heart: no pomp of expression; no parade of kindness; but strong affection hastening to utter what it strongly felt. "His brethren could not answer him; for they were troubled at his presence." Their silence is as expressive of those emolions of repentance and shame, which, on this amazing discovry, filled their breasts, and stopped their utterance, as the ew words which Joseph speaks, are expressive of the geneous agitations which struggled for vent within him. No painter could seize a more striking moment for displaying The characteristical features of the human heart, than what here presented. Never was there a situation of more tendand virtuous joy, on the one hand; nor, on the other, of more overwhelming confusion and conscious guilt. In the imple narration of the sacred historian, it is set before us ith greater energy and higher effect, than if it had been rought up with all the colouring of the most admired modmeloquence.

SECTION VII.

ALTAMONT.

BLAIR,

THE following Account of an affecting, mournful Exit, is related by Dr. YOUNG, who was present at the melancholy Scene.

THE sad evening before the death of the noble youth, hose last hours suggested the most solemn and awful relections, I was with him. No one was present, but his phyician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he had uined. At my coming in, he said, "You and the physiian are come too late. I have neither life nor hope. You oth aim at miracles. You would raise the dead!" Heavn, I said, was merciful, "Or," exclaimed he; "I could ot have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bless, ad to save me! I have been too strong for Omnipotence! have plucked down ruin." I said, the blessed Redeem

"Hold! hold! you wound me! That is the rock on hich I split: I denied his name !" Refusing to hear any thing from me, or take any thing om the physician, he lay silent, as far as sudden darts of in would permit, till the clock struck: Then with veheence he exclaimed; "Oh! time! time! it is fit thou ouldst thus strike thy murderer to the heart! How art ou fled forever! A month! Oh for a single week! I ask t for years, though an age were too little for the much I we to do." On my saying, we could not do too much; that

T

1

heaven was a blessed place, "So much the worse. "Tis lost! 'tis lost! Heaven is to me the severest part of hell!"

Soon after, I proposed prayer; "Pray you that can. I never prayed. I cannot pray, nor need I. Is not Heaven en my side already? It closes with my conscience. Its severest strokes but second my own." Observing that his friend was much touched at this, even to tears, (who could forbear? I could not) with a most affectionate look, he said. "Keep those tears for thyself. I have undone thee. Dost thou weep for me ? that is cruel. What can pain me more?"

Here his friend, too much affected, would have left hima -"No, stay-thou still mayest hope; therefore hear me. How madly have I talked! how madly hast thou listened and believed! but look on my present state, as a full answer to thee, and to myself. Tiris body is all weakness and pain; but my soul, as if stung up by torment to greater strength and spirit, is full powerful to reason: full mighty to suffer. And that which thus triumphs within the jaws of immortality, is doubtless immortal-And, as for a Deity nothing less than an Almighty could inflict what I feel."

I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary coll fessor, on his asserting the two prime articles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature, when he thus, very passion ately exclaimed: - " No: no! let me speak on, I have not long to speak.-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. 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 unquenchalle

fire."

Wink

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

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 set 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 stricken 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 greatly 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.

CHAP. VII.
DIALOGUES.

SECTION I.

DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.*

DR. YOUNG.

The Vices and Follies of Men should excite Compassion rather than Ridicule.

Democritus. I FIND it impossible to reconcile myself to (a melancholy 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, so blind, so far departed from the rules of virtue?

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

1

11

1

t

1

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 per sons 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 diverting 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 certain, 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 Jevities and ill conduct of the world about me. Are not all men foolish or irregular in their lives ?

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 me to love them; and that love fills me with compassion

ssion for their mistakes and irregularities. Canst thou condemn me for pitying my own species, my brethren, persons born in the same condition of life, and destined to the "same hopes and privileges? 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 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.

1

Dem. He who hast 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 folly.

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

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

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

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 con finement, 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 madman, to seek it thus voluntarily ?

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?

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

1

i