Well aware of the "proofs" that still remained to be given, which he does in the next and the succeeding Nights," the poet leaves Lorenzo, and his fellow-infidels (alas, how many !) in all the hardness of their unbelief, hoping to reach the feelings, of some of them at least, by the strong moral wisdom that attends the promulgation of the gospel, and evinces the truth of its doctrines. These are certainly exempt from all the imputations that can be charged to the passions of men, and must proceed only from the attributes of that Being, of whom the best qualities of man make him "the image." Moral evidence then, supported as it is by historical, is the great voucher for the truth of Christianity; moral evidence which is addressed both to the reason and the feelings, the absence or perversion of both which can alone make us untouched by it. Rash then, to say the least, are those who endeavour to lower the effect of both, in lowering the sublimity of the doctrines to which both are called upon to assent. If our reason cannot comprehend them, nor perhaps perfectly accord with some of them; if our doubts keep us in suspense, let us be content with remaining in that suspense, and let us not vainly attempt to put an end to it by substituting the presumptuous decisions of our reason (for if pride is one of the bad qualities of man, surely his reason may be tainted by it), unequal as it is to save us from a trial which we are meant to undergo. Let us rather save ourselves from the additional, and I think the severer pain, that our presumption must give us in the sense of it, which all our vanity will afford us but a flattering unction" for. Let us remember that if "Humanum est errare et nescire," humanum est peccare too: let us humiliate ourselves before the throne of Him who alone is "good," and the example of Him who was, but would not acknowledge himself to be so; let us hope for the mercy to which that humiliation, and a consequent conduct and demeanour will entitle us (for so he has declared), and let us

end with saying, "Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief."

To what I have said in comparing Young and Akenside, I would add, that the object of the latter is to qualify his readers for the rational and moral enjoyment of this life; and the superior one of the other, to prepare them for the next; for which he depreciates, perhaps too much, the enjoyments of this; of which, however, he allows us to take a moderate share, and a more ample one of the beauties of nature, making it subservient to the more important observance of our religious and social duties; and his attention to the former makes him consider all the business of life as of no value, unless it contributes to the eternal welfare of our souls. This, indeed,

is true in regard to us all, and particularly as a consolation to the unfortunate. This is all that Young requires, severe as he is to the "Lorenzos" of his or any other time, for he writes not thus severely for those who are "well" (if such there be), "but for those who are (morally) sick." The well may read him with pleasure, and the sick with profit, which, indeed, may be common to both, if they are capable of it; and what soul wants not a "physician?"

Much of Akenside's poem is addressed to the "imagination, the pleasures of which" it treats of, and with the flowers of which both the poems are plentifully, and often agreeably, sprinkled. Both are moral, but not equally religious, as perhaps might be expected from the different professions of the authors. Both, however, express a high reverence for the supreme object of our worship, but of christianity, on which Young lays so much stress, we find no mention in Akenside. His object is natural, Young's revealed religion; but moral duties are recommended by both. Akenside endeavours to win us, Young to awe us into the performance of them; but the exhortations of the former are defective in omitting the great model of them and of piety, Jesus Christ, without whose example all exhortation would be of little avail, for we should

want our greatest incentive in the life he lived, and the promises he made, and died and rose again to confirm, without which latter, St. Paul well says, that "our faith, and his preaching, would be vain." In him was united all excellence, human and divine, themselves being so nearly allied. The former is the chief object of Akenside's praise, which he bestows on the examples of it, both in public and private life, contrasting the heroic exhibitions of the one with the "mild majesty" of the other. For this he exerts all the powers of his imagination, but with less energy, but perhaps more eloquence than Young does, in dwelling upon his far more important subject, for the flight of "three" or four " score years," when "life is but labour and sorrow," (let me be thankful that it is very partially so to me), is not to be compared with the steady duration of eternity; if of a happy one, how great the difference!

I have spoken, in p. 43, of the benefits which may be expected from the provisions of the reform bill; and to this I will add, that I think it will tend to make every one sensible of what he owes to himself and his country, which include what he owes to his God also; for I strongly suspect that the repugnance which many of us feel (some who ought to entertain better sentiments) to such a reform, arises in a great measure from a desire, of which we may be ourselves unconscious, to indulge ourselves in our usual habits of ease and indolence (the natural suggesters of "let well alone"), of which, indeed, many examples may be seen, as well in private families as in the general family of the country, at the head of which is the Deity whom we ought to serve, instead of our own voluptuous, or at best, self-indulgent propensities; selfish ambition, the desire of power, and sometimes personal partialities; for the maxim, "Amicus Cato, sed magis amica veritas," is not always adhered to. The correction of all these should be one great object of any general reform, or of national education, and all is surely comprehended in the plans of re

form intended or begun upon, not less in private families, where the servants are often idle in proportion to their numbers, than in the great family of the country.

NIGHT THE SEVENTH.

In this his promise is amply fulfilled. Invigorated by his subject, and confident of the truth of what he asserts, he says, "Man but dives in death;

Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise;
The grave, his subterranean road to bliss."

Having before shown the high probability of this resurrection, by its analogy with the general order and course of things, he brings another proof of it, in the common feelings of humanity: he says,

"Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life,
Or nature there, imposing on her sons,
Has written fables; man was made a lie.
Why discontent for ever harbour'd there?
Incurable consumption of our peace!
Resolve me, why the cottager and king,
He whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he
Who steals his whole dominion from the waste,
Repelling winter-blasts with mud and straw,
Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh,

In fate so distant, in complaint so near?"

The ennuis of life are the stimulants to action; the desire of repose is the check to them; the desire of eternal repose,

and of the happiness promised with it, is the proper regulator

both of the desire of action and of rest in this life.

Thus do

our passions and feelings alternately act upon each other, if regulated, for our eternal benefit.

Pope says,

"Mourn our different fortunes as we please,

Equal is common sense, and common ease."

Which is partly made up by habit ("second nature as it is”) giving a more uninterrupted content to the cottager than the king, who sometimes pays dearly for his enjoyments. But both must look up to the "King of kings" for their comfort and support. Thus is Providence just to all, in showing that "If to all men happiness was meant,

God in externals could not place content."

Nor has he, in a state which admits of nothing more, and even that dependent on the "patience and resignation" (the pillars" both of high and low life) with which we bear the trials we are subject to, one of which is the impossibility of our attaining "our being's end and aim" here, the happiness reserved for those on whom the justice and "mercy” of God will bestow it hereafter, through the merits and mediation of Christ; and such a reserve may well be made of what we can have no conception of. The " peace which this world cannot give" will be given in another, where the " sigh" after happiness will be changed for that degree of it that we are capable and deserving (in some degree demonstrated by the mere hope of it) of the possession of. Where mercy is implored, if sincerely, mercy will surely be shown; and "the sins that were as scarlet will be made white as snow." When the " mercy which reacheth unto the heavens" will receive us there, what can the hardened sinner expect who will not implore and endeavour to merit it? Bold as it may be thought, Young has not gone too far in saying,