midft of his magnificence and power, whispered him, Remember, Sir, you are a man.

It has been argued by fome ingenious and fanciful men, whofe abilities were not great enough to make them diftinguished upon plain and common ground, and who therefore placed themfelves on the fummits of fingularity:-it has been argued by fuch, that the fear of Death is not natural to mankind; that the Savage, who is to be admired and envied as the man of nature, lives in health, and dies in tranquillity; and that all the dreary notions of mortality have been produced by Priefts, to fubject the minds of their fellow-creatures to their influence.

That the fear of Death will be less terrible, in proportion as a being thinks lefs, I fhall not deny. But I suppose few of my readers would incline to be degraded to the ftate of the lamb, whofe inconfiderate fearleffness is so well defcribed by Pope:

"Pleas'd to the laft, he crops the flowery food, "And licks the hand juft rais'd to fhed its blood."

Neither, I hope, would many be content to obtain an exemption from their awful anxiety, at

the

the price of being turned into Savages. That Savages have not the fear of Death, I do not believe: but if it is fo, the reason can only be, that their whole attention is occupied in procuring themselves food, and watching for fafety; fo that their views extend not to futurity, more than those of the wild beaft of the defart. For it is matter of demonftration, that if the thoughts of Death come into the mind of man at all, they must strike him with at least a very ferious concern.

Shakespeare puts into the mouth of Julius Cæfar this fpeech:

"Cowards die many times before their deaths:
The valiant never tafte of Death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,

It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that Death, a neceffary end,

Will come when it will come."

Of this paffage, the two firft lines are exceedingly animated; but the reft of it is, in my opinion, an irrational rhapfody. For, furely, it is not the most strange of all wonders, that one fhould fear Death, fince it cannot be difputed that Death involves in it every object of regret, and every poffibility of evil.

If

If Death is to be confidered as the extinction of our being, I need only appeal to the genuine feelings of every one of my readers for the juftice of the reflections in Addifon's celebrated foliloquy of Cato, though lately cavilled at by a French Philofopher and Critic.

The thought of being at once and for ever deprived of every thing that is agreeable and dear to us, muft doubtlefs be very diftreffing. If to part with one affectionate friend, to lofe one valuable piece of property, gives us pain, what must be the affliction, which the thought of parting with all our friends, and lofing all our property, must occafion?

It is in vain for the Sophift to argue, that upon the fuppofition of our being annihilated, we shall have no affliction; as we can have no confcioufnefs: for all but very dull men will confefs, that though we may be infenfible of the reality when it takes place, the thought of it is difmal. But nobody can be certain of annihilation; and the thought of entering upon a fcene of being, altogether unknown, which may be unhappy in an extreme degree, is, without queftion, very alarming. If a man were to be put on board a ship which had landed in Britain from a remote region,

with which, and its inhabitants, we are utterly unacquainted, and fhould know that he is never to return home again, but to pafs the reft of his days in that region, he would, I believe, be reckoned very ftupid if he fhould be unconcerned. Yet Death prefents to the imagination fuppofitions ftill more terrifying.

In the Play of Meafure for Meafure, Shakespeare gives us moft natural, as well as highly poetical fentiments of Death, in the character of Claudio; who, after his fifter has talked with unthinking levity, thus

"Oh! were it but my life,

I'd throw it down for

your

deliveran ce

As frankly as a pin."

Seriously expreffes himfelf in a fhort fentence, "Death's a fearful thing."

And a little after,

"Aye, but to die, and go we know not where,
To lie in cold obftruction, and to rot;

This fenfible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted fpirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to refide

In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;

To

To be imprifon'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with reftlefs violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howling; 'tis too horrible!
The wearieft and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury, imprisonment,
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of Death."

Thus an Infidel, who has a lively imagination, may, upon his own principles, be frightened when he thinks of Death. For infidelity, as to a future state, can carry a man no farther than fcepticism; and it is fufficient to excite fear in a rong degree, that fuch horrible fituations as Shakespeare fancies, in the verfes which I have juft quoted, are even poffible.

Neither, in my apprehenfion, can any man, whofe mind is not naturally dull, or grown callous by age, be without uneafinefs when he looks forward to the act of diffolution itfelf. A hypochondriac fancies himself at different times fuffering Death in all the various ways in which it has been obferved; and thus he dies many times before his death. I myself have been frequently terrified, and difmally afflicted in this way, nor