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ADVANTAGES OF AGE.1

Indeed, old age is so far from being necessarily a state of languor and inactivity, that it generally continues to exert itself in that sort of occupation which was the favorite object of its pursuit in more vigorous years. I will add, that instances might be produced of men who, in this period of life, have successfully applied themselves even to the acquisition of some art or science to which they were before entirely strangers. Thus Solon in one of his poems, written when he was advanced in years, glories that "he learnt something every day he lived." And old as I myself am, it is but lately that I acquired a knowledge of the Greek language; to which I applied with the more zeal and diligence, as I had long entertained an earnest desire of becoming acquainted with the writings and characters of those excellent men, to whose examples I have occasionally appealed in the course of our present conversation. Thus Socrates, too, in his old age, learnt to play upon the lyre; an art which the ancients did not deem unworthy of their application. If I have not followed the philosopher's example in this instance (which, indeed, I very much regret), I have spared, however, no pains to make myself master of the Greek language and learning.

Inestimable, too, are the advantages of old age, if we contemplate it in another point of view; if we consider it as delivering us from the tyranny of lust and ambition; from the angry and contentious passions; from every inordinate and irrational desire; in a word, as teaching us to retire within ourselves, and look for happiness in our own bosoms. If to

This extract, and the two following, are taken from his Cato, or an Essay on Old Age. The chief speaker is the venerable Cato, and the persons whom he addresses are Scipio, the son of the celebrated Paulus Æmilius, and Lælius, the son of Caius Lælius, the friend and companion of P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus.

Solon was a poet, as well as a legislator. In the earlier part of his life he seems to have devoted his muse to the tender passion; but, as more sober years advanced, his compositions took a graver turn. Accordingly, he not only published several didactic and political poems, but also drew up a system of his laws in metre. The truth is, the human mind is never stationary; when it is not progressive, it is necessarily retrograde. He who imagines, at any period of his life, that he can advance no farther in moral or intellectual improvements, is as little acquainted with the extent of his own powers as the ancient voyager was with that of the terrestrial globe, who supposed he had erected pillars at the end of the world, when he had only left a monument how much farther he might have proceeded.

these moral benefits naturally resulting from length of days, be added that sweet food of the mind which is gathered in the fields of science, I know not any season of life that is passed more agreeably than the learned leisure of a virtuous old age.

ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.

And now, among the different sentiments of the philosophers concerning the consequences of our final dissolution, may I not venture to declare my own? and the rather, as the nearer death advances towards me, the more clearly I seem to discern its real nature.

I am well convinced, then, that my dear departed friends, your two illustrious fathers,1 are so far from having ceased to live, that the state they now enjoy can alone with propriety be called life. The soul, during her confinement within this prison of the body, is doomed by fate to undergo a severe penance; for her native seat is in heaven, and it is with reluctance that she is forced down from those celestial mansions into these lower regions, where all is foreign and repugnant to her divine nature. But the gods, I am persuaded, have thus widely disseminated immortal spirits, and clothed them with human bodies, that there might be a race of intelligent creatures, not only to have dominion over this our earth, but to contemplate the host of heaven, and imitate in their moral conduct the same beautiful order and uniformity so conspicuous in those splendid orbs. This opinion I am induced to embrace, not only as agreeable to the best deductions of reason, but in just deference, also, to the authority of the noblest and most distinguished philosophers. And I am further confirmed in my belief of the soul's immortality, by the discourse which Socrates-whom the oracle of Apollo pronounced to be the wisest of men-held upon this subject just before his death. In a word, when I consider the faculties with which the human mind is endued; its amazing celerity; its wonderful power in recollecting past events, and sagacity in discerning future; together with its numberless discoveries in the several arts and sciences, I feel a conscious conviction that this active, comprehensive principle. cannot possibly be of a mortal nature. And as this unceasing activity of the soul derives its energy from its own intrinsic and essential powers, without receiving it from any foreign or

1 See note on preceding page.

external impulse, it necessarily follows (as it is absurd to suppose the soul would desert itself) that this activity must continue forever. But farther; as the soul is evidently a simple, uncompounded substance, without any dissimilar parts or heterogeneous mixture, it cannot, therefore, be divided; consequently, it cannot perish. I might add, that the facility and expedition with which youth are taught to acquire numberless very difficult arts, is a strong presumption that the soul possessed a considerable portion of knowledge before it entered into the human form, and that what seems to be received from instruction is, in fact, no other than a reminiscence or recollection of its former ideas. This, at least, is the opinion of Plato.

CICERO'S PROSPECTS OF A FUTURE LIFE.

For my own part, I feel myself transported with the most ardent impatience to join the society of my two departed friends, your illustrious fathers; whose characters I greatly respected, and whose persons I sincerely loved. Nor is this, my earnest desire, confined to those excellent persons alone with whom I was formerly connected; I ardently wish to visit also those celebrated worthies, of whose honorable conduct I have heard and read much, or whose virtues I have myself commemorated in some of my writings. To this glorious assembly I am speedily advancing, and I would not be turned back in my journey, even upon the assured condition that my youth, like that of Pelias, should again be restored. The sincere truth is, if some divinity would confer upon me a new grant of my life, and replace me once more in the cradle, I would utterly, and without the least hesitation, reject the offer; having well nigh finished my race, I have no inclination to return to the goal. For what has life to recommend it? Or rather, indeed, to what evils does it not expose us? But admit that its satisfactions are many, yet surely there is a time when we have had a sufficient measure of its enjoyments, and may well depart contented with our share of the feast; for I mean not, in imitation of some very considerable philosophers, to represent the con

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It seems to have strongly entered into the expectations of those eminent sages of antiquity who embraced the doctrine of the soul's immortality, that the felicity of the next life will partly arise, not only from a renewal of those virtuous connections which have been formed in the present, but from conversing at large with that whole glorious assembly, whom the poet hath so justly brought together in his description of the mansions of the blest.

dition of human nature as a subject of just lamentation.1 On the contrary, I am far from regretting that life was bestowed upon me, as I have the satisfaction to think that I have employed it in such a manner as not to have lived in vain. In short, I consider this world as a place which nature never designed for my permanent abode; and I look upon my departure out of it, not as being driven from my habitation, but as leaving my inn.

O glorious day! when I shall retire from this low and sordid scene, to associate with the divine assembly of departed spirits! Thus to think, and thus to act, has rendered my old age not only no inconvenient state to me, but even an agreeable one. And after all, should this, my firm persuasion of the soul's immortality, prove to be a mere delusion, it is at least a pleasing delusion, and I will cherish it to my latest breath."

THE NECESSITY OF A FRIEND.

Good gods! is there a man upon the face of the earth, who would deliberately accept of all the wealth and all the affluence this world can bestow, if offered to him upon the severe terms of his being unconnected with a single mortal whom he could love, or by whom he should be beloved? This would be to lead the wretched life of a detested tyrant, who, amidst perpetual suspicions and alarms, passes his miserable days a stranger

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Philosophy can never be employed in an office more unsuitable to her proper character and functions, than in setting forth such representations of human life as tend to put mankind out of humor with their present being; and yet into this unworthy service some eminent moralists, both ancient and modern, have not scrupled to compel her! The genuine effects of true wisdom and knowledge are altogether of a different complexion; as those speculative writers whose studies and talents have qualified them for taking the most accurate and comprehensive survey of the natural and moral world, have found the result of their inquiries terminate in the strongest motives for a grateful acquiescence in the beneficent administration of providence.

The truth is, the natural evils of life are but few and inconsiderable when compared with those which are of man's own production. Pain and disease, which now make such a variety of dreadful articles in every estimate of human calamities, would scarcely appear to exist, if the contributions of vice and luxury were fairly subtracted from the account.-Melmoth.

This essay, written but a few years before his death, and almost the very last act he exerted in his philosophical character, may be considered as an explicit and unambiguous profession of his belief of the soul's separate existence in a future state. And if, after so positive a declaration of his being convinced of the truth of this important doctrine, the sincerity of his faith might nevertheless be called in question, hard indeed would he have found the task to give his inquisitors satisfaction.-Melmoth.

to every tender sentiment, and utterly precluded from the heartfelt satisfactions of friendship. For who can love the man he fears? or how can affection dwell with a consciousness of being feared? He may be flattered, indeed, by his followers with the specious semblance of personal attachment: but whenever he falls (and many instances there are of such a reverse of fortune) it will appear how totally destitute he stood of every genuine friend. Accordingly it is reported that Tarquin used to say, in his exile, that "his misfortunes had taught him to discern his real from his pretended friends, as it was now no longer in his power to make either of them any returns." I should much wonder, however, if, with a temper so insolent and ferocious, he ever had a sincere friend.

THE OFFICES OF FRIENDSHIP.

The offices of friendship are so numerous, and of such different kinds, that many little disgusts may arise in the exercise of them, which a man of true good sense will either avoid, extenuate, or be contented to bear, as the nature and circumstances of the case may render most expedient. But there is one particular duty which may frequently occur, and which he will at all hazards of offence discharge; as it is never to be superseded consistently with the truth and fidelity he owes to the connection; I mean the duty of admonishing, and even reproving, his friend: an office which, whenever it is affectionately exercised, should be kindly received. It must be confessed, however, that the remark of my dramatic friend is too frequently verified, who observes in his Andria, that "obsequiousness conciliates friends, but truth creates enemies." When truth proves the bane of friendship, we may have reason, indeed, to be sorry for the unnatural consequence; but we should have cause to be more sorry, if we suffered a friend, by a culpable indulgence, to expose his character to just reproach. Upon these delicate occasions, however, we should be particularly careful to deliver our advice, or reproof, without the least appearance of acrimony or insult. Let our obsequiousness (to repeat the significant expression of Terence) extend as far as gentleness of manners, and the rules of good breeding require; but far let it be from seducing us to flatter either vice or misconduct a meanness unworthy, not only of every man who claims to himself the title of friend, but of every liberal and ingenuous mind. Shall we live with a friend, upon the same

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