your glorious atchievements of warriors and of heroes; he who had' fpread abroad the exploits of Henry IV. of Louis XIV, and Louis XV. fhould debafe the glory of his pen to immortalize the name of a fimple reptile!. -But, alas! for the immortal honour which you have given to the fnail, you thunder down deftruction upon the poor polypus: in one hand the hammer to deftroy, in the other the trowel to build up again.-Perhaps, Sir, you never faw a polypus: but whether you have or not is of no great confequence, as the inventive powers of your imagination are well known to every one of readers.For my part, when I read any Author, if he has found the fecret to amufe me, I think it is all I can afk of him.—Do you call making us laugh, deceiving us? What is the end of truth," if not to make us happy, and are we not happy when we are laughing? Let us fuppofe then, for a moment, that an Author would make us merry, but in fo doing fhould lead us into uncertainties would not this uncertainty be even preferable to that rigid seriousness which truth expects? Moft certainly for the prefent age, as it is the moft penfive, fo is it the moft fplenetic of all ages.-This, if I mistake not, is the prefent fyftem of all your works. You write to make us merry: it is fo good of you, that I wish you would come into England, that we might laugh and grow fat, together.' The next attack made by our Author, in the fame pleasant manner, is upon those who have afferted, as a principle of nature, That the promiscuous affemblage of their molecules might produce as many organized beings, as the conftant fucceffion of generations. Rhedi, Malphighi, Valefnieri, Swammerdam, Hervey, Willis, &c. all your labours have been in vain. Nature is no longer fubject to any rule. This celebrated naturalift (viz. M. de Buffon) has thrown back the origin of every being into the dark abyfs of chaos and confufion. And you, mott excellent philofopher of St. Flour, may amufe yourself at my expence, because you and your celebrated countryman agree for once in opinion.' He then proceeds to that which is the main fubject of the work-the formation of mountains; with the anfwers to thofe objections which V has urged against the univerfality of the deluge, and the truth of the Mofaic account, in reference to this catastrophe. We are forry that our limits do not admit of our inferting many more fpecimens of the Author's lively and agreeable manner of obviating thefe difficulties. He attacks V with great fuccefs, in his own vein, and laughs away thofe objections, which the ableft philofophers have undertaken more seriously to refute. He concludes- But as there is manifeftly a time for all things, may we not expect that one time or other you D you will become a ftrong fectator for fhells and foffils? And more particularly fo, when you are brought to believe, without prejudice, what your own eyes muft fhew you, and without that envy which embitters your enjoyment, at the happy acquired fame of other Authors. Till then it is quite unneceffary for you to feek for fresh oyfters on the top of the great mountain St. Bernard. I will venture my life you will not find any, Nor will it answer your expectation to fend one of your poftilions, on an old coach horse, to gallop over the ridges of the highest mountains round about your house, in search of petrifactions. Let me then perfuade you to believe that the fea has coyered our earth. Many perfons of merit, very learned, and very good Chriftians, do no longer doubt of it, or even of the diminution of the waters of the fea, than they doubt of the growth of the grafs in the field or the fhining of the fun at noon day. To launch out into the fublime paths of natural hiftory, to acquaint ourselves with the ftructure of our terreftrial globe, to read in the book of nature the different laws by which the moves, to learn the influence which time makes on the perifhable and unstable state of things, improves us more than whole centuries paffed over old abstrufe authors within the limits of a ftudy. But he, who would launch out into thefe flowery paths of truth must first learn to doubt. Unbiaffed by the prejudices of any fyftem, he should let his mind be opened unto every one, but fhould judge of them all by the unvariable touch-ftone of nature and her works.' ART. VII. Voltaire in the Shades; or Dialogues on the Deifical Controverfy. 8vo. 2 s. 6. fewed. Pearch. 1770. WE E have had repeated opportunities, in the courfe of our work, of paying a tribute of respect to the advocates for I Chriftianity. While infidelity has renewed and varied its attacks by all the arts of fophiftry and declamation, the spirit of free enquiry has been promoted, the objections against natural and revealed religion have been thoroughly examined, and the evidences of both illuftrated and established beyond all reafonable difpute. The writings on the one fide have been folid and judicious; thofe on the other generally flimfy and specious; calculated rather to amuse than to convince: and by this means to perplex and mislead the unthinking. They have abounded more with declamatiom than argument, and furnished a light kind of reading, which requires little attention and labour. This circumftance has greatly contributed to render them acceptable to thofe who have, perhaps, neither inclination nor leifure leifure for perufing works of judgment and erudition.. -The poifon has been infenfibly conveyed, whilft indolence or love of pleasure has prevented the young and diffipated from applying to the neceffary antidotes, which the more folid and elaborate defences of Chriftianity have contained. The work before us, which the moft judicious may peruse with pleasure, is particularly adapted to this clafs of readers.The form of dialogue, under which the Author has chofen to convey his fentiments, the variety and characters of the speakers, and the scene of their debate, all concur to intereft the attention, even of the most volatile and lively. The plan is well chofen; infidels, so various and in fome cafes fo contradictory to cach other, in regard to the principles upon which they controvert the obligations and evidences of religion, are represented as falling out among themselves and thereby betraying the weaknefs of their own caufe.-The chief objections against Chriftianity are illuftrated and obviated in an easy and familiar manner; the Author's ftyle is agreeable and spirited; and, upon the whole, there is reafon to apprehend, that these dialogues will be more popular and more ufeful than many other treatifes, written with the fame laudable view, of defeating the designs of irreligious writers. The characters of the principal difputants are well supported: -In Voltaire we fee that latitude of fentiment, and in Rouffeau, that self-esteem and vain confidence which characterize their respective writings. Julian and Porphyry are pertinently introduced to bear their involuntary teftimony to the truth of those facts on which Chriftianity depends. St. Auguftine ferves as as an inftructive example of the divine efficacy of the Chriftian morals. Sterne and Swift are more fufpicious characters; but the Author candidly gives them an opportunity of vindicating their real principles.-Thefe are the principal speakers: The fentiments, however, of other moderns, who have either openly profeffed themselves patrons of infidelity or more fecretly ferved that cause, are occafionally examined and expofed. The Author's apology to the public we have in the beginning of his introduction, viz. The confidence of philofophical fuperiority which the infidel writers affume, leaves a ftrong impreffion on young minds. Conscious of this impreffion, but unwilling to build his belief on any other foundation than the refult of his own enquiries, the Author of the following pages, at an early time of life, refolved on a careful perufal and a candid examination of the arguments of thofe modern philofophers who arrogate to themfelves the honourable title of Free-thinkers. He read their writings; and, amazed fometimes at their fophiftry, and some times at the falfhood of their affertions, he gave vent to the warmth warmth of a youthful indignation, and committed his remarks to paper. These were the firft fketches of the Dialogues which are now offered to the public. If it should be faid that fome Names, refpectable in the world of letters, are treated with too much freedom, he would reply, that in preparing these sheets for the prefs, he was unwilling to reftrain the indignation which he felt at twenty against the sophistry, that would deftroy the deareft hope of his heart, the hope of yet meeting the deceased friend in another and better ftate of exiftence.'-Perhaps these Dialogues may be more acceptable to fome, when they are informed that the Author is not a clergyman: of which we are affured in the concluding paragraph of his introductory discourse. The first debate is that between Voltaire and Socrates, on the fubject of a future existence, and the general characters of modern philofophy; of which we fhall give the following extract. • Voltaire. Happy fate! that I have fo foon met the godlike Socrates! But to fit me for confabulation, cafe my mind at once, and tell me your opinion of the Christian superstition.Speak, is it not fuch? Socrates. To tell you what I know for certain, I am not permitted. My defire was to talk with you as a philofopher, and that defire was granted, but no more. Anfwer me, I conjure you, without glofs or digreffion. I am often at a lofs to conceive the nature of your modern philofophy.-When Locke was upon his death-bed, he wrote to Collins "This life affords no folid fatisfaction but the confcioufnefs of doing well, and the hope of another." My philofophy has been long admired, and this fentence is the very effence of it; yet, amazing to me! this fentence of Locke has been treated with all the contempt of ridicule, and pronounced unworthy of a philofopher by one* who generally speaks the fenfe of your party. Explain to me, how is the hope of another life unworthy of a philofopher? Volt. The philofopher fcorns to be duped either by the fears, or the hopes of fuperftition. He profeffes the nobleft freedom of enquiry; and it is unworthy of him to affent by guefs. He demands demonftration. • Soc. The metaphyfical doctrines of an after life, and a Providence, are incapable of abfolute demonftration. • Volt. The philofopher is at least a sceptic on these points. He builds his happiness on a furer foundation. • Soc. On what foundation? Volt. As the calamities of life are above his controul, hist first care is to arm himself with a fortitude above being concerned at whatever may happen; and hence his happiness. • Soc. Tell me, how would he behave were his dearest friend, the brother of his foul, fuddenly to fall dead at his feet? Volt. He may wish it had been otherwife; but as forrow will not restore his friend to life, he will look on it as an accident which he ought to have expected, and will indulge himfelf in no further grief. Soc. From hence I perceive that his fortitude is built on the extinction of the human paffions; and that the happiness it acquires is an ungenerous indifference. Well, but fuppofe our philofopher on his own death-bed, what are his feelings when death's cold hand is upon him? Voit. With the moft perfect tranquillity he knows he must die, his elements must refolve into their kinds *, and he complains no more of it than a tree does of being cut down. Soc. Has your philofopher any religion? Volt. Yes, the nobleft. He adores the Supreme Soc. Hold. I know your flourishes; but before I can admire his piety, I must be convinced of what he expects and believes. The belief of an invifible agency wants proof fufficient for him, and the hopes and dread of futurity are unworthy of your philofopher. For what then does he adore the Supreme? Volt. For the wonders of this glorious univerfe-he worships almighty Nature. Soc. In other words, he admires a certain wonderful power, that by a kind of fatality made and fupports the universe, but which has no intelligence of the moral world. Now what influence has this religion on his conduct? 6 Valt. The idea of beauty + chears his foul, and confirms him in his favourite fortitude. • Soc. Would it fupport him in fevere diftrefs? Suppose your philofopher reduced from affluence and health to the lowest poverty and the fevereft pangs of disease. Volt. He would efteem it as unavoidable fate, and nobly would Scc. Hold-I can bear you no longer-when one is wounded in the tendereft part, on the death of a beloved friend, human nature muft feel, and bleeding friendship will anxiously enquire, "Where is now the partner of my foul?" And if the belief can in thought follow the deceafed to a state of happy existence, the anguish which nature ftirs in the bofom will then, and then only, feel the relief adapted to its pain. A ray of penfive complacency beams acro's the mind, which now, arguing on its own feelings, builds a fyftem of divine philofophy on these inclinations, which it finds interwoven with the foul; and looking forward to its own departure from the body, encourages the joyful hope, fo dear, fo acceptable to nature, of yet again *Such were the pretences of Toland. Shaftesbury, almost pafim. meeting |