arrived at the bond of enjoying; and rejoiced to be bound in sorrowful bonds, that I might be scourged with the redhot iron rods of jealousy, and suspicions, and fears, and angers, and quarrels.

STA

CHAPTER II.

He arouses empty feelings of pity in himself by stage plays.

TAGE plays also carried me away, full of images of my miseries, and of tinder for my flame. Why is it that man desires to be there made sad, beholding grievous and tragical things, which yet himself would by no means suffer? yet he desires as a spectator to feel grief at them, and this very grief is his pleasure. What is this but a miserable madness? for a man is the more affected with these actions, the less free he is from such affections. Howsoever, when he suffers in his own person, it uses to be styled misery; when from sympathy with others, then it is pity. But what sort of pity is this for the shams and shadows of the stage? for the auditor is not moved to succour, but only asked to grieve; and he applauds the actor of these fictions the more, the more he grieves. And if those human misfortunes, whether they be histories of olden times, or mere fictions, be so acted, that the spectator is not moved to grief, he goes away disdainful and censorious; but if he be moved to grief, he stays intent, and enjoys the tears he sheds.

Are griefs then too loved? Verily all desire joy. Or since no man likes to be miserable, yet we like to be pitiful; and as this cannot be without some grief, is this the sole reason why griefs are loved? This also arises from that spring of friendship. But whither goes that spring? whither does it flow? wherefore runs it into that torrent of pitch bubbling forth those monstrous tides of foul lusts, into which it is changed and transformed of its own motion, being twisted aside and cut off from its heavenly clearness ? Shall pity then be renounced? by no means. Let griefs then sometimes be loved. But beware of uncleanness, O my soul, under the guardianship of my God, the "God of our fathers, who is to be praised and exalted above all for ever" (Dan. iii. 52, Vulg.); beware of uncleanness. For I

have not even now ceased to pity; but then in the theatres I rejoiced with lovers, when they wickedly enjoyed one another, although this was imaginary only in the play. And when they lost one another, as if very pitiful, I sorrowed with them, yet had my delight in both the while. But now I much more pity him that rejoiceth in his wickedness, than him that suffers seeming hardships through lack of some pernicious pleasure, and the loss of some miserable felicity. This certainly is the truer pity, but in it grief is without delight. For though he that grieves for the miserable be commended for his office of charity, yet he who is genuinely pitiful would much prefer that there were nothing for him to grieve for. For if good will be ill willed, which cannot be, then may he, who truly and sincerely pities, wish there might be some miserable that he might pity them. Some sorrow may then be allowed, none loved. For thus dost Thou, O Lord God, who lovest souls far more purely than we, and hast more incorruptibly pity on them, yet art wounded with no sorrowfulness. "And who is sufficient for these things"? (2 Cor. ii. 16).

But I, miserable, then loved to grieve, and sought out what to grieve at, when in the misery of another, who only feigned and postured, that acting of a player best pleased me, and attracted me the most vehemently, which drew tears from me. What marvel that an unhappy sheep, erring from Thy flock, and impatient of Thy keeping, I became infected with a foul disease? And hence came the love of griefs, though not of such as should too deeply affect me. For I loved not to endure what I loved to look on; but such that when I heard their fictions, I should, as it were, be tickled on the surface: upon which, as on nail scratches, followed inflamed swelling, corruption, and a horrid sore. Such was my life. But was it life, O my God?

CHAPTER III.

Not even in Church does he govern his desires; in the rhetoric school he abhors the doings of the "Subverters."

AND Thy faithful mercy hovered over me from afar. In what grievous iniquities did I consume away, and followed after a sacrilegious curiosity, that when forsaking

Thee it might bring me to the treacherous abyss, and the deceitful rites of devils, to whom I sacrificed my evil doings; and in all these things Thou didst scourge me! I dared even, during the celebration of Thy solemnities, within the walls of Thy church, to desire, and to compass a business, deserving death for its fruits, for which Thou scourgedst me with grievous punishments, though nothing to my fault, O Thou my exceeding mercy, my God, my refuge from those terrible destroyers, among whom I wandered with a stiff neck, withdrawing further from Thee, loving mine own ways, and not Thine; loving a fleeting liberty.

Those studies also, which were accounted honourable, had their purpose fixed upon the Law Courts, that I might excel in them, being considered more praiseworthy, the more crafty in deception. Such is men's blindness, glorying even in their blindness. And now I was chief in the rhetoric school, whereat I joyed proudly, and I swelled with arrogancy, though (Lord, Thou knowest) far quieter and altogether removed from the subvertings of those "Subverters" (for this perverse and devilish name was a sort of mark of the "man about town") among whom I lived, with a shameless shame that I was not even as they. With them I lived, and was sometimes delighted with their friendship, though I ever held aloof from their doings, ¿.e., their "subvertings," wherewith they wantonly railed at the modesty of strangers, which they disturbed by a gratuitous jeering, feeding thereon their malicious mirth. Nothing can be more like the actions of devils. What then could they be more truly called than "subverters"? themselves subverted and altogether perverted first, the deceiving spirits secretly deriding and seducing them in the very thing wherein themselves delight to jeer at, and deceive others.

CHAPTER IV.

In his nineteenth year, two years after his father's death, the "Hortensius" of Cicero recalls his mind to philosophy, to God, and to a better mood of thought.

AMONG such as these, in that inconstant age of mine,

I kept learning books of eloquence, wherein I desired to be eminent, for a damnable and windy end, the gratifica

tion of human vanity. In the then usual course of study, I fell upon a certain book of Cicero, whose language almost all admire, not so his heart. This book of his contains an exhortation to philosophy, and is called Hortensius. But this book altered my disposition, and turned my prayers to Thyself, O Lord; and changed my purposes and desires. Every vain hope at once became worthless to me; and I began to yearn with an incredible fervour of heart for the immortality of wisdom, and began now to arise, that I might return to Thee. For not to sharpen my tongue (which thing I seemed to be purchasing with my mother's income, in that my nineteenth year, my father being dead two years before), not to sharpen my tongue did I pore over that book; and it convinced me, not by the manner, but the matter of its eloquence.

How did I burn then, my God, how did I burn to soar again from earthly things to Thee; and I knew not what Thou wouldest do with me. For with Thee is wisdom. But the love of wisdom is in Greek called "philosophy," with which that book inflamed me. Some there be that seduce through philosophy, under a great, and alluring, and honourable name colouring and disguising their own errors; and almost all who in that and former ages were such, are in that book censured and set forth: there also is illustrated that wholesome advice of Thy spirit, by Thy good and devout servant; "Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ. For in Him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily" (Col. ii. 8, 9). And at that time (Thou, O light of my heart, knowest that this passage of the Apostle was not as yet known to me), I was delighted with this only, to wit, the exhortation that I should love, and seek, and follow after, and hold, and embrace, not this school or the other, but wisdom's self, wherever she might be: with that exhortation I was greatly stirred up, and enkindled, and inflamed; and in my great ardour this only gave me pause, that the name of Christ was not in it. For this name, according to Thy mercy, O Lord, this name of my Saviour Thy Son, had my tender heart, even with my mother's milk, drunk in, and deeply treasured; and whatsoever was without that name, though never so learned, polished, or truthful, took not entire hold of me.

CHAPTER V.

He throws aside Holy Scripture as being too simple, and by no means comparable with Cicero for dignity.

I

BEGAN then to turn my mind to the Holy Scriptures, that I might see what they were. But behold, I see a thing not understood by the proud, nor laid open to children, in mien lowly, in issue lofty, and veiled with mysteries; and I was not such as could enter into it, or stoop my neck to follow its steps. For not as I now speak, did I feel when I turned to those Scriptures; but they seemed to me undignified, in comparison with Ciceronian dignity; for my swelling pride shrunk from their humble method, nor could my sharp wit penetrate their depths. Yet were they such as would grow up in a little one. But I disdained to be a little one; and, swoln with arrogance, took myself to be a great one.

CHAPTER VI.

By his own fault he fell into the errors of the Manichæans, who boast of a true perception of God, and thorough investigation of all things.

THE

CHEREFORE I fell among men raving with pride, very carnal and wordy, in whose mouths were the snares of the Devil, and a bird lime made up of a mixture of the syllables of Thy name, and of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Holy Ghost, the Paraclete, our Comforter. These names departed not from their lips, though they were but a sound and a rattling of the tongue : for the heart was void of truth. Yet they said: "the Truth, the Truth," and spake much thereof to me, yet "it was not in them" (1 S. John ii. 4), but they spake falsehoods, not of Thee only (who truly art Truth), but even of those elements of this world, Thy creatures. And I indeed ought to have passed by even philosophers who spake truth concerning them, for love of Thee, my Father, supremely good, Beauty of all things beautiful. O Truth, Truth, how inwardly did even then the marrow of my soul pant after Thee, when they often and diversely, and in many and huge books, clamoured to me of Thee in empty words! And these were the dishes wherein