NUMBER LIX. Omnes eodem cogimur; omnium Sors exitura.- HORAT. Carm. All to the same last home are bound; I REMEMBER to have been told of a certain humorist, who set up a very singular doctrine upon the subject of death, asserting that he had discovered it to be not a necessary and inevitable event, but an act of choice and volition; he maintained that he had certain powers and resources within himself sufficient to support him in his resolution of holding out against the summons of death, till he became weary of life; and he pledged himself to his friends, that he would in his own person give experimental proof of his hypothesis. What particular address death made use of, when this ingenious gentleman was prevailed upon to step out of the world, I cannot take upon myself to say; but certain it is, that in some weak moment he was over persuaded to lay his head calmly on the pillow and surrender up his breath. Though an event, so contrary to the promise he had given, must have been a staggering circumstance to many, who were interested in the success of his experiment, yet I see good reason to suspect that his hypothesis is not totally discredited, and that he has yet some surviving disciples, who are acting such a part in this world as nobody would act but upon a strong presumption, that they shall not be compelled to go out of it, and enter upon another. Mortality, it must be owned, hath means of providing for the event of death, though none have yet been discovered of preventing it. Religion and virtue are the great physicians of the soul; patience and resignation are the nursing-mothers of the human heart in sickness and in sorrow; conscience can smooth the pillow under an aching-head, and Christian hope administers a cordial even in our last moments, that lulls the agonies of death: but where is the need of these, had this discovery been established? Why call in physicians and resort to cordials, if we can hold danger at a distance without their help? I am to presume, therefore, that every human being, who makes his own will his master, and goes all lengths in gratifying his guilty passions without restraint, must rely upon his own will for keeping him out of all danger of future trouble, or he would never commit himself so confidentially and entirely to a master, which can give him no security in return for his blind obedience and devotion. All persons of this description I accordingly set down in the lump as converts to the doctrine of the learned gentleman, who advanced the interesting discovery above-mentioned, but who unluckily missed some step in the proof, that was to have established it. To what lengths of credulity they may really go is hard to say, but some such hopes as these must buoy them up, because I cannot think that any man would be wilfully wicked, fraudulent, perfidious, avaricious, cruel, or whatever else is detestable in the eye of God, if he saw death, his messenger, at the door; and I am even unwilling to believe, that he would be wantonly guilty, was he only convinced that when death shall come to the door, he must be obliged to admit him: for if this be so, and if ad mission may not be denied, then hath death a kind of visitorial power over us, which makes him not a guest to be invited at our pleasure, but a lord and master of the house, to enter it as his own, and (which is worst of all) without giving notice to us to provide for his entertainment. What man is such a fool in common life, as to take up his abode in a tenement, of which he is sure to be dispossessed, and yet neglect to prepare himself against a surprise, which he is subject to every moment of the day and night? We are not apt to overlook our own interests and safety in worldly concerns, and therefore when the soul is given up to sin, I must suspect some error in the brain. What shall I say to persuade the inconsiderate that they exist upon the precarious sufferance of every moment, that passes over them in succession? How shall I warn a giddy fool not to play his antic tricks, and caper on the very utmost edge of a precipice? Who will guide the reeling drunkard in his path, and teach him to avoid the gravestones of his fellow-sots, set up by death as marks and signals to apprize him of his danger? If the voice of nature, deposing to the evidence of life's deceitful tenure from the beginning of things to the moment present, will neither gain audience nor belief, what can the moralist expect? Which of all those headlong voluptuaries, who seem in such haste to get to the end of life, is possessed of the art of prolonging it at pleasure? To whom has the secret been imparted? Either they are deceived by a vain hope of evading death, or there is something in a life of dissipation not worth preserving. I am astonished at the stupidity of any man, who can deny himself the gratification of conscious integrity: the proud man must be a consummate blockhead to take such wearisome pains for a little extorted flattery of the most servile sort, and overlook the ready means of gaining general respect upon the noblest terms: is it not an abuse of language and an insult to common sense for a silly fellow to announce himself to the world as a man of pleasure, when there is not an action in his life, but leaves a sting behind it to belie the character he professes? Can one fellow-creature find amusement in tormenting another? Is it possible there can be a recreation in malice, when it slanders the innocent; in fraud, when it cheats the unsuspecting; in perfidy, when it betrays a benefactor? If any being, who does me wrong, will justify himself against the wrong by confessing that he takes delight in injury, I will own to one instance of human depravity, which till that shall happen I will persist to hope is not in existence. The fact is, that all men have that respect for justice, that they attempt to shelter their very worst actions under its defence; and even those contemptible pilferers of reputation, who would be as much unknown by their names as they are by the concealment of them, qualify (I am persuaded) the dirty deed they are about by some convenient phantom of offence in the character they assault; even their hands cannot be raised to strike without prefacing the blow by saying to themselves-This man deserves to die.-Foolish wretches, what computation must they make of life, who devote so great a portion of it to miseries and reproaches of their own creating! Let a rational creature for once talk common sense to himself, and if no better words than the following occur to his thoughts, let him make use of them: he is heartily welcome to the loan. I know there is a period in approach, when I must encounter an enemy to my life, whose power is irresistible: this is a very serious thing for me to : reflect upon, and knowing it to be a truth infallible, I am out of hope, that I can so far forget the terms of my existence, as totally to expel it from my thoughts if I could foresee the precise hour, when this enemy will come, I would provide against it as well as I am able, and fortify my mind to receive him with such complacency as I could muster but of this hour I have, alas! no foresight; it may be this moment, or the next, or years may intervene before it comes to pass. It behoves me then to be upon my guard: he may approach in terrors, that agonize me to think of; he may seize my soul in the commission of some dreadful act, and transport it to a place whose horrors have no termination; I will not then commit that dreadful act, because I will not expose myself to that dreadful punishment: it is in my own choice to refrain from it, and I am not such a desperate fool to make choice of misery. If I act with this precaution, will he still appear in this shape of terror! Certainly he will not, nor can he in justice transport me to a place of punishment, when I have committed nothing to deserve it: Whither then will he convey me? To the mansions of everlasting happiness: Where are my fears? What is now become of his terrors? He is my passport, my conductor, my friend: I will welcome him with embraces: I will smile upon him with gratitude, and accompany him with exultation.' NUMBER LX. I WOULD wish no man to deceive himself with opinions, which he has not thoroughly reflected upon |