Miscellany essays upon philosophy, history, poetry, morality, humanity, gallantry &c. / by Monsieur de St. Evremont ; done into English by Mr. Brown.

TO MONSIEUR THE MARSHALL de CREQVI, Who ask'd the temper of my Mind, and my Thoughts of things in general.

By Dr. DRAKE.

WHEN we are young, the Po∣pular Opinion sways us, and we are more solicitous to gain the Esteem of others then of our selves. But arriv'd to Old Age, we are apt to have a less value for Foreign things, and are most taken up with our selves, when we are ready to abandon our selves.

Life is like our other Possessions, all vanishes, when we think our stock great∣est: Our measures are seldom rightly understood, till little remains to be ma∣naged. Hence we see young Men squan∣der (as it were) their Being, in which they think they have a long term of Years to come. We grow more chary of

our selves, as we grow nearer to lose our selves.

The time has been, when my roving, uncontrol'd Fancy rambled after every thing strange to it: At present my Mind contracts it self to the Body, and unites more straitly with it: Nor is this out of any sense of Pleasure from such an Alliance, but out of necessity of the mutual Succour and Assistance, which they endeavour to afford one another.

In this feeble Condition, I yet retain some pleasures, but I have lost all sense of Vice, without knowing whether this change be owing to the Infirmity of a decay'd Body, or the moderation of a Mind better improv'd in Wisdom than heretofore. I fear my Age has a great∣er share in it than my Vertue, that I have more reason to complain, than bragg of the Obedience of Inclinations.

In vain should I ascribe to my Reason the Fower of subjecting my desires, if they are too weak to raise themselves; and what Wisdom soever Men at my Years may boast of, it is hard to distinguish, whether those Passions, we now no long∣er feel, be subdued or expired.

Howsoever it be, when our senses are

no longer touch'd with their Objects, nor our Souls mov'd by their Impressions, it is properly no more then a State of Indo∣lence: Yet is not this indolence without it's Charms, To think himself exempt from all uneasiness, is enough to give Joy to a reasonable Man.

The Enjoyment of Pleasures is not al∣ways required; the privation of pain well used, renders our Condition sufficiently happy.

If any misfortune befall me, I am na∣turally little sensible of it, without dash∣ing this happy Constitution with any thoughts of Constancy. For Constancy is only dwelling longer upon our Mise∣ries. It appears the most aimable Ver∣tue in the World to those who are un∣der no afflictions, but is truly a new load to such as are.

Resistance only Fretts us, and Instead of easing one grievance adds another: Without Resistance we suffer only the e∣vils inflicted on us, with it our own im∣provements too. For this reason under pre∣sent Calamities, I resign all to Nature; I reserve my prudence for times of tran∣quillity. Then by reflecting upon my own Indolence, I take pleasure in the pains, I

endure not, and by this means make hap∣py the most indifferent State of Life.

Experience grows with Age, and Wis∣dom commonly with Experience: But when I ascribe this Vertue to Old Men, I mean not that they are always Masters of it. This is cerrain that they have always the Liberty to be wise, and to knock off decently those Fetters which prejudice has put upon the World. They only are allow'd to take things for what they really are.

Reason does as 'twere plant every thing in our Education; which is afterward in a manner quite over-run by Fancy. Age only has the power to drive out the one from what she had usurp'd, and reesta∣blish the other in what the had lost.

For my self, I observe religiously all real Duties. The imaginary I refuse or admit, as I like or dislike 'em. For in things to which I am not oblig'd, I think it equal reason to reject what does not please me, or to accept what does.

Every day frees me from one link at least of the Chain, nor is it less for the ad∣vantage of those from whom I disengage my self, then me, who regain my liber∣ty. They are as great gainers in the loss

of an useless Man, as I should have been a loser, by idely devoting my self any long∣er to 'em.

Of all Ties, that of Amity is the only one that has, in my Opinion, almost irresistible Charms, and were it not for the disgrace that attends no Return, I cou'd love meerly for the pleasure of Loving, even where I was not belov'd a∣gain.

In Love ill plac'd, the Sentiments of Amity entertain us purely by their own agreeable sweetness. But we ought to divest our selves of a just hatred for the Interest of our own quiet.

Happy is that Mind which can entire∣ly deny some Passions, and only unbend it self to some others. It would then be void of Fear, Sadness, Hatred, or Jealousie. It wou'd desire without vio∣lence, Hope without impatience, and Enjoy without transport.

The state of Vertue is not a state of Indolence. We suffer in it a perpetual Conflict betwixt Duty, and Inclination. Now we do what disgusts us, and now oppose what relishes well: Being almost always under force, both in our Actions, and Abstinence.

That of Wisdom is sweet and calm. It reigns Peaceably over our movements, being only to Govern well as Subjects, what Vertue Combats as Enemies.

I can say one thing of my self, as extra∣ordinary as true, that is, that I have ne∣ver in my self felt any Conflict between Passion, and Reason. My Passion never oppos'd what I resolv'd out of Duty; and my Reason readily comply'd with what my Pleasure Inclin'd me to.

I pretend not that this easie accord is praise worthy; on the contrary, I confess I have been often the more Vicious for it. Not out of any perverse disposition to E∣vil; but because Vice cover'd the Crime, with an appearance of Pleasure.

It is certain, the nature of things is much better discover'd by reflection on 'em, when past, then by their impressions at perception. Now the great Com∣merce with the World, hinders all atten∣tion in Youth. What we see in others hinders us from examining well our selves.

Crowds please us at an Age, when we Love (as one may say) to diffuse our selves. Multitudes grow troublesome at another, when we naturally recoil to our selves, or instead of numbers come to

paucity of Friends, who are more united to us.

'Tis this humour, that insensibly with∣draws us from Courts. We begin through that to seek some Mean between Hurry and Retirement. We grow afterwards asham'd to show an old Face amongst young Fellows.

Let us not flatter our selves with our Judgments: A brisk Buffoonery will run it down; and the false glittering of a youthful Fancy will turn to Ridicule our most delicate Conversations. If we have Wit, the best use of it is in private Com∣panies; for in a Crowd the Spirit main∣tains it self but ill against the Body.

This Justice which we are oblig'd to do our selves, ought not to make us un∣just to the young Men. We ought not perpetually to cry up our own Times, or enviously always condemn theirs. Let us not rail at Pleasures when we are past them, or censure Diversions, whose only Offence is our Incapacity.

Our Judgments ought to be always the same. We may live, but must not judge by Humour. There is in mine an odd peculiarity, which makes me mea∣sure Magnificence more by its trouble than pomp.

Shows, Feasts, and great Assemblies, invite not me to the sight of 'em: The Inconveniencies I must suffer, deter me. The elegant harmony of Consorts en∣gages not me so much, as the difficulty of adjusting 'em disobliges me. Abundance disgusts me at my Meals, and Rarities seem to me an affected Curiosity. My fancy cannot recommend any thing to my palate by my scarcity. My choice shou'd be of things easily to be had, that my Delicacy may not be ruled by Fancy.

I am as fond of Reading as ever, be∣cause it depends more particularly on the mind, which tires not like the Senses. In truth, I seek in Books my Pleasure, ra∣ther than my Instruction.

As I have less time for Practice, I have less desire to learn. I have more need of a stock of Life than of methods of living; and the little that remains, is better spent in things agreeable, than Instructive. The Latin Authors afford me the most, and I read whatever I think fine, a thousand times over without being cloy'd.

A nice Choice has confin'd me to a few Books, in which I seek rather found than fine Wit; and the true Taste (to use a Spanish Expression) is ordinarily found in

the Writings of considerable Men. I am pleas'd to discover in Tully's Epistles, both his own Character, and that of those Persons of Quality that Write to him. He never divests himself of his Rhetorick, and the least recommendation to his most in∣timate Friend is as artificially Insinuated, as if he were to prepossess a Stranger in an Affair of the greatest Consequence in the World.

The Letters of the rest want those fine turns; but in my Mind, they have more good Sense than his, and this makes me judge very Advantageously of the great and general Abilities of the Romans at that time.

Our Authors prefer the Age of Au∣gustus upon the account of Virgil and Ho∣race; and perhaps more yet upon the score of Maecenas, who encouraged Men of Learning, than for those Men of Learning themselves.

It is neverthelsess certain, that their Parts as well as Courages began at that time to decay. Grandeur of Soul was converted to Circumspect Conduct, and sound Discourse to Polite Conversation: I know not what to think of the Remains of Maecenas, unless it be that they had

something of Grimace, which was made to pass for delicate.

Maecenas was Augustus's great Favou∣rite; The Man that pleas'd, and whom all the Polite, and sprightly Witts court∣ed; now is it not likely that his judgment over-rul'd the rest, that they affected his Air, and Ap'd, as much as they could, his Character?

Augustus himself leaves us no great Idea of his Latinity. What we see of Terence, what was reported at Rome of politeness of Scipio and Laelius, the Re∣liques of Caesar, and what we have of Cicero, with the complaint of this last for the loss of what he calls, Sales, Le∣pores, Venustates, Vrbanitas, Amaenitas, Festivitas, Iucunditas; all together make me believe, upon better consideration, That we must search some other time than that of Augustus, to find the sound and agreeable Wit of the Romans, as well as the pure and natural Graces of their Tongue.

It may be said, That Horase had a very nice Palate in all these Matters; which perswades me, that the rest of his Contemporaries had not. For the nice∣ty of his Relish consisted chiefly in find∣ing

that of others ridiculous. But as for the Impertinencies, false Manners, and Af∣fectations which he laugh'd at, his sense wou'd not at this day appear so very just.

I own that of Augustus to have been the Age of excellent Poets; but it follows not, That it was that of Universal Genius's.

Poetry requires a peculiar Genius, that agrees not overmuch with good sense. It is sometimes the Language of Gods, sometimes of Buffoons, rarely that of a Civil Man. It delights in Figures, and Fictions, always besides the reality of things, tho' it be that only, that can sa∣tisfy a found Understanding.

Not but that there is something Noble in making good Verse; but we must have a great command of our Genius, o∣therwise the mind is possess'd with some∣thing Foreign, which hinders it from the free management of it self.

He's a Block-head (say the Spaniards) that can't make two Verses, and a Fool that makes four. If this Maxim pre∣vail'd over all the World, we should want a thousand fine Works, the read∣ing of which gives us a very delicate pleasure; but this Maxim respects Men of Business, rather than profess'd Poets.

However, those that are capacitated for such great Works, will not oppose the force of their Genius, for what I can say; and it is certain, that amongst Authors, those only will write few Verses, who find themselves curb'd more by their own natural Unaptness, than by my Reasons.

Excellent Poets are as requisite for our pleasure, as great Mathematicians for our use: But it is sufficient for us to be ac∣quainted with their Works, and not en∣gage our selves in the solitary Enthusiasm of the one, or to exhaust our Spirits in Meditation like the other.

Of all Poets, Comedians are most proper for the converse of the World: For they oblige themselves to paint naturally what passes in it, and to express after a lively manner the Thoughts, and Passions of Men.

How new an Air soever, may be given to old Thoughts, that sort of Poetry is very tedious which is fill'd with Simi∣lies of the Morning, the Sun, Moon, and Stars. Our Descriptions of a calm and a tempestuous Sea, represent nothing which the Antients have not done much better.

Now we have not only the same Ideas, but the very same Expressions, the same

Rhymes. I never hear of the Harmony of Birds, but I prepare my self for the murmuring of Brooks; the Shepherds are always lolling upon Fern, and you may sooner find a Grove without a Shade in its proper sight, than in our Verses.

This must necessarily at length be ve∣ry tedious; which cannot happen in Comedy, where with pleasure we see our own Actions drawn, and are touch'd with Paralel Motions.

A Discourse of Woods, Rivers, Mea∣dows, Fields, and Gardens, make but a very languishing Impression upon us, un∣less their Beauties be wholly new: But a discourse of Humanity, its Inclinations, Tendernesses, and Affections, finds some∣thing at the bottom of our Souls pre∣par'd to receive it; the same nature pro∣duces and receives 'em, and they are ea∣sily transfused from the Actors to the Spectators.

The Delicacy of Love sooths me, and its tenderness touches me; and as in Spain they love the best of any Country in the World, I am never weary of reading in their Authors Amorous Adventures. I am more affected with the Passion of one

of their Lovers, than I shou'd be with my own, were I yet capable of any. The very Imagination of those Amours raises in me certain motions for the Gallant, which I cou'd never feel for my self.

There is perhaps as much Witt in the other Writings of that Nation, as in ours; but it is a Wit that gives me no satisfacti∣on, except that of Cervantes in Don Quixot, which I cou'd read all my life without being disgusted one single mo∣ment.

Of all the Books I have ever read, Don Quixot is that, of which I shou'd be most ambitious to have been the Author. No∣thing in my Opinion, can contribute more to the forming in us a true relish of every thing. I wonder how Cervantes cou'd, as it were out of the Mouth of one of the greatest Fools in the World, shew him∣self maiter of all the Understanding and Knowledge imaginable. I admire the diversities of his Characters, which are of the most uncommon stamp in the World, and at the same time the most na∣tural.

Quevedo indeed appears a very Ingeni∣ous Author, but I esteem him more for wishing all other Books Burnt, when he

had read Don Quixot, than for having been able to read 'em.

I am not acquainted enough with Ita∣lian Verse, to taste their delicacy, or ad∣mire their Grace and Beauty; I meet with some Histories in that Tongue a∣bove all the Moderns, and some Treati∣ses of Politicks even above what the An∣tients have Written.

As for the Morality of the Italians, it is full of Conceipts, which savour more of a Fancy that aims to Sparkle, than of solid Sense founded on deep Reflections.

I am very curious of every thing that is fine in French, and am very much dis∣tasted at a thousand Authours, that seem only to have written for the Reputation of being Authors. I read not for the cre∣dit of having read abundance, and this is it which tyes me up to certain Books, where I'm assur'd to meet satisfaction.

Montagne's Essays, Malherbe's Poems, Corneille's Tragedies, and Voiture's Let∣ters have established to themselves, as it were, a Title to please me during Life.

Montagne has not the same success with others through their whole Course. As he particularly lays open Men, the Young and the Old are pleased to see

themselves in him by the resemblance of their Thoughts. The space intermedi∣ate to these Ages, takes 'em off from Na∣ture to other Professions; and then they find less in Montagne that fits 'em. The Art Military employs the General; Po∣liticks the States-man; Divinity the Church Man; and Law the Judge.

Montagne returns upon us, when Na∣ture has brought us back again to our selves; and the approach of Age, when we truly feel what we are, recalls the Prince as well as his meanest Subjects from his Engagements to his Function, to the more near and sensible interest of his Person.

I Write not this out of any impulse of vanity, which urges Men to make their Fancies publick. I instruct my self by what I say, and understand my self better by expressing the Notion I have form'd of my self, then I could by private thoughts, and Internal Reflecti∣ons.

The Idea a Man has of himself by simple attention to Internal Meditations, is always a little confus'd. The Image which is outwardly express'd is much more exact, and gives us much truer

Judgment of our selves, when it is again submitted to the Examination of the mind, after having been laid before our eyes.

Besides, the flattering Opinion of our own merit loses half its Charms, as soon as it comes into the light; and the complaisance of self Love insensibly va∣nishing leaves behind it only a disgust of its sweetness, and shame for a vanity as foolishly entertain'd as judiciously quit∣ted.

To equal Malherbe to the Antients, I find nothing finer then his own compo∣sitions. I wou'd only in his works re∣trench what is not worthy of him. It were injustice to postpone him to any one who∣ever. But he must bear with us, if for the honour of our own Judgments, we make him give place to himself.

Almost the same we may say of Cor∣neille. He wou'd be above all the Trage∣dians of Antiquity, if he were not in some of his pieces much below himself. He is so admirable in what is fine, that he take saway all patience for what is indiffe∣rent. What in him is not excellent, me∣thinks is naught; not that it is bad, but that it wants the perfection of the rest.

It is not enough for him to please us light∣ly, he's bound to touch us to the quick.

If he ravishes not our minds, they em∣ploy their utmost penetration, enviously to discover the difference between him and himself.

Some Authors may simply move us. But those are petty ticklings, pleasing e∣nough when we have nothing else to mind. Corneille prepares our minds for transports: If they be not elevated, they are left in a condition more uneasie than languour.

It is, I confess hard, always to Charm: Very hard at pleasure to raise a mind from its temper, to unhinge a Soul. But Corneille by having done it so often, has laid upon himself an Obligation to do it always. Let him expunge what is not noble enough for him, and he will leave us in a full admiration of those Beauties which no one can Parallel.

I should not excuse Voiture for a great many of his Letters, which he ought to have suppress'd, had himself been the Publisher: But he was like some Fathers, equally kind and prudent, who have a natural affection for their Children, and in secret cherish those that want worth,

thereby to avoid exposing their Judgments to the Publick by their Indulgence.

He might have shew'd all his Fondness to some of his Works; for there is some∣thing in 'em so unaccountably ingenious so polite, so fine, and so agreeable, that it takes away all taste of the Sales Attici' and the Roman ••rbanitas; ecclypses quite the Spirit and Wit of the Italians, and the Gallantry of the Spaniards.

We have in French some particular pieces of admirable Beauty; of which number is the Funerall Oration of the Queen of England by Monsieur de Meaux. There is a certain Spirit diffus'd through the whole discourse, which gives as great an opinion of the Author before he is known, as of his Work, after 'tis read. His Character is impress'd on all that he says; so that altho' I have never seen him, I pass easily from the admiration of his Discourse to that of his Person.

Nor am I less affected with the Abridg∣ment of General History done by the same Prelate. Such reach is there in his Re∣flections: The sense so sound, so great a purity of Reasoning! What a capacity of mind must he have in one Scheme to comprehend so great a variety

of Events, so far disjoyn'd both in time and place? What Judgment to recon∣cile 'em as he do's, and draw from 'em Consequences so advantagious to the true Religion?

How great soever the pleasure of Read∣ing is to me, yet that of Conversation will ever be more sensible. The acquain∣tance of the Ladies would afford the sweetest, if their Charms did not put us to too much pain to defend our selves from doing Homage to 'em. Yet this is a vio∣lence I rarely suffer; as my Age renders me unacceptable, my Experience makes me nice; and if they can't be pleas'd with me, I am by way of return as little sa∣tisfied with them.

There are some whose Merits make a considerable impression on my mind, but their Beauty has little influence on me. And if I am at any time surprized by it, I presently reduce my Passion to a plea∣sing reasonable Amity, that has none of the uneasinesses of Love.

Amongst Ladies, the most meritorious person with them, is the Lover; the next, the Confident of their Inclinations; the third, he that ingeniously sets off all that is amiable in 'em. If nothing will

win their hearts, we may at least gain their Favours by Complements; for next to the Lover, to whom all must give place, he pleases 'em most, that can make 'em please themselves best.

When you converse with 'em, avoid carefully all indifference, they are from their Souls Enemies to such coldness, or love your self, or flatter what they love, or paint 'em so as to plunge 'em still deep∣er in Love with themselves, For Love of some sort or other they must have, it is a Passion their Hearts are never unfur∣nish'd with. Direct a poor Heart how to employ it.

'Tis true, some of 'em can have esteem, and even tenderness too without Love; and others there are as worthy of our Confidence and Secrets as the most trusty of our Friends.

I know some that have no less Wit and Discretion, then Charms and Beauty: But those are Rarities, that Nature wan∣tonly bestows on the World, whether by design or caprice, and we can draw no Consequences in Favour of the Generall, from things so particular, and from Qua∣lities so uncommon. Women so extraor∣dinary seem to invade the Character of

Men; and perhaps it is a kind of revolt from their Sex, to shake off the Natural Conditions of it for the real Advantages of ours.

I confess I have formerly been more dif∣ficult in the choice of the Men, with whom I Convers'd, then at present I am; and I think my self not so much a Loser in point of Delicacy, as a gainer in point of Sense. I then sought for Men that cou'd please me in every thing, I now seek every thing that may please me in any Man.

A Man in all respects agreeable, is too great a Rarity, and it is no Wisdom to hunt for what we are hardly ever like to find. That Delicacy of pleasure, which our imagination paints to us, is what we seldom enjoy; the sickly nice Fancy gives us a disrelish of those things, which we during the whole course of our lives might obtain.

Not that, to say Truth, it is impossible to find such Jewels, but it is very rarely that Nature forms 'em, and that For∣tune favours us with 'em. My good Stars made me know one of this rank in France, and another of equal merit in a Forreign Country, who was the whole delight of my Life. Death has robbed me of this Trea∣sure,

and I can never think on that cruel day on which Monsieur Daubigny died, but I may with a sad and sensible regrett, say,

—Quem semper acerbum, Semper honoratum, sic dî voluistis, habebo.

Among your other measures for the con∣duct of Society, you must take care to apprehend the good things seperately; be∣ware to distinguish Solidity from Prolixi∣ty, good Nature from want of Sense, Science from Ridicule. You will find these Qualities promiscuously blended, not only among those Men whom you may at pleasure make choice of, or repudiate, but even among those whom your interest, or other tyes as obligatory, shall bind you to.

I have seen a Man of the gayest natural parts in the World, lay aside the happy facility of his Genious, and engage in Arguments of Science and Religion, in which he betray'd a ridiculous ignorance.

I know one of the most Learned Men in Europe, of whom one may Learn a Thousand things curious or profound, in whom nevertheless you will find an

impotence of Beleif in every thing extra∣ordinary, fabulous, or exceeding Credit.

That great Master of the Stage, to whom the Romans are more beholding for the Beauty of their thoughts, then to their own Wit or Vertue: Corneille who sufficiently discovers himself without na∣ming, speaks like an ordinary Man when he speaks for himself. He exhausts all his stock of thought for a Greek or a Ro∣man: A French-man or Spaniard abates his courage; and when he speaks for him, he is quite dispirited. He racks his ima∣gination for all that is noble to adorn his Old Heroe's, and you would say, that he debarr'd himself the advantage of his own proper Wealth, as, if he were not worthy the use of it.

If you know the World perfectly, you will find in it abundance of Men valuable for their Talent, and as contemptible for their failing. Expect not they shou'd al∣ways display their good Qualities, and dis∣creetly cover their Infirmities. You shall see 'em slight their Vertues, and fondly in∣dulge their defects. It rests upon your Judgment to make a better choice then themselves, and by your Address, to draw from 'em that worth, which they cou'd not easily communicate.

For these Ten Years, which I have spent in a Forreign Country, I have found as much pleasure, and been as happy in the enjoyment of Conversation, as if I had been all the time in France. I have met with Persons of as great Worth as Quality, whose Society has been the greatest comfort of my Life. I have known Men as witty as a∣ny I have ever seen, who have join'd the pleasure of their Friendship to that of their Company.

I have known some Ambassadors so delicate, that it seem'd to me a considerable loss, whenever the Duty of their Charac∣ter suspended the exercise of their more peculiar Excellencies.

I have formerly thought that there were no Man of Honour but in our Court; that the effeminacy of warmer Climates, and a kind of Barbarity in the colder, hinder'd the Natives from being rais'd to this pitch, except very rarely. But experience has at length convinc'd me, that there are such every where, and if I have not disco∣cover'd it soon enough, it is because it is difficult for a French-man under long use to relish any but those of his own Country.

Every Nation has it's excellence, with

a certain turn proper and peculiar to its Genious. My Judgement, too much wed∣ded to our own Air, rejected as faulty what was Foreign to us. Because we see 'em imitate us in the Fashion of things Exterior, we wou'd impose upon 'em the imitation of us, even in the Dress of Vertue too.

In truth, the grounds of any Essential Quality, are every where the same; but we endeavour to fit the Extrinsicks to our Humour, and those among us that pay the greatest deference to Reason, must have with it something to gratifie their Fan∣cies.

The difference which I find between the Air of us and other Nations, to speak ingenuously, is that ours is industriously af∣fected, and that of other Nations impres∣sed by Nature, as it were in an indelible Character.

In all my life, I have never known but two Persons that were universally tak∣ing, and those differently. The one had agreeable Qualities of all sorts; for the ordinary sort of Men, for the Humorists, and even for the Fantastical; he seem'd to have in his Nature, wherewith to please every body. The other had so ma∣ny

rare Accomplishments, that he might assure himself of esteem where-ever Ver∣tue was rever'd. The first cou'd insi∣nuate himself, and never fail'd to gain the Affections. The second was some∣what morose and fierce, but command∣ed esteem. To compleat this difference, a Man gave himself up with pleasure to the insinuations of the former, and sub∣mitted oftentimes with reluctance to the worth of the latter. I had a strict Friendship with 'em both, and can say, That I never saw anything in the one, but what was agreeable; or in the other, but what was valuable.

When I want the company of men of Conversation, I have recourse to the Learned; and if I meet with Men skilfull in polite Learning, I think my self no great loser by exchangeing of the delica∣cy of the present, for that of past Ages. But there are very few that have a true Judgment: Polite Learning is by most Mens management rendered very nause∣ous.

Of all the Men I ever knew, Antiqui∣ty is the most indebted to Mr. Waller, not only for the nicety and fineness of his apprehension, which he employs to dive,

even into the Soul of the Antients for their true meaning, but likewise for the Beau∣ty of his Fancy, with which he embel∣lishes their Thoughts too.

I have seen in few Years abundance of Criticks, and but few good Judges. I affect not that sort of Learned Men, that rack their Brains to restore a Reading, which is not mended by the Restitution. The whole Mystery of their Learning lyes in what we might as well be igno∣rant of, and what is worth the know∣ing, they never understand. They never imagine, never think nicely enough to taste the delicacy of the Sense, or the e∣legance of a Thought. They may serve well enough for Expositors to Gramma∣rians; they drudge the same way, and are made of the same Lump: but they can never rightly apprehend any Man of Sense among the Antients; such a Talent is diametrically opposite to theirs.

In History, they neither mind Men, nor matters; they lay the whole weight on Cronology; and for the date of a Con∣sul's Death, neglect the knowledge of his Character, or of the Transactions during his Consulate. Tully with them had been no more then a Compiler of Ha∣rangues,

or Caesar then a Scribler of Com∣mentaries. The Consul, the General slip by 'em without notice, the Spirit that ani∣mates their Works is unperceiv'd, and the principal Matters they treat of un∣known.

I value infinitely a Critic of Sense, if the expression may be allow'd. Such is the excellent Work of Machiavel upon the Decades of Livy; and such wou'd be the reflections of Monsieur de Rohan upon Cae∣sars Commentaries, had he peirc'd deeper into his Designs, and expos'd to a clearer light the secret Springs of his Conduct. Notwithstanding, I must own that he has equall'd, if not outreach'd the penetration of Machiavel in his remarks upon the cle∣mency of Caesar in the Civil Wars. But we may see that his own experience of such Wars, gave abundance of light to those judicious Observations.

After the Study of polite Learning (for which I have a more particular af∣fection,) I Love the Science of those great Lawyers, who might themselves be Legis∣lators; who reascend to that Original Ju∣stice that rules Humane Society, that know what liberty Nature permits in establisht Governments, and what for the

publick Good, easies private Men of the burthen of Politicks.

The Conversation of Mr. — affords these instructions with as much pleasure as profit. From Hobbs, that great geni∣ous of England, we may receive these shin∣ing Lights, yet not altogether so true; for somethings he mistakes, others he pushes too far.

Were Grotius yet alive, all things might be Learnt of that universally Learn'd Man, who is yet more valuable for his Rea∣sonings than for his Learning. Tho' he is Dead, his Writings still resolve the most important difficulties; and were Justice only regarded, they might be a standing rule to all Nations in points of War, and Peace. His Book, de Iure Bel∣li & Pacis, ought to be the chief Study of Soveraign Princes, their Ministers, and whoever else have any share in the Govern∣ment of the People.

Nay, even the knowledge of that Law which descends to the affairs of private Men, ought not to be slighted. But this is left to the care of the Gentlemen of the Gown, and denied to Princes as a thing below-them, tho' every moment of their Reign, they issue out Warrants that extend to

the Fortunes, Liberties, and Lives of their Subjects.

They are only entertain'd with Ha∣rangues about Valour, which is only an instrument of Destruction, and Discourses of Liberality, which is but a more regular method of squandering, unless it is boun∣ded by Justice. They ought indeed to suit the Vertues they preach to the neces∣sities of every ones temper: To infuse Liberality into the Covetous, to spur the unactive with the thirst of Glory, and curb, as much as is possible, the ambitious with the Reins of Justice. But amongst all the diversity of Tempers, Justice is still most requisite; for it keeps up order as well in him that does it, as in them to whom it is done.

This is not a constraint that lessens the power of a Prince, for in doing it to o∣thers, he learns to do it to himself, and so it is in him a voluntary act, tho' we neces∣sarily receive it from his power.

I read not in History of any Prince, bet∣ter Educated then Cyrus the great. They were not contented exactly to inform him what was Justice in all respects, but they made him put his Instructions in Practice as often as occasion was offer'd; so

that they did at the same time imprint the notions of it on his Mind, and esta∣blish an habitual Justice in his Soul.

The Education of Alexander was of somewhat too large an extent: He was Taught the knowledge of every thing in Nature, but himself. His ambition af∣terwards diffus'd it self as far as his Learn∣ing; and knowing all, he grew desirous to Conquer all. But he had little or no method in his Conquests, and abundance of irregularity in his Life for want of knowing what he owed to the publick, to private Men, and to himself.

No Men Whatsoever can take too ef∣fectual a care to make themselves just, for they have naturally too strong a Biass the contrary way.

Justice is the foundation and the Fence of all Society; without it we should still be Strowlers, and Vagabonds; our impe∣tuosity would soon reduce us to our pri∣mitive confusion, out of which we are happily extricated, yet instead of chear∣fully acknowledging the benefit, we find a regret to submit to that happy Subjecti∣on it keeps us in, and still long after that Fatall Liberty which would be the unhap∣piness of our Lives.

When the Scriptures tell us that the Just are few, it means not in my Opini∣on, that Men are not yet inclin'd to good Works. But it seems to intimate how little an Inclination they have to 'em out of a principle of Justice.

Indeed were Mens good Actions ex∣amined, they would most of em be found to have their source from the considera∣tion of some other Vertues. Bounty, Friend∣shi••, and Benevolence are the ordinary Spring•• from whence they flow: Chari∣ty supplies our Neighbours wants; Li∣berality bestows, and Generosity obliges. Justice which ought to partake in all, is laid aside as burthensome; and necessi∣ty alone gives it a share in our Actions.

Nature endeavours to find a kind of self complaisance in these first qualities, where we act upon pleasing Motives: But in this she finds a secret violence, where anothers Right extorts from us what we owe, and we only acquit our selves of our own Obligations, not lay any upon them by our beneficence.

It is a secret aversion to Justice that makes us fonder of giving than returning, of obliging than acknowledging. Thus we see the most liberal, generous Men

are not usually the most Just. Justice in∣cludes a regularity that bridles 'em, as being founded on a constant method of Reason, oppos'd to those natural impulses, which are the Hinges upon which libe∣rality almost always moves.

There is something, I know not what, heroical in great Liberality, as well as in great Valour; and there is a great Ana∣logy between those two Vertues, the one raises the Soul above the Consideration of Wealth, as the other beyond the manage∣ment and desire of Life. But with all these gay and generous Motives, without good Conduct, the one becomes ruinous, and the other Fatal.

Those whom cross accidents of Fortune have undone, are pityed by all the World, because it is a misfortune the Conditions of Humanity submit us to: But those that are reduc'd to Misery by vain profusion, raise more contempt than commiseration; because it is the Issue of a peculiar Folly, from which every Man has the good con∣ceipt to think himself exempt.

But besides Nature is always a sufferer little by compassion, and to relieve her self of an uneasie thought, She represents to her self the Folly of the Prodigall, ra∣ther

than rest on the prospect of the Beg∣gar. All things consider'd, it is enough for private Men to be Benefactors.

As this ought not to be meerly through a softness of Nature which lukewarmly lets go what it has not its strength to keep; I despise the weakness which we call ill plac'd Bounty, and hate no less the vanity of those that never do a kindness but for the pleasure of boasting of it.

There are not so many ungratefull Men, as there are thought to be; because there are not so many generous Men as we imagin. He that in silence suppresses a favour receiv'd is an unthankful Fellow, that deserv'd it not. But he that publish∣es one that he has done, turns it to an Injury, shewing to your disgrace the ne∣cessity you had of him.

I would have an honest Man cautious of receiving obligations, and sensible of 'em when receiv'd: I would have him that obliges satisfyed with the generosity of the Action, and not think of any ac∣knowledgement from the Party oblig'd. When a return is expected, it is no long∣er liberality; it is a sort of Trade, which the spirit of Interest wou'd introduce in∣to Favours.

'Tis true, there are some persons in whose nature ingratitude is rooted: Ingra∣titude is the main ingredient in their com∣position; with that their Heart their Soul, and every part is season'd: Then make no returns to Love, not because they are hard and insensible, but because they are ingratefull.

This ingratitude of the Heart is of all the kinds of it the most opposite to Hu∣manity. For a generous Man may be sometimes necessitated to banish the thoughts of a past kindness, to ease himself of the trouble that some Obligations are apt to give. But Friendship knitts, not fetters us together; and without some extraordinary violence to Nature, it is impossible to resist its tender engaging Charms.

The Ingratitude of the Soul is a Na∣tural indisposition to acknowledge a Ser∣vice, even without regard to Interest. Avarice may sometimes suppress an Ob∣ligation, to avoid the expence of a return. But pure Ingratitude is without farther design in it self averse to all acknow∣ledgements.

There is another sort of Ingratitude founded on a Conceipt of our own worth;

our Vanity mistakes services done us, for dues paid to us.

The ambition of Liberty has likewise its ingratitude as well as Vanity. The only subjection it allows is to the Laws; out of abhorrence of a dependance, it hates the memory of Obligations that show a superiority in the Benefactor. This makes Republicans ingratefull. They think that a Diminution of their liberty, which others impute to their Ingratitude.

Brutus thought it meritorious to sacri∣fice his Obligations to his liberty. All the kindnesses heap'd on him were converted to Injuries, when he began to look upon 'em as Fetters. He could kill a Bene∣factor that aim'd to be his Master. An abominable Villany amongst the Patrons of gratitude. An admirable vertue with the Sticklers for liberty.

As there are Men purely ingratefull, out of a meer sense of ingratitude, so there are some meerly thankful out of a pure sense of thankfulness. Their Hearts are sensible not only of good turns, but even of good will too; and have of themselves a propensity to acknowledge all manner of Obligations.

There is as great a diversity of thanks,

as of ingratitude; there are some poor Spi∣rits that think themselves oblig'd by eve∣ry thing, as well as vain Humours that do so by nothing.

If self-conceipt has its proud ingrates, distrust of Merit has its weak thank∣full ones, that take common Justice for an Obligation.

This diffidence of themselves gives 'em an inclination to subjection, and that obliges them to make another sort of acknowledg∣ment. These Persons as they are encum∣ber'd with liberty, and asham'd of ser∣vitude, raise up chimerical Obligations, to give an honourable colour to their sub∣mission.

I will not reckon among the grateful, those poor wretches that think themselves oblig'd to us for not hurting 'em. They are not only Slaves, but Slaves that have not the Courage to hope well. To these transported Wretches all treatment that is not rigourous is favourable, and every thing that is not an injury, they think a kindness.

I shall only now consider Court Ac∣knowledgments, which have not so much respect to the past, as design upon the fu∣ture. They acknowledge obligations to

all that are in any post to oblige; and by an affected gratitude for favours never done insinuate themselves into those, in whose power it is to do 'em, and indus∣triously put themselves in the way of 'em. This trick of thanks as it is un∣doubtedly no Vertue, so neither is it a vice but cunning, which it is lawful to serve our selves with, and guard our selves from.

The great ones in requital have a trick as artificial to excuse themselves from doing kindnesses, as the Courtiers can have to engage 'em to it. They re∣proach men with Services never done, and complain of ingratitude, tho' they have hardly ever obliged any one, to draw from hence a specious pretence to oblige no body.

But let this affected Gratitude, and these mysterious Complaints of Ingrati∣tude pass; let us see what is to be wish'd in the pretences to, and the di∣stribution of Benefits. I cou'd wish in the Pretenders more merit than Address, and in the Disposers more Generosity than Ofsentation.

Justice respects every thing in the distribution of Favours: It regulates the

liberality of the Donour, and weighs the merit of the Receiver.

Generosity thus circumstantiated is an admirable Vertue: not so, it is the moti∣on of a Soul truly noble, but ill govern'd; or of a wild Ostentatious Humour, that thinks Reason a clogg to it.

There are so many things to be consi∣der'd in the distribution of kindnesses, that the safest way is always to observe strict Justice, and consult Reason equally about those we make the Objects of 'em. But even among those that intend strict Justice, how many are misguided by their tempers to reward or punish? When we give way to Insinuation, and yield to Complement, Self-Love represents to us as Justice a Lavishness to them that flatter us; and we reward 'em for the Artifice they use to deceive our Judg∣ments, and prevail upon the imbecility of our Wills.

They cheat themselves yet more easily, that mistake a morose Temper for an in∣clination to Justice. The itch of punish∣ing is ingenious in 'em to set an ill gloss upon every thing. Pleasure with them is Vice, and Error a Crime. A man must divest himself of Humanity to escape

their Rigour. Misled by a false Notion of Vertue, they think they chastise Cri∣minals, while they torment the Misera∣ble.

If Justice appoints a great Punishment, (which is sometimes necessary) it is pro∣portion'd to some great Crime, but is never harsh or rigorous. Severity and Rigour are no part of it, but spring from the humour of those persons that execute it. As these sorts of Punishments flow from Justice without rigour, so likewise does Pardon in some cases rather then from Clemency. To pardon Faults of Error is but Justice to the failings of our Nature.

I might proceed to several other parti∣culars of Justice, but it is now high time to think of Religion, which ought to be our principal care.

After the manner that I have liv'd in the World, People will not easily believe that I am very solicitous about Salvation. Yet I can safely aver, that no man e're thought of the next World with more Application than my self. 'Tis stupidity to set up our Rest in a Life that may ter∣minate every moment.

Meer Curiosity will make us inquisi∣tive to know what shall become of us af∣ter our Death. We are too dear to our selves to agree to the irrecoverable loss of our selves. Self Love secretly opposes the Notion of annihilation. We are desirous to exist always, and the Soul as it is inter∣ess'd in its own conversation, improves this desire we have of receiving some light into a thing so obscure.

Yet the Body finding by certain expe∣rience that it must die, and unwilling to die alone seeks reasons to involve the Soul in one common State. But the Soul which knows its Actions are independant of those Organs, is sensible that it can sub∣sist without 'em. I have called all the light I could both from the Antients and Moderns to assist my reflections to dive into so dark a matter: I have read all that has been Written on the Immorta∣lity of the Soul, and after I have done it with all my attention possible, the clear∣est Proof that I find of the Eternity of my Soul, is my own perpetual desire that it may be so.

I wish I had never read Mousieur Des∣cartes's Meditations: The great reputa∣tion of that excellent Man among us gave

me some hope of finding that demon∣stration he promises; but there appears to me rather probability then certainty in his arguments; and how desirous soever I was to be convinc'd by his Reasons, all that I can do in his fa∣vour or my own, is to rest where I was before.

I leave the Study of Metaphysicks to make an enquiry into Religion, and looking a Book upon that Antiquity of which I am so fond, I find among the Greeks and Romans, nothing more then a Superstitious Idolatrous Worship, or politick humane contrivances establish'd for the Government of Men. It is not difficult for me to see the advantages of the Christian Religion over all the rest; and submitting my self the best I can with reverence to the Belief of its Misteries, I leave my Reason to tast with pleasure the purest, and most perfect Morality in the World.

Amidst the diversity of Beleifs that divide Christianity, the true Catholick engages me as well by my own free Election, were I yet to choose, as by the habitual Impression it has long since made upon me.

What we now call Religion is indeed but a difference in Religion, and not a different Religion. I rejoyce that my Faith is more sound then a Here∣ticks; yet instead of Hating him for this difference, I Love him because he agree's with me in the Fundamentals. The means at length to agree in the whole, is always to commuicate in something. A desire of Reunion can ne∣ver be inspir'd till the enmity that arises from division be suppress'd. Men may seek one another as sociable, but they never join with their Enemies.

Besides, the difference of Doctrine in some points affected in every Sect, I re∣mark, as it were, a sort of particular Spi∣rit that distinguishes 'em. The Catho∣lick tends particularly to the love of God, and good Works. We look upon this first Being, as an Object soveraignly ami∣able, and tender Souls are touch'd with the sweet and agreeable impressions it makes on 'em.

Good Works follow necessarily from this Principle; for Love once receiv'd within, actuates us without, and puts us upon endeavouring all we can to please him we love. All we have to fear in this

case is, lest the source of this Love, the Heart, should be corrupted by the mixture of any Passion altogather humane.

It is likewise to be feared, that instead of obeying the Ordinance of God, we should frame methods of serving him ac∣cording to our own Fancies. But if this love be real and pure, nothing in the world yields that true sweetness and sa∣tisfaction.

The inward joy of devout Souls rises from a secret assurance they have of be∣ing agreeable to God; and the true Mor∣tifications, and holy Austerities are no∣thing else but pious Sacrifices of them∣selves.

The Reformed Religion divests men of all confidence in merit. The Opinion of Predestination, which it dares not forgo, leaves the Mind languid, unmov'd, with∣out Affection, under prerence of waiting with submission for the Will of Heaven. It is Content barely to obey, and seeks not to please; and in a set common Worship, makes God the Object rather of their Re∣gularity than Love.

The Calvinists abstract from Religion every thing that appears humane, to pre∣serve its Purity: but in endeavouring to

debar Man of what is humane, they fre∣quently retrench too much of what is address'd to God.

Their dislike of our Ceremonies, makes 'em industrious to refine upon us. Yet when they have attain'd to this dry nak∣ed Purity, they have not so much De∣votion. Those that are pious among 'em, raise up a private Spirit, which they think inspir'd; so much dissatisfied are they with a Formality that to them seems too common.

There are in matters of Worship two sorts of Humours. The one wou'd be always adding to, and the other always retrenching what is established. In the first, there is a hazard of giving too much out-side to Religion, and covering it with so many Exteriors, that the real ground of it cannot be seen through 'em. In the other, the danger is least after having cut off all that appears su∣perfluous, Religion it self should be pared.

Tho' the Catholicks have abundance of Ceremonies, yet that hinders not but that men of understanding may see well enough through 'em.

The Reform'd use too little, and their ordinary Worship is not sufficiently di∣stinguish'd from the common Occupa∣tions of Life. In places where it is not tolerated, the difficulty heightens their disgust, and the Dispute raises a warmth that animates 'em. Where it rules, it produces only an exact Compliance, as the Civil Government, or any other Ob∣ligation might do.

Good manners among the Huguenots are only the effects of their Faith, and the Subjects of their Belief. We are a∣greed on both sides, that every Christi∣an is bound to Beleive, and live aright, but our ways of expressing it differ: they say that good Works without Faith are but Dead Works, and we, that Faith without good Works is but Dead Faith.

They that began the Reformation ac∣cused us of Corruption and Vice; and we now object against them our good Works.

Those that reproach'd us with ill li∣ving, will now take no other advan∣tage of us then that of an imaginary purer Faith. We allow the necessity of Belief, but Charity was commanded by

Jesus Christ, and the Doctrine of his Pre∣cepts is much more plain then that of his Misteries. Our Faith is obscure, but our Law is very clearly expressed. The necessary points of our Faith are above the apprehension of abundance of Men, but those of our Duty are suit∣ted to the capacities of all the World. In a word, God has given us light e∣nough to do well; and we would serve with it our curiosity of knowing too much; and instead of acquiescing in what he is pleased to discover to us, we wou'd pry into what he has con∣ceal'd from us.

I know that the contemplation of Hea∣venly things does sometimes happily dis∣engage us from the World: But it is frequently no more then meer specula∣tion, and the fruit of a vice very Na∣tural to Mankind.

The immoderate Ambition of knowledge extends it self beyond Nature even to in∣quire into what is most misterious in its Author, not so much out of a design to adore him, as out of a vain curiosity of knowing all things.

This vice is close followed by another: curiosity breeds presumption, and we as

boldly define, as we rashly inquire, we erect a Science of those things that are to us altogether inconceiveable. So depravedly do we use the will and understanding. We proudly aspire to know every thing and cannot; we may Religiously observe eve∣ry thing and will not: let us be just, cha∣ritable, and patient according to the principles of our Religion, and we shall know and observe all together.

I leave it to our Doctors to refute the errours of the Calvinists, 'tis enough for me to be perswaded that our opin∣ions are the sounder. But if rightly apprehended, I dare say the Spirit of both Religions is differently grounded on good Principles; only one more extends the exercise of good Works; with the other, the cautions to avoid Evill, take deeper root.

The Catholick with an active resolu∣tion, and Loving industry is perpetually seeking some new way of pleasing God. The Hugenot with all circumspection and respect dares not venture beyond a known Precept, for fear by imaginary novelties of giving too much sway to his Fancy.

To be always disputing points of Do∣ctrine, is not the means to reunite us.

Arguments are inexhaustible, and the con∣troversie will last as long as there are Men to manage it. But if we wou'd leave these disputes, that only serve to exasperate us, and return without passion to that Spirit that distinguishes us. I think it not impossible to find some ge∣neral in which we may agree.

Let us Catholiques bridle the restless Zeal, that makes us act a little too much of our own Heads. Let the Hu∣guenots quit a little their unactive regula∣rity, and animate their languour with∣out departing from their submission to Providence. Let us do somthing in condescention to them, that they may return as much in complaisance to us. Then without thinking of Free will, or Predestination, we shall frame insens∣ibly a true rule for our actions, which will be follow'd by that of our opinions.

If we come to a reconciliation of wills upon the good conduct of Life, it will soon produce a good understanding in doctrine. Let us do what we can to joyn in good works. and we shall not long be of separate Faiths.

I conclude from the little that has been said, that it is an ill Method of converting Men, to Attack 'em by af∣fronting

their Judgments. A Man de∣fends his Notions either as truth, or as his own; and however it be, he raises a hundred objections against the Person that wou'd convince him.

Nature has given to every one his pro∣per Sense, and seems to have engag'd him to it by a secret fond Iudulgence, He can submit to the will of another, tho' he be free: he can own himself infe∣riour in courage and Vertue; but to con∣fess a submission to another Mans Sense, is what he is Scandaliz'd at: And he is most naturally averse to acknowledge a Superi∣ority of Reason in any one whomsoever.

The chief advantage of humanity is to be born reasonable, and to hear ano∣ther pretend more of it then our selves gives us the greatest jealousies. If we Consult the conversions of Antient Times, we shall find that their Souls were mov'd, but their Understandings very little con∣vinc'd. The first disposition to receive the truths of Christianity is formed in the Heart.

Things purely Natural, the Mind may conceive, and it's knowledge Springs from it's Relation to the Object. With supernatural the Soul is taken, it is af∣fected, it adheres, and unites it self,

without ever comprehending 'em.

Heaven has better prepar'd our Hearts for the impressions of grace, then our Understandings for illumination. It's immensity confounds our narrow Intel∣lects. It's bounty agrees better with our Love. There is I know not what within us that secretly pleads for a God, which we cannot comprehend, and hence it is that to succeed in the con∣version of Men, we must settle a plea∣sing commerce with 'em, by means of which we may inspire 'em with the same movements: For in disputes of Religion the Mind in vain strains it self to make us see, what we see but too much. In a sweet and pious familia∣rity it is easie for the Soul to infuse the same sentiments.

To consider well the Christian Reli∣gion wou'd make one think, that God had depriv'd it of the light of our minds, that it might turn more upon the mo∣tions of our Hearts. To Love God and our Neighbour includes all, says St. Paul. And what is this, but to require a dis∣position of Heart as well towards God as Man? It is to oblige us to do out of a principle of Love, what the civil

Government enjoyns by rigorous Laws, and morality requires by a severe order of Reason.

Charity makes us relieve and succour, while Justice forbids us to do wrong. The one with difficulty hinders opposition, the other with pleasure procures Relief.

Those that have the true Notions that our Religion inspires, can't be unfaith∣full to a Friend or ungrateful to a Be∣nefactor. With these good sentiments a Heart innocently Loves these objects God has made amiable, and the most in∣nocent of our Love is the most Charm∣ing and tender.

Look upon Man in a civil Society, if Justice be necessary to him, yet 'tis a restraint. In the State of Nature, his liberty will have something of Bar∣barity in it; and if he govern himself by morality, his reason is austere. All other Religions raise in our Minds tempe∣stuous Thoughts, and troublesome Pas∣sions. They erect against Nature su∣perstitious Fears, and a furious Zeal: sometimes to the Sacrificing our Child∣ren, like Agamemnon, at other times to the devoting our selves, like Decius. Only the Christian Religion composes

all our inquietudes; softens all our Feirce∣ness; sets all our tender movements a going, not only for our Friends and Neighbours, but for the indifferent, and even for our Enemies.

This is the end of the Christian Religion, and this was once the pra∣ctice of it. If it be otherwise now, it is because we have let it lose its in∣fluence on our Hearts, and given way to the Encroachments of our Imagina∣tions. Hence springs the division of our minds about Faith, instead of the Union of our wills in good Works: so that what ought to be a band of Charity betwixt Men, is now be∣come the Subject of their quarrells, their jealousies, and their ill Nature.

From this diversity of Opinions has arisen that of Parties, and the adhe∣rence to Parties has caused Revolts and Wars. Many Thousands have Died in disputing the manner of take∣ing the Sacrament, which they have agreed must be taken. This mischeif will last till Religion quits the curiosity of our Minds for the tenderness of our Hearts, and discourag'd by the Foolish pre∣sumption of our enquiries, shall return to the sweet motions of our Love. 〈18 pages missing〉〈18 pages missing〉

him capable of perceiving his Folly, and by this means to kill himself out of meer shame and despair.

The greatest and most prudent of the Goddesses favours scandalous Passions, and lends her assistance to carry on a Criminal Amour.

The same Goddess employs all sorts of Artifice to destroy a small hand-full of innocent People, who by no means de∣served her indignation.

She thought it not sufficient to em∣ploy her power and that of the other Gods, whom she solicited, to ruine Aeneas, but even corrupts the God of sleep to cast Palinurus into a Slumber, who so order∣ed affairs, that by his Treachery the poor Pilot dropt into the Sea, and there pe∣rished.

There is not one of these Gods in these Poems that does not bring the greatest mis∣fortunes upon Men, and set them on the most Fatal attempts. Nothing is so Villain∣ous here below, which is not executed by their Order, or authoriz'd by their Example, And this is one of the things that principally contributed to give Birth to the Sect of the Epicureans, and after∣wards to support it.

Epicurus, Lucretius, and Petronius wou'd rather make their Gods lazy, and enjoying their Immortal Nature in an uninterrupted tranquility, than see them active, and cruelly employ'd to dis∣turb our Repose.

Nay, Epicurus by doing so, pretended he show'd his great respect for the Gods; and from hence proceeded that saying which Bacon so much admire. Non De∣os vulgi negare profanum, sed vulgi Opinio∣nem Diis applicare profanum.

Now I don't mean by this, that we are oblig'd to discard the Gods out of our works, and much less from those of Poetry, where they seem to enter more Naturally than any where else. A Iove principium Musae. I am for introducing them as much as any man, but then I wou'd have them bring their Wisdom, Justice, and Clemency along with them, and not appear, as we generally make them, like a pack of Impostors and Assassins. I wou'd have them come with a conductto regulate all matters, and not in a disorder to confound every thing.

Perhaps it may be reply'd, that these extravagancies ought only to pass for Fables and Fictions, which belong to the

jurisdiction of Poetry. But I wou'd fain know what Art and Science in the World has the power to exclude good Sense? If we need only write in Verse to be priviledged in all extravagancies, for my part I wou'd never advise any Man to meddle with Prose, where he must im∣mediately be pointed at for a Coxcomb, if he leaves good Sense and Reason ne∣ver so little behind him.

I wonder extreamly that the Anti∣ent Poets who were so scrupulous to pre∣serve probability in Actions purely Hu∣man; violated it after so abominable a manner when they come to recount the Actions of the Gods. Even those who have spoken of their Nature more sober∣ly than the rest, cou'd not forbear to speak extravagantly of their Conduct.

When they establish their Being, and their Attributes, they make them Im∣mortal, Infinite, Almighty, Perfectly wise, and Perfectly good. But at the very mo∣ment they set them a working, there is no weakness to which they don't subject them; there is no folly or wickedness which they don't make them commit.

We have two common sayings, which appear to be directly opposite to one ano∣ther,

and yet I look upon both to be true. The one is, that Poetry is the Language of the Gods; the other, that there is not such a Fool in Nature as a Poet.

Poetry that expresses with force and vi∣gour those impetuous Passions that disturb Mankind, that Paints the Wonders of the Universe in lively expressions, does elevate things purely Natural, as it were above Nature, by the sublimity of its Thoughts, and the magnificence of its Discourses, which may justly enough be called the Language of the Gods.

But when Poets come once to quit this noble Field of Passions and Wonders, to speak of the Gods, they abandon them∣selves to the caprice of their own Imagi∣nation, in matters which they do not un∣derstand, and their Heat having no just I∣deas to govern it, instead of making them∣selves, as they vainly believe, wholly di∣vine, they are in truth the most extrava∣gant Sots in the World. It will be no dif∣ficult matter to be perswaded of the truth of this Assertion, if we consider that this absurd and fabulous Theology, is equally contrary to all Notions of Religion, and all the Principles of good Sense.

There have been some Philosophers that

have founded Religion upon that Know∣ledge which Men may have of the Di∣vinity by their Natural reason. There have been Law givers too that have sti∣led themselves the Interpreters of the will of Heaven, to establish a Religious Worship without any concurrence of Reason. But to make, as the Poets have done, a perpetual Commerce, a familiar Society, and if I may use the expression, a mixture or hotch potch of Men and Gods, against Religion and Reason, is certainly the boldest, and perhaps the most unaccountable thing that ever was.

It remains for us to know, whether the Character of a Poem has virtue to rectifie that of impiety and folly. Now, as I take it, we don't give so much pow∣er to the secret force of any Charm. That which is wicked, is wicked for good and all; that which is extravagant can be made good Sense on no respect.

As for the Reputation of the Poet, it rectifies nothing any more than the Cha∣racter of the Poem does. Discernment is a Slave to no body. That which is ef∣fectually bad, is not a jot the better for being found in the most celebrated Author: And that which is just and solid, is ne∣ver

the worse for coming from an indiffe∣rent hand.

Amongst a hundred fine and lofty thoughts, a good Judge will soon discover an extravagant one, which a great Genius threw out when it was warm, and which too strong an imagination was produced in defiance of good; On the other hand, in the course of an infinite number of extravagant things, this same Judge will admire certain Beauties, where the Spirit in spight of its impetuosity was just and regular.

The elevation of Homer and his other noble Qualities, don't hinder me from tak∣ing notice of the false Character of his Gods: And that agreeable and judicious equality of Virgil, that pleases all Learn'd Men, does not conceal from me the least defects of his Aeneis.

If amongst so many noble things which affect me in Homer and Virgil, I cannot for∣bear to remark what is defective in them; yet amongst those passages that displease me in Lucan either for being too flat, or weary me for being too far carried on, I cannot forbear to please my self in consi∣dering the just and true grandeur of his Heroes. I endeavour to relish every word

in him, when he expresses the secret move∣ments of Caesar at the discovery of Pom∣pey's Head; and nothing escapes me in that inimitable Discourse of Labienus and Cato, where they debate whether they shall consult the Oracle of Iupiter, Am∣mon, to know the destiny of the Com∣mon-Wealth.

If all the ancient Poets had spoken as worthily of the Oracles of their Gods, I should make no scruple to prefer them to the Divines and Philosophers of our time, and 'tis a passage that may serve for an Ex∣ample in this matter to all succeeding Poets

One may see in the concourse of so ma∣ny People that came to consult the Oracle of Ammon, what effects a publick Opini∣on can produce, where Zeal and Supersti∣tion are mingled together.

One may see in Labienus a pious sen∣sible Man, who to his respect for the Gods, unites the consideration and esteem we ought to preserve for true Virtue in good Men.

Cato is a religious severe Philosopher, weaned from all vulgar Opinions, who en∣tertains those lofty thoughts of the Gods, which pure undebauched Reason and a truly elevated Wisdom can attain to.

Every thing here is Poetical, every thing is consonant to Sense and Truth; it is not Poetical by the ridiculous Air of a Fiction, or by the extravagance of an Hyperbole, but by the daring greatness and Majesty of the Language, and by the noble elevation of the Discourse. 'Tis thus that Poetry is the Language of the Gods, and that Poets are wise. And 'tis so much the greater wonder to find it in Lucan, because it is neither to be met in Homer or Virgil.