holy religion suggests to us the only means whereby our guilt may be taken away, and our imperfect obedience accepted. It is this series of thought that I have endeavoured to express in the following hymn, which I have composed during this my sickness. I. "WHEN, rising from the bed of death, O how shall I appear! II. "If yet, while pardon may be found, My heart with inward horror shrinks, III. "When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd 'There is a noble hymn in French, which monsieur Bayle has celebrated for a very fine one, and same nature. which the famous author of the Art of Speaking calls an admirable one, that turns upon a thought of the If I could have done it justice in English, I would have sent it to you translated; it was written by monsieur des Barreux, who had been one of the greatest wits and libertines in France, but in his last years was as remarkable a penitent. "Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'équité; Et ta clémence même attend que je périsse. Offense toi des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux; Tonne, frappe, il est tems, rens moi guerre pour guerre ; Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnère, Qui ne soit tout couvert du sang de Jesus Christ," 'If these thoughts may be serviceable to you, I desire you would place them in a proper light, and am ever, with great sincerity, 0. Sir, yours, &c.' 281 N° 514. MONDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1712. -Me Parnassi deserta per ardua dulcis VIRG. Georg. iii. 291. But the commanding Muse my chariot guides, Mr. SPECTATOR, DRYDEN. I CAME home a little later than usual the other night; and, not finding myself inclined to sleep, I took up Virgil to divert me until I should be more disposed to rest. He is the author whom I always choose on such occasions; no one writing in so divine, so harmonious, nor so equal a strain, which leaves the mind composed and softened into an agreeable melancholy; the temper, in which, of all others, I choose to close the day. The passages I turned to were those beautiful raptures in his Georgics, where he professes himself entirely given up to the Muses, and smit with the love of poetry, passionately wishing to be transported to the cool shades and retirements of the mountain Hamus. I closed the book and went to bed. What I had just before been reading made so strong an impression on my mind, that fancy seemed almost to fulfil to me the wish of Virgil, in presenting to me the following vision. Methought I was on a sudden placed in the plains of Boeotia, where at the end of the horizon I saw the mountain Parnassus rising before me. The prospect was of so large an extent, that I long wandered about to find a path which should directly lead me to it, had I not seen at some distance a grove of trees, which, in a plain that had nothing else remarkable enough in it to fix my sight, immediately determined me to go thither. When I arrived at it, I found it parted out into a great number of walks and alleys, which often widened into beautiful openings, as circles or ovals, set round with yews and cypresses, with niches, grottos, and caves, placed on the sides, encompassed with ivy. There was no sound to be heard in the whole place, but only that of a gentle breeze passing over the leaves of the forest; every thing beside was buried in a profound silence. I was captivated with the beauty and retirement of the place, and never so much, before that hour, was pleased with the enjoyment of myself. I indulged the humour, and suffered myself to wander without choice or design. At length, at the end of a range of trees, I saw three figures seated on a bank of moss, with a silent brook creeping at their feet. I adored them as the tutelary divinities of the place, and stood still to take a particular view of each of them. The middlemost, whose name was Solitude, sat with her arms across each other, and seemed rather pensive, and wholly taken up with her own thoughts, than any ways grieved or displeased. The only companions which she admitted into that retirement were, the goddess Silence, who sat on her right hand with her finger on her mouth, and on her left Contemplation, with her eyes fixed upon the heavens. Before her lay a celestial globe, with several schemes of mathematical theorems. She prevented my speech with the greatest affability in the world. "Fear not," said she, "I know your request before you speak it; you would be led to the mountain of the Muses; the only way to it lies through this place, and no one is so often employed in conducting persons thither as myself." When she had thus spoken, she rose from her seat, and I immediately placed myself under her direction; but whilst I passed through the grove I could not help inquiring of her who were the persons admitted into that sweet retirement. "Surely," said I, "there can nothing enter here but virtue and virtuous thoughts; the whole wood seems designed for the reception and reward of such persons as have spent their lives according to the dictates of their conscience, and the commands of the gods." "You imagine right," said she: "assure yourself this place was at first designed for no other: such it continued to be in the reign of Saturn, when none entered here but holy priests, deliverers of their country from oppression and tyranny, who reposed themselves here after their labours, and those whom the study and love of wisdom had fitted for divine conversation. But now it is become no less dangerous than it was before desirable: vice has learned so to mimic virtue, that it often creeps in hither under its disguise. See there; just before you, Revenge stalking by, habited in the robe of Honour. Observe not far from him Ambition standing alone; if you ask him his name, he will tell you it is Emulation, or Glory. But the most frequent intruder we have is Lust, who succeeds now the deity to whom in better days this grove was entirely devoted. Virtuous Love, with Hymen, and the Graces attending him, once reigned over this happy place; a whole train of virtues waited on him, and no dishonour- · able thought durst presume for admittance. But now, how is the whole prospect changed! and how seldom renewed by some few who dare despise sor |