asking him, with such an affectionate concern as became a friend, "Where he should deposit his remains ?" it was resented by Socrates, as implying a dishonourable supposition, that he could be so mean as to have a regard for any thing, even in himself, that was not immortal.

This fact, well considered, would make our infidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates; or make them endeavour, by their imitation of this illustrious example, to share his glory :/and, consequently, it would incline them to peruse the following pages with candour and impartiality: which is all I desire; and that, for their sakes: for I am persuaded, that an unprejudiced infidel must necessarily receive some advantageous impressions from them.

July 7th, 1744.

CONTENTS

OF THE SEVENTH NIGHT.

IN the Sixth Night, arguments were drawn from NATURE in proof of Immortality: here, others are drawn from MAN: from his Discontent-from his Passions and Powers-from the gradual growth of Reason-from his fear of Death--from the nature of Hope, and of Virtue-from Knowledge and Love, as being the most essential properties of the soul-from the Order of Creation—from the nature of Ambition, Avarice, Pleasure. A digression on the grandeur of the Passions. Immortality alone renders our present state intelligible. An objection from the Stoics' disbelief of immortality answered. Endless questions unresolvable, but on supposition of our Immortality. The natural, most melancholy, and pathetic complaint of a worthy man, under the persuasion of no Futurity. The gross absurdities and horrors of Annihilation urged home on LORENZO. The soul's vast Importance-from whence it arises.-The Difficulty of being an infidel-the Infamy-The Cause, and the Character, of an infidel state. What true free-thinking is. The necessary punishment of the false. Man's ruin is from himself. An Infidel accuses himself of Guilt and Hypocrisy and that of the worst sort. His obligation to ChristiansWhat danger he incurs by Virtue-Vice recommended to him -His high pretences to Virtue and Benevolence exploded. The conclusion, on the nature of Faith, Reason, and Hope; with an apology for this attempt.

NIGHT THE SEVENTH:

THE

INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

PART THE SECOND.

HEAVEN gives the needful, but neglected, call.
What day, what hour, but knocks at human hearts,
To wake the soul to sense of future scenes?
Deaths stand, like Mercuries, in every way,
And kindly point us to our journey's end.

POPE, who couldst make immortals! art thou dead?
I give thee joy: nor will I take my leave;
So soon to follow. Man but dives in death;
Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise;
The grave, his subterranean road to bliss.
Yes, infinite indulgence plann'd it so ;
Through various parts our glorious story runs ;
Time gives the preface, endless age unrolls
The volume (ne'er unroll'd!) of human fate.

This, earth and skies * already have proclaim'd. The world's a prophecy of worlds to come;

And who, what GOD foretells (who speaks in things,
Still louder than in words) shall dare deny?
If nature's arguments appear too weak,
Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man.

* Night the Sixth.

;

If man sleeps on, untaught by what he sees,
Can he prove infidel to what he feels?
He, whose blind thought futurity denies,
Unconscious bears, BELLEROPHON! like thee,
His own indictment; he condemns himself:
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-severed 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?

Is it, that things terrestrial can't content? Deep in rich pasture will thy flocks complain? Not so; but to their master is denied To share their sweet serene. Man, ill at ease, In this, not his own place, this foreign field, Where nature fodders him with other food, Than was ordain'd his cravings to suffice, Poor in abundance, famish'd' at a feast, Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd. Is Heaven then kinder to thy flocks than thee? Not so; thy pasture richer, but remote ;

In part, remote; for that remoter part

Man bleats from instinct, though, perhaps, debauch'd By sense, his reason sleeps, nor dreams the cause.

The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes!
His grief is but his grandeur in disguise;
And discontent is immortality.

Shall sons of ether, shall the blood of heaven,
Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here,
With brutal acquiescence in the mire?
LORENZO, no! they shall be nobly pain'd;
The glorious foreigners, distress'd, shall sigh
On thrones; and thou congratulate the sigh.
Man's misery declares him born for bliss ;
His anxious heart asserts the truth I sing,
And gives the sceptic in his head the lie.

Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our powers, Speak the same language; call us to the skies: Unripen'd these in this inclement clime, Scarce rise above conjecture, and mistake; And for this land of trifles those too strong Tumultuous rise, and tempest human life : What prize on earth can pay us for the storm? Meet objects for our passions Heaven ordain'd, Objects that challenge all their fire, and leave No fault, but in defect. Bless'd Heaven! avert A bounded ardour for unbounded bliss! O for a bliss unbounded! Far beneath A soul immortal, is a mortal joy. Nor are our powers to perish immature; But, after feeble effort here, beneath A brighter sun, and in a nobler soil, Transplanted from this sublunary bed,

Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their bloom.