I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary confessor, on his asserting the two prime articles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature, when he thus, very passionately exclaimed: "No, no! let me speak on. I have not long to apeak. My much injured friend! my soul, as my body, lies in ruins; in scattered fragments of broken thought. Remorse for the past, throws my thought on the future. Worse dread of the future, strikes it back on the past. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Didst thou feel half the mountain that is on me, thou wouldst struggle with the martyr for his stake; and bless heaven for the flames! that is not an everlasting flame; that is not an unquenchable fire."

How were we struck! yet, soon after, still more. With what an eye of distraction, what a face of despair, he cried out! My principles have poisoned my friend! my extravagance has beggared my boy! my unkindness has murdered my wife! And is there another hell? Oh! thou blasphemed yet indulgent LORD GOD! Hell itself is a refuge, if it hide me from thy frown?" Soon after, his understanding failed. His terrified imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever forgotten. And ere the sun (which, I hope, has seen few like him) arose, the gay, young, noble, ingenious, accomplished, and most wretched Altamont, expired!

If this is a man of pleasure, what is a man of pain? How quick, how total, is the transit of such persons! In what a dismal gloom they sit forever! How short, alas! the day of their rejoicing for a moment they glitter, they dazzle! In a moment, where are they? Oblivion covers their memories. Ah! would it did! Infamy snatches them from oblivion. In the long living annals, of infamy their triumphs are recorded. Thy sufferings, poor Altamont! still bleed in the bosom of the heart-striken friend, for Altamont had a friend. He might have had many. His transient morning might have been the dawn of an immortal day. His name might have been gloriously enrolled in the records of eternity. His memory might have left a sweet fragrance behind it, grateful to the surviving friend,salutary to the succeeding generation. With what capacity was he endowed! with what advantages for being great. ly good! But with the talents of an angel, a man may be a fool. If he judges amiss in the supreme point,judging right in all else, but aggravates his folly; as it shows him wrong, though Blessed with the best capacity of being right.

CHAPTER VII.

DIALOGUES...

SECTION I.

DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.*

The vices and follies of men should excite compassion rather than

Democritus.

I

ridicule.

FIND it impossible to reconcile myself to a Amelancholy philosophy.

Heraclitus. And I am equally unable to approve of that vain philosophy, which teaches men to despise and ridicule one another. To a wise and feeling mind, the world appears in a wretched and painful light.

Dem. Thou art too much affected with the state of things; and this is a source of misery to thee.

Her. And I think thou art too little moved by it. Thy mirth and ridicule bespeak the buffoon, rather than the philosopher. Does it not excite thy compassion, to see mankind so frail, se blind, so far departed from the rules of virtue ?

Dem. I am excited to laughter, when I see so much impertinence and folly.

Her. And yet, after all, they, who are the objects of thy ridicule, include, not only mankind in general, but the persons with whom thou livest, thy friends, thy family, nay, even thyself.

Dem. I care very little for all the silly persons I meet with; and think I am justifiable in divirting myself with their folly. Her. If they are weak and foolish, it marks neither wisdom nor humanity, to insult rather than pity them. But is it cer tain, that thou art not as extravagant as they are?

Dem. I presume that I am not; since in every point, my sentiments are the very reverse of theirs.

Her. There are follies of different kinds. By constantly amusing thyself with the errors and misconduct of others,thou mayest render thyself equally ridiculous and culpable.

Dem. Thou art at liberty to indulge such sentiments; and to weep over me too, if thou hast any tears to spare. For my part, I cannot refrain from pleasing myself with the levities and ill conduct of the world about me. Are not all men foolish and irregular in their lives?

* Democritus and Heraclitus were two ancient philosophers, the former of whom laughed and the latter wept, at the errors and follies mankind.

Her. Alas! there is but too much reason to believe, they are so and on this ground,I pity and deplore their condition. We agree in this point, that men do not conduct themselves according to reasonable and just principles: but I, who do not suffer myself to act as they do, must yet regard the dictates of my understanding and feelings, which compel ine to love them; and that love fills me with compassion for their mistakes and irregularities. Canst thou condemn me for pitying my own species, my brethren, persons born in the same con dition of life, and destined to the same hopes and privik ges? If thou shouldst enter a hospital, where sick and wounded persons reside, would their wounds and distresses excite thy mirth? and yet, the evils of the body bear no comparison with those of the mind. Thou wouldst certainly blush at thy barbarity, if thou hadst been so unfeeling, as to laugh at or despise a poor miserable being who had lost one of his legs; and yet thou art so destitute of humanity, as to ridicule those who appear to be deprived of the noble powers of the understanding, by the little regard which they pay to its dictates,

Dem. He who has lost a leg is to be pitied, because the loss is not to be imputed to himself: but he who rejects the dictates of reason and conscience, voluntarily deprives himself of their aid. The loss originates in his own flly,

Her. Ah! so much the more is he to be pitied! A furious maniac, who would pluck out his own eyes, would deserve more compassion than an ordinary blind man.

There is

There is

Dem. Come, let us accommodate the business. something to be said on each side of the question. every where reason for laughing, and reason for weeping The world is ridiculous, and I laugh at it: it is deploral and thou lamentest over it. Every person views it in his way, and according to his own temper. One point i questionable, that mankind are preposterous to think aud to act well, we must think and act differentl them. To submit to the authority, and follow the e of the greater part of men, would render us foolish

miserable.

Her. All this is, indeed, true; but then, thou hast no real love or feeling for thy species. The calamities of mankind excite thý mirth: and this proves that thou hast nó regard for men, nor any true respect for the virtues which they have unhappily abandoned.

FENELON, Archbishop of Lamp:ay.

K

SECTION II

DIONYSIUS, PYTHIAS, AND DAMON.

Genuine virtue commands respect, even from the bad. Dionysius. AMAZING! What do I see? It is Pythias just arrived. It is indeed Pythias. I did not think it possible. He is come to die and redeem his friend!

Pythias. Yes, it is Pythias. I left the place of my confine ment, with no other views, than to pay to heaven the vows I had made; to settle my family concerns according to the rules of justice; and to bid adieu to my children that I might die tranquil and satisfied.

Dio. But why dost thou return? Hast thou no fear of death? is it not the character of a mad man, to seek it thus voluntatily?

Py. I return to suffer, though I have not deserved death. Every principle of honour and goodness, forbids me to allow my friend to die for me.

Dio. Dost thou, then, love him better than thyself?

. No; I love him as myself. B I am persuaded that I ought to suffer death, rather than my friend; since it was me whom thou hast decreed to die. were not just that he should suffer, to deliver me from the death which was designed, not for him, but for me only.

Dio. But thou supposest, that it is as unjust to infic sth upon thee, as upon thy friend.

2. Very true; we are both perfectly innocent; and itis ly unjust to make either of us suffer.

Why dost thou then assert, that it were injustice to im to death, instead of thee?

It is unjust, in the same degree, to inflict death, either amon, or on myself; but Pythias were highly culpable Damon suffer that death which the tyrant had prepared thias only.

jo. Dost thou then return hither on the day appointed en no other view than to save the life of a friend, by losing my own?

Py, I return in regard to thee, to suffer an act of injustice which it is common for tyrants to inflict; and, with respect to Damon, to perform my duty, by rescuing him from the dan ger he incurred by his generosity to me.

Dio. And now, Damon, let me address myself to the Didst thou not really fear, that Pythias would never retur and that thou wouldst be put to death on his account

Da. I was but too well assured that Pythias would punctu ally return: and that he would be more solicitous to keep his promise, than to preserve his life. Would to heaven, that

his relations and friends had forcibly detained him! He would then have lived for the comfort and benefit of good men; and I should have the satisfaction of dying for him!

Dio. What does life displease thee?

Da. Yes; it displeases me when I see and feel the power of a tyrant.

Dio, it is well! Thou shalt see him no more. I will order thee to be put to death immediately.

Py. Pardon the feelings of a man who sympathises with his dying friend. But remember it was Pythias who was devoted by thee to destruction. I come to submit to it, that I may redeem my friend. Do not refuse me this consolation in my last hour.

Dio. I cannot endure men, who despise death, and set my power at defiance.

Da. Thou canst not, then, endure virtue.

Dio. No: cannot endure that proud, disdainful virtue, which contemns life; which dreads.no punishment; and which is insensible to the charms of riches and pleasure.

Da. Thou seest, however, that it is a virtue which is not insensible to the dictates of honour, justice, and friendship.

Dio. Guards, take Pythias to execution. We shall see whether Damon will continue to despise my authority.

Da. Pythias,by returning to submit himself to thy pleasure, has merited his life, and deserved thy favour; but I have ex cited thy indignation, by resigning myself to thy power, in order to save him be satisfied, then, with this sacrifice, and put me to death.

Py. Hold, Dionysius remember, it was Pythias alone, who offended thee: Damon could not.

Dio. Alas! what do I see and hear? where am I? How miserable; and how worthy to be so! I have hitherto know nothing of true virtue. I have spent my life in darkness and error. All my power and honours are insufficient to produce love. I cannot boast of having acquired a single friend in the course of a reign of thirty years. And yet these two persons' in a private condition, love one another tenderly, unreservedly cofide in each other, are mutually happy, and ready to die for each others preservation.]

fy. How couldst thou, who hast never loved any person