that fulfilment. The promises given of a future life, 
 and its rewards, are inseparably united with the ful- 
 filment of the duties required for it. If we reject the 
 immortality of the soul, we must reject Christianity 
 too, from which the strongest assurances of that im- 
 mortality are given to us ; and if Christianity is re- 
 jected, man will be left to the suggestions of his own 
 mind, to form a system of religion (if he forms any) 
 which will have no other foundation than what those 
 suggestions can give it; and we must reject all the 
 evidence in favor of Christianity, all comparison of its 
 excellence with the very inferior pretensions of all 
 other systems of religion, which have been, more or 
 
78 
 
 less, borrowed from it, but degraded by the grossest 
 superstitions, (for the hands of man defile every thing, 
 as the Roman Catholics have done Christianity,) and 
 we shall have nothing left, but a loose system of our 
 own, that will hardly admit of any interference of 
 the Deity with the concerns of his creatures ; in fact, 
 nothing but the barren and hopeless maxims of Epi- 
 curism will remain, instead of the all-cheering and 
 God-like doctrines of Christianity 1 : man will be 
 thrown upon himself, and those whose fortitude is 
 only what the hardness of their hearts supplies, will 
 be the best able to dispense with the supports which 
 the weakness of human nature so much requires ; and 
 that very fortitude, liable as it is to be shaken by the 
 misfortunes of life, must be maintained by a substi- 
 tution of sophistical opinions in lieu of the dictates of 
 reason, or by a diversion of all thought by the pursuits 
 of levity, (for worldly occupations will not alone be 
 sufficient,) or by the still more degrading indulgence 
 of vice and depravity. 
 
 1 If we do not allow God to be " good," we have no real inducement 
 to be good ourselves, and therefore cannot be Christians. 
 
SOMNIUM SCIPIONIS. 
 
 FRAGMENTUM LIBRI SEXTI CICERONIS DE 
 REPUBLICA. 
 
 Scipio loquitur. 
 
 I. 
 
 Cum in Africam venissem, Marco Manilio Consul! 
 ad quartam legionem tribunus (ut scitis) militum; 
 nihil mihi potius fuit, quam ut Masinissam conve- 
 nirem, regem familise nostra? justis de causis amicis- 
 simum. Ad quern ut veni, complexus me senex 
 collacrymavit ; aliquantoque post suspexit in coelum, 
 et " Grates," inquit, " tibi ago, summe sol, vobis- 
 que, reliqui Ccelites, quod, antequam ex hac vita 
 migro, conspicio in meo regno, et his tectis, Pub- 
 lium Cornelium Scipionem, cujus ego nomine ipso 
 recreor; ita nunquam ex animo meo discedit illius 
 optimi atque invictissimi viri memoria." Deinde 
 ego ilium de suo regno, ille me de nostra republica 
 percontatus est : multisque verbis ultro citroque ha- 
 bitis, ille nobis consumptus est dies. Post autem, 
 regio apparatu accepti, sermonem in multam noc- 
 tem produximus ; cum senex nihil nisi de Africano 
 
SCIPIO'S DREAM. 
 
 A FRAGMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK OF CICERO S DE 
 REPUBLICA. 
 
 Scipio speaks. 
 
 I. 
 
 When I arrived in Africa, where, as you know, I 
 was Military Tribune to the fourth legion under the 
 Consul Marcus Manilius, I had no greater wish 
 than to meet with Masinissa, a King who was justly 
 united in the strictest bonds of friendship with our 
 family. On my introduction to him, the old man 
 embraced me, with many tears ; then looking up to 
 heaven, he said, " I thank thee, O supreme Sun, (a) 
 and you, the rest of the ccelestial powers, that before 
 my departure from this life, I am permitted in my 
 own kingdom, and in this house, to see Publius Cor- 
 nelius Scipio, whose very name gives me pleasure, in 
 the recollection it excites of that excellent and invin- 
 cible man." (b) I then asked him many questions 
 respecting his kingdom, as he did me concerning our 
 republic ; and the rest of that day passed in a con- 
 tinued conversation between us, which, after I had 
 been treated in a princely manner, we kept up for a 
 
 (a) This and subsequent alphabetical marks refer to Notes in the 
 Appendix. 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 loqueretur, omniaque ejus non facta solum, sed dicta 
 meminisset. Deinde, ut cubitum discessimus, me, 
 et de via, et qui ad multam noctem vigilassem, arc- 
 tior, quam solebat, somnus complexus est. Hie mihi 
 (credo equidem ex hoc, quod eramus locuti, fit 
 enim fere, ut cogitationes sermonesque nostri pariant 
 ali quid in somno tale, quale de Homero scribit En- 
 nius, de quo videlicet saapissime vigilans solebat cogi- 
 tare, et loqui) Africanus se ostendit ea forma, quae 
 mihi ex imagine ejus, quam ex ipso, erat notior. 
 Quern ut agnovi, equidem cohorrui. Sed ille, Ades, 
 inquit, animo, et omitte timorem, Scipio; et, quae 
 dicam, trade memoriae. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Videsne illam urbem, quae, parere populo Ro- 
 mano coacta per me, renovat pristina bella, nee 
 potest quiescere ? (ostendebat autem Carthaginem de 
 excelso, et pleno stellarum illustri et claro quodam 
 loco.) Ad quam tu oppugnandam nunc venis pcene 
 miles, hanc hoc biennio consul evertes ; eritque cogno- 
 men id tibi per te partum, quod habes adhuc a nobis 
 
83 
 
 great part of the night, during which the old man 
 talked of nothing but Africaims, recollecting not 
 only his actions but his words also. After we had 
 retired to rest, the fatigue of my journey, and the 
 lateness of the hour, threw me into a deeper sleep 
 than usual ; in which, (occasioned probably by the 
 subject of our conversation, as our thoughts and dis- 
 courses frequently produce in our sleep what Ennius 
 has recorded of himself respecting Homer, of whom 
 he was used so often to think and talk at other times) 
 Africanus himself appeared to me, in that form which 
 was more familiar to me from his statue, than from 
 my remembrance of his person. On seeing him, I 
 was really struck with terror ; but he said, ' ' Recol- 
 lect yourself, and lay aside your fears, Scipio ; and 
 remember what I shall now say to you." 
 
 II. 
 
 " Do you see that city (pointing to Carthage from 
 the starry eminence of the heavens, where he then 
 was) which, after having been subdued to the yoke 
 of the Roman people by me, again renews her former 
 contest, unable as she is to rest in quiet ? As you 
 are now come to war against her in the early part 
 of your military life 1 , you shall, as Consul, entirely 
 destroy her in the course of the next two years, by 
 which you shall gain that sirname which you now 
 inherit from your ancestors. And when you have 
 
 1 Scipio was then 29 years of age. 
 
 g2 
 
84 
 
 hasreditarium. Cum autem Carthaginem deleveris, 
 triumphum egeris, censorque fueris, et obieris legatus 
 JEgyjytum, Syriam, Asiam, Grasciam, deligere ite- 
 rum consul absens ; bellumque maximum confides ; 
 Numantiam exscindes. Sed, cum eris curru Capi- 
 tolium invectusj offendes rempublicam perturbatam 
 consiliis nepotis mei. Hie tu, Africane, ostendas 
 oportebit patriae lumen animi, ingenii, consiliique 
 tui. Sed ejus temporis ancipitem video quasi fato- 
 rum viam. Nam, cum aetas tua septenos octies solis 
 anfractus reditusque converterit, duoque hi numeri, 
 quorum uterque plenus, alter altera de causa\, habe- 
 tur, circuitu natural! summam tibi fatalem confece- 
 rint ; in te unum, atque in tuum ncmen, se tota 
 convertet civitas ; te senatus, te omnes boni, te socii, 
 te Latini, intuebuntur ; tu eris unus, in quo nitatur 
 civitatis salus : ac, ne multa, dictator rempublicam 
 constituas oportet, si impias propinquorum manus 
 effugeris. Hie cum exclamasset Laelius, ingemuis- 
 sentque caeteri vehementius; leniter arridens Scipio, 
 Quaeso, inquit, ne me a somno excitetis, et parum 
 rebus ; audite caetera. 
 
85 
 
 put an end to the existence of Carthage, you shall 
 enjoy a triumph, be appointed to the Censorship, be 
 sent as a legate to Egypt, Syria, Asia, Greece, and 
 be again elected Consul in your absence from Rome : 
 you shall finish a war of the greatest importance, and 
 you shall destroy Numantia. But, when you are 
 conveyed in triumph to the capitol, you shall become 
 obnoxious to the Republic 1 , through the seditious 
 excitements of my grandson. Then, O Africanus, 
 your country must be benefited by your genius, your 
 judgment, and your counsels. But the destiny of 
 that time I regard with a doubtful eye. For when 
 your age shall have passed fifty-six revolutions of 
 the sun, with the different qualities attached to the 
 numbers of 7 and 8, multiplied by each other, which 
 compose the foregoing sum, and will have completed 
 their fated round 2 , the whole city will turn their atten- 
 tion to you, and to your name ; the senate, all good 
 men, our allies, the people of Latium, will all look to 
 you ; on you alone will rest the safety of the state ; 
 and in short, you will have to direct the Republic as 
 its Dictator, if you shall escape from the impious hands 
 of your nearest relations ;" when Lselius cried out on 
 hearing this, and the others who were present, groaned 
 vehemently; Scipio, gently smiling, said, " I intreat 
 you not to awaken me from my sleep 3 , but to give your 
 attention to what I shall now relate to you." 
 
 1 That is, to the Rulers of it. 
 
 2 According to the superstitious notions of the Heathens. 
 
 3 Beautifully characteristic. 
 
86 
 
 III. 
 
 Sed, quo sis, Africane, alacrior ad tutandum rem- 
 
 publicam, sic habeto : omnibus, qui patriam conser- 
 
 varint, adjuverint, auxerint, certum esse in ccelo ac 
 
 definitum locum, locum ubi beati sevo sempiterno 
 
 fruantur. Nihil est enim illi principi Deo qui omnem 
 
 liunc mundum regit, quod quidem in terris fiat, 
 
 acceptius, quam concilia ccetusque hominum, jure 
 
 sociati, quae civitates appellantur. Harum rectores 
 
 et conservatores, hinc profecti, hue revertuntur. Hie 
 
 ego, etsi eram perterritus, non tarn metu mortis, 
 
 quam insidiarum a meis, quassivi tamen, viveretne 
 
 ipse et Paulus pater, et ahi, quos nos exstinctos 
 
 arbitraremur. Immo vero, inquit, ii vivunt, qui ex 
 
 corporum vinculis, tanquam e carcere, evolaverunt; 
 
 vestra vero, quae dicitur vita, mors est. Quin tu 
 
 adspicias ad te venientem Paulum patrem. Quern 
 
 ut vidi, equidem vim lacrymarum profudi. Ille 
 
 autem, me complexus atque osculans, nere prohibe- 
 
 bat. Atque ego, ut primum, fletu represso, loqui 
 
 posse ccepi, Quaeso, inquam, pater sanctissime atque 
 
 optime, quoniam haac est vita, (ut Africanum audio 
 
 6 
 
87 
 
 III 
 
 " But, O Africanus (continued the -apparition) that 
 you may be more zealous in the defence of the 
 Republic, rely upon this ; that for all those who shall 
 have saved, assisted, or aggrandized their country, a 
 certain and destined place is reserved, where they 
 shall enjoy an eternal felicity. For to the Supreme 
 Governor of the universe, there is nothing on earth 
 which is dearer (c), than those assemblies and societies 
 of men who are connected by one common system of 
 jurisprudence, and are considered as forming one 
 state; the governors and preservers of these being 
 sent from hence, hither also return." Here, says 
 Scipio, though I was alarmed, not so much with the 
 fear of death, as with the apprehension of treachery 
 in my near relations 1 , I yet enquired, whether my 
 father Paulus, and the others, whom we considered 
 as dead, were still living. " Yes," said he, " all 
 those live, who have escaped from the chains of their 
 bodies, as from a prison ; for the existence which 
 you call life, is the real death (d), and you may now 
 see your father Paulus coming towards you." On 
 seeing him, indeed, I shed abundance of tears; he, 
 however, embracing and kissing me, forbad me to 
 weep. Then I, as soon as my tears would allow me 
 to speak, said, " Tell me, O my most revered and 
 excellent Parent, if this be really life (as I hear 
 Africanus say) why do I remain any longer on earth ? 
 
 1 Who were afterwards supposed to have strangled him. 
 
88 
 
 dicere) quid moror in terris ? Quin hue ad vos venire 
 propero ? Non est ita, inquit ille. Nisi Deus is, cujus 
 hoc templum est omne quod conspicis, istis te cor- 
 poris custodiis liberaverit, hue tibi aditus patere non 
 potest. Homines enim sunt hac lege generati, qui 
 tuerentur ilium globum, quern in hoc templo medium 
 vides, qua? terra dicitur ; hisque animus datus est ex 
 illis sempiternis ignibus, quae sidera et stellas vocatis ; 
 quae, globosae et rotundae, divinis animatae mentibus, 
 circulos suos orbesque conficiunt celeritate mirabili. 
 Quare et tibi, Publi, et piis omnibus, retinendus est 
 animus in custodia corporis; nee, injussu ejus a quo 
 ille est vobis datus, ex hominum vita migrandum est ; 
 ne munus humanum, assignatum a Deo, defugisse 
 videamini. Sed sic, Scipio, ut avus hie tuus, ut ego 
 qui te genui, justitiam cole, et pietatem ; quae cum 
 sit magna in parentibus et propinquis, turn in patria 
 maxima est ; ea vita via est in ccelum, et in hunc cce- 
 tum eorum, qui jam vixerunt, et, corpore laxati, ilium 
 incolunt locum, quern vides. Erat autem is splendi- 
 dissimo candore inter flammas circus elucens, quern vos 
 (ut a Graiis accepistis) orbem lacteum nuncupatis ; 
 
89 
 
 Why should I not hasten to come to you?" "This 
 must not be, answered he, until that God, whose 
 temple is every thing that you see, has freed you 
 from the custody of your body, you can have no en- 
 trance here, for men are created under the law which 
 obliges them to take care of that globe, which you 
 see in the middle of this universal temple, and which 
 is called the earth ; and to them a mind is given (e) 
 from those eternal fires which you call the stars ; 
 which being spherical, and animated with divine intel- 
 ligence (/), perform their revolutions (cj) in the orbits 
 in which they move, with astonishing rapidity ; where- 
 fore you, O Publius, and all who venerate the Gods, 
 are bound to preserve your minds in the keeping of 
 your bodies ; for it is not lawful for you to quit the 
 life you are now in, unless it is the immediate will of 
 Him who gave you your mind and body ; for in so 
 doing you will have deserted the post assigned to you 
 by Him \ Therefore, O Scipio, follow justice and 
 piety, as your grandfather and I, who begot you, have 
 done ; — and remember, that as those virtues are great 
 when exercised towards your own relations, they are 
 the greatest of all when exercised in the service of 
 your country (li) : such a life is the proper way to heaven, 
 and to the society of those who, being freed from the 
 bodies in which they formerly lived, now inhabit the 
 place you see." Then looking around me, I beheld 
 a shining circle, of the most dazzling brightness, 
 and surrounded by flames, which you, as having been 
 taught by the Greeks, call the milky way; from 
 
 1 As Cicero says iu his dialogue, De Senectute, " Vetat Pythagoras, 
 injussu Imperatoris, id est Dei, de prsesidio et statione vitae decedere." 
 
90 
 
 ex quo omnia mihi contemplanti praeclara caetera et 
 mirabilia videbantur. Erant autem eae stellae, quas 
 nunquam ex hoc loco vidimus ; et eae magnitudines 
 omnium, quas esse nunquam suspicati sumus ; ex 
 quibus erat ilia minima quae, ultima ccelo, citima terris, 
 luce lucebat alien a. Stellarum autem globi terras 
 magnitudinem facile vincebant. Jam ipsa terra ita 
 mihi parva visa est, ut me imperii nostri, quo quasi 
 punctum ejus attingimus, pceniteret. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Quam cum magis intuerer, Quaeso, inquit Afri- 
 canus, quousque humi defixa tua mens erit ? Nonne 
 adspicis, quae in templa veneris ? Novem tibi orbibus 
 vel potius globis, connexa sunt omnia : quorum unus 
 est ccelestis, extimus, qui reliquos omnes complec- 
 titur, summus ipse Deus, arcens et continens caeteros ; 
 in quo infixi sunt illi, qui volvuntur, stellarum cursus 
 sempiterni ; cui subjecti sunt septem, qui versan- 
 tur retro, contrario motu, atque ccelum : et quibus 
 unum globum possidet ilia, quam in terris Saturniam * 
 nominant. Deinde est hominum generi prosperus 
 
 1 Why not Satumum ? 
 
91 
 
 whence all the other illustrious and wonderful ob- 
 jects were open to my view. Among these were 
 stars which we have never seen from our earth, and 
 of a magnitude of which we have no idea ; and among 
 these was that very small one, which, being the lowest 
 in heaven, and nearest to our earth, shone with a 
 borrowed light. The spheres of the stars (i) far sur- 
 passed that of the earth in magnitude 1 ; and the earth 
 itself appeared so small, that I was ashamed of our 
 empire, which seemed but a point in it. 
 
 IV. 
 
 While my attention was more and more fixed on 
 our earth, wherefore, says Africanus, do your regards 
 dwell on so low an object? Do not you see what a 
 temple you are now in ? You may observe (j) that 
 all things are connected by nine circles, or rather 
 spheres, one of which is the most elevated, and is 
 exterior to all the rest, which it embraces, as being 
 the supreme God, impelling and comprehending the 
 others 2 ; and in it the eternal revolutions of the stars 
 are continually carried on : to this, seven are ap- 
 pended, which revolve in a contrary direction from 
 the rest of the heavens 3 ; and of these one is occupied 
 by the body which on earth is called Saturn ; the 
 next is that favorable and salutary 4 light which pro- 
 
 1 As the star in Lyra is now supposed to do, relatively to our sun> 
 
 2 This is at least better than Spinoza's system. 
 
 3 That is, they appear to do so, as the latter are stationary. 
 
 4 As appears to us. 
 
92 
 
 et salutaris ille fulgor, qui dicitur Jo vis ; turn rutilus 
 horribilisque terris, quern Martem dicitis * ; deinde 
 subter mediam fere regionem, Sol obtinet, dux, et 
 princeps, et moderator luminum reliquorum, mens 
 mundi, et temperator, tanta magnitudine ut cuncta 
 sua luce illustret, et compleat. Hunc, ut comites, 
 consequuntur, Veneris alter, alter Mercurii cursus ; 
 in infimoque orbe, Luna, radiis solis accensa, con- 
 vertitur. Infra autem jam nihil est, nisi mortale et 
 caducum, prseter animos generi hominum munere 
 Deorum datos. Supra lunam sunt seterna omnia; 
 nam ea, quae est media et nona, tellus, neque move- 
 tur, et infima est, et in earn feruntur omnia suo nutu 
 pondera. 
 
 V. 
 Qvm cum intuerer stupens, ut me recepi, Quid? 
 hie, inquam, quis est, qui complet aures meas, tantus 
 et tarn dulcis sonus ? Hie est, inquit ille, qui, inter- 
 vallis conjunctus imparibus, sed tamen pro rata parte 
 ratione distinctis, impulsu et motu ipsorum orbium 
 conficitur; qui, acuta cum gravibus temperans, va- 
 rios aequabiliter concentus efflcit. Nee enim silentio 
 tanti motus excitari possunt ; et natura fert, ut 
 extrema ex altera parte graviter, ex altera autem 
 acute sonent. Quam ob causam, summus ille cceli 
 
 1 How well this agrees with the apparent lights of Jupiter and Mars ! 
 
93 
 
 ceeds from Jupiter ; next to this is the red and hor- 
 rible iire of Mars ; under which is the nearly middle 
 region, (k) possessed by the Sun, the leader, prince, and 
 moderator of the other lights, the soul of the world, 
 which it regulates, and illumines, and fills all things 
 with its light. This is accompanied by two other 
 circles ; one that of Venus, the other Mercury ; and 
 the lowest of all is the Moon in her orbit, and she is 
 enlightened by the rays of the Sun. Below this there 
 is nothing but what is mortal and perishable, except- 
 ing the minds that are given to mankind by the Gods. 
 Above the Moon all is eternal ; for the earth, which 
 is the ninth, and the centre of all the rest, is immove- 
 able, and being the lowest, all the others gravitate 
 towards it. 
 
 V. 
 
 When I had recovered myself from the astonish- 
 ment in which I was lost at the contemplation of 
 these things, I said, what is this great and delight- 
 ful sound (I) which now fills my ears ? It is, replied 
 he, that which, being composed of parts which are 
 connected by unequal distances, and yet having de- 
 termined" spaces between them, is produced by the 
 impulse and motion of all the different orbs ; which, 
 mixing the sharper with the deeper tones, form one 
 general and varied harmony. For it is not in silence 
 that such mighty movements can be carried on ; and 
 it is a law of nature, that the extremes on one side 
 shall have a deep, and those on the other an acute 
 sound. For which reason, that supreme circle of the 
 
94 
 
 stellifer cursus, cujus conversio est concitatior, acuto 
 et excitato movetur sono ; gravissimo autem hie 
 lunaris atque infimus. Nam terra, nona, immobilis 
 m aliens, ima sede semper haeret, complexa medium 
 mundi locum ; illi autem octo cursus, in quibus eadem 
 vis est duorum *, Mercurii et Veneris, septem efficiunt 
 distinctos intervallis sonos; qui numerus rerum om- 
 nium fere nodus est. Quod docti homines nervis 
 imitati atque cantibus, aperuere sibi reditum in hunc 
 locum; sicut alii qui prasstantibus ingeniis in vita 
 humana divina studia coluerunt. Hoc sonitu oppletas 
 aures hominum obsurduerunt 2 ; nee est ullus hebetior 
 sensus in vobis 3 ; sicut, ubi Nilus ad ilia, quae Cata- 
 dupa nominantur, praecipitat ex altissimis montibus, 
 ea gens, quae ilium locum accolit, propter magnitu- 
 dinem sonitus, sensu audiendi caret. Hie vero tantus 
 est totius mundi incitatissima, conversione sonitus, ut 
 eum aures hominum capere non possint, sicut intueri 
 solem adversum nequitis, ej usque radiis acies vestra 
 sensusque vincitur. Haec ego admirans, referebam 
 tamen oculos ad terrain identidem. 
 
 1 Mercury and Venus move with the same celerity in their orbits ! 
 How have the calculations of the Ancients been formed ? 
 
 2 Should not this be " obsurduenwi ? u 
 
 3 Then men are more " deaf" than blind. 
 
95 
 
 starry heavens, whose revolution is quicker, is moved 
 with a shrill and piercing, while the lunar and low- 
 est one has a very deep sound. As to the earth, 
 which is the ninth body, occupying the middle place 
 in the universe, that is always immoveably fixed 
 to the lowest part of it ; but those eight revolutionary 
 circles, of which the two of Mercury and Venus are 
 moved with the same celerity — give out sounds that 
 are divided by seven distinct intervals (m) ; which is 
 generally the regulating number of all things. And 
 their being imitated by skilful men, in stringed in- 
 struments and vocal music, has opened to them (n) 
 their return to this place ; as the talents, which have 
 qualified others for divine pursuits in human life, 
 have also to them. The ears of men, if struck with 
 the full force of this sound, would be deafened by 
 it ; in the same manner as those who inhabit the 
 places which are called Catadupa, where the Nile 
 precipitates itself from the highest mountains, are 
 deprived of their hearing by the greatness of the 
 sound. But here the sound, excited by the pro- 
 digious rapidity of the movement of the whole uni- 
 verse, is so great, that the ears of men could not 
 possibly bear it, any more than their eyes could bear 
 the direct contemplation of the rays of the sun, which 
 would entirely destroy the sight." As much as I ad- 
 mired all these things, I still kept my eyes fixed on 
 the earth. 
 
96 
 
 VI. 
 
 Tum Africanus, sentio, inquit, te sedem etiam 
 nunc hominum ac domum contemplari ; quae si tibi 
 parva, ut est, ita videtur, haec coelestia semper spec- 
 tato ; ilia humana contemnito. Tu enim quam cele- 
 britatem sermonis hominum, aut quam expetendam 
 gloriam consequi potes ? Vides habitari in terra raris 
 et angustis in locis; et in ipsis quasi maculis, ubi 
 habitatur, vastas solitudines interjectas ; hosque, qui 
 incolunt terram, non modd interruptos ita esse, ut 
 nihil inter ipsos ab aliis ad alios manare possit ; sed 
 partim obliquos, partim aversos, partim etiam ad- 
 versos stare vobis : a quibus expectare gloriam certe 
 nullam potestis. Cernis autem eamdem terram, quasi 
 quibusdam redimitam et circumdatam cingulis ; e qui- 
 bus duos, maxime inter se diversos, et coeli verti- 
 cibus ipsis ex utraque parte subnixos, obriguisse 
 pruina vides : medium autem ilium, et maximum 
 solis ardore torreri. Duo sunt habitabiles, quorum 
 Australis ille, in quo qui insistunt, adversa vobis 
 urgent vestigia, nihil ad vestrum genus. Hie autem 
 alter, subjectus Aquiloni, quern incolitis, cerne, quam 
 tenui vos parte contingat. Omnis enim terra, qua? 
 
97 
 
 Then Africanus said, " I perceive that you are 
 still contemplating the seats and habitations of men, 
 but if those appear to you as small as they really 
 are, you should rather contemplate these celestial 
 objects 1 and despise those merely terrestrial ones. 
 For what celebrity can you expect to obtain from 
 the discourses of men, or what glory can there result 
 to you from them ? You see that they inhabit few 
 and confined places in the earth ; and even in those 
 diminutive spots, there are comparatively vast deserts 
 intermixed ; and the inhabitants of the earth are not 
 only so separated from each other, that there can be 
 no communication between them ; but part of them 
 are placed in a different direction from yours, others 
 with their backs turned to you 2 , and others in a totally 
 opposite direction ; and from these you certainly can 
 expect to derive no glory. You see also that your earth 
 is at it were bound, and surrounded by certain zones ; 
 two of which, totally opposite to each other, and each 
 under the immediate vault of the heavens, you may 
 observe are equally congealed by frost ; while the 
 middle and largest of the zones, is burnt up by the 
 heat of the sun. Two are habitable (o) ; of which that 
 Southern one is inhabited by those whose steps are 
 always turned from, but never towards you. And of 
 
 1 In the " mind's eye" no doubt Africanus means. 
 3 As if they were looking towards the Poles! 
 H 
 
colitur a vobis, angusta verticibus, lateribus latior, 
 parva quasdam insula est, circumfusa illo mari, quod 
 Atlanticum, quod magnum, quern Oceanum appellatis 
 in terris ; qui tamen, tanto nomine, quam sit parvus, 
 vides. Ex his ipsis cultis notisque terris, num aut 
 tuum aut cujusquam nostrum nomen, vel Caucasum 
 hunc, quern cernis, transcendere potuit, vel ilium 
 Gangem transnatare? Quis in reliquis orientis aut 
 obeuntis solis ultimis aut Aquilonis Austrive par- 
 tibus, tuum nomen audiet ? quibus amputatis, cernis 
 profecto, quantis in angustiis vestra gloria se dilatari 
 velit ! Ipsi autem, qui de vobis loquuntur, quam 
 loquentur diu ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Quin etiam, si cupiat proles ilia futurorum homi- 
 num deinceps laudes uniuscujusque nostrum, a pa- 
 tribus acceptas, posteris prodere ; tamen, propter 
 eluviones exustionesque terrarum, quas accidere 
 tempore certo necesse est, non modo seternam, sed 
 ne diuturnam quidem gloriam assequi possumus. 
 Quid autem interest, ab iis qui postea nascentur, 
 sermonem fore de te, cum ab iis nullus fuerit, qui 
 
99 
 
 this other Northern one, which you inhabit, you may 
 see what a small part is occupied by you. For all 
 the land, which is under your subjection, is a certain 
 small Island,, narrow at its extremities, and broader 
 at its sides, and is surrounded by that sea, which, on 
 earth you call the great Atlantic Ocean ; and which, 
 with this magnificent name, you see the trifling extent 
 of; and even in these cultivated and well-known 
 countries, has yours, or any of our names ever passed 
 the heights of Caucasus, or the expanse of the Ganges ? 
 In what other parts, to the North or the South, or 
 where the Sun rises or sets, will your name ever be 
 heard? And excluding these, how small a space is 
 there left for your glory to spread itself in ? And 
 how long will it remain in the memory of those, whose 
 minds are now full of it ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Besides all this, if the progeny of any future 
 generation should wish to transmit to their posterity 
 the praises of any one of us, which they have heard from 
 their forefathers ; yet the deluges and combustions of 
 the earth, which must necessarily happen at their 
 destined periods 1 , will prevent our obtaining, not only 
 an eternal, but even a glory of any lasting duration. 
 And after all, what does it signify, whether those, who 
 shall hereafter be born, talk of you, of whom those 
 who preceded them, and who were not fewer in 
 
 V Cicero seems here to magnify local, into universal events. 
 
 h2 
 
100 
 
 ante nati sint ? qui nee pauciores, et certe meliores, 
 fuerunt viri ; cum prsesertim apud eos ipsos, a qui- 
 bus audiri nomen nostrum potest, nemo unius 
 anni memoriam consequi possit : homines enim, 
 populariter annum tantummodo solis, id est, unius 
 astri, reditu metiuntur ; cum autem ad idem, unde 
 semel profecta sunt, cuncta astra redierint, eam- 
 demque totius cceli descriptionem longis intervallis 
 retulerint, turn ille vere vertens annus appellari 
 potest ; in quo vix dicere audeo, quam multa se- 
 cula hominum teneantur. Namque, ut olim deficere 
 Sol hominibus exstinguique visus est, cum Romuli 
 animus haec ipsa in templa penetravit ; ita, quan- 
 doque eadem parte Sol, eodemque tempore, iterum 
 defecerit, turn, signis omnibus ad idem principium, 
 stellisque revocatis, expletum annum habeto. Hu- 
 jus quidem anni nondum vicesimam partem scito esse 
 conversam. Quocirca, si reditum in hunc locum 
 desperaveris, in quo omnia sunt magnis et prsestan- 
 tibus viris; quanti tandem est ista hominum gloria, 
 quae pertinere vix ad unius anni partem exiguam 
 potest ? Igitur alte spectare si voles, atque hanc 
 sedem et aeternam domum contueri ; neque te ser- 
 
101 
 
 number, and were certainly better 1 men, made no 
 mention ? Especially when, of those amongst whom 
 our names may be heard, not one can retain the 
 memory of a single year ; for men commonly measure 
 their years by the revolutions of the Sun, that is, of 
 one of the Stars ; but when all the Stars shall have 
 revolved in their orbits, and returned to the point 
 from which they first set out, and shall have marked (p) 
 the same track through the immensity of celestial 
 space, at vast distances of time, then a whole year 
 may be truly said to have elapsed ; in which I hardly 
 dare to say how many ages of man are contained. 
 For, as the Sun appeared to abandon mankind, and 
 to be itself extinguished in darkness, when the soul 
 of Romulus was received into this great temple ; so, 
 when the same Sun shall, at the destined period, be 
 again extinguished, and all the Signs and Stars of 
 heaven are recalled to their primseval state, the year 
 may be considered as being completed, of which the 
 twentieth part is not yet passed. Wherefore if the 
 hope is abandoned of a return to this place, in which 
 great and excellent men are perfected in enjoyment ; 
 what is the glory that remains for men, which can 
 hardly last for a small part of a single year ? If then 
 you wish to elevate your views to the contemplation 
 of this eternal seat of glory, you will not be satisfied 
 
 1 This answers, as I have elsewhere observed, to Horace's 
 " iEtas parentum, pejor avis, tulit 
 Nos nequiores, mox daturos 
 
 Progeniem vitiosiorem." 
 
102 
 
 monibus vulgi dederis, nee in praemiis humanis spem 
 posueris rerum tuarum : suis te, oportet, illecebris 
 ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus. Quid de te alii 
 loquantur, ipsi videant; sed loquentur tamen. Ser- 
 mo autem omnis ille et angustiis cingitur iis regio- 
 num quas vides ; nee miquam de ullo perennis fuit ; 
 et obruitur hominum interitu; et oblivione posteri- 
 tatis exstinguitur. 
 
 VIII. 
 Qvje cum dixisset, Ego vero, inquam, O Africane, 
 si quidem bene mentis de patria quasi limes ad 
 cceli aditum patet, quamquam, a pueritia vestigiis 
 ingressus patriis et tuis, decori vestro non defui ; 
 nunc tamen, tanto prsemio proposito, enitar multo 
 vigilantius. Et ille, Tu vero enitere ; et sic habeto, 
 non esse te mortalem, sed corpus hoc. Nee enim 
 tu is es, quern forma ista declarat ; sed mens cujus- 
 que, is est quisque; non ea flgura, quae digito de- 
 monstrari potest. Deum te igitur scito esse; siqui- 
 dem Deus est, qui viget, qui sentit, qui meminit, qui 
 providet, qui tarn regit et moderatur et movet id 
 corpus cui propositus est, quam hunc mundum ille 
 princeps Deus : et ut mundum ex quadam parte 
 mortalem ipse Deus eeternus, sic fragile corpus ani- 
 mus sempiternus movet. Nam, quod semper move- 
 
103 
 
 with the praises of your fellow-mortals, nor with any 
 human rewards that your exploits can attain ; but 
 virtue herself will point to you the true and only object 
 worthy of her pursuit. Leave to others to speak of 
 you as they may, for speak they will. Their discourses 
 will be confined to the narrow limits of the countries 
 which you see ; nor will their duration be more ex- 
 tended ; for they will perish like those who utter them, 
 and will be no more remembered by their posterity. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When he ceased to speak, I said, O Africanus, if 
 indeed the door of heaven is open to those who have 
 deserved well of their country, whatever progress I 
 may have made since my childhood, in following yours 
 and my father's steps, I will from henceforth strive to 
 follow them still more closely. " Follow them then," 
 said he ; " and consider your body only, not yourself, 
 as mortal ; for it is not your outward form that con- 
 stitutes your being, but your mind ; not that substance 
 which is palpable to the senses. Know then that you 
 are a god : for a god it must be that vivifies, and gives 
 sensation, memory, foresight, to the body to which it 
 is attached, and which it governs and regulates, as the 
 Supreme Ruler does the world which is subject to him ; 
 and as that eternal Being (q) moves whatever is mortal 
 of this world, so the immortal mind of man moves the 
 frail body to which it is attached. For what is always 1 
 
 1 What is this "always?" and must what is "always moved," ne- 
 cessarily move itself? So then must the celestial bodies. 
 
104 
 
 tur, aeternum est: quod autem motum affert alicui, 
 quodque ipsum agitatur aliunde ; quando finem 
 habet motus, vivendi finem habeat, necesse est *. 
 Solum igitur, quod sese movet, quia nunquam de- 
 seritur a se, nunquam ne moveri quidem desinit; 
 quin etiam caeteris, quae moventur, hie fons, hoc prin- 
 cipium est movendi 2 . Principio autem nulla est origo ; 
 nam ex principio oriuntur omnia ; ipsum autem nul- 
 la ex re alia nasci potest : nee enim id esset prin- 
 cipium, quod gigneretur aliunde 3 . Quod si nunquam 
 oritur ne occidet quidem unquam. nam principium ex- 
 stinctum nee ipsum ab alio renascetur, nee ex se aliud 
 creavit ; siquidem necesse est a principio 4 oriri omnia. 
 Ita fit, ut motus principium ex eo sit quod ipsum a 
 se movetur (id autem nee nasci potest, nee mori) ; vel 
 concidat omne ccelum, omnisque natura, et consistat, 
 necesse est, nee vim ullam nanciscatur, qua a primo 
 impulsa moveatur. 
 
 1 Sed motum corpori afFert animus ; et nonne ipse agitari aliunde 
 potest? Agitatio vero ista seterna esse potest: Tamquam Deus ipse, 
 qui hominum animos movit, asternus est. 
 
 2 In Deo autem, arcente et continente, sunt omnia : et sua Deus nun- 
 quam deserit : animus igitur solus ille supremus erit. 
 
 3 Principium autem origo esse potest : sed non (ut dicam) origo 
 efficiens. Qui efficit, ille principium statuit: aut, si velis, ipse princi- 
 pium est. 
 
 4 Id est, a Deo. 
 
105 
 
 moved must be eternal; but what derives its motion 
 from a power which is foreign to itself, and by which 
 itself is moved, when that motion ceases *, must itself 
 lose its animation. That alone, then, which moves 
 itself, can never cease to be moved, because it can 
 never desert itself 2 ; and it must be the source and 
 origin of motion in all the rest ; there can be nothing 
 prior to this origin, for all things must originate from 
 it : itself cannot derive its existence from any other 
 source, for if it did, it would no longer be primary. 
 And if it had no beginning, it can have no end 3 ; for 
 a beginning that is put an end to, will neither be re- 
 newed by any other cause, nor will it produce any 
 thing else of itself; all things therefore must originate 
 from one source 4 . Thus it follows that motion must 
 have its source in what is moved by itself; and which 
 can neither have a beginning nor an end : otherwise 
 all the heavens, and all nature must perish ; impossible 
 as it is, that they can of themselves acquire any power 
 of producing motion in themselves. 
 
 1 And why should this divine impulse ever cease ? O " vain 
 imaginings I" 
 
 2 What a fertile source of eloquence a " datum" (or " postulatum") 
 — is ! 
 
 3 True : but is the previous reasoning consistent with this ? Perhaps 
 it may ; allowing for a little perplexity. 
 
 4 " Vain imaginings," still. 
 
 Hominum mentes (I repeat it) altitudinibus suis se perdunt. 
 
106 
 
 IX. 
 
 Cum pateat igitur, aeternum id esse quod a se 
 ipso moveatur, quis est, qui hanc naturam animis 
 esse tributam neget ? Inanimum est errim omne, quod 
 pulsu agitatur externo ; quod autem animal est, id 
 inotu cietur interiore, et suo ; nam haec est natura 
 propria animi, atque vis. Quae si est una ex omnibus, 
 quae sese moveat, neque nata est certe, et aeterna est. 
 Hanc tu exerce in optimis rebus. Sunt autem 
 optimae curae, de salute patriae ; quibus agitatus et 
 exercitatus animus velocius in hanc sedem et domum 
 suam pervolabit ; idque ocyus faciet, si jam turn, 
 cum erit inclusus in corpore, eminebit foras, et ea, 
 quae extra erunt, contemplans, quam maxime se a 
 corpore abstrabet. Namque eorum animi, qui se 
 corporis voluptatibus dediderunt, earumque se quasi 
 ministros praebuerunt, impulsuque libidinum 1 volup- 
 tatibus obedientium, Deorum et hominum jura viola- 
 verunt, corporibus elapsi, circum terram ipsam vo- 
 lutantur; nee hunc in locum, nisi multis exagitati 
 saeculis, revertuntur. Ille discessit ; ego somno 
 solutus sum. 
 
 1 Hseccine " externse" sunt ? 
 
 
107 
 
 IX. 
 
 As therefore it is plain, that what is moved by 
 itself must be eternal, who will deny that this is the 
 general condition of minds ? For every thing is in- 
 animate which is moved by an impulse exterior to 
 itself; but what is animated is moved by an interior 
 impulse of its own ; for this is the peculiar nature and 
 power of mind. And if that alone has the power of 
 self-motion, it can neither have had a beginning, nor 
 can it have an end. Do you therefore exercise this 
 mind of yours in the best pursuits ; which consist in 
 promoting the good of your country: such employ- 
 ments will speed the night of your mind to this its 
 proper abode ; and its flight will be still more rapid, 
 if it will look abroad and disengage itself from its bodily 
 dwelling, in the contemplation of the things which 
 are external to itself 1 . This it will do to the utmost 
 of its power. For the minds of those, who have given 
 themselves up to the pleasures of the body, paying as 
 it were a servile obedience to their lustful impulses, 
 have violated the laws of God and men, and therefore 
 when separated from their bodies, they are doomed to 
 flutter continually round the earth in which they lived ; 
 and are not allowed to return to this place, till they 
 have been purified by the agitations of many ages." 
 Thus saying, he left me, and I awoke from my sleep. 
 
 1 Glorious is the power we have of doing this, though not always the 
 source of pleasure ; for the " cud of fancy" is both sweet and bitter. 
 
108 
 
 I believe that my thinking readers will sympathize 
 with me in the pleasure I have felt in thus bringing 
 Young and Cicero together, with other advocates, 
 ancient and modern, whom I have quoted in support 
 of a cause which they all had more or less in view 
 (Religion), and which is best supported by the Bible, 
 the great support of all who believe the truths which 
 it contains. 
 
 Cicero's Astronomy and Philosophy were quite suffi- 
 cient to make Deists ; but more is required, and has 
 been given, to make Christians. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 (a) " I thank thee, O supreme Sun," Sfc. 
 
 This is an instance of the adoration paid by the ancients to 
 sensible objects, which, as they conceived, derived their power 
 of motion from themselves, and were therefore of a divine nature. 
 This was judging from the evidence of the senses, which can give 
 us no idea of an impelling power which is not visible to them ; 
 although it might be fairly inferred from a connected train of 
 reasoning from effects to their causes ; but even this appears to 
 be beyond the power of man (acquired as we see his knowledge 
 is) till he has been enlightened by a communication from a 
 higher intelligence. 
 
 (b) " That excellent and invincible man." 
 
 This eulogium on the elder Africanus did Masinissa the more 
 credit (supposing him to have really spoken it) as the recollection 
 of Sophonisba must have made him sensible of the blame that 
 it reflected on himself. 
 
 (c) For to the supreme Governor of the Universe, there is nothing 
 on earth which is dearer," fyc. 
 
 That is, the regards of the Deity are influenced by the varying 
 interests and passions of men, in a state of society. Such is the 
 connexion, which the Heathen Philosophy established, between 
 
110 
 
 God and his creatures on earth. 'Tis true, that the Gentiles are 
 to be "judged by their own laws ;" but that surely must be, as 
 far as those laws are agreeable to the immutable laws of Justice ; 
 that is, of God himself. To these, Patriotism itself must bow. 
 
 (d) " The existence which you call life, is the real death." 
 
 How much this coincides with St. Paul's words, " Set your 
 affections on things above, not on things on the earth ; for you 
 are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God." — That is, 
 where He is, there shall you be also, for ever. 
 
 (e) " To them a mind is given by those eternal fires" fyc. 
 
 Here is a strange mixture of truth and falsehood, resulting from 
 a sense of the necessity of referring all to a Supreme Cause, and 
 a want of that information from above which can alone enable us 
 to look higher than to the subordinate action of visible objects. 
 
 (/) " Animated with Divine intelligence." 
 Animated ! and by whom ? Certainly not by themselves. 
 
 (g) " Perform their revolutions," Sfc. 
 
 Yes, perform them (supposing they really revolve) but not 
 " quia ipsae a se moventur." But Newton himself could not 
 explain the cause (otherwise than by resolving it into infinite 
 power and wisdom) which gave them their first impulse, and 
 still sustains it: and to which, his " gravitation, centripetal and 
 centrifugal force," &c. must all be referred. 
 
 " The course of nature is the art of God." — (Night Thoughts). 
 
 An infinite cause must have an infinite action. Cicero's highest 
 flight seems to be the " orbis extimus, qui reliquos omnes com- 
 plectitur ; summus ipse Deus ; arcens et continens caeteros," &c. 
 Bat even here, ubiquity is lost sight of. No, the natural extent 
 6 
 
Ill 
 
 of man's mental, seems to be that of his visual sight. One of 
 the greatest acquirements that the mind of man has made, seems 
 to be, the power of calculating what the Divine mind has or- 
 dained, in the revolutions of the celestial bodies, the occurrence 
 of eclipses, &c. 
 
 Metaphysics itself is only a sublimer kind of physics ; for 
 what is ' ' behind" nature, or what does nature itself receive its 
 impulses from, but its Author ? But there the mind of man 
 cannot reach : it can only " look up" to Him through his works. 
 To see the Author himself, indeed, would only be a step farther 
 in abstraction ; but that step would be into infinity ! — That 
 we shall see Him hereafter is our dearest hope. 
 
 (Ji) "In the service of your country ." 
 
 This seems to have been the summum bonum of Cicero and 
 his patriotic countrymen ; excited as it maybe by other motives 
 than the pure desire to fulfil the will of God, which alone can 
 refine it from all the dross of human ambition. He has required 
 of us " to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with 
 him ;" a most comprehensive sum of duty, no doubt, and re- 
 ferrible to all other obligations beyond those which we owe chiefly 
 to our fellow-creatures, our duties to whom are all comprised in 
 that which we owe to God. The patriotism of the ancients 
 looked not so high, nor did it rate itself so low : its own glory 
 was its idol. There are passages however in this work that seem 
 to indicate higher views. 
 
 (i) " The spheres of the stars," fyc. 
 
 This is a wonderful stretch of human intellect, founded indeed 
 on an erroneous system of Astronomy, which supposed all the 
 stars to move round the earth, as the central body. This too, 
 proceeded from the information of the senses, not the deductions 
 of reason. 
 
112 
 
 (j) " You may observe," fyc. 
 
 Here again the sublimity of man's conceptions shows itself as 
 strongly as the imperfection of his reasoning powers, or at least 
 his use of them, shows itself, as well in accounting for secondary 
 causes, as in referring them to their primary source. 
 
 (Jc) " Nearly middle region" fyc. 
 
 But how is this ? The Sun is here represented as a central 
 body (or nearly so) revolving round another central body, the 
 earth. It seems that our senses may lead us not only into errors, 
 but into contradictions. It is true that there maybe cycles and 
 epicyles, as in Lambert's system J ; but does not Cicero else- 
 where talk of the " supreme Sun, illumining," &c. — and after- 
 wards mention the Moon as being particularly illumined by it ? 
 Cicero seems to place the Sun in the middle of the celestial (or 
 more properly the planetary Host, to which he seems to confine 
 him) like a general " dux et princeps," in the centre of his 
 army. How confused at any rate must the Astronomical notions 
 of the ancients have been, till the enlightened times of Christi- 
 anity ! For though the Jews had not the true information given 
 them (which indeed they were not capable of receiving) along 
 
 1 Lambert's system, which makes the universe consist of cycle within 
 cycle, all revolving round one common centre, which is the immediate 
 throne of the Deity ; a vast and perhaps visionary system, and liable to 
 the additional objection of giving locality to Omnipresence. If St. John's 
 Revelation is urged in favour of it, it may be said, that the descriptions 
 in that are suited to human knowledge and experience, as are many 
 passages in the Old Testament. Should not this make us cautious Of 
 entering into detailed explanations 1 The neglect of this caution seems 
 to be punished by the discord it produces. Our Saviour indeed came to 
 " bring peace and goodwill towards man ;" but the human passions 
 wield the " sword ;" and he knew, and left them to their free agency. 
 
113 
 
 with their religious and moral system, yet I think we may con- 
 clude, that it gradually followed the sublime acknowledgment of 
 a supreme Ruler and Creator, to whom all creation is subor- 
 dinate. Would Newton otherwise have made that ultimate 
 reference ? For it must be made somewhere, as we see Cicero 
 does to his " orbis extimus." The sense of our weakness and 
 ignorance ought to lead us to the acknowledgment of superior, 
 and finally supreme power and knowledge. 
 
 (Z) " What is this great and delightful sound?" 
 
 The harmony of the spheres, which Cicero elsewhere considers 
 as a fable, as most men probably do now. But how are we to 
 limit perceptions, or the possibility of what may relate to them ? 
 How are we to interpret " shall he who made the eye, not see ? 
 who made the ear, not hear?'' &c. Sounds, as well as motion, 
 and consequently the perception of them, may have their gra- 
 dations, as indeed we see in animate and inanimate objects ; and 
 as we may conceive the possibility of in those which are far 
 above our sight, hearing, or imagination. The perceptions of an 
 infinite and supreme Being must be as unbounded as his other 
 attributes ; our finite ones are proportioned to the sensible im- 
 pulses that are necessary to excite them, and to what they can 
 bear ; as appears (if the fact is true) from what is afterwards 
 said of the effect of the falls of the Nile. Perceptions indeed 
 may suppose some contact (as there certainly is in ours) between 
 the sense (or organ of it) and the object perceived ; and so may 
 lead to materialism ; but 1 know not why spirit may not be sup- 
 posed to be the highest degree of attenuation in matter ; as be- 
 yond this it should seem that there must be nothing, which is a 
 total abstraction from matter, of all its qualities 1 . This attenu- 
 ation may be quite as unperceivable by man, (who "hath not 
 
 1 And indeed a negation of all existence. For what existence can 
 there be in total abstraction ? 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 seen God at any time") as unsubstantial spirit itself, and though 
 it may at first appear to sanction Cicero's " orbis extimus," and 
 even to approach to Spinosism, yet by giving it infinity and 
 ubiquity, (which we must attribute to the great Creator and 
 Governor of the universe) I should think it may be kept clear 
 of both these imputations ; and no less so of that of infidelity 
 to Christianity ; for what bounds can we assign to the power 
 and the mercy of God ? 
 
 To what I have said above, I may add, that I do not see why 
 an abstraction from all perceptibility should necessitate an 
 abstraction from all possibility of conception, or of any ap- 
 proach towards it ; nor do I see, why all existence, divine and 
 human, spiritual or corporeal, should not be contained within 
 the extremes of analogy. The scriptural text, that "man was 
 made in the image of God," is I think in favour of this idea ; 
 and it may perhaps add to our love of God, without at all dimi- 
 nishing our reverence of him. And are we to attach no intel- 
 ligible meaning to St. Paul's declaration, that " our bodies shall 
 hereafter be made like unto Christ's glorious body?" Surely 
 all man's "imaginings" are not "vain," or merely visionary. 
 Whatever is entirely abstracted from them must verge at least 
 upon impossibility : we should have some conception, however 
 faint or remote, of what we are required to believe ; which in- 
 deed seems to be indicated by our attempts at explanation. 
 What hold can the mind have upon a perfectly incomprehensible 
 and inconceivable idea ? Indeed in that case there can be no 
 idea at all : To what then is the mind to affix itself? Can the 
 feelings fill up such a void ? They too require some sympathy, 
 and what sympathy can there be, where there is no analogy ? 
 How can we address " our Father which is in Heaven?" 
 
 (m) " Sounds divided by seven distinct intervals.'* 
 
 Here again is an instance of the reach of human knowledge 
 and the error of human judgment. Elevation producing acute 
 
115 
 
 sounds, and depression deep ones, is agreeable enough to ana- 
 logy ; but what elevation or depression can there be in infinite 
 space, or what analogy between finite and infinite ? Connection 
 seems to reign throughout ; but how far do its bounds extend ? 
 As to the distinction of numbers, I believe there are few more 
 puzzling objects than that. The "numerus impar" seems in- 
 deed to prevail. 
 
 (n) " This being imitated by skilful men, has opened to them," SfC. 
 
 Talent then is the guide to heaven, independent of moral 
 practice. Not so the Gospel. 
 
 (o) " Two of these are habitable," Sfc. 
 
 This is nearly a true description of the earth, except in the 
 steps of the inhabitants of the southern temperate zone being 
 " always turned from, and never towards" those of the northern ; 
 and what is meant by this, seems difficult to conceive. If 
 " those in a totally opposite direction" means the antipodes to 
 us, it seems to imply a knowledge of the rotundity of the earth. 
 It seems indeed difficult to explain what is meant by the frigid 
 zones being immediately under the vault of the heavens ; per- 
 haps it may allude to the astronomical representations of the 
 ancients. 
 
 (p) " Shall have marked," fyc. 
 
 Does this mean the golden cycle of 25,000 years? How did 
 the ocular observations of the ancients lead them to these con- 
 clusions ? When Cicero speaks of the sun as a " single star," 
 one would think that he concluded all the others to be fixed stars 
 also, as we consider them. — Comets, of which Cicero makes no 
 mention, have been supposed by some to be the replenishers of 
 the solar heat, in this and perhaps other systems. If so, may it 
 not be asked, from whence do Comets themselves derive their 
 1% 
 
116 
 
 heat ? For it cannot be supposed that the secret stores of ani- 
 mated existence are made to last for ever ; if not, they must de r 
 pend, as they surely do, on the will of God ; and that will, we 
 are told is, that they shall all have an end. But that end, we 
 are also told, is to be in self-consumption ; or rather, in the 
 excess of the vivifying principle (" the elements shall melt with 
 fervent heat," &c.) ; this then must be inexhaustible ; and the 
 source of it must be in the Supreme Cause himself. 
 
 (q) " As that eternal Being," 8fc. 
 
 This may in some degree be sanctioned by the text which says 
 that " God created man in his own image." But Cicero's love 
 of glory and his attribution of it to human exploits, is not con- 
 tent with referring all to one great and solely efficient Cause ; 
 he makes the mind of man immortal of itself ; with a confused 
 notion indeed of subordination, and an ultimate reference to one 
 great Source, his " orbis extimus." 
 
 (r) " That alone which moves itself can never cease to be moved." 
 
 A self-moving substance may be immortal, and may derive its 
 immortality from another source than what is inherent in its 
 own nature : the power that confers the immortality can main- 
 tain it ; as indeed the first gift of it supposes. Cicero dwells on 
 this self-inherent power of motion, as a proof of immortality, 
 which seems to show, that the ancients could not abstract their 
 thoughts from sensible objects. Instead of referring all to one 
 supreme and all-directing mind, they multiplied that mind, ad 
 infinitum. But he still makes the subordinate degrees of it the 
 gift of a higher power, from which therefore they must emanate, 
 and on which they must depend ; one universal cause, acting 
 every where, and seen no where, but in its effects, which unas- 
 sisted reason, like Cicero's, is liable to err in its endeavours to 
 account for. Indeed, he seems to have had no ideas of an im" 
 
117 
 
 pelting power that is not visible to the senses ; but what would 
 he say of the passions ? what of conscience ? Are these visibl e 
 agents ? And does not Africanus's exhortation to his grandson,, 
 " Hunc tu exerce," &c. imply that he had an impelling power 
 over his mind ? Whence was that derived ? 
 
 As to the attribution, not only of immortality, but even of 
 divinity, to every thing that has the power of self-motion, Cicero 
 may not have considered, that according to this, the minds of 
 the brute creation must be equally immortal and divine. All 
 this, as I have repeatedly said before, seems to be caused by a 
 want of the proper attribution of all secondary effects or causes 
 to one first and supreme Cause, from whence they flow. The 
 laws of nature are the will of God. But the principle on which 
 Cicero establishes the unlimited existence of the Supreme Being, 
 seems to set limits to his power ; in dividing and multiplying 
 that power. But what vain attempts are these, to reach an un- 
 attainable source ! 
 
 We may observe, that Cicero shows himself to be of the aca- 
 demic school in putting his metaphysical ideas into the shape of 
 a dream. His reasoning upon the nature of mind and motion, 
 could hardly satisfy him. Being, like Horace, " Nullius ad- 
 dictus jurare in verba magistri," he was left to the " tempestas" 
 of his momentary feelings, and wanted a Revelation, to strengthen 
 and confirm the voice of his reason. 
 
 All the moral part of his beautiful effusion is as strictly true, 
 as it is mortifying to human vanity. But not to be " satisfied 
 with the praises of our fellow-mortals," points out a higher 
 ambition l , and is in perfect conformity with the sacred text, 
 which cautions us against preferring " the praises of men to the 
 praise of God." And however exaggerated Cicero's ideas of 
 human glory may appear, when viewed in other lights than he 
 here regards it, there still will remain sufficient excitement to 
 the active service of our country, connected with, and subser- 
 
 1 And a belief of future rewards. 
 
118 
 
 vient as it ought to be to, a regard for those higher duties, the 
 fulfilment of which can alone give it any real merit or effect ; 
 for no solid benefit can be conferred on mankind, unless it is 
 sanctioned by an adherence to our moral and religious obliga- 
 tions, with which even the most ardent pursuits of ambition, 
 either in peace or war, may, and ought to be, made consistent. 
 So shall the " praise of men" unite with the praise of God ; 
 and human glory be crowned with everlasting rewards. Cicero 
 may well contrast his " unius astri," or unius anni memoria, or 
 even his " diuturna gloria," with the " aeterna," which he 
 rightly places where alone (better understood as it is in the 
 Christian system) an " eternal weight of glory" can be " worked 
 out." And I believe it is necessary to make this contrast, to 
 show the real littleness of all human glory, which neither Scipio's 
 exploits, nor Horace's writings (though " Dignum laude virum 
 musa vetat mori") can of themselves make eternal. Horace's 
 " non omnis moriar" has hitherto been verified, certainly; but 
 we must consider how small a part of Cicero's ' ' year" is passed, 
 since both their deaths, and how much smaller (indeed com- 
 paratively nothing) of eternity. All glory, but that in which 
 St. Paul said he would only " glory" compared with that, must 
 be vain glory. 
 
 As to Cicero's " many ages" of Purgatory, that idea must be 
 left to the vacillating opinions and imperfect belief (or at least 
 comprehension) of the fearful and wavering Christian, to think 
 of as the bias of the moment may incline him, in a matter on 
 which the sacred writings throw no unclouded light. As the 
 "Gentiles were to be judged by their own laws," so may we 
 presume that we shall be judged according to our ability to profit 
 by the information that has been given to us. In doing this, 
 I think we should be careful not to set up, as the Unitarians do, 
 our own notions of elevation of sentiment, &c. in opposition to 
 that humble acquiescence in, and reasonable interpretation of, 
 the sacred text, which is both required of, and appealed to, in 
 the Christian believer. But the rational humility which that 
 
119 
 
 implies, and much more the "broken and contrite heart," 
 would have little charms for the high-minded Unitarian. Let 
 him however beware how he trusts in his own " righteousness," 
 or, as he perhaps would have it called, his moral dignity 1 . As 
 little can we be justified in asserting those " new lights," which 
 the examples of the present times, perhaps, above all preceding 
 ones, show how soon, and how extravagantly they may be 
 generated and fostered (whether for Ostentatious or self-deluding 
 purposes) by those who abuse, instead of using their reason, as 
 our Saviour exhorts them to do. In this censure it is hard to 
 say, whether Sceptics or Enthusiasts are the most involved : 
 sed humanum est errare. 
 
 Will the Unitarian declare, that he has a settled opinion, that 
 the nature of Christ was not in itself divine, but that he was 
 exalted by the favour of God for his merits (as indeed some pas- 
 sages of the New Testament import), and that God was no 
 more his Father than He is ours, as Christ's own mention of 
 Him ("my Father and your Father") also imports? What 
 meaning then is to be attached to the passages, " I am in the 
 Father, and the Father in me." — " He that hath seen me, hath 
 seen the Father." — " Before Abraham was, I am," &c. ? — So 
 indeed he might have said of us all, if our nature is to be put 
 upon a level with His, and if a pre-existent state of human 
 souls is to be admitted, we are " the images of God," or at 
 least we were so before the fall. But was Christ no more? 
 or was he "fashioned" by a better sculptor? Or was he only 
 an archangel, and his nature afterwards raised still higher, for 
 the purpose he was meant to answer ? If he came only to in- 
 
 1 There may be " breathings of the soul" even in the midst of 
 " business" (as is said in Dr. Channing's sermon, at New York) and 
 they may be addressed to an Almighty and Merciful Being, but has the 
 written word been duly attended to ? Have not previous impressions 
 shut the ears or perverted the understanding against it ? I fear indeed 
 the aspirations have rather an impure mixture. 
 
 
120 
 
 struct us, what need was there of a person so commissioned? 
 Solon, Lycurgus, Numa, &c. were not so constituted. If he 
 came ouly as a Mediator, what need was there of his mediation ? 
 Is the mercy of God so defective, or is His justice so " untem- 
 pered" with it, that a creature must be exalted on purpose to 
 fill up the defect, to give the inclination, or to justify God to 
 Himself, to let Him know when and how far He might relax in 
 the severity of His justice ? Can any one of the attributes of 
 God be imperfect ? Can they want the sacrifice of a life, such 
 as Christ's, to supply that imperfection, or to reconcile them to 
 each other, because our finite understandings are unable to do 
 it ? Can God be sensible of His own imperfection, which, 
 makes these expedients necessary ? Had He no other way of 
 satisfying His justice, but by requiring such an atonement, or 
 if the Unitarian will, a mere sacrifice, to remedy the abuse made 
 by man of the free agency given to him, or his ignorance in the 
 use of it ? Was God obliged to make him a free agent, purposely 
 that he might abuse the gift, and make the atonement (or sacri- 
 fice, for one or the other it certainly was) necessary ? Did God 
 foresee all this, without being able to prevent or otherwise re- 
 medy it ; to supply the apparent (if they are to be granted as 
 such) defects of the plan He had laid down ? or is the power, or 
 are the attributes of God so limited ? Is there, after all, an evil 
 principle that overrules or limits them ? Can God have any 
 thing to regulate His nature, but what proceeds from that nature 
 itself? And must man require an intelligence that he is not 
 capable of, to justify his belief of mysteries, attested as they are, 
 that are beyond his comprehension ? Has he been admitted, as 
 is asked in Job, to the counsels of the Deity ? or is he more than 
 His counsellor, is he His corrector ? — Had we not better at once 
 acknowledge our ignorance, and its parity with our other im- 
 perfections, and throw them all upon the wisdom, the power, 
 and the mercy of our God ? If we err (and we must, in follow- 
 ing our own suggestions), had it not better be on the safe side ? 
 And can we have a better security from error, than in a reason- 
 
121 
 
 able interpretation of the Scriptures ? I think neither can be 
 attained, if we make " elevation of sentiment" (see Dr. Chan- 
 ning's sermon) the test of our religious faith ; for this will ex- 
 clude all the humility that our condition requires. Yet this is 
 the meteor that such pastors as Dr. Channing would have us 
 follow. O Pride ! what various shapes dost thou assume ! 
 
 If we suppose that the statements of the New Testament are 
 meant as trials of our feelings and our faith, we shall find no 
 inconsistency in the different characters of God and man in 
 which Christ is represented; for we are taught to consider him 
 in both these lights. The appeal then is made to our reason 
 and our feelings, and to the hardness or tenderness, the justness 
 or perverseness of one or the other, for both ought surely to 
 impel us to consider Christ in the highest light in which he can 
 possibly be placed. The self-exaltation of our pride, or the self- 
 abasement of our humility should both, I think, impel us in the 
 same direction, if we take care that the suggestions of the one 
 are properly directed, and that those of the other are sincere and 
 reasonable. If we do this, I think neither will be likely to 
 mislead us. 
 
 - May I not refer to the " Night Thoughts," for further argu- 
 ments against Unitarianism ? 
 
 
 A deep sense of our unworthiness will be the best way of ar- 
 riving at the consolations which the infinite goodness and mercy 
 of God hold out to us ; but our confidence in that might trench 
 upon his justice, were it not for the means that have been used 
 to reconcile those properties, in the astonishing and incompre- 
 hensible atonement that has been made. In vain shall we urge 
 that we are the creatures of an Almighty Being whose power 
 must have imparted, and whose wisdom foreseen, the qualities 
 by which we are actuated. The consciousness of our free agency 
 and consequent responsibility, and of that liability to sin, which 
 
122 
 
 the best dispositions, unsanctioned by religion, cannot secure us 
 from, must elude all the wiles of sophistry, all attributions to 
 organization, &c. and must leave us at the mercy of that " atra 
 comes," which "premit, sequiturque fugaces." Let us then 
 shelter our ignorance under the information that we have re- 
 ceived ; let us trust with humble confidence to that ; let us use 
 our best efforts, with the assistance that has been promised us, 
 to avail ourselves of the atonement that has been made ; let us 
 " embrace and hold fast'' the hope it affords ; let us receive, 
 rely upon it, and be thankful. 
 
 Ought not the Unitarian to tremble, when he requires more 
 evidence for truths which have all the evidence that our reason 
 and our feelings qualify us to receive ? Ought he not to tremble 
 when he only gratifies his own pride, in trusting to what he 
 thinks his reason justifies ? His reason, which he makes almost 
 as much a " goddess" of, as the French Revolutionists did. 
 
 There is a confusion of ideas in the passage, (see page 94) 
 "Nam terra, nona," which I think it is impossible to remove, 
 but which sufficiently agrees with the rest of Cicero's system, 
 and particularly with the passage at the end of Cap. 4. How a 
 body can be at once " media et infima," is hard to conceive, 
 nor is the difficulty lessened, as Cicero perhaps supposed it 
 would, by the substitution of the words "• haeret" and " com- 
 plexa;" why the earth is to be considered as "infima" seems 
 also hard to conceive the necessity of ; but such were the notions 
 of an unenlightened heathen, judging, as indeed the Jews also 
 did, from the evidence of the senses, till Newton threw a clear 
 light upon what Galileo had before had a glimpse, and perhaps 
 more than a glimpse of. 
 
123 
 
 ERRATA et DESIDERATA. 
 
 Page 6. — Cicero might have made Cato express his thankfulness, if not 
 for^the perfect satisfaction (which perhaps few can feel) that the recol- 
 lection of a well-spent life gave him, at least for the sense of improving 
 goodness, and consequent peace, which the tranquillizing effects of such 
 an old age as his would daily increase in his mind, as he drew towards 
 the end of life. This is the " peace" which this world affords ; at least 
 the beginning of, a " beginning of wisdom," in " the fear of the Lord ;" 
 a fear which the sense of a superior power, and of our obligations to it, 
 cannot but impress us with. So far " saints, savages, and sages," join 
 in one, however apparently modified and diversified, " adoration." 
 
 I once heard it said, that Cicero was the only true patriot that ever 
 lived. The reply might have been, — If one Cicero, why not others ? 
 Timoleon, Epaminondas, Aristides, &c. &c. — They perhaps had not the 
 same abilities, nor opportunities of displaying them, that Cicero had, 
 This she (it was a lady of rank) might not have considered, for she was 
 not one of " That owl-eyed race whom Virtue's lustre blinds." — She 
 could bear to look at the sun, in Cicero. 
 
 " Virtue" is no longer a mere " name," when it has been personified. 
 But even Brutus, Cicero's friend and admirer, had it not in perfection ; 
 and in fact, who has ? For real patriotism we must look higher. The 
 world has had its " Citizen," in its Saviour and Redeemer — and 
 " Truth" has had its Martyrs. 
 
 Page 14, "the twentieth part" Does this mean " ab urbe condita?" 
 
 Page 14, note, for " suits," read suit. 
 
 Page 21, line 32, for "future," read future — with (?) 
 
 " De Senectute," page 21, line 20, " Neque me vixisse pcenitet ;" &c. 
 
 If the mind still preserves its vigour when the body has lost it, it is 
 surely a proof that the former will survive the latter. Decay must be 
 gradual, dissolution may be sudden and violent : the body has suffered 
 
124 
 
 one, but the mind still remains unhurt and unaffected. If they were 
 closely united, this would not be the case ; the suffering would be mutual 
 in proportion to the closeness of their union. 
 
 Page 23, line 18, " Cicero's supposition of," &c. 
 
 One, and that not the least of the Mercies of Providence, is in enabling 
 man to make the best of the " Consolations" he has, short as they may 
 be of what Christianity has given. This the Heathens must have expe- 
 rienced : even they had a glimmering hope of a future life. Christianity 
 has brightened it into certainty. Cicero's philosophical conclusions are 
 superseded by revelation, and even by ocular demonstration, in the 
 resurrection of our blessed Saviour. We have, then, every evidence that 
 the mind is capable of receiving, and only Mr. Hume's sophistical re- 
 jection of " the want of previous probability," and perhaps Rousseau's 
 strange assertion, that " the sight of a miracle would only have con- 
 founded, not convinced him," to oppose to it. 
 
 Page 24, line 7> " Dr. Butler has made," &c. 
 
 A believing and reasonable mind will admit analogies, where an un- 
 believing one sees only discrepancies, which may always be found, as 
 Omne simile non est (or rather nullum simile est) " idem." Similitude 
 cannot be identity, unless in imagination. 
 
 Page 25, line 3, " Cato's arguments," &c. 
 
 How little effect can such metaphysical " arguments" have had upon 
 any mind ! And how strongly does this prove the necessity of faith ! 
 Faith founded on Heaven. 
 
 Page 29, line 17, " What a force too do the feelings of friendship," &c. 
 
 How exclusively are the true enjoyments of life, confined to what is 
 good ! and how necessarily are the mutual ties of friendship so confined ! 
 How necessarily, to produce the " consensio" stated by Laelius ! How 
 closely they are connected with our interest, little as that sometimes 
 sways us, when obscured by our passion ! The Gospel universalises and 
 immortalises it, as containing the " summum bonum," when the 
 " amor humanus" is sanctified by the " amor divinus." One of these is, 
 as far as it extends, made equal to the other, by which it is consum- 
 mated ; and the friendship on earth becomes a friendship in heaven. 
 What a man may find in a friend, he will find perhaps in his God. 
 A friendship beyond all "calculation," and in which all "utility" will 
 be found. But the earthly friendship must be with a " vir bonus," 
 
125 
 
 whether the ipsi viri boni are capable of "loving their enemies," is 
 hard to say. The perfection of that, at least, must be reserved for 
 heaven, where all enmity will cease, 
 Page 42, line 19, " Mortem sibi," &c. 
 
 What! have said in "pro patria nee unus nee alteri," is surely true 
 of all these three; for even "Brutus" might have better shown his 
 patriotism, than by killing himself. Was not this rather pride ? " The 
 madness of the heart?" I believe that neither his putting Caesar nor 
 himself to death, can justly be defended. 
 
 Page 43, line 25, for "medians," read mechants. 
 Page 47, line 15, " Tyrannorum vita." 
 
 Here we have the opposite picture drawn; to show that if men may 
 assimilate themselves to angels, they may to devils too. The medium 
 between these seems to be, as in my note on Page 29 (the mixture of 
 "amor humanus et divinus,") the allay of human passions with the 
 sublimer feelings, Laelius vainly attempts, as in page 57. (ubi istum 
 invenias, qui honorem amici anteponat suo?" — which he seems to think 
 ought to be done, to make friendship perfect) — to substitute romantic 
 ones. He was aware of the capacity of " self-love," but supposes it 
 extensible, even to their extinction. What will it then be capable of! 
 Page 60, ljne 10, " The ingratitude of mankind," &c. 
 Let us take care that our imputations of ingratitude do not revert 
 upon ourselves. Unreasonable expectations provoke it, unworthy choices 
 must meet with it, which it is not always easy either " discindere," or 
 " dissuere." Unhappy as it is for us, when our " reforms" subject us 
 to the charge of inconsistency. So, we may hope, will not our political 
 ones, " expetenda" magis, quam vitanda. Quid expetere, quid vitare, 
 is our business, both in public and private life ; and a mistake, either in 
 the " expetere," or vitare, if owing to any thing but an error of the 
 judgment, is a kind of "ingratitude," to the Giver of our faculties. In- 
 gratitude which either our passions or our prejudices may excite in us. 
 Page 64, line 3, " Ipse se quisque diligit," &c. 
 
 Every man loves himself, because it is natural for him to do so. " The 
 Almighty's first command is. " Man, love thyself." His second is, 
 " Love thy neighbour as thyself." In both there is included the love of 
 God, who made us for these purposes, and for the love of Him, our 
 Maker, and of His Son, our Saviour and Redeemer. But we do not love 
 
126 
 
 ourselves, without an expectation of a reward ; for the reward is in our 
 own approbation, and that of the God within us. Thus every man is at 
 once "alter et idem," whether the "alter" is "God, or Mammon." 
 This Cicero was not aware of, though he must have felt the benefit of 
 self-approbation, and the " reward" it confers, and might have seen the 
 contrary, in the punishment of those who fixed their "love" upon im- 
 proper objects. Then, " quisque amicus suus esse potest, et qualis ipse 
 esse" desiderat ; aut inimicus, " qualis ipse esse" horret ; ita, aut 
 felicitatis aut miserise suae quisque arbiter est ; " quaeque amico tribuit, 
 haec" a seipso recipiet. These rewards or punishments are decreed to 
 him by " the Author of Nature," who has required us to place our first 
 love on Him, for whose sake we are to " love ourselves." That we may 
 do so, " primum ipsos viros bonos esse" oportet. This is the highest 
 "elevation" that "human nature is capable of." Thus will he be 
 " the image of his Maker." 
 
 Page 67, line 2, after " from others' harm" (a comma). 
 
 Though they may blame them too severely, and perhaps even deny 
 them the pity which they may still more want themselves. But they 
 have not looked into their own " wallets." 
 
 Same page, after " which the social feelings excite" (a semicolon). 
 
 Except those which Religion affords. 
 
 Page 69, line 14, for "the," read these. 
 
 Page 69, line 19, "a looking up ad summum bonum," add, without 
 any expectation of arriving at it. 
 
 Page 70, note, for "notwithstanding," read, without which. 
 
 Page 71, line 23, after " object in view" insert (!) 
 
 To make our friends as bad as ourselves; our "fellow-rogues." 
 
 Page 72, line 13, " pride" can " deserve" it, then, when properly 
 regulated. 
 
 Page 73, line 20, " nihil mali," but what was this, sine bono aliquo ? 
 Where could be the "solatium?" In the "reditum in caelum patere" 
 certainly. 
 
 Page 74, line 2, strange "friendship!" that can give a friend, and 
 probably enemies! Are these " altitudines ?" 
 
 Page 74, line 20, after " the declarations of the Gospel" (a semicolon). 
 
 Of the truth of which this reservation is surely an additional proof, 
 accordant as it is with the " hope" previously given. 
 
127 
 
 Page 74, line 25, The "justice and benevolence of the Creator," is 
 only declared in the Gospel. 
 
 Page 75, line 13, " A plurality of Gods," such as in the Heathen 
 Mythology, could only produce rivalry and discord. Unity, therefore, 
 is necessary ; the " unity" of the " Trinity." When men deified their 
 fellow-mortals, they of course gave them human qualities : their Gods 
 were the "images" of themselves, not themselves the "images" of a 
 higher God. Their Mythology however was, perhaps, better ; more 
 innocent if not more rational, when it was contained in the worship of 
 wooden images, stocks, stones, vegetables, &c. These they could " burn" 
 when they were tired of, or angry with them ; and sometimes they 
 flogged them into a compliance with their wishes. Happy mortals, who 
 had more power over their Gods than they had over themselves ! 
 
 The Classic Mythology was no doubt more amusing, as more poetical, 
 when described by Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, &c. 
 
 Page 76, line 10, after " conceived," place the mark ( x ) as a reference 
 to the note below. 
 
 Page 78, line 20, after " vice and depravity." 
 
 Choose then, O Man, whether you will prefer a Religion founded in 
 Reason and Virtue, or an infidelity founded in folly and perverseness, 
 and subservient to vice ; whether you will prefer peace of mind, to the 
 indulgence of your passions ; whether the delusive hope of "annihi- 
 lation," and the certitude of future punishment, extreme, whether 
 eternal or not, to the well-founded, or promised, hope of eternal hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Page 85, line 3, " legate" — perhaps the proper word should have been 
 lieutenant. 
 
 Page 85, line 9, " my grandson." — Viz. : Tiberius Gracchus, the Demo- 
 crat of Rome, the advocate of the Agrarian law, the champion of equal 
 rights, equal property, and equal privileges, (not of equal justice, which 
 would then be done to none,) an attempt of which he became himself the 
 victim (being killed by Scipio Nasica) as so many of his French imitators 
 have lately been, and, for a while, the French Monarchy itself, and as 
 would also be the case in England, if the mad theories of the " Radicals" 
 were carried into practice. 
 
 Page 85, line 16, for " will have completed," read, will then have 
 completed. 
 
 6 
 
128 
 
 Page 85, line 26, mark 3 — This mark should rather have been placed 
 at " gently smiling," for I hope that I shall not be suspected of imputing 
 "sleepiness" to one of the first characters in the Roman History. Both 
 he and Laelius, as well as Cato, deserved a Cicero, to perpetuate their 
 memories, in making them the vehicles of his admirable discourses 
 How concise, and how comprehensive, is his summary of Scipio's history 
 prophetically delivered by the spirit of Africanus ! and how striking, 
 especially to a young Roman, the moral exhortation that follows, sanc- 
 tioned and crowned as it is by the sublime, though erroneous, meta- 
 physical detail that concludes it. 
 
 Cicero, in many of his works, is the friend of his country : in this, and 
 others of his moral and philosophical treatises, he is the friend of man- 
 kind. He is the father of the schools, and the model of writers, and his 
 language, dead as it is, will be immortalized in them all. 
 
 Page 91, Note. " That is, they appear to do so, as the latter are 
 stationary." 
 
 I should have added the diurnal revolution of the earth, which indeed 
 is the real cause of the apparently retrograde motion of the planets 
 incomparably slower as their actual motion is, than the revolution of the 
 earth round its axis. The (apparent at least) stationary state of the 
 stars must also be considered, though Cicero's theory does not suppose 
 that. All this creates a deceptio visus that requires more explanation 
 than can here be given to it, but which may be easily understood by an 
 attention being given to our own motions, and the relative motions or 
 stationariness of the bodies that we pass by. 
 
 Page 94, line 12, " obsurduerunt." This should have been probably 
 obsurduerint : as we can hardly suppose the fact to have happened. 
 Page 101, line 8, "shall have marked," &c. 
 
 This idea of the golden cycle may have been altogether hypothetical, 
 as I do not find it mentioned in books of astronomy. 
 
 I cannot help hoping, that those who peruse this volume, may be in- 
 duced by it to peruse the " Extracts from Young's Night Thoughts," &c. 
 I wish the nature of my work could have allowed the intelligence of it to 
 be more universal and complete among its readers. They however may 
 find, that Young and Cicero illustrate each other : the former gives the 
 knowledge that the latter could not give, and gives it from that Power 
 which only could communicate it, and which has addressed it to that 
 
129 
 
 Reason, which it had prepared to receive it ; and by it it has been re- 
 ceived, in accordance with its own dictates. 
 
 Page 120, line 31, for "and its purity, with our other imperfections," 
 read, its parity with our other imperfections. " Parity" here means 
 equality. 
 
 A Commentator ought so to understand and enter into the spirit of 
 his Author, as to be able to play with him, but to play in a manner that 
 will rather increase than lessen the force of his thoughts. Whether I 
 have done this with Young's, I know not, or whether I have amused or 
 edified my readers (if I have any, and his " thoughts" are certainly 
 fitter for the latter) I know not — but they have both amused, and, I trust, 
 edified me. He may be disliked by some, but surely will be more than 
 liked by others. Is it difficult to say by which he is justly estimated ? 
 As to Cicero, even the " Lorenzos" must admire him, as " Pagan tutors 
 are their taste." But how can they come so near to Christianity, without 
 being Christians ? 
 
 K 
 
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 Library. Small 8vo. Portrait. 6s. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The CONSISTENCY of the WHOLE SCHEME of REVELATION 
 with ITSELF and with HUMAN REASON. By Philip Nicholas 
 Shuttleworth, D.D., Warden of New College, Oxford, and Rector 
 of Foxley, Wilts. Being the Second Volume of the Theological 
 Library. 6s. 
 
 VII. 
 
 HISTORY of the REFORMED RELIGION in FRANCE. By 
 
 Edward Smedley, M.A., late Fellow of Sidney Sussex College, Cam- 
 bridge. Vol. I. With Portraits. 6s. Being the Third Volume of the 
 Theological Library. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ADVICE to a YOUNG MAN on his first going to OXFORD. In 
 Ten Letters, from an Uncle to his Nephew. By the Rev. Edward 
 Berens, M.A., Archdeacon of Berks, and late Fellow of Oriel College. 
 12mo. 3s. 
 
WORKS PUBLISHED BY J. G. & F. RIVINGTON. 
 , I 
 1 IX. 
 
 A FAMILIAR INTRODUCTION to the CHRISTIAN RELIGION. 
 In a SERIES of LETTERS from a FATHER to his SON. By A 
 Senior. In 12mo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 " We must conclude with professing it to be our judgment, that the 
 author has furnished the world with a noble approximation to what is 
 greatly needed, namely, an Introductory Manual, which shall make our 
 sons and daughters acquainted with the essential elements of their reli- 
 gion, without presenting it to their minds as a severe and oppressive 
 task." — British Critic, Jan. 1832. 
 
 X. 
 
 The YOUNG CHRISTIAN'S SUNDAY EVENING; or an easy 
 Introduction to the Bible. For the use of Children. By the Author of 
 the Infant Christian's First Catechism. 2 vols. 12mo. lis. 
 
 XL 
 
 EXPLANATORY LECTURES on the Gospel of ST. MATTHEW. 
 By the Rev. John Penrose, M.A., of Corpus Christi College, Oxford. 
 12mo. 6s. 6d. 
 
 XII. 
 
 LECTURES on the INSUFFICIENCY of UNREVEALED RELI- 
 GION, andon the SUCCEEDING INFLUENCE of CHRISTIANITY ; 
 delivered in the English Chapel at Rome, during the Sundays of Advent, 
 1830, and of Lent, 1831. By the Rev. Richard Burgess, Chaplain. 
 8vo. 9s. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A MEMOIR of FELIX NEFF, Pastor of the High Alps; and of 
 his Labours among the French Protestants of Dauphine, a Remnant of 
 the Primitive Christians of Gaul. By W. S. Gilly, M.A., Prebendary 
 of Durham, and Vicar of Norham. With a Map. Second Edition. 12mo. 
 
 " That they were not exterminated is owing, under Divine Provi- 
 dence, to the almost inaccessible nature of the country. Dormilleuse, 
 and most of the villages of Val Fressiniere, are exposed to frequent 
 avalanches : but to these, in part, may be ascribed their religious exist- 
 ence." — Journal of Neff. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The NEW TESTAMENT, with a COMMENTARY, consisting of 
 SHORT LECTURES, for the daily Use of Families. By the Rev. 
 Charles Girdlestone, M.K., Vicar of Sedgely, Staffordshire. 
 
 In this Edition of the New Testament it has been the chief object 
 of the Editor to furnish families with an Exposition for daily reading.^ 
 The Scripture is divided into paragraphs of a convenient length, and the * 
 explanatory and practical matter is digested, under each portion, into " 
 one consecutive lecture, so as to demand of the reader no previous study 
 or attention. 
 
 Part the First, containing the Gospels of St. Matthew and St. Mark, 
 8vo. 9s. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
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