to us hereafter new matter of wonder and adoration, we are altogether. ignorant. This, as I have said before, we ought to acquiesce in, that the Sovereign Being, the great author of nature, has in him all possible perfection, as well in kind as in degree; to speak according to our methods of conceiving, I shall only add under this head, that when we have raised our notion of this infinite being as high as it is possible for the mind of man to go, it will fall infinitely short of what he really is. There is no end of his greatness: the most exalted creature he has made, is only capable of adoring it, none but himself can comprehend it.

The advice of the son of Sirach is very just and sublime in this light. By his word all things consist. We may speak much, and yet come short: wherefore in sum he is all. How shall we be able to magnify him? for he is great above all his works. The Lord is terrible and very great; and marvellous in his power. When you glorify the Lord, exalt him as much as you can: for even yet he will far exceed. And when you exalt him, put forth all your strength, and be not weary: for you can never go far enough. Who hath seen him, that he might tell us? and who can magnify him as he is? There are yet hid greater things than these be, for we have seen but few of his works.'

I have here only considered the Supreme Being by the light of reason and philosophy. If we would see him in all the wonders of his mercy we must have recourse to revelation, which represents him to us, not only as infinitely great and glorious, but as infinitely good and just in his dispensations towards man. But as this is a theory which falls under every one's consideration, though indeed it can never be sufficiently considered, I shall here only take notice of that habitual worship, and veneration which we ought to pay to this Almighty Being. We should

often refresh our minds with the thought of him, and annihilate ourselves before him, in the contemplation of our own worthlessness, and of his transcendant excellency and perfection. This would imprint in our minds such a constant and uninterrupted awe and veneration as that which I am here recommending, and which is in reality a kind of incessant: prayer, and reasonable humiliation of the soul before him who made it.

This would effectually kill in us all the little seeds of pride, vanity, and self-conceit, which are apt to shoot up in the minds of such whose thoughts turn more on those comparative advantages which they enjoy over some of their fellow-creatures, than on that infinite distance which is placed between them and the supreme model of all perfection. It would likewise quicken our desires and endeavours of uniting ourselves to him by all the acts of religion and virtue.

Such an habitual homage to the Supreme Being would, in a particular manner, banish from among us that prevaling impiety of using his name on the most trivial occasions.

I find the following passage in an excellent sermon, preached at the funeral of a gentleman who was an honour to his country, and a more diligent as well as successful inquirer into the works of nature, than any other our nation has ever produced: He had the profoundest veneration for the great God of heaven and earth that I have ever observed in any person. The very name of God was never mentioned by him without a pause and a visible stop in his discourse; in which, one that knew him most particularly above twenty years, has told me, that he was so exact, that he does not remember to have observed him once to fail in it.'

Every one knows the veneration which was paid by the Jews to a name so great, wonderful and holy.

They would not let it enter even into their religious discourses. What can we then think of those who make use of so tremendous a name in the ordinary expressions of their anger, mirth, and most impertinent passions? Of those who admit it into the most familiar questions and assertions, ludicrous phrases and works of humour! not to mention those who violate it by solemn perjuries? It would be an affront to reason to endeavour to set forth the horror and profaneness of such a practice. The very mention of it exposes it sufficiently to those in whom the light of nature, not to say religion, is not utterly extinguished.

No. DXXXII. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 10.

.Fungor vice cotis acutum

Keddere quæ ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi.

I play the whetstone: useless and unfit
To cut myself, I sharpen others wit.

HOR.

CREECH.

IT is a very honest action to be studious to produce other men's merit; and I make no scruple of saying I have as much of this temper as any man in the world. It would not be a thing to be bragged of, but that it is what any man may be master of who will take pains enough for it. Much observation of the unworthiness in being pained at the excellence of another, will bring you to a scorn of yourself for that unwillingness: and when you have got so far, you will find it a greater pleasure than you ever before knew, to be zealous in promoting the fame and welfare of the praise-worthy. I do not speak this as pre

tending to be a mortified self-denying man, but as one who has turned his ambition into a right channel. I claim to myself the merit of having extorted excellent productions from a person of the greatest abilities, who would not have let them appeared by any other means; to have animated a few young gentlemen into worthy pursuits, who will be a glory to our age; and at all times, and by all possible means in my power, undermined the interests of ignorance, vice, and folly, and attempted to substitute in their stead, learning, piety, and good sense. It is from this honest heart that I find myself honoured as a gentleman usher to the arts and sciences. Mr. Tickell and Mr. Pope have, it seems, this idea of me. The former has writ me an excellent paper of verses in praise, forsooth, of myself; and the other inclosed for my perusal an admirable poem, which I hope, will shortly see the light. In the mean time I cannot suppress any thought of his, but insert this sentiment about the dying words of Adrian. I will not determine in the case he mentions; but have thus much to say in favour of his argument, that many of his own works which I have seen, convince me that very pretty and very sublime sentiments may be lodged in the same bosom without diminution to its greatness.

MR. SPECTATOR,

'I WAS the other day in company with five or six men of some learning; where chancing to mention the famous verses which the emperor Adrian spoke on his death-bed, they were all agreed that it was a piece of gaiety unworthy that prince is those circumstances. I could not but dissent from this opinion: methinks it was by no means a gay, but a very serious soliloquy to his soul at the point of his departure in which sense I naturally took these verses at my first reading them when I was very young,

and before I knew what interpretation the world generally put upon them;

Animula vagula, blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca?
Pallidula, rigido, nudula,
Nec (ut soles) dabis jocos!

"Alas, my soul! thou pleasing companion of this body, thou fleeting thing that art now deserting it! whither art thou flying? to what unknown region? thou art all trembling, fearful, and pensive. Now what is become of thy former wit and humour? thou shalt jest and be gay no more." I confess I cannot apprehend where lies the trifling in all this; it is the most natural and obvious reflection imaginable to a dying man and if we consider the emperor was a heathen, that doubt concerning the future state of his soul will seem so far from being the effect of want of thought, that it was scarce reasonable he should think otherwise; not to mention that here is a plain confession included of his belief to its immortality. The diminutive epithets of Vagula, Blandula, and the rest, appear not to me as expressions of levity, but rather of endearment and concern; such as we find in Catullus, and the authors of Hendecasyllabi after him, where they are used to express the utmost love and tenderness for their mistresses..... If you think me right in my notion of the last words of Adrian, be pleased to insert this in the Spectator; if not, to suppress it.

'I am, &c.

TO THE SUPPOSED AUTHOR OF THE SPECTATOR.

IN courts licentious, and a shameless stage,
How long the war shall wit and virtue wage?"
Inchanted by this prostituted fair,

Our youth run headlong in the fatal snare;