mult of events to affect us. The adventures of Robinson, before and after his abode on the island, are a thousand times more varied than those of his solitude, and yet these adventures affect us but little. It is not then in the diversity of events that we must expect to find interest, nor is it in the description of material nature. De Foe had a fine opportunity to describe the island of Robinson, and to paint its solitude and its melancholy beauty. A descriptive and elegiac poet would have made Robinson a visionary or a misanthrope. De Foe has made him a man: it is this which has made his romance immortal.

We have drawn a parallel between the Odyssey of Homer and the romance of De Foe, because these two narratives, although different in time, manner, and merit, have, notwithstanding, the same kind of interest. They affect us by representing the struggle which man sustains against nature. But there is also, in the struggles which man sustains with nature, another kind of courage, less stirring and less dramatic, which does not combat danger, but which disdains it: it is the courage of the Christian who, prepared to die, awaits with calmness whatever it may please God to send him. When art paints this kind of courage, it gains in dignity what it loses in action, and man becomes by resignation as great as he was by struggle. We may add, that, in Christianity, this resignation never degenerates into a proud insensibility. Faith gives to the heart of man a strength which, coming from God, elevates him without puffing him up, and makes him firm and steadfast without ceasing to humble him.

The narrative of the storm in The Acts of the Apostles, affords the best example of the interest which this kind of courage excites. St. Paul was sent prisoner to Rome. For several days the vessel kept its regular course; but suddenly a storm arose, mingled with whirlwinds:

"But not long after there arose against it a tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon. And when the ship was caught, and could not bear up into the wind, we let her drive. But after long abstinence, Paul stood forth in the midst of them and said, Sirs, you should have hearkened unto me, and not have loosed from Crete, and to have gained this harm and loss. And now I exhort you to be of good cheer, for there shall be no loss of any man's life among you, but of the ship. For there stood by me this night the angel of God, whose I

am, and whom I serve, saying, Fear not, Paul, thou must be brought before Cæsar: and lo, God hath given thee all them that sail with thee. Wherefore, sirs, be of good cheer; for I believe God, that it shall be even as it was told me. And while the day was coming on, Paul besought them all to take meat, saying, This day is the fourteenth day that ye have tarried and continued fasting, having taken nothing. Wherefore I pray you to take some meat; for this is for your health: for there shall not a hair fall from the head of any of you. And when he had thus said, he took bread, and gave thanks to God in presence of them all; and when he had broken it, he began to eat. Then were they all of good cheer, and they also took some meat."

We observe that in this tempest, as in that of Ulysses, man is always in the scene. But between Ulysses and St. Paul what a difference! The one never despairs, although he is never inspired, but is sustained in his struggle with danger by the love of life, a feeling which gives more patience than dignity; the other, who is in a vessel beaten by the waves, is occupied with the storm only for the purpose of consoling his friends, and who tells them, with a confident tone, that they will never lose a hair of their head: the angel of the Lord has told him so, and his God is no deceiver. Ulysses hesitates when Leucothöe advises him to quit his vessel, and to cast himself into the waves: perhaps it is a trick of some hostile deity! But the God whom St. Paul serves is not a God of tricks, and his words do not inspire hesitation; they strengthen the heart of man; they enable him to forget the ragings of the storm. St. Paul is no longer a shipwrecked mariner who courageously struggles with death; he is an inspired prophet and apostle. The tempest almost ceases to become dangerous; it only affords an opportunity for the grandeur of God to manifest itself-of the God whom he serves, and whose he is; for it is to God, and not to the angry waves which are ready to ingulf him—not to this battered vessel which is about to sink, that he trusts; it is in God, who has saved him and his companions from a watery grave; and in pledge of the life which he promises them, he distributes in the midst of the storm the bread of Christian communion.

An admirable lesson, which should teach to man all the nobility of his nature! In the midst of the most terrible catastrophes,—in the midst of fire and tempest,—if we take

any one of the sentiments of the human heart, be it courage which proceeds from the love of life, or trust in God, or honor, or respect of the law, and compare it with the material effects of the catastrophes which you relate, these effects, however terrible and extraordinary they may be, no longer attract our attention; the human sentiment which is the subject of them, instantly eclipses them, and material nature loses its grandeur as soon as moral nature appears.

We will relate a story which beautifully illustrates what we have just said. In 1825, a terrible fire broke out at sea on board of the Kent, a ship belonging to the East India Company. The Captain, seeing that there was no hope of being able to extinguish the fire, which had almost reached. a powder deposit, gave orders to let the water on the first and second decks. The water entered into all parts of the ship, and was about to arrest the fury of the flames; but this caused a still greater danger, and the vessel seemed about to sink into the sea. Then commenced a scene of horror which beggars all description. The deck was covered with six or seven hundred human creatures, many of whom had been confined to their beds by sea-sickness, who were compelled to fly without their clothes, and ran here and there seeking their fathers, husbands, or children. While some awaited their death with silent resignation or stupid insensibility, others abandoned themselves to all the wildness of despair.

*

The wives and children of the soldiers had come to seek refuge in the chambers of the upper decks, and there they prayed and read the Bible with the wives of the officers and passengers. Among them were two sisters, who, with admirable presence of mind, selected at this moment from the Psalms that one which best suited their danger, and commenced to read with a loud voice, alternately, the following

verses:

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will we not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. The Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our high reward."

The voice of the Lord is upon the waters; yes, there is at this moment upon the waters only the voice of the Lord, and that of man which faith unites to God. This voice of

God controls for us the whistling of the winds, the roaring of the storm, and the cries of despairing passengers, if indeed there were any who could despair after witnessing the piety of these two young sisters. It controls in our mind the idea of the tempest, as it controlled the tempest itself in the souls which this song reanimated; which will never be sung by purer voices until it be chanted by the angels of Heaven!

The

"In this extreme danger, the Captain ordered a man to climb to the mast-head, to see if he could discover any vessel upon the surface of the ocean, which could come to his assistance. The sailor having arrived at his post looked all around the horizon; it was for us a moment of unspeakable anguish; then suddenly flourishing his hat, he exclaimed, -A sail under the wind.' This happy news was received with a feeling of profound gratitude, and we responded to it with three cheers of joy. The vessel designated was an English brig, which was coming under full sail to the assistance of the Kent. Then commenced a new scene. transportation from one vessel to the other was difficult, on account of the violence of the sea; it must take a long time, and yet at any moment the vessel might sink. Discipline was observed, and the sentiment of honor was not less powerful in overcoming their impatience for deliverance, than was the sentiment of faith and prayer against the despair of death. 'In what order must the officers go from the vessel ?' inquired one of the lieutenants. 'In the order which is observed at funerals,' answered the Captain. And in this order, which seemed a symbol of peril, the passengers and crew left the vessel, the youngest passing first, and the officers of the highest grade remaining the last upon the vessel."

Here we may remark in conclusion, that the tempest and fire move us less than the fortitude of man; here man is more noble, according to the thought of Pascal,* than the elements which seem about to overwhelm him.

* Quand l'univers ecrasserait, l'homme serait encore plus noble que ce qui le tue, parce qu'il sait qu'il meurt; et l'avantage que l'univers a sur iui, l'univers n'en sait rien.-Pensées de Pascal.

V.

SUICIDE AND THE HATRED OF LIFE-DIDO IN VIRGIL-EDIPUS IN SENECA AND IN SOPHOCLES-STAGYRA IN SAINT CHRYSOSTOM.

Ir may be safely asserted, that in order to arrive at the idea of suicide, a certain exercise of the understanding, and a certain fermentation of the passions, are necessary. Men who have not studied, women who have not read romances, do not, in their troubles, have recourse to suicide. Hence we hear of more suicides among civilized people than among barbarous people; and it has been remarked, that in the East suicides have occurred only since the influence which European ideas have introduced. The most wretched and destitute man in the world, the man who has been reduced to the miseries of Job, if he had not tasted a little of the Tree of Knowledge, if he has not added to his sufferings the torment of thoughts, would never think of taking his life by his own hand. Suicide is not the disease of simple-minded people; it is a disease created by refinement and philosophy; and if artisans, in these days, are addicted to suicide, it is caused by their minds being continually soured and corrupted by modern science and civilization.

In antiquity, all the sects of philosophers, especially at Rome, had a mania for suicide. The Stoics killed themselves in order to become free and independent; the Epicureans killed themselves because they found that in this world there was much suffering, and but little pleasure. The Stoics died with an air of grandeur and fortitude which appeared theatrical; the Epicureans placed in theirs a carelessness and an indifference which they considered in good taste. "Why," said they, "make so much ceremony about so small an affair? Where is the necessity, O Cato! of appointing a philosophic conference for the purpose of solemnly discussing