father, and Benjamin not with me? left I fee the evil that fhall come on my father."

Upon this relation Joseph could no longer restrain himself. The tender ideas of his father and his father's house, of his ancient home, his country and his kindred, of the distress of his family, and his own exaltation, all rushed too strongly upon his mind to bear "He cried, farther concealment. any Cause every man to go out from me; and he wept aloud." The tears which he fhed were not the tears of grief. They were the burst of affection. They were the effufions of a heart overflowing with all the tender fenfibilities of nature. Formerly he had been moved in the fame manner, when he firft faw his brethren before him. "His bowels yearned upon them; he fought for a place where to weep. He went into his chamber; and then washed his face and returned to them." At that period his generous plans were not completed. But now, when there was no farther occafion for conftraining himself, he gave free vent to the strong emotions of his heart. The first minifter to the king of Egypt was not ashamed. to show, that he felt as a man, and a brother. "He wept aloud, and the Egyptians, and the house of Pharaoh, heard him." The first words which his fwelling heart allowed him to pronounce, are the most suitable to fuch an affecting fituation that were ever uttered; "I am Jofeph; doth my father yet life?" What could he, what ought he, in that impaffionate moment, to have faid more? This is the voice of nature herfelf, speaking her own language; and it penetrates the heart : no pomp of expreffion; no parade of kindness; but strong affection haftening to utter what it ftrongly felt. "His brethren could not anfwer him; for they were troubled at his prefence." Their filence is as expreffive of thofe emotions of repentance and fhame, which, on this amazing discovery, filled their breafts, and stopped their utterance, as the few words which Jofeph fpeaks, are expreffive of the generous agitations which ftruggle for vent within him. No painter could feize a more ftriking moment for difplaying the characteristical features of the human heart, than what is here prefented. Never was there a fituation of more tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand; nor, on the other, of more overwhelming confufion and conscious guilt. In the fimple

narration of the facred hiftorian, it is fet before us with greater energy and higher effect, than if it had been wrought up with all the colouring of the most admired modern eloquence.

SECTION VII.

ALTAMONT.

BLAIR.

The following account of an affecting, mournful exit, is related by Dr. Young, who was present at the melancholy scene.

THE fad evening before the death of the noble youth, whose last hours fuggefted the moft folemn and awful reflections, I was with him. No one was prefent but his physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he had ruined. At my coming in, he faid, "You and the phyfician are come too late. I have neither life nor hope. You both aim at miracles. You would raife the dead!" Heaven, I faid was merciful, "Or," exclaimed he ; "I could not have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bless, and to fave me! I have been too ftrong for Omnipotence! I have plucked down

in." I faid, the bleffed Redeemer; "Hold! hold! you wound me! That is the rock on which I fplit: I denied his name !"

Refufing to hear any thing from me, or to take any thing from the phyfician, he lay filent, as far as fudden darts of pain would permit, till the clock ftruck: Then with vehiemence he exclaimed; "Oh! time! time! it is fit thou shouldst thus ftrike thy murderer to the heart! How art thou fled forever! A month! Oh for a fingle week! I afk not for years; though an age were too little for the much I have to do." On my faying, we could not do too much that heaven was a bleffed place, "So much the worfe. 'Tis loft!' loft! Heaven is to me the fevereft part of hell!"

:

I

Soon after. I propofed prayer; "Pray you that can. never prayed. I cannot pray, nor need I. Is not Heaven on my fide already? It clofes with my confcience. Its fevereft ftrokes but fecond my own." Obferving that his friend was much touched at this, even to tears, (who could for bear? I could not) with a moft affectionate look, he faid " Keep thofe tears for thyfelf I have undone thee. Doft thou wrap for me? that is cruel. What can pain me more ?”

Here his friend, too much affected, would have left him. "No, ftay, thou ftill mayeft hope; therefore hear me. How madly have I talk'd! How madly haft thou listened, and believed! but look on my prefent ftate, as a full answer to thee, and to myself. This body is all weakness and pain; but my foul, as if ftung up by torment to greater ftrength and fpirit, is full powerful to reafon; full mighty to fuffer. And that, which thus triumphs within the jaws of immortality, is, doubtlefs, immortal: and, as for a Deity, nothing less than an Almighty could inflict what I feel."

I was about to congratulate this paffive, involuntary confeffor, on his afferting the two prime articles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature, when he thus very paffionately exclaimed: "No, no! let me fpeak on. I have not long to fpeak. My much injured friend! my foul, as my body, lies in ruins; in fcattered fragments of broken thoughts. Remorfe for the past, throws my thoughts on the future. Worfe dread of the future, ftrikes it back on the paft. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Didst thou feel half the mountain that is on me, thou would ftruggle with the martyr for his stake; and blefs Heaven for the flames! that is not an everlafting flame that is not an unquenchable fire."

How were we ftruck; yet, foon after ftill more. With what an eye of diftraction, what a face of defpair, he cried out!" My principles have poifoned my friend; my extravagance has bettered my boy! my unkindness has murdered my wife! And is there another hell? Oh! thou blafphemed, yet indulgent LORD GOD! Hell itfelf is a refuge, if it hide me from thy frown!" Soon after, his understanding failed. His terrified imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever forgotten. And ere the fun (which, I hope, has feen few like him) arofe, the gay, young, noble, ingenious, accomplished, and moft wretched Altamont, expired!

If this is a man of pleasure, what is a man of pain? How quick, how total, is the tranfit of such persons! In what a difmal gloom they fit forever; How fhort, alas! the day of their rejoicing; For a moment they glitter, they dazzle! In a moment, where are they? Oblivion covers their memories. Ah! would it did! Infamy fnatches them from oblivion. In the long living annals of infamy their triumphs are recorded.

Thy fufferings, poor Altamont! ftill bleed in the bofom of the heart ftricken friend, for Altamont had a friend. He might have had many. His tranfient morning might have been the dawn of an immortal day. His name might have been gloriously enrolled in the records of eternity. His memory might have left a sweet fragrance behind it, grateful to the furviving friend, falutary to the fucceeding generation. With what capacity was he endowed; with what advantages, for being greatly good! But with the talents of an angel, a man may be a fool. If he judges amifs in the fupreme point, judging right in all elfe, but aggravates his folly; as it fhows him wrong, though bleffed with the best capacity of being right.

CHAP. VII.

DIALOGUES.

SECTION I.

DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.*

DR. YOUNG.

The vices and follies of men should excite compassion rather than ridicule.

Democritus. I FIND it impoffible to reconcile myself to a melancholy philofophy.

Heraclitus. And I am equally unable to approve of that vain philosophy, which teaches men to despise and ridicule one another. To a wife and feeling mind, the world appears in a wretched and painful light.

Dem. Thou art too much affected with the state of things; and this is a fource of mifery to thee.

Her. And I think thou art too little moved by it. Thy mirth and ridicule befpeak the buffoon, rather than the philofopher. Does it not excite thy compaffion, to fee mankind fo frail, fo blind, so far departed from the rules of virtue ?

Dem. I am excited to laughter, when I fee fo much impertinence and folly.

* Democritus and Heraclitus were two ancient philosophers, the former of whom laughed, and the latter wept, at the errors and follies of mankind.

Her. And yet, after all, they, who are the objects of thy ridicule, include, not only mankind in general, but the perfons with whom thou liveft, thy friends, thy family, nay, even thyself.

Dem. I care very little for all the filly perfons I meet with; and think I am justifiable in diverting myself with their folly. Her. If they are weak and foolish, it marks neither wisdom nor humanity, to infult rather than pity them. But is it certain, that thou art not as extravagant as they are?

Dem. I prefume that I am not; fince, in every point, my fentiments are the very reverse of theirs.

Her. There are follies of different kinds. By conftantly amufing thyself with the errors and mifconduct of others, thou mayeft render thyfelf equally ridiculous and culpable.

Dem. Thou art at liberty to indulge such sentiments; and to weep over me too, if thou haft any tears to fpare. For my part I cannot refrain from pleafing myself with the levities and ill conduct of the world about me. Are not all men foolish or irregular in their lives?

Her. Alas! there is but too much reafon to believe, they are fo and on this ground, I pity and deplore their condition. We agree in this point, that men do not conduct themselves according to reasonable and juft principles: but I, who do not fuffer myself to act as they do, muft yet regard the dictates of my underftanding and feelings, which compel me to love them; and that love fills me with compaffion for their mistakes and irregularities. Canft thou condemn me for pitying my own fpecies, my brethren, perfons born in the fame condition of life, and destined to the fame hopes and privileges? If thou fhouldft enter a hospital, where fick and wounded perfons refide, would their wounds and diftreffes excite thy mirth? And yet, the evils of the body bear no comparison with those of the mind. Thou would certainly blush at thy barbarity, if thou hadst been fo unfeeling, as to laugh at or defpife a poor miferable being who had lost one of his legs and yet thou art fo deftitute of humanity, as to ridicule thofe, who appear to be deprived of the noble powers of the understanding, by the little regard which they pay to its dictates.

Dem. He who has loft a leg is to be pitied, because the