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in his solitary hours: till he has communed with his own heart in his chamber, it will be dangerous to commit himself to its impulses amidst the distractions of society: in solitude he will hear another voice than he has been used to hear in the colloquial scenes of life; for conscience, though mute as the ancient chorus in the bustle of the drama, will be found a powerful speaker in soliloquy. If I could believe that any man in these times had seriously and deliberately reasoned himself into an absolute contempt of things sacred, I should expect that such a being should uniformly act up to his principles in all situations, and, having thrown aside all the restraints of religion, should discharge from his mind all those fears, apprehensions, and solicitudes, that have any connexion with the dread of futurity. But, without knowing what passes in the private thoughts of men, who profess these daring notions, I cannot help observing, that, if noisy clamour be a mark of cowardice, they also have the symptoms strongly upon them of belying their own conscience: they are bold in the crowd, and loudest in the revels of the feast; there they can echo the insult, dash the ridicule in the very face of Heaven, and stun their consciences in the roar of the carousal.

Let me picture to myself a man of this description surprised into unexpected solitude after the revels of an evening, where he has been the wit of the company, at the expense of decency and religion; here his triumphs are over; the plaudits of his comrades no longer encourage him; the lights of the feast are extinguished, and he is surrendered to darkness and reflection: place him in the midst of a desert heath, a lonesome traveller in some dark tempestuous night, and let the elements subscribe their terrors to encounter this redoubted champion -

Who durst defy the Omnipotent.

If consistency be the test of a man's sincerity, he ought now to hold the same language of defiance, and with undaunted spirit cry out to the elements— 'Do your worst, ye blind tools of chance! Since there can be neither intelligence nor direction in your rage, I set you at nought. You may indeed subject me to some bodily inconvenience, but you can raise no terrors in my mind, for I have said you have no master: there is no hand to point the lightning, and the stroke of its flash is directed to no aim : if it smites the oak, it perishes; if it penetrates my breast, it annihilates my existence, and there is no soul within me to resume it. What have I to fear? The worst you threaten is a momentary extinction without pain or struggle: and as I only wait on earth till I am weary of life, the most you can do is to forestall me in the natural rights of suicide. I have lived in this world as the only world I have to live in, and have done all things therein as a man, who acts without account to an Hereafter. The moral offices, as they are called, I have sometimes regarded as a system of worldly wisdom, and where they have not crossed my purposes, or thwarted my pleasures, I have occasionally thought fit to comply with them: my proper pride in some instances, and self-interest in others, have dissuaded me from the open violation of a trust, for it is inconvenient to be detected; and though I acknowledge no remonstrances from within upon the score of infamy, I do not like the clamours of the crowd. As for those mercenary inducements, which a pretended revelation holds forth as lures for patience under wrongs and tame resignation to misfortune, I regard them as derogatory to my nature; they sink the very character of virtue by meanly tendering a reversionary happiness as the bribe for practising it: the doctrine therefore of a future life, in which the obedient are to expect rewards, and the

disobedient are threatened with punishments, confutes itself by its own internal weakness, and is a system so sordid in its principle, that it can only be calculated to dupe us into mental slavery, and frighten us out of that generous privilege, which is our universal birth-right, the privilege of dismissing ourselves out of existence, when we are tired with its conditions.'

Had I fabricated this language for infidelity with the purpose of stamping greater detestation upon its audacity, I had rather bear the blame of having overcharged the character, than to be able (as I now am) to point out a recent publication, which openly avows this shameless doctrine: but as I do not wish to help any anonymous blasphemer into notice, let the toleration of the times be his shelter, and their contempt his answer! In the mean time I will take leave to oppose to it a short passage from a tract, lately translated into English, entitled Philosophical and Critical Inquiries concerning Christianity, by Mr. Bonnet, of Geneva; a work well deserving an attentive perusal :

Here I invite that reader, who can elevate his mind to the contemplation of the ways of Providence, to meditate with me on the admirable methods of divine wisdom in the establishment of Christianity; a religion, the universality of which was to comprehend all ages, all places, nations, ranks, and situations in life; a religion, which made no distinction between the crowned head and that of the lowest subject; formed to disengage the heart from terrestrial things, to ennoble, to refine, to sublime the thoughts and affections of man; to render him conscious of the dignity of his nature, the importance of his end, to carry his hopes even to eternity, and thus associate him with superior intelligences; a religion, which gave every thing to the

spirit and nothing to the flesh; which called its disciples to the greatest sacrifices, because men who are taught to fear God alone, can undergo the severest trials; a religion, in short (to conclude my weak conceptions on so sublime a subject), which was the perfection or completion of natural law, the science of the truly wise, the refuge of the humble, the consolation of the wretched; so majestic in its simplicity, so sublime in its doctrine, so great in its object, so astonishing in its effects. I have endeavoured (says this excellent author in his conclusions) to explore the inmost recesses of my heart, and having discovered no secret motive there, which should induce me to reject a religion so well calculated to supply the defects of my reason, to comfort me under affliction, and to advance the perfection of my nature, I receive this religion as the greatest blessing Heaven in its goodness could confer upon mankind; and I should still receive it with gratitude, were I to consider it only as the very best and most perfect system of practical philosophy.'-BONNET.

That man, hurried away by the impetuosity of his passions, is capable of strange and monstrous irregularities, I am not to learn; even vanity and the mean ambition of being eccentric may draw out very wild expressions from him in his unguarded hours; but that any creature should be deliberately blasphemous, and reason himself (if I may so express it) into irrationality, surpasses my conception, and is a species of desperation for which I have no name.

If the voice of universal nature, the experience of all ages, the light of reason, and the immediate evidence of my senses, cannot awaken me to a dependance upon my God, a reverence for his religion, and a humble opinion of myself, what a lost creature am I! Where can we meet a more touching description of God's omnipresence and providence than in the

139th psalm? And how can I better conclude this paper, than by the following humble attempt at a translation of that most beautiful address to the Creator of mankind!

PSALM CXXXIX.

1 O Lord, who by thy mighty power
Hast search'd me out in every part,
Thou know'st each thought at every hour,
Or e'er it rises to my heart.

2 In whatsoever path I stray,
Where'er I make my bed at night,
No maze can so conceal my way,
But I stand open to thy sight.

3 Nor can my tongue pronounce a word,
How secretly soe'er 'twere said,
But in thine ear it shall be heard,
And by thy judgment shall be weigh'd.

4 n every particle I see

The fashion of thy plastic band:
5 Knowledge too excellent for me,
Me, wretched man, to understand.

6 Whither, ah! whither then can I
From thire all-present Spirit go?

7 To Heaven? 'tis there thou'rt thron'd on high.
To Hell? 'tis there thou rul'st below.

8 Lend me, O Morning, lend me wings!
On the first beam of op'ning day
To the last wave, that ocean flings
On the world's shore, I'll flit away.

9 Ah fool! if there I meant to hide,
For thou, my God, shalt reach me there
Ev'n there thy hand shall be my guide,
Thy right hand hold me in its care.

10 Again, if calling out for night,

I bid it shroud me from thine eyes,
Thy presence makes a burst of light,
And darkness to the centre hies.

11 Nay, darkness cannot intervene
Betwixt the universe and Thee:

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