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object around us abundantly testifies: whilst a sentence is uttering, we are conscious a moment glides irretrievably away; and every action we perform, or acquisition we make, consumes a portion of that time which can never be recalled, and hastens us still nearer to the period when "time shall be no more."

A fact so universally acknowledged and so publicly avowed as the unceasing velocity of time, we might be naturally led to expect would have a beneficial influence on the actions of mankind. We might with justice imagine, that the transiency and evanescence of the object would stamp an additional value on its possession, and, besides adding a more refined gust to our enjoyment, it would teach us to employ it to our best and permanent advantage. But, alas! if we look round us in the contracted circle in which we are doomed to move, how many shall we behold suffering their time to pass uselessly away in negligence and indolence; dissipating it in frivolities, consuming it in the pursuit of follies, or affixing a stain to it in the practice of yice! And even those whom a noble motive impels to the acquisition of knowledge, how often have they to regret the days and hours purloined by the fascinating delusions of the gay deceitful world, as well as torn from them by the unrelenting hand of inevitable disease!

It is difficult to imagine what ideas those persons can have formed concerning the purposes of their existence, who appear to practise every ingenious device to rid themselves of the present hour, and to obliterate every trace of it even from their own recollection. If, as it has been asserted, the views of mankind are naturally directed to futurity, we must conclude those persons to have placed their hopes beyond the possibility of delusion, and to have postponed the felicity of intellectual enjoyment, till it is unmingled with sorrow and affliction, unembittered by the recollection of past disasters, and undisturbed by the anticipation of future misfortunes. But were we able to dive into the mysteries of the human heart, and pry into every motive of their actions, we should find them as little capable of receiving consolation from a prospect of futurity, as of applying the present moment to a just and laudable purpose.

As the end to be obtained by a proper

application of time, and the consequences resulting from an opposite conduct, may, perhaps, be deemed trite and uninteresting if delivered in the usual stile, the following tale may possibly add the graces of novelty to the force of truth.

Aboulhassan was the son of a merchant of Bagdat, who had embittered his life, dissipated his health, and destroyed his quiet in the accumulation of riches, and an eager thirst after gain. His warehouses were loaded with inerchandise which had travelled from the remotest quarter of the earth. Fortune smiled on all his efforts: Prosperity poured her gifts at his feet: but his heart was tortured with anxiety and apprehension. Habit had accustomed him to the sight of treasure which he knew not how to enjoy; and he discovered not the slightest emotion at a survey of the wealth which overflowed his coffers. His insatiable avarice had poisoned the springs of his existence, and chased peace and repose for ever from his breast. A few years terminated his career of wretchedness, and he found a refuge from those miseries which he had himself created, in the stillness of the grave.

Aboulhassan, the moment he found himself in possession of such immense wealth, resolved to banish care for ever from his mansion, to exclude the intrusions of thought, and to drown reflection in the bowls of inebriety. Every thing that could captivate the eye, delight the ear, or 'solace the fancy, was diligently sought after by the ministers of his pleasures, who spared neither labour nor expense in their endeavours to prevent the noments from rolling sluggishly along. He had, from his childhood, regarded wealth with rapturous admiration, and had placed all his ideas of happiness in the gratifications of sense.

His tutors

were easily induced to remit their severity and attention, and resigned, with little reluctance, into his own hands the reins of his conduct, when they considered him as the heir of such vast possessions, and who, in a short time, would amply reward them for their laxity of conduct. If, at any time, they ventured to admonish him, and to represent the folly or injustice of an action, their remonstrances were heard with indignation, and their entreaties passed over with silent contempt,

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Aboulhassan now revelled in luxury no grey-bearded sons of morality and wisdom were suffered to interrupt his dream of pleasure; day glided after day in scenes of jollity, a perpetual rotation of riot and debauch. Every morning he regaled his pride with the incense of adulation, exacted from his servile dependents and fawning sycophants, and the sun went down on the protracted banquet. But amid these scenes of gaudy splendor and imaginary happiness, the mind of Aboulhassan was barren as the deserts of Egypt, where no flower unfolds its beauties to the sun, or impregnates the air with its fragrance: never was it capable of exerting its energies, but when the members of Aboulhassan were encircled in the arms of sleep. But He who ordains the visions of the night to convey instruction to the mind of man, and the balm of consolation to the sons and daughters of affliction, convinced Aboulhassan of the consequences of his folly, and the dreadful tendency of his conduct.

One night, when he retired to his bed less heated than usual with the fumes of intemperance, the hand of sleep had but a short time closed his eyelids, when his fancy, directed by divine influence, worked up a scene that filled him with terror and alarm. He imagined himself seized with a cruel distemper, which not all the powers of medicine could alleviate, and whose rapid progress convinced him that his life was drawing speedily to a close. Death was a prospect which Aboulhassan had never yet contemplated; and its near approach was now peculiarly terrific, being aggravated by those goadings of conscience, and those pangs of remorse, which a survey of his past life unavoidably occasioned. In vain did he implore the aid of his physicians; in vain did he offer to exchange abundance of riches for a return of health: the perfumes of Arabia, and the spices of India, were fruitlessly combined, and all that art could extort from the productions of nature was applied without elect. At length he expired, and imagined that the moment his breath departed his body, his sout likewise deserted her earthly tenement, and was wafted through the regions of the air to the gates of Paradise. Here he found himself in a promiscuous concourse of spirits, like himself, waiting, in anxious suspense, the

decisions of their Judge, who, according to their respective merits, admitted them into the beaming mansions of eter nal felicity, or consigued them to the dark and gloomy deserts of unutterable woe.

Aboulhassan now began seriously to reflect on his ill-spent life: he was filled with horror when he surveyed the series of vices which were presented to his view in all their native deformity, and he was hardly able to look on the countenance of his Judge, whose venerable majesty overwhelmed him with dread and perturbation. He saw him open a vast volume which contained the history of every life, and heard him scrutinise every action, and pry into every motive. But he found his indignation was particularly directed against those who, by the wantonness of neglect, or the hardiness of vice, had abused that time which it was their duty to improve. Aboulhassan now trembled for himself, and ardently desired to conceal himself from so inexorable a Judge, and to fly his piercing look: but fate forbade a retreat, and he was impelled onward by an invisible power. With a countenance that sufficiently denoted his inward anguish, he approached his Judge, who, inspecting the page of his existence, found an universal blank, save where it was tarnished and defiled by the stains of vice and impiety.

"Wretch !" exclaimed he.

is it thus you repay the bounty of Heaven? Is it thus you pervert the gifts its generous hand bestows? Slave to sensual gratifications and brutal delights, wherein dost thou differ from a beast? How hast thou degraded those noble faculties which were given to fit thee for higher and more refined enjoyments! But the hour of trifling is past-thy dream of pleasure is at an end-henceforth expect all the horrors of that punishment which thy folly has incurred." Aboulhassan had no time to implore pity or forgiveness in a moment, a monster, whose form alone would have overwhelmed the mightiest with terror, arrested him-already the cries of the tormented reached his ear -terrified, he uttered a shriek that loosed him from the bands of sleep, and, starting from bis bed, a cold sweat diffused itself over his trembling limbs. It was some time before he could perfectly convince himself of his situation, and that he really had cluded the gripe of the monster. The hurry and per

Few things can be so gratifying to the feelings of a Reasoner, or so likely to procure him the applause and the favour of mankind, as a theory which teaches us to form a high opinion of our own powers and capacities, and which promises us a final and absolute relief from our present state of misery and dependence. When we have been taught to consider ourselves as feeble and ignorant dependents upon the indulgence and assistance of a mereiful and almighty Power, to whose kindness and protection we are indebted not only for the supply of our necessary wants, but for the means of our more refined and intellectual enjoyments, it is some consolation to our vanity to be informed, that we possess within ourselves the power of arriving at perfection; that our weakness is only the weakness of accident or prejudice; that we may become both wise and virtuous without any other assistance than the light of reason and of nature; and that nothing is required to relieve mankind from its present ignorance and er ror, but firinness and vigour of resolution.

turbation of his spirits yielded at length to some degree of calmintess, and he had recourse again to sleep, in order to chase away those unpleasant images which his recent dream had impressed upon his mind. But sleep and repose were irrecoverably fled: his late terrific situation was continually presented to the eye of his imagination; and Reason, to whom he appeald, in order to rid himself of the phantom, increased his alarm, by imprinting the scene still stronger on his mind. He now, for the first time, yielded to reBlection along succession of ideas took possession of his mind, and before the morning dawned he became a new being. He arose, and sought the hoary sages whom his arrogance had driven from his dwelling, who instilled into his mind the precepts of virtue, and confirmed the happy change that was wrought in his disposition. The accents of wisdom which from time to time fell from their lips, soon instructed him in the use of richies, and enabled him to enjoy the felicity of doing good, in relieving necessity and rewarding virtue. Undisturbed by the tumults of pleasure, and blest with peace and It cannot be denied, indeed, that such calmness, Aboulhassan was unceasing a doctrine may be supported by many in his devout acknowledgments to that specious and interesting arguments. Power who had taught him the proper" The most polished and enlightened use of time, and reclaimed him from vice by so mild a rebuke. Day after day saw him increasing in piety, wisdom, and prosperity; and wheresoever he appeared, his ears were saluted by the murmurs of gratitude. Aboulhassan was above all things inindful to improve his time; and in all his apartments directed this motto to be juscribed, on sky-coloured satin, Poverty may exist amidst abundance of riches: true wealth can consist in a proper application of time."

The REASONER.
No. IV.

66

T. N.

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nations (it may be said) were originally barbarians, and were taught by experience and connexion the arts and the conveniences of civilized society. In proportion to their unanimity and the duration of their empire, their wisdom and their virtue was increased and extended. Their improvement in the practice and theory of morals corresponded with their proficiency in scieuce and the arts. The various steps of their progress to refinement were distinguished by the inquiries and the discussions of acute and enlightened philosophers; and their further progress to perfection was only interrupted by internal dissensions, or by the violence of a barbarous and ignorant invader."

Our own times, in particular, present us with very striking instances of the power of human genius and diligence. Some very important discoveries have been made in the economy of nature, and the science of morals has been very considerably improved. The influence of literature has been extensively and rapidly diffused among the lower orders of society; the natural

resources of man have been multiplied and assisted by the judicious application of practical philosophy, and still greater advantages may be expected from an accurate and scientific improvement of our late discoveries.

"If therefore we are taught not only by the annals of other ages, and other nations, but by our own obser vation and experience, that the intellectual improvement of the world is in proportion to its advances in civilizatron and in science, it may reasonably be concladed, that its approach to perfection may be indefinite. If its advances to its present height of wisdom, and of knowledge, have been gradual and regular, it may surely be believed that its future progress will be equally remarkable. Our present improvement in chemistry, and mechanics, should lead us to expect very important, and numerous additions to our natural powers. We may acquire an absolute command of the material creation, and our acquaintance with the immaterial world will consequently follow. If the wisdom and the virtue of mankind have hitherto been regularly progressive, why may not that progression be continued? If every year adds something to our knowledge, if the errors and the superstition of less enlightened ages have been exploded and destroyed by the influence of philosophy, and if the empire of reason has been established in opposition to hereditary prejudice, it may reasonably be hoped that our virtue may yet become more ardent and sincere, and our knowledge more extended and diversified. Such changes as these indeed must necessarily be slow and gradual; but there can be little doubt, if we steadily pursue our object, of our arrival at ultimate perfection."

Such are the arguments which may be employed to support the opinion, that I am now attempting to oppose. Whether they are as strong, as they are imposing, must be left to the decision of the reader.

It is by no means true, that the virtue, or the knowledge of mankind, are regularly progressive. There is a certain limit to the efforts of the human anderstanding, beyond which it is impossible to proceed. The most abstracted reasonings are in some measure subjected to the evidence of the senses, and are indebted for their improvement to mechanical assistance.

It would be vain to study astronomy without the assistance of a telescope; and though we may be tempted to admire the simplicity of its construction, and the precision and readiness with which its powers may be calculated and applied, yet we are indebted to the good fortune, rather than to the genius of its discovery. We owe many of the discoveries which have distinguished the preceding century, and mach of our improvement in the sciences, to the concurrence of industry and accident.

In consi

To say, that by a succession of similar accidents, the world might be still more enlightened and improved, is nothing to the purpose. dering a subject like the present, it is not necessary to inquire, whether we may not be able to know many truths which are now unknown, and to explain many phenomena of nature which are now involved in obscurity and perplexity, but whether there is reason to believe, that our progress to perfection depends upon any settled and undeviating cause, for if it can be proved that the means by which we have attained our present eminence in virtue and learning are uncertain and adventitious, rather than regular and necessary, every theory which rests upon the latter supposition must be rejected as absurd.

The powers of machinery and of philosophical instruments are comparatively limited. In proportion to the effect of a machine, it generally becomes more complex in its construction, and consequently more liable to friction. Even in the most simple combinations of the wheel, the axle, the lever, or the pulley, its effects cannot wholly be prevented. A perpetual motion therefore is an absurdity, and the perfection of the telescope is equally problematical . Were we able to apply the theory of mechanies, or of optics, without error, or resistance, the effects of machines, and of optical glasses, might be increased without any limitation; but this may be demonstrated by experience, and by the clearest principles of mathematical science, to be impossible. In some parts of England, waggons and carriages are conveyed, by means of steam, to a distance of three or four miles, without

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SIR,

BELIEVE there never occurred an instance of a poet having supported his reputation for half a century, before it was discovered that the world was all that time in an unfortunate mistake. For this, among other reasons, (notwithstanding the weight of Johnson's authority,) I would hesitate to profess. myself an adherent of the Reasoner, who, in his second number, has ventured to declare himself a non-admirer of Gray. On the contrary, I am of opinion, that since his time there has not appeared his equal, unless we can suppose that the poems of Ossian are the production of M Pherson; of which I am not yet convinced.

any sensible diminution of velocity: To the Editor of the European Magazine. but even in this case the mode of conveyance is little more eligible than the common one. The carriages move on a plane parallel to the horizon, and are thus made to slide along without much assistance from friction, but they maintain no perpetual power within themselves, and when they meet any obstacle, they are stopped or overturned, they bear no resemblance to the perpetual motion of Mr. Varley, or the self-impelling plough of Godwint. Neither learning nor philosophy can add much to the virtue of those, who are not influenced by religion. The minds of men have been distracted by metaphysical disputes, for more than two thousand years, yet we do not find, that they have improved in the theory or the practice of morality. Those who have boasted, that they had discovered the true foundations of virtue, have seldom been more just or upright than their fellow-creatures. If common sense will not teach us our duty to others and ourselves, it will be vain to seek for instruction in Locke or Gisborne. We may puzzle our minds by metaphysical perplexities, to which we are violating the inost sacred principles of justice. The boundaries of vice and virtue are as obvious to the peasant as to the philosopher, and perhaps both of them are persuaded that virtue and happiness are synonimous; yet we do not find that the practice of either of them is influenced by their theory, or that the one is more distinguished for his integrity than the other.

My limits will not permit me to extend the argument to a greater length. The extent of the earth, the variety of languages, the multiplication of mankind, and the shortness and uncertainty of life, are arguments too powerful to be answered by empty declamation, and are a sufficient proof of the advantage and necessity of religion. A page of practical instruction is more valuable than all the speculations of ancient or modern philosophers; and he who has learned to exemplify the precepts of Christianity, may look without uneasiness on the

theories of a Plato or a Godwin.

Who has procured a patent.

+ See Polit. Justice.

L.

The Reasoner appears to imagine, that if he can prove that Johnson was uninfluenced by envy when giving his opinion of Gray, he has gained his point. This is surely presuming too much. It is certain, that this great critic has advanced several hasty and erroneous opinions in his lives of the English poets, when envy was altoge ther out of the question. Besides, I am by no means clear that a malignant and invidious spirit did not in some degree mingle itself in the critique on Gray. It is well known that he extended his hatred to contemporary writers of reputation, though they did not excel in the same sphere with himself. There is, too, a particular reason for suspecting the fairness of a man who could, as he certainly did, on a certain occasion, utter such an unreasonable expression as, "Well enough for a Cambridge man.'

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Having, thus, pretty well got over this apparently formidable objection, I come next to consider the other, which has the appearance of being supported on a more rational foundation. The Reasoner now, without any assistance from the mighty Doctor, attempts, by his own prowess, to pluck from Gray his splendid but borrowed plumage, and exhibit him to view in his true naked colours. He would wish to prove that the poet possessed no native merit, but stuck himself around with foreign embellishments. From the

numerous instances of imitation which he has produced, he concludes that bis poems are little better than a skilful piece of patchwork. Though I cannot allow this conclusion, yet I willingly confess that the communication of the

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