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On reviewing my fubject, by the light which this argument, and others of like tendency, threw upon it, I was more inclined than ever to purfue it, as it appeared to me to ftrike directly at the main root of all our infidelity. In the following pages it is, accordingly, purfued at large; and fome arguments for immortality, new at leaft to me, are ventured on in them. There alfo the writer has made an attempt to fet the grofs abfurdities and horrors of annihilation in a fuller and more affecting view, than is (I think) to be met with elsewhere.

The gentlemen, for whofe fake this attempt was chiefly made, profefs great admiration for the wifdom of heathen antiquity: what pity it is they are not fin<cere! If they were fincere, how would it mortify them to confider, with what contempt and abhorrence their notions would have been received by those whom they fo much admire! What degree of contempt and abhorrence would fall to their fhare, may be conjectured by the following matter of fact (in my opinion) extremely memorable. Of all their heathen worthies, Socrates (it is well known) was the moft guarded, difpaffionate, and compofed: yet this great mafter of temper was angry; and angry at his last hour; and angry with his friend; and angry for what deferved acknowledgement; angry for a right and tender inftance of true friendship towards him. Is not this furprifing? What could be the caufe? The caufe was for his honour it was a truly noble, though, perhaps, a too punctilious, regard for immortality: for his friend

asking him, with fuch an affectionate concern as became a friend, "Where he thould depofite his remains ?" it was refented by Socrates, as implying a dishonourable fuppofition, that he could be fo mean, as to have a regard for any thing, even in himself, that was not immortal.

This fact well confidered would make our infidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates; or make them endeavour, by their imitation of this illuftrious example, to fhare his glory: and, confequently, it would incline them to perufe the following pages with candour and impartiality: which is all I defire; and that, for their fakes: for I am perfuaded, that an unprejudiced infidel muft, neceffarily, receive fome advantageous impreffions from them.

July 7, 1744

VOL. LXI.

M

CON.

CONTENTS OF THE SEVENTH NIGHT.

IN the fixth Night arguments were drawn, from Na-
ture, in proof of immortality: here, others are
drawn from Man: from his Difcontent, Ver. 29; from
his Paffions and Powers, 64; from the gradual growth
of Reason, 81; from his fear of Death, 86; from the
nature of Hope, 104, and of Virtue, 139, &c. from
Knowledge and Love, as being the most effential pro-
perties of the foul, 253; from the Order of Creation,
290, &c. from the nature of Ambition, 337, &c. Ava-
rice, 460; Pleasure, 477; a digreffion on the grandeur
of the Paffions, 521. Immortality alone renders our
present state intelligible, 545. An objection from the
Stoics difbelief of immortality answered, 585. End-
lefs questions unrefolvable, but on fuppofition of our
immortality, 606. The natural, moft melancholy, and
pathetic complaint of a worthy man, under the per-
fuafion of no futurity, 653, &c. The grofs abfurdi-
ties and horrors of annihilation urged home on Lorenzo,
842, &c. The foul's vaft importance, 990. &c. from
whence it arises, 1078. The Difficulty of being an in-
fidel 1131, the Infamy, 1148, the Caufe, 1183, and
the Character, 1203, of an infidel state. What true
free-thinking is, 1217. The necessary punishment of
the falfe, 1271. Man's ruin is from himself, 1303.
An infidel accuses himself of guilt, and hypocrify; and
that of the worst fort, 1319. His obligation to Chrif-
tians, 1337. What danger he incurs by Virtue, 1345.
Vice recommended to him, 1364. His high pretences
to Virtue and Benevolence, exploded, 1373. The
conclufion, on the nature of Faith, 1427. Reafon,
1439; and Hope, 1443; with an apology for this at-
tempt, 1470.

HE

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EAVEN gives the needful, but neglected, call.
What day, what hour, but knocks at human hearts,

To wake the foul to sense of future scenes ?

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Deaths ftand, like Mercurys, in every way,
And kindly point us to our journey's end.
Pope, who couldst make immortals! art thou dead?
I give thee joy: nor will I take my leave;
So foon to follow. Man but dives in death;
Dives from the fun, in fairer day to rife;
The grave, his fubterranean road to blifs.
Yes, infinite indulgence plann'd it so ;
Through various parts our glorious story runs ;
Time gives the preface, endless age unrolls
The volume (ne'er unroll'd!) of human fate.
This, earth and skies * already have proclaim'd. 15
The world's a prophecy of worlds to come;
And who, what God foretels (who speaks in things,
Still louder than in words) fhall dare deny ?
If nature's arguments appear too weak,
Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man.
If man fleeps on, untaught by what he fees,
Can he prove infidel to what he feels?
He, whose blind thought futurity denies,
Unconscious bears, Bellerophon ! dike thee,.
His own indictment; he condemns himself;

M 2

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25 Who

Night the Sixth.

Who reads his bofom, reads immortal life;
Or, nature, there, impofing on her fons,
Has written fables; man was made a lye.
Why discontent for ever harbour'd there ?
Incurable confumption of our peace!
Refolve me, why the cottager and king,

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He whom fea-fever'd realms obey, and he
Who steals his whole dominion from the wafte,
Repelling winter blafts with mud and straw,

Difquieted alike, draw figh for figh,

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In fate fo diftant, in complaint fo near ?

Is it, that things terreftrial can't content?
Deep in rich pafture, will thy flocks complain?
Not fo; but to their master is deny'd

To fhare their sweet ferene. Man, ill at ease,
In this, not his own place, this foreign field,
Where nature fodders him with other food
Than was ordain'd his cravings to fuffice,
Poor in abundance, famifh'd at a feaft,
Sighs on for fomething more, when most enjoy'd.

Is heaven then kinder to thy flocks than thee?
Not fo; thy pasture richer, but remote ;

In part, remote; for that remoter part

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45

50.

Man bleats from inftinct, though perhaps, debauch'd
By fenfe, his reafon fleeps, nor dreams the cause.
The caufe how obvious, when his reafon wakes!
His grief is but his grandeur in disguise;
And discontent is immortality.

Set

Shall fons of æther, fhall the blood of heaven, up their hopes on earth, and stable here

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