In this they very aptly represent to us the philosophers among the Heathens; for when they go about to describe to us the misery of our human condition they sharpen the fine edge of their wits, and display their utmost skill and rhetoric. Some of them laugh at our calamities in a very ingenious manner; and others, with equal artifice, weep to behold them. But in all their writings, all their tragic expressions, we find not any solid and sincere comforts against the apprehensions of death; insomuch that the weakness and vanity of their conceits obliges us to tell them, as Job did his troublesome friends, "Your remembrances are like unto ashes; your bodies "to bodies of clay," Job xiii. 12.

Some of them indeed have very well said, that we begin to die as soon as we begin to breathe; and that our life is like a candle, that lives by its own consumption, its flame being that which devours it: For the natural heat that maintains our sensitive life, by little and little undermines it, spending and consuming our radical moisture, which is the same to us as oil to a lamp, or wax to a taper.

Others, with no less elegance, assert, that our life is but a swift race from one mother to another; that is to say, from the womb of our mothers, that brought us into the world, to the womb and bosom of the earth, that will at last receive us: For no sooner are we born, than we run a swift race towards our graves; at the very time we are flying from death, we insensibly approach towards it, and contrary to our intentions, throw ourselves into its embraces.

Some of the same school have compared man to a bubble of water, which rises up and swells, and at the same instant breaks and disappears; or to the water

bottles of divers colours, which little children blow up and destroy with their breath. In truth, the beauty of man is nothing but a vain appearance, which passes away, and vanishes in a moment: " All flesh is as grass, and the glory of man as the "flower of the field," Is. xl. 6. 1 Pet. i. 24.

وو

One of these great philosophers being asked, What the life of man was? answered not a word; either because he thought the question deserved no answer, or rather because he had a mind to imitate the custom of the age he lived in, which for the most part conveyed its instructions by gestures and symbolical representations: he therefore entered into a chamber, and directly passed out again, giving his disciples thereby to understand that the life of man is no more than a coming into the world, and a going out of it; the first of which actions is followed very close by the other.

Another of the same sect after having taken several turns about the room, with a very stately air, immediately slipt away, and hid himself in a hole; intimating thereby that life is a kind of masquerade, a vain show, which is over in a moment. After a man has placed all his plumes to the best advantage, strutted about a little while, and drawn upon himself the eyes and admiration of the world; on a sudden, death comes upon him, tarnishes all his lustre, erases his pompous titles, and at once swallows up all his glory and magnificence.

We are in this world like so many players upon a stage, one represents a king, another an emperor; this is a privy counsellor, and that a minister of state. but when the play is over, and they have laid aside their habits, you no longer know which is which. We are as so many counters on a table, some stand for units,

others for tens, some for hundreds, some for thousands, and some for millions; but as soon as they are swept into the purse, and enclosed there, the vast difference vanishes. This is a lively image of the condition of men in this world; for in this life some are placed on thrones, whilst others are seated on dung-hills; one sweats beneath a load of gold and silk, while another has scarce rags enough to hide his nakedness; these command as princes, while those obey as slaves; and some fare sumptuously, while others eat nothing but the bread of sorrow; but as soon as death has enclosed them altogether in the grave, they then become equal.

All these comparisons are very just and elegant, as are likewise many others of the same kind. They instruct us and flatter our imaginations; but then they contain nothing that is capable of administering any solid comfort; insomuch that there is not one of these learned doctors to whom we may not apply that expression wherewith the servant of God reproached his importunate friends, who added affliction to the afflicted: "Ye are all physicians of no value; how then com"fort ye me in vain ?" Job. xiii. 4. xxi. 34.

When a person is visited with a violent fit of gout or stone, that forces from him the deepest sighs and groans, if any one should offer to draw his picture and represent his distorted looks and grimaces, or to mimick them theatrically in his presence, he would give little ease to his pain, but would rather increase his torment and vexation. Or as the most beautiful flowers can afford no delight to one who is stretched upon the rack, or burning in the midst of flames, or on the point of being torn to pieces by wild horses; so the most eloquent and florid discourse can administer no comfort

to a poor soul that is just upon its departure. The harp of David alone can drive away the evil spirits, and still the tumults of a troubled conscience.

But some perhaps may imagine, that in this general survey of the learned follies and studied vanities of the heathen philosophers, I should except the Stoics. I confess indeed. that they express themselves upon this subject with more gravity, but they are altogether as unsuccessful as the others. Nay, when I have well considered them, I find that they are far more impertinent and insufferable. For, besides that they talk of immortality of the soul in a very doubtful and obscure manner, the pretended comforts that they offer render death more formidable.

They tell us, that death is the end and centre of all human misery and affliction; and that, consequently, it is rather to be sought for than avoided, more to be desired than feared. They would have some reason for this conclusion, had they discovered beyond the grave any happiness whereon to lay hold by a true and lively faith. But the only comfort death assures them of, is the putting a period to the calamities of this life; which properly speaking, is not a comfort, but rather a foolish passion, much like that of a criminal upon the rack, who earnestly longs for death, that he may be delivered from the cruel hands of the executioner; and thirsts with impatience to mount the scaffold, where he is to be broken upon the wheel. O miserable wretch! the change of punishment will bring no ease to thy pains. If thou canst not bear the cords that unjoint thy limbs, how wilt thou.endure the bar of iron that shall break all thy bones to pieces? O blind philosopher! if thou canst not support the miseries of this life, how wilt thou undergo the agonies of death.

Moreover, they tell us, that the most painful and cruel death is a noble exercise for our virtue, and the most illustrious opportunity to display an heroic constancy. This at first appears very plausible, but in reality is nothing but wind. For of what service is this imaginary virtue? It hinders us from falling into the deepest abyss of misery and misfortune, and dies itself, with its possessor. Wherefore such as have most admired it, have at last acknowledged it to be nothing but vanity; witness that renowned and worthy general, who flattered himself, that his virtue would make him victorious over all the enemies of the commonwealth, in whose quarrel he took up arms. When the battle was lost, and all his ambitious hopes had forsaken him, being ready to fall upon his own sword, he cried out, "O miserable virtue! "what art thou, but a vain unprofitable word, a name "without a being!" He exclaimed in this manner against the virtue he had formerly idolized, because it could yield him no comfort in the day of his distress, nor keep him from despair.

The most ordinary comforts they bring, and those they insist upon most, are these: that death is inevitable, that we all come into the world upon condition to go out of it; that we have as much cause to mourn for the day of our birth, as for the day of our death; that humanity and immortality are incompatible, that death is a tribute we all owe to nature, that kings and the greatest em perors are forced to pay it, as well as the meanest of their subjects, and that this is such an universal law, that it neither admits, nor can admit of any exception.

But such comforts as these rather increase than abate our afflictions; and therefore compel me to say to these grave philosophers, what the importunity of his trou