midst 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 distinguished upon plain and common ground, and who therefore placed themselves 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 lefs terrible, in proportion as a being thinks lefs, I fhall not deny. But I fuppofe few of my readers would incline to be degraded to the ftate of the lamb, whofe inconfiderate fearleffnefs is fo 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 reafon can only be, that their whole attention is occupied in procuring themfelves food, and watching for safety; 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 serious concern.

Shakespeare puts into the mouth of Julius Cæfar this fpeech:

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

It feems to me moft ftrange that men fhould fear; Seeing that Death, a neceffary end,

Will come when it will come."

Of this paffage, the two first 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 obje&t of regret, and every poffibility of evil.

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 fhall have no affliction; as we can have no conscioufnefs: 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 scene 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 fhip 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 pass 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 Measure for Meafure, Shakespeare gives us most 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

As frankly as a pin."

your

deliverance

Seriously expreffes himself 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 viewlefs winds,
And blown with reftlefs violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst
Of thofe, that lawless and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howling; 'tis too horrible!
The wearieft and moft loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury, imprisonment,
Can lay on nature, is a paradife
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 ftate, can carry a man no farther than fcepticism; and it is fufficient to excite fear in a ftrong degree, that fuch horrible fituations as Shakefpeare 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 cal lous 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 myfelf have been frequently terrified, and difmally afflicted in this way, nor