lightens labour, twenty centuries ago? or may it not have been carried with a sigh to the tiring-men of the temple by one who brought it to swathe the cold and stiffened limbs of a being loved in life, and mourned and honoured in his death? Yes, it is a relic; and one musing on which a warm fancy might find wherewithal to beguile a long and soinary walk."-Ibid. p. 100, 101. temple; one that the Roman came, as you come, to visit and admire, and the Greek before him. And you know that priest and king, lord and slave, the festival throng and the solitary worshipper, trod for centuries where you do and you know that there has been the crowding flight of the vanquished towards their sanctuary and last hold, and the quick trampling of armed pursuers, and the neighing of the war-horse, and the voice of the trumpet, and the We then returned across the plain to our boat, shout, as of a king, among them, all on this silent passing and pausing before the celebrated sitting spot. And you see before you, and on all sides, statues so often described. They are seated on ruins!-the stones which formed wells and square thrones, looking to the east, and on the Nile; in temple-towers thrown down in vast heaps; or still, this posture they are upwards of fifty feet in height; in large masses, erect as the builder placed them, and their bodies, limbs, and heads, are large, spreadand where their material has been fine, their sur-ing, and disproportioned. These are very asta! faces and corners smooth, sharp, and uninjured by monuments. They bear the form of man; and time. They are neither grey nor blackened; like there is a something in their very posture which the bones of man, they seem to whiten under the touches the soul: There they sit erect, calm: sun of the desert. Here is no lichen, no moss, no They have seen generation upon generation swept rank grass or mantling ivy, no wall-flower or wild away, and still their stony gaze is fixed on man tod. fig-tree to robe them, and to conceal their deformi-ing and perishing at their feet! 'Twas late and ties, and bloom above them. No;-all is the na-dark ere we reached our home. The day following kedness of desolation-the colossal skeleton of a we again crossed to the western bank, and rode giant fabric standing in the unwatered sand, in soli-through a narrow hot valley in the Desert, to the tude and silence." This we think is very fine and beautiful: But what follows is still better; and gives a clearer, as well as a deeper impression, of the true character and effect of these stupendous remains, than all the drawings and descriptions of Denon and his Egyptian Institute. tombs of the kings. Your Arab catches at the head of your ass in a wild dreary-looking spot, about ive miles from the river, and motions you to light. On every side of you rise low, but steep hills, of the most barren appearance, covered with loose and path, which seems to be the bottom of a natural crumbling stones, and you stand in a narrow bridle ravine; you would fancy that you had lost your way; but your guide leads you a few paces forward, "There are no ruins like these ruins. In the like the shaft of a mine. At the entrance, you ob and you discover in the side of the hill an opening first court you pass into, you find one large, lofty; serve that the rock, which is a close-grained, but solitary column, erect among heaped and scattered soft stone, has been cut smooth and painted. He fragments, which had formed a colonade of one- lights your wax torch, and you pass into a long cor and-twenty like it. You pause awhile, and then ridor. On either side are small apartments which move slowly on. You enter a wide portal, and find you stoop down to enter, and the walls of which you yourself surrounded by one hundred and fifty co-find covered with paintings: scenes of life taithfully lumas, on which I defy any man, sage or savage, represented; of every-day life, its pleasures and la to look unmoved. Their vast proportions the bet-bours; the instruments of its happiness, and of its ter taste of after days rejected and disused; but the still astonishment, the serious gaze, the thickening breath of the awed traveller, are tributes of an admiration not to be checked or frozen by the chilling rules of taste. crimes! You turn to each other with a delight, not however unmixed with sadness, to mark how much the days of man then passed, as they do to this very hour. You see the labours of agriculture "We passed the entire day in these ruins; each and the artist has playfully depicted a calf skipping -the sower, the basket, the plough; the steers; wandering about alone, as inclination led him. De- among the furrows. You have the making of bread, failed descriptions I cannot give; I have neither the the cooking for a feast; you have a flower garden, skill or the patience to count and to measure. I as- and a scene of irrigation; you see couches, sofas, cended a wing of the great propylon on the west, chairs, and arm-chairs, such as might, this day, and sat there long. I crept round the colossal statues! adorn a drawing-room in London or Paris; you I seated myself on a fallen obelisk, and gazed up at have vases of every form down to the common jug, the three, yet standing erect amid huge fragments (ay! such as the brown one of Toby Philpo); you of fallen granite. I sauntered slowly round every have harps, with figures bending over them, and part, examining the paintings and hieroglyphics, others seated and listening; you have barks, with and listening now and then, not without a smile, to large, curious, and many-coloured sails; lastly, you our polite little cicerone, as with the air of a con-have weapons of war, the sword, the dagger, the descending savant, he pointed to many of the sym-bow, the arrow, the quiver, spears, helmets, and bols, saying, this means water,' and that means land,' this stability,' that life, and here is the name of Berenice.'-Scenes in Egypt, pp. 88-92. From hence we bade our guide conduct us to some catacombs; he did so, in the naked hill just above. Some are passages, some pits; but, in general, passages in the side of the hill. Here and there you may find a bit of the rock or clay, smoothed and painted, or bearing the mark of a thin fallen coating of composition; but, for the most part, they are quite plain. Bones, rags, and the scattered limbs of skeletons, which have been torn from their coffins, stripped of their grave-clothes, and robbed of the sacred scrolls placed with them in the tomb. lie in or around these open sepulchres.' We found nothing; but surely the very rag blown to your feet s a relic. May it not have been woven by some damsel under the shade of trees, with the song that The central row have the enormous diameter of eleven French feet, the others that of eight. dresses of honour.-The other scenes on the wails represent processions and mysteries, and all the There is a small chamber with the cow of Isis, and apartments are covered with them or hieroglyphics, there is one large room in an unfinished state,designs chalked off, that were to have been com pleted on that to-morrow, which never came!" Ibid. pp. 104-109. scene of the Sicilian cottage, than for the sketch of the mighty mountain:— "It was near ten o'clock when the youth who power and pride ever raised by man, and has looked out and round to the far horizon, where Lybia and Arabia lie silent, and hath seen, at his feet, the land of Egypt dividing their dark solitudes with a narrow vale, beautiful and green, the mere enamelled set-led the way stopped before a small dark cottage in ting of one solitary shining river, must receive impressions which he can never convey, for he cannot define them to himself. a by-lane of Nicolosi, the guide's he said it was, and hailed them. The door was opened; a light struck; and the family was roused, and collected They are the tombs of Cheops and Cephrenes, round me; a grey-headed old peasant and his wife; anys the Grecian. They are the tombs of Seth and two hardy, plain, dark young men, brothers (one Enoch, says the wild and imaginative Arabian; an of whom was in his holiday gear, new breeches, English traveller, with a mind warmed, perhaps, and red garters, and flowered waistcoat, and clean and misled by his heart, tells you that the large py-shirt, and shining buttons ;) a girl of sixteen, handramid may have contained the ashes of the patriarch some; a mountain-girl beaten with winds,' lookJoseph. It is all this which constitutes the very ing curious, yet fearless and chaste as the harcharm of a visit to these ancient monuments. You dened rock on which she dwelt ;' and a boy of emile, and your smile is followed and reproved by twelve, an unconscious figure in the group, fast a sigh. One thing you know that the chief, and the slumbering in his clothes on the hard floor. Glad philosopher, and the poet of the times of old, men were they of the dollar-bringing stranger, but surwho mark fields as they pass with their own prised at the excellenza's fancy for coming at that mighty names,' have certainly been here; that Al- hour; cheerfully, however, the gay youth stripped exander has spurred his war-horse to its base; and off his holiday-garb, and put on a dirty shirt and Pythagoras, with naked foot, has probably stood thick brown clothes, and took his cloak and went upon its summit.-Scenes in Egypt, pp. 158, 159. to borrow a mule (for I found, by their consultation, that there was some trick, this not being the Cairo is described in great detail, and fre-regular privileged guide family.' During his abquently with great feeling and eloquence. He sence, the girl brought me a draught of wine, and saw a live cameleopard there-very beautiful all stood round with welcoming and flattering and gentle. One of his most characteristic laughings, and speeches in Sicilian, which I did sketches, however, is that of the female slave not understand, but which gave me pleasure, and made me look on their dirty and crowded cottage as one I had rather trust to, if I knocked at it even market. without a dollar, than the lordliest mansion of the richest noble in Sicily. "We stopped before the gate of a large building, and, turning, entered a court of no great size, with a range of apartments all round; open doors show"For about four miles, your mule stumbles along ed that they were dark and wretched. At them, or safely over a bed of lava, lying in masses on the before them, stood or sat small groups of female road; then you enter the woody region: the wood slaves; also from within these chambers, you might is open, of oaks, not large, yet good-sized trees, catch the moving eyes and white teeth of those who growing amid fern; and, lastly, you come out on a shunned the light. There was a gallery above with soft barren soil, and pursue the ascent till you find other rooms, and slave girls leaning on the rail-a glistering white crust of snow of no depth, cracklaughter, all laughter!-their long hair in numerous sailing curls, white with fat; their faces, arms, and bosoms shining with grease. Exposure in the market is the moment of their joy. Their cots, their country, he breast that gave them suck, the hand that led their tottering steps not forgotten, but resigned, given up, as things gone for ever, left in another world. The tcils and terrors of the wide desert, the hard and scanty fare, the swollen foot, the whip, the scalding tear, the curse; all, all are behind: hope meets them again here; and paints some master kind; sonte mistress gentle; some babe or child to win ne heart of;-as bond-women they may bear a son, and live and die the contented inmates of some quiet harem."-Ibid. pp. 178, 179. ing under your mule's tread; soon after, you arrive at a stone cottage, called Casa Inglese, of which my guide had not got the key; here you dismount, and we tied up our mules close by, and scrambling over huge blocks of lava, and up the toilsome and slippery ascent of the cone, I sat me down on ground all hot, and smoking with sulphureous vapour, which has for the first few minutes the effect of making your eyes smart, and water, i oppressing and taking away your breath. It yet wanted half an hour to the break of day, and I wrapped my cloak close round me to guard me from the keen air which came up over the white cape of snow that lay spread at the foot of the smoking cone, where I was seated. "The earliest dawn gave to my view the awful Kie does not think much of Ali's new Insti- crater, with its two deep mouths, from one whereof tute-though he was assured by one of the tu- there issued large volumes of thick white smoke, tars that its pupils were to be taught "every-pressing up in closely crowding clouds; and all thing!" We have learned, from unquestion-around, you saw the earth loose, and with crisped, able authority, that from this everything, all light, thin wreaths of smoke that soon dissipated in yellow-mouthed small cracks, up which came little, that relates to Politics, Religion, and Philoso- the upper air, &c.-And when you turn to gaze phy, is expressly excluded; and that little is downwards, and see the golden sun come up in proposed to be taught but the elements of the light and majesty to bless the waking millions of useful arts. There is a scanty library of Eu- your fellows, and the dun vapour of the night roll ropean books, almost all French, the most wide ocean are seen as through a thin unearthly off below, and capes, and hills, and towns, and the conspicuous backed, "Victoires des Français; | veil; your eyes fill, and your heart swells; all the -and besides these, "Les Liaisons Dange- blessings you enjoy, all the innocent pleasures you reuses!"-only one book in English, though find in your wanderings, that preservation, which not ill-chosen-"Malcolm's Persia." He was in storm, and in battle, and mid the pestilence was detained at Alexandria in a time of plague-rush in a moment on your soul. mercifully given to your half-breathed prayer, all and, after all, was obliged to return, when four days at sea, to land two sick men, and perform a new quarantine of observation. There is an admirable description of Valetta, and the whole island-and then of Syracuse and Catania; but we can give only the Light ascent to Etna-and that rather for the Ibid. pp. 253-257. The following brief sketch of the rustic auberges of Sicily is worth preserving, as well as the sentiment with which it closes. "The chambers of these rude inns would please at first, any one. Three or four beds (mere planka upon iron trestles), with broad, yellow-striped, coarse mattresses, turned up on them; a table and chairs of wood, blackened by age, and of forms belonging to the past century; a daub or two of a picture, and two or three coloured prints of Madonnas and saints: a coarse table cloth, and coarser napkin; a thin blue-tinted drinking glass; dishes and plates of a striped, dirty-coloured, pimply ware; and a brass lamp with three mouths, a shape comon to Delhi, Cairo, and Madrid, and as ancient as the time of the Etruscans themselves. and refresh the sight with a view of earth and ocean The view from the Belvidere, in the garden of St Martino, close to the fortress of St. Elmo, is said to be unequalled in the world. I was walking along the cloister to it, when I heard voices behind me, and saw an English family-father, mother, with daughter and son, of drawing-room and university ages. I turned aside that I might not intrude on them, and went to take my gaze when they came away from the little balcony. I saw no features; but the dress, the gentle talking, and the quietude of their whole manner, gave me great pleasure. A happy domestic English family! parents travelling to delight, improve, and protect their children; younger ones at home perhaps, who will sit next summer on the shady lawn, and listen as Italy is talked over, and look at prints, and turn over a sister's sketchbook, and beg a brother's journal. Magically varied is the grandeur of the scene-the pleasant city; its broad bay; a little sea that knows no storms; 118 garden neighbourhood; its famed Vesuvius, net and smiling, garmented with vineyards below, and its brow barren, yet not without a hue of that ascen er slaty blueness which improves a moun'ain's forms, the shadowy Appenines. Gaze and go back, aspect; and far behind, stretched in their full boid English! Naples, with all its beauties and its pleasures, its treasury of ruins, and recollections, and fair works of art; its soft music and balmy airs cannot make you happy; may gratify the gaze of taste, but never suit the habits of your mind. There are many homeless solitary Englishmen who might sojourn longer in such scenes, and be soothed by them; but to become dwellers, settled residents, would be, even for them, impossible." To me it had another charm; it brought Spain before me, the peasant and his cot, and my chance billets among that loved and injured people. Ah! I will not dwell on it; but this only I will venture to say, they err greatly, grossly, who fancy that the Spaniard, the most patiently brave and resolutely persevering man, as a man, on the continent of Europe, will wear long any yoke he feels galling and detestable."-Scenes in Egypt, pp. 268, 269. The picture of Naples is striking; and re-looking either vast, or dark, or dreadful-all bright minds us in many places of Mad. de Staël's splendid sketches from the same subjects in Corrinne. But we must draw to a close now with our extracts; and shall add but one or two more, peculiarly characteristic of the gentle mind and English virtues of the author. "I next went into the library, a noble room, and a vast collection. I should much like to have seen those things which are shown here, especially the handwriting of Tasso. I was led as far, and into the apartment where they are shown. I found priests reading, and men looking as if they were learned. I was confused at the creaking of my boots; I gave the hesitating look of a wish, but I ended by a blush, bowed, and retired. I passed again into the larger apartment, and I felt composed as I looked around. Why life, thought I, would be too short for any human being to read these folios; but yet, if safe from the pedant's frown, one could have a vast library to range in, there is little doubt that, with a love of truth, and a thirsting for knowledge, the man of middle age, who regretted his early closed lexicon, might open it again with delight and profit. While thus musing, in stamped two travellers,-my countrymen, my bold, brave countrymen-not intellectual, I could have sworn, or Lavater is a cheat Ibid. pp. 301-303. We must break off here-though there is much temptation to go on. But we have now shown enough of these volumes to enable our readers to judge safely of their characterand it would be unfair, perhaps, to steal more from their pages. We think we have extract ed impartially; and are sensible, at all events, that we have given specimens of the faults as well as the beauties of the author's style. His taste in writing certainly is not unexcep tionable. He is seldom quite simple or natural, and sometimes very fade and affected. He "Pride in their port, defiance in their eye :"— has little bits of inversions in his sentences, They strode across to confront the doctors, and and small exclamations and ends of ordinary demanded to see those sights to which the book verse dangling about them, which we often directed, and the grinning domestique de place led them. I envied them, and yet was angry with wish away-and he talks rather too much of them; however, I soon be thought me, such are the himself, and his ignorance, and humility, men who are often sterling characters, true hearts. while he is turning those fine sentences, and They will find no seduction in a southern sun! but laying traps for our applause. But, in spite back to the English girl they love best, to be liked of all these things, the books are very interest. by her softer nature the better for having seen Italy; ing and instructive; and their merits greatly and taught by her gentleness to speak about it pleasingly, and prize what they have seen!-Such outweigh their defects. If the author has are the men whom our poor men like,-who are occasional failures, he has frequent felicities; generous masters and honest voters, faithful hus--and, independent of the many beautiful bands and kind fathers; who, if they make us smiled and brilliant passages which he has furnished at abroad in peace, make us feared in war, and any for our delight, has contrived to breathe over ne of whom is worth to his country far more than all his work a spirit of kindliness and contentment, which, if it does not minister (as ought) to our improvement, must at least disarm our censure of all bitterness. dozen mere sentimental wanderers." Ibid. pp. 296-298. "Always on quitting the museum it is a relief to drive somewhere, that you may relieve the mind (January, 1809.) Letters from a late eminent Prelate to one of his Friends. 4to. pp. 380. Kidderminster: 1808 WARBURTON, we think, was the last of our Great Divines-the last, perhaps, of any profession, among us, who united profound learning with great powers of understanding, and, along with vast and varied stores of acquired knowledge, possessed energy of mind enough to wield them with ease and activity. The days of the Cudworths and Barrows-the Hookers and Taylors, are long gone by. Among the other divisions of intellectual labour to which the progress of society has given birth, the business of reasoning, and the business of collecting knowledge, have been, in a great measure, put into separate hands. Our scholars are now little else than pedants, and antiquaries, and grammarians,-who have never exercised any faculty but memory; and our reasoners are, for the most part, but slenderly provided with learning; or, at any rate, make but a slender use of it in their reasonings. Of the two, the reasoners are by far the best off; and, upon many subjects, have really profited by the separation. Argument from authority is, in general, the weakest and the most tedicus of all arguments; and learning, we are inclined to believe, has more frequently played the part of a bully than of a fair auxiliary; and been oftener used to frighten people than to convince them,-to dazzle and overawe, rather than to guide and enlighten. A modern writer would not, if he could, reason as Barrow and Cudworth often reason; and every reader, even of Warburton, must have felt that his learning often encumbers rather than assists his progress, and, like shining armour, adds more to his terrors than to his strength. The true theory of this separation may be, therefore, that scholars who are capable of reasoning, have ceased to make a parade of their scholarship; while those who have nothing else must continue to set it forwardjust as gentlemen now-a-days keep their gold in their pockets, instead of wearing it on their clothes-while the fashion of laced suits still prevails among their domestics. There are individuals, however, who still think that a man of rank looks most dignified in cut velvet and embroidery, and that one who is not a gentleman can now counterfeit that appearance a little too easily. We do not presume to settle so weighty a dispute;-we only take the liberty of observing, that Warburton lived to see the fashion go out; and was almost the last native gentleman who appeared in a full trimmed coat. He was not only the last of our reasoning scholars, but the last also, we think, of our powerful polemics. This breed too, we take it, is extinct;-and we are not sorry for it. Those men cannot be much regretted, who, instead of applying their great and active faculties in making their fellows better or iser, or in promo ng mutual kindness and cordiality among all the virtuous and enlight. ened, wasted their days in wrangling upor idle theories; and in applying, to the specu lative errors of their equals in talents and in virtue, those terms of angry reprobation which should be reserved for vice and malignity. In neither of these characters, therefore, can we seriously lament that Warburton is not likely to have any successor. The truth is, that this extraordinary person was a Giant in Literature-with many of the vices of the Gigantic character. Strong as he was, his excessive pride and overweening vanity were perpetually engaging him in enterprises which he could not accomplish; while such was his intolerable arrogance towards his opponents, and his insolence towards those whom he reckoned as his inferiors, that he made himself very generally and deservedly odious, and ended by doing considerable injury to all the causes which he undertook to support. The novelty and the boldness of his manner-the resentment of his antagonists-and the consternation of his friends, insured him a considerable share of public attention at the beginning: But such was the repulsion of his moral qualities as a writer, and the fundamental unsoundness of most of his speculations, that he no sooner ceased to write, than he ceased to be read or inquired after,-and lived to see those erudite volumes fairly laid on the shelf, which he fondly expected to carry down a growing fame to posterity. The history of Warburton, indeed, is un commonly curious, and his fate instructive. He was bred an attorney at Newark; and probably derived, from his early practice in that capacity, that love of controversy, and that habit of scurrility, for which he was after wards distinguished. His first literary associates were some of the heroes of the Dunciad; and his first literary adventure the publication of some poems, which well entitled him to a place among those worthies. He helped "pilfering Tibbalds" to some notes upon Shake speare; and spoke contemptuously of Mr Pope's talents, and severely of his morals, in his letters to Concannen. He then hired his pen to prepare a volume on the Jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery; and having now entered the church, made a more successful endeavour to magnify his profession, and tc attract notice to himself by the publication of his once famous book on "the Alliance between Church and State," in which all the presumption and ambition of his nature was first made manifest. By this time, however, he seems to have passed over from the party of the Dunces to that of Pope; and proclaimed his conversion pretty abruptly, by writing an elaborate de fence of the Essay on Man from some impata his opponents. The object of the Divin Legation," for instance, is to prove that the mission of Moses was certainly from Gobecause his system is the only one which does not teach the doctrine of a future stare of rewards and punishments! And the ch ject of "the Alliance" is to show, that the church (that is, as he explains it, all the ai herents of the church of England) is entitled to a legal establishment, and the protection of a test law,—because it constitutes a separate society from that which is concerned in the civil government, and, being equally sovere and independent, is therefore entitled to treat with it on a footing of perfect equality. The sixth book of Virgil, we are assured, in the same peremptory manner, contains mere.y the description of the mysteries of Elecss; and the badness of the New Testament Greek a conclusive proof both of the eloquence and the inspiration of its authors. These fancies it appears to us, require no refutation; and dazzled and astonished as we are at the rich and variegated tissue of learning and arge ment with which their author has invested their extravagance, we conceive that no ma of a sound and plain understanding can ever mistake them for truths, or waver, in the least degree, from the conviction which his own reflection must afford of their intrinsic ab surdity. tions which ha been thrown on its theology a victory, which is now generally adjudged and morality. Pope received the services of this voluntary champion with great gratitude; and Warburton having now discovered that he was not only a great poet, but a very honest man, continued to cultivate his friendship with great assiduity, and with very notable success: For Pope introduced him to Mr. Murray, who made him preacher at Lincoln's Inn, and to Mr. Allen of Prior Park, who gave him his niece in marriage, obtained a bishopric for him,—and left him his whole estate. In the mean time, he published his "Divine Legation of Moses, "the most learned, most arrogant, and most absurd work, which had been produced in England for a century;-and his editions of Pope, and of Shakespeare, in which he was scarcely less outrageous and fantastical. He replied to some of his answerers in a style full of insolence and brutal scurrility; and not only poured out the most tremendous abuse on the infidelities of Bolingbroke and Hume, but found occasion also to quarrel with Drs. Middleton, Lowth, Jortin, Leland, and indeed almost every name distinguished for piety and learning in England. At the same time, he indited the most highflown adulation to Lord Chesterfield, and contrived to keep himself in the good graces of Lord Mansfield and Lord Hardwicke ;-while, in the midst of affluence and honours, he was continually exclaiming against the barbarity of the age in rewarding genius so frugally, and in not calling in the aid of the civil magistrate to put down fanaticism and infidelity. The public, however, at last, grew weary of these blustering novelties. The bishop, as old age stole upon him, began to doze in his mitre; and though Dr. Richard Hurd, with the true spirit of an underling, persisted in keeping up the petty traffic of reciprocal encomiums, yet Warburton was lost to the public long before he sunk into dotage, and lay dead as an author for many years of his natural existence. We have imputed this rapid decline of his reputation, partly to the unsoundness of his general speculations, and chiefly to the of fensiveness of his manner. The fact is admitted even by those who pretend to regret it; and, whatever Dr. Hurd may have thought, It must have had other causes than the decay of public virtue and taste. In fact, when we look quietly and soberly over the vehement and imposing treatises of Warburton, it is scarcely possible not to pereive, that almost every thing that is original his doctrine or propositions is erroneous; and that his great gifts of learning and argumentation have been bestowed on a vain attempt to give currency to untenable paradoxes. His powers and his skill in controversy may indeed conceal, from a careless reader, the radical fallacy of his reasoning; and as, in the course of the argument, he frequently has the better of his adversaries upon incidental and collateral topics, and never fails to make his triumph resound over the whole field of battle, it is easy to understand how De should, for a while, have got the case of The case is very nearly the same with he subordinate general propositions; which, in so far as they are original, are all brought forward with the parade of great discoveries, and yet appear to us among the most fette and erroneous of modern speculations. We are tempted to mention two, which we thrk we have seen referred to by later writers with some degree of approbation, and which, at any rate, make a capital figure in all the fu damental philosophy of Warburton. The one relates to the necessary imperfection of human laws, as dealing in Punishments only, and act in Rewards also. The other concerns his notion of the ultimate foundation of moral Obligation. The very basis of his argument for the necessity of the doctrine of a future state to the well-being of society, is, that, by human laws, the conduct of men is only controlled by the fear of punishment, and not excited by the hope of reward. Both these sanctions however, he contends, are necessary to reg late our actions, and keep the world in order and, therefore, legislators, not finding rewards in this world, have always been obliged to connect it with a future world, in which they have held out that they would be bestowed on all deservers. It is scarcely possible, believe, to put this most important on a more injudicious foundation; and if this were the only ground either for believing of inculcating the doctrine of a future state, should tremble at the advantages which the infidel would have in the contest. We shall not detain our readers longer, than just point ont three obvious fallacies in this, the most vaunted and confident, perhaps, of all doctrine |