foolishness of folly, we might have felt surprised to see a man of sense, at any time of life, amusing himself with the ridiculous heathen story of Charon and his boat But as such men love darkness rather than light, so it is a self-evident proposition, that they prefer the most debasing folly to the most elevating wisdom, when they prefer this absurd tale to the glorious prospects of immortality. Compare Hume, dying and jesting about Charon and his boat, and the Christian, expiring with expressions of praise and gratitude to God, and of confidence in his obtaining eternal life through the merits of his Saviour, and then say, Is the difference between hell and heaven wider than that between the dying philosopher and the dying believer! In the miserable deaths of Voltaire, and Thomas Paine, some of the horrors of infidelity are seen, but the hardened stupidity of Hume, gives as awful a view of its dreadful influence. 66 all Some observations that other writers have made on this subject, are so excellent that they are inserted here. Bishop Horne, in his letter to Dr. Adam Smith, Hume's encomiast, says, Are you sure, and can you make us sure, that there really exists no such thing as a God, and a future state of reward and punishment? If so, is well. Let us then, in our last hours, read Lucian, and play at whist, and droll upon Charon and his boat; let us die as foolish and insensible, as much like our brother philosophers, the calves of the field, and the asses of the desert, as we can for the life of us. But, if such things be-as they most certainly are-is it right in you, sir, to hold up to our view, as 'perfectly wise and virtuous,' the character and conduct of one, who seems to have been possessed with an incurable antipathy to all that is called religion? "You would persuade us, by the example of David Hume, Esq., that atheism is the only cordial for low spirits, and the proper antidote against the fear of death. But surely, he who can reflect, with complacency, on a friend thus misemploying his talents in his life, and then amusing himself with Lucian, whist, and Charon, at his death, may smile over Babylon in ruins, esteem the earthquake which destroyed Lisbon, an agreeable occurrence, and congratulate the hardened Pharaoh, on his overthrow in the Red Sea. Drollery, in such circumstances, is neither more nor less than Moody madness, laughing wild, Would we know the baneful and pestilential influences of false philosophy on the human heart, we need only contemplate them in this most deplorable instance of Mr. Hume.' Another writer observes, "The jocularity of the philosopher was contrary to good taste. To be in harmony with his situation, in his own view of that situation, the expressions of the dying philosopher were required to be dignified. It is true, that good men of a high order, have been known to utter pleasantries in their last hours. But these have been pleasantries of a fine etherial quality. These had no resemblance to the low and laboured jokes of our philosopher-jokes, so laboured as to give strong cause for suspicion, after all, that they were of the same nature, and for the same purpose, as the expedient of a boy, on passing through some gloomy place in the night, who whistles to lessen his fear, or to persuade his companions that he does not feel it. "Such a manner of meeting death was inconsistent with the scepticism, to which Hume was always found to avow his adherence. For that scepticism necessarily acknowledged a possibility and chance, that the religion which he had scorned might be found true, and might, in the moment after his death, glare upon him with all its terror. But how dreadful to such a reflecting mind, would have been the smallest chance of meeting such a vision! Yet our philosopher could be cracking his heavy jokes, and Dr. Smith could be much diverted at the sport. 66 To a man who solemnly believes the truth of revelation, and therefore the threatenings of Divine vengeance against the despisers of it, this scene will present as mournful a spectacle, as, perhaps, the sun ever shone upon. We have beheld a man of great talents, and invincible perseverance, entering on his career with the profession of an impartial inquiry after truth, met at every stage and step by the evidences and expostulations of religion, and the claims of his Creator, but devoting his labours to the pursuit of fame, and the promotion of impiety. We behold him appointed soon to appear before that Judge to whom he had never alluded, but with entire malice and contempt; yet preserving, to appearance, an entire self-complacency, idly jesting about his approaching dissolution, and mingling with these insane sports, his reference to the fall of superstition,' a term, of which the meaning is hardly ever dubious, when expressed by such men. We behold him at last carried off, and we seem to hear, the next moment, from the darkness in which he vanishes, the shriek of surprise and terror, and the overpowering accents of the messenger of vengeance. On the whole globe there probably was not acting, at the time, so mournful a tragedy as that, of which the friends of Hume were the spectators, without being aware that it was any tragedy at all."-Eclectic Review, 1808. 2. ROUSSEAU. J. J. ROUSSEAU was one of the philosophers of the last century, and was honoured by the infidels of France with the second place in their Pantheon. His life was a life of crime; and considering this, his death was one of the most awful imaginable. The following brief sketch, drawn mainly from his own account of himself, may show what he was. After a good education, in the Protestant religion, he was put apprentice. Finding his situation disagreeable to him, he felt a strong propensity to vice; inclining him to covet, dissemble, lie, and at length to steal-a propensity of which he was never able afterward to divest himself. "I have been a rogue," says he, "and am so still sometimes, for trifles which I had rather take than ask for." He abjured the Protestant religion, and entered the hospital of the Catechumens at Turin, to be instructed in that of the Catholics: "For which in return," says he, "I was to receive subsistence. From this interested conversion," he adds, "nothing remained but the remembrance of my having been both a dupe and an apostate." After this he resided with a Madame de Warrens, with whom he lived in the greatest possible familiarity." She was a very good Catholic, or pretended at least to be one, and certainly desired to be such. If there had been no Christian morality established, Rousseau supposes she would have lived as though regulated by its principles. All her morality, however, was subordinate to the principles of Mr. Tavel, who first seduced her to adultery by urging, in effect, that exposure was the only crime. "Finding in her," he says, "all those ideas I had occasion for to secure me from the fears of death, and its future consequences, I drew confidence and security from this source." The writings of Port Royal, and those of the Oratory, made him half a Jansenist; and notwithstanding all his confidence, their harsh theory sometimes alarmed him. A dread of hell, which till then he had never much apprehended, by little and little disturbed his security, and had not Madame de Warrens tranquillized his soul, would at length have been too much for him. His confessor also, a Jesuit, contributed all in his power to keep up his hopes. After this he became familiar with another female, Theresa. He began by declaring to her that he would never either abandon, or marry her. Finding her pregnant with her first child, and hearing it observed in an eating-house, that he who had best filled the Foundling Hospital was always the most applauded, "I said to myself," quoth he, "since it is the custom of the country, they who live here may adopt it." And he did adopt it, and relieved himself of the burden of no less than three illegitimate children by placing them in the Foundling Hospital. After passing twenty years with Theresa, he made her his wife. He appears to have intrigued with a Madame de H. Of his desires after that lady he says, "Guilty without remorse, I soon became so without measure.' Such, according to his own account, was the life of uprightness and honour which was to expiate for a theft which he had committed when a young man, and laid it to a female servant; by which she lost her place and character. After giving an account of a life thus atrocious, he says, "Whenever the last trumpet shall sound, I will present myself before the Sovereign Judge, with this |