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Being, and be more sensible of his presence, than we are now of the presence of any object which the eye beholds, a man must be lost in carelessness and stupidity, who is not alarmed at such a thought. Dr. Sherlock, in his excellent treatise upon death, has represented, in very strong and lively colours, the state of the soul in its first separation from the body, with regard to that invisible world which every where surrounds us, though we are not able to discover it through this grosser world of matter, which is accommodated to our senses in this life. His words are as follow.

That death, which is our leaving this world, is nothing else but our putting off those bodies, teaches us, that it is only our union to these bodies, which intercepts the sight of the other world : the other world is not at such a distance from us, as we may imagine; the throne of God, indeed, is at a great remove from this earth, above the third heavens, where he displays his glory to those blessed spirits which encompass his throne; but as soon as we step out of these bodies, we step into the other world, which is not so properly another world, (for there is the same heaven and earth still,) as a new state of life. To live in these bodies is to live in this world; to live out of them, is to remove into the next, for while our souls are confined to these bodies, and can look only through these material casements, nothing but what is material can affect us; nay, nothing but what is so gross, that it can reflect light, and convey the shapes and colours of things with it to the eye : so that though within this visible world, there be a more glorious scene of things than what appears to us, we perceive nothing at all of it; for this veil of flesh parts the visible and invisible world : but when we put off these bodies, there are new and surprising wonders present themselves to our view; when these material spectacles are taken off, the soul, with its own naked eyes, sees what was invisible

before : and then we are in the other world, when we can see it, and converse with it: thus St. Paul tells us, “That when we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord; but when we are absent from the body, we are present with the Lord,' 2 Cor. 5, 6, 8. And, methinks, this is enough to cure us of our fondness for these bodies, unless we think it more desirable to be confined to a prison, and to look through a grate all our lives, which gives us but a very narrow prospect, and that none of the best neither, than to be set at liberty to view all the glories of the world. What would we give now for the least glimpse of that invisible world, which the first step we take out of these bodies will present us with ? There are such things as eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive : death opens our eyes, enlarges our prospect, presents us with a new and more glorious world, which we can never see while we are shut up in flesh; which should make us as willing to part with this veil, as to take the film off of our eyes which hinders our sight.'

“As a thinking man cannot but be very much affected with the idea of his appearing in the presence of that Being,

whom none can see and live,' he must be much more affected, when he considers that this Being whom he appears before, will examine all the actions of his past life, and reward or punish him accordingly. I must confess, that I think there is no scheme of religion besides that of Christianity, which can possibly support the most virtuous person under this thought. Let a man's innocence be what it will, let his virtues rise to the highest pitch of perfection attainable in this life, there will be still in him so many secret sins, so many human frailties, so many offences of ignorance, passion, and prejudice, so many unguarded words and thoughts, and, in short, so many defects in his best actions, that without the advantages of such an expiation and atonement as

Christianity has revealed to us, it is impossible that he should be cleared before his Sovereign Judge, or that he should be able to 'Stand in his sight.' Our 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 ex: press in the following hymn, which I have composed during this my sickness.

Wien rising from the bed of death,

O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker, face to face,

O how shall I appear!

If yet, while pardon may be found,

And mercy may be sought,
My heart with inward horror shrinks,
And trembles at the thought;

When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd

In majesty severe,
And sit in judgment on my soul,

O how shall I appear!


But thou hast told the troubled mind,

Who does her sins lament,
The timely tribute of her tears
Shall endless woe prevent.

Then see the sorrows of my heart,

E'er yet it be too late;
And hear my Saviour's dying groang,

To give those sorrows weight.


For never shall my soul despair

Her pardon to procure,
Who knows thine Only Son has dy'd

To make her pardon sure.

“There is a noble hymn in French, which Monsieur Bayle has celebrated for a very fine one, and which the famous author of the Art of Speaking calls an admirable one, that turns upon a thought of the same nature. If I could have done it justice in English, I would have sent it you translated ; it was written by Monsieur Des Barreaux, 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’equité ;
Toûjours tu prens plaisir à nous étre propice:
Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonté
Ne me pardonnera, sans choquer ta Justice.
Oui, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impiété,
Ne laisse à ton pouvoir que le choix du supplice:
Ton interest s'oppose à ma felicité,
Et ta clemence même attend que je perisse.
Contente ton desir, puis qu'il t'est glorieux;
Offense toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;
Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rends moi guerre pour guerre;
J'adore en périssant la raison qui t' aigrit,
Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnere,
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,

“Sir, Your's," &c.


Heu pietas! heu prisca fides !

Virg. Æn. vi. 878.
Mirror of ancient faith
Undaunted worth! inviolable truth!


We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de Coverley is dead.' He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few weeks sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his correspendents in those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the county sessions, as he was very warmly promoting an address of his own penning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a whig justice of peace, who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antago

1 “Mr. Addison was so fond of this character that a little before he laid down the 'Spectator' (foreseeing that some nimble gentleman would catch up his pen the moment he quitted it) he said to our intimate friend, with a certain warmth in his expression which he was not often guilty of, I'll kill Sir Roger that nobody else may murder him.'"--The Bee p. 26.

On this Chalmers sensibly remarks, that "the killing of Sir Roger has been sufficiently accounted for, without supposing that Addison despatched him in a fit of anger : for the work was about to close, and it appeared necessary to close the club; but whatever difference of opinion there may be concerning this circumstance, it is universally agreed that it produced a paper of transcendent excellence in all the graces of simplicity and pathos. There is not in our language any assumption of character more faithful than that of the honest butler; nor a more irresistible stroke of nature than the circumstance of the book received by Sir Andrew Free


Budgell's story is another version of the reason Cervantes gave for killing his hero ;—para mi fola nacio Don Quixote, y yo para el. Shakespere's motive for the early death of Mercutio, in the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, has been accounted for by a similar fiction.-*

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