ments, and the endless viciffitude of human affairs, he is affur'd of an immortal fame among all the fons of men.

THERE furely is a being who presides over the universe; and, with infinite wifom and power, has reduc'd the jarring elements into juft order and proportion. Let fpeculative reafoners difpute, how far this beneficent being extends his care, and whether he prolongs our exiftence beyond the grave, in order to bestow on virtue its just reward, and render it fully triumphant. The man of morals, without deciding any thing on fo dubious a fubject, is fatisfy'd with that portion which is mark'd out to him by the fupreme difposer of all things. Gratefully he accepts of that farther reward prepar'd for him; but if disappointed, he thinks not virtue an empty name; but juftly esteeming it it's own reward, he gratefully acknowledges the bounty of his creator, who by calling him forth into exiftence, has thereby afforded him an opportunity of once acquiring so invaluable a poffeffion.

ESSAY

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ESSAY XX.

The PLATONIST*.

O fome philofophers it appears matter of furprize, that all mankind, poffeffing the fame nature, and being endow'd with the fame faculties, fhould yet differ fo widely in their purfuits and inclinations, and that one should utterly condemn what is fondly fought after by another. To fome it appears matter of still more furprize, that a man should differ fo widely from himself at different times; and, after poffeffion, reject with difdain what, before, was the object of all his vows and wishes. To me this feverish uncertainty and irrefolution, in human conduct, feems altogether unavoidable; nor can a rational foul, made for the contemplation of the fupreme being, and of his works, ever enjoy tranquillity or fatisfaction, while detain'd in the ignoble pursuits of fenfual pleasure or popular applause. The divinity is a boundless ocean of blifs and glory: Human minds are smaller ftreams, which arifing at first from this ocean, feek ftill, amid all their wanderings, to return to it, and to lofe themselves in that

* Or, the man of contemplation and philofophical devo

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immen.

immenfity of perfection. When check'd in this natural course, by vice or folly, they become furious and enrag'd; and, fwelling to a torrent, do then spread horror and devastation on the neighbouring plains.

In vain, by pompous phrase and passionate expresfion, each recommends his own pursuit, and invites the credulous hearers to an imitation of his life and manners. The heart belies the countenance, and fenfibly feels, even amid the highest fuccefs, the unfatisfactory nature of all those pleasures, which detain it from it's true object. I examine the voluptuous man before enjoyment; I meafure the vehemence of his defire, and the importance of his object; I find that all his happiness proceeds only from that hurry of thought which takes him from himself, and turns his view from his guilt and mifery. I confider him a moment after; he has now enjoy'd the pleasure, which he fondly fought after. The fenfe of his guilt and mifery returns upon him with double anguish: His mind tormented with fear and remorfe; his body depreft with disgust and fatiety.

BUT a more auguft, at least a more haughty perfonage prefents himself boldly to our cenfure; and, affuming the title of a philofopher and man of mo. rals, offers to submit to the most rigid examination, He challenges, with a visible, tho' conceal'd impatience, our approbation and applaufe; and feems offended, that we should hefitate a moment before we

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break out into admiration of his virtue. Seeing this impatience, I hesitate still more: I begin to examine the motives of his seeming virtue: But behold! e'er I can enter upon this enquiry, he flings himself from me; and addreffing his difcourfe to that crowd of heedlefs auditors, fondly abufes them by his magnificent pretenfions.

O PHILOSOPHER! thy wifom is vain, and thy virtue unprofitable. Thou feekeft the ignorant applauses of men, not the folid reflections of thy own conscience, or the more folid approbation of that being, who, with one regard of his all-feeing eye, penetrates the universe. Thou furely art conscious of the hollowness of thy pretended probity, whilst calling thyself a citizen, a fon, a friend, thou forgetteft thy higher fovereign, thy true father, thy greatest benefactor. Where is the adoration due to fuch infinite perfection, whence every thing good and valuable is deriv'd? Where is the gratitude, owing to thy creator, who call'd thee forth from nothing, who plac'd thee in all these relations to thy fellowcreatures, and requiring thee to fulfil the duty of each relation, forbids thee to neglect what thou oweft to himself, the most perfect being, to whom thou art connected by the closest tye?

BUT thou art thyself thy own idol: Thou wor fhippeft thy imaginary perfections: Or rather, fenfible of thy real imperfections, thou feekeft only to deceive the world, and to please thy fancy, by multiplying thy ignorant admirers. Thus not contented

with neglecting what is most excellent in the universe, thou defireft to fubftitute in his place what is most vile and contemptible.

CONSIDER all the works of men's hands; all the inventions of human wit, in which thou affectest so nice a discernment: Thou wilt find, that the moft perfect production ftill proceeds from the most perfect thought, and that 'tis MIND alone, which we admire, while we bestow our applause on the graces of a well-proportion'd ftatue, or the fymmetry of a noble pile. The ftatuary, the architect comes still in view, and makes us reflect on the beauty of his art and contrivance, which, from a heap of unform'd matter, cou'd extract such expreffions and proportions. This fuperior beauty of thought and intelligence thou thyfelf acknowledgest, while thou inviteft us to contemplate, in thy conduct, the harmony of affections, the dignity of fentiments, and all those graces of a mind, which chiefly merit our attention. But why stoppest thou fhort? Seeft thou nothing farther that is valuable? Amid thy rapturous applauses of beauty and order, art thou fill ignorant where is to be found the most confummate beauty, the most perfect order? Compare the works of art with those of nature. The one are but imitations of the other. The nearer art approaches to nature, the more perfect is it esteem'd. But ftill, how wide are its nearest approaches, and what an immenfe interval may be observ'd betwixt them? Art copies only the outfide of nature, leaving the inward and more admirable springs and princi

ples;