"See there, at the extremity of this valley, on a "little hillock covered with marine-wormwood, is "her tomb, and her statue still looking toward the "Sea You can scarcely now distinguish in it the figure of a female; but there is even now dis"cernible in it the restless attitude of a lover. This

monument, as well as every other of the country, “has been mutilated by time, and still more by the “hand of barbarians; but the memory of suffering "virtue is not, on the Earth, at the mercy of ty"rants. The tomb of Ariadne is in the possession "of the Turks, and her crown is planted among "the stars. As for us, escaped from the notice of "the powers of this world, by means of our very obscurity, we have through the goodness of Heaven "found liberty at a distance from the Great, and happiness in a desert. Stranger, if you are still capable of being affected by the blessings of Na

66

66

ture, it is in your power to share them with us." At this recital, the gentle tears of humanity trickle down the cheeks of his spouse, and of his youthful daughter, as she breathes a sigh to the memory of Ariadne; and I greatly doubt whether an Atheist himself, who acknowledges nothing else in Nature but the Laws of matter and of motion, could be insensible to those present correspondencies, and those ancient recollections.

Voluptuous men! Greece alone, you tell me, presents scenes and points of view so tenderly affecting. Ariadne accordingly has a place in every garden; Ariadne presents herself to view in every collection of painting. From the turret of your own castle, throw

your

your eye over the plains below. As the prospect gradually extends, it terminates in an horizon much more beautiful than that of desolated Greece. Your apartment is more commodious than a grotto, and your sophas much softer than the turf. The undula tion and the murmuring sound of your flowery meadows are more grateful to the sense than those of the billows of the Mediterranean. Your money and your own gardens can supply you with greater variety of the choicest wines and fruits than all the islands of the Archipelago could produce. Would you blend with these delights that of Deity? Behold on yonder hill, that small parish-church encircled by aged elms. Among the young women who there assemble, under its rustic portico, there may be undoubtedly some forlorn Ariadne, betrayed by a faithless lover.* She

* There are in our own plains young females much more respectable than Ariadne, to whom our Historians, who make such a parade of vir que, pay no manner of attention. A person of my acquaintance observed one Sunday, at the gate of a country-church, a young woman at prayer, quite alone, while they were chanting vespers within. As he remained some time in the place, he observed for several Sundays suc dessively, that same young woman, who never once entered the church during the service. Being mightily struck with this singularity of beha viour, he inquired into the meaning of it at some others of the female peasants, who answered him that it must be her own will merely that determined her to stop in the porch, as they knew of nothing that should prevent her going in, adding, that they had frequently urged her to accompany them but in vain. At last, desirous of having the solution of this mystery, he addressed himself to the young woman herself whose conduct appeared to him so very extraordinary. She appeared at first somewhat disconcerted, but presently collecting courage, "Sir," said she, "I had a lover, who took advantage of my frailty. I became pregnant, "and my lover falling sick, died, without making me his wife. It is my "desire, that a voluntary exclusion from church for life should serve as "some atonement for my fault, and as a warning to my companions."

is not made of marble but of living flesh and blood; she is not a Greek but a French-woman; she is not comforted but insulted by her companions. Visit her humble abode, and sooth her anguish. Do good in this life, which is passing away with the rapidity of a torrent. Do good, not out of ostentation, and by the hands of a stranger; but for the sake of heaven, and with your own hand. The fruit of virtue loses its flavour when gathered by another, and not yourself. Ah! if you would, in person, speak an encouraging word to her, under that load of depression; if by your sympathy you raise her in her own esteem, you will perceive how, underasense of your goodness, her forehead is overspread with a blush, her eyes suffused with tears, her convulsive lips move without speaking, and her heart, long oppressed with shame, expand to the approach of a comforter, as to the sentiment of the DEITY. You will then perceive in the human figure, touches far beyond the reach of the chisels of Greece, and the pencil of a Van Dyk. The felicity of an unfortunate young woman will cost you much less than the statue of Ariadne: and instead of giving celebrity to the name of an artist in your hotel, for a few years, this will immortalize your own, and cause it to last long after you are gone from hence, every time she says to her companions and to her children: "It was a god who came to succour me in the day of my distress."

We now proceed to trace the instinct of Divinity in our physical sensations, and shall conclude this Study by the sentiments of the soul which

are purely intellectual. Thus we shall attempt to convey a faint idea of the nature of Man.

OF PHYSICAL SENSATIONS.

All the physical sensations are in themselves so many testimonies of our misery. If man is so sensible to the pleasure of the touch it is because he is naked all his body over. He is under the necessity, in order to clothe himself, of stripping the quadruped, the plant, and the worm. If almost all vegetables and animals are laid under contribution to supply him with food, it is because he is obliged to employ a great deal of cookery, and many combinations, in preparing his aliments. Nature has treated him with much severity; for he is the only one of animals for the wants of which she has made no immediate provision. Our philosophers have not sufficiently reflected on this perplexing distinction. How! a worm provided with it's augur or its file; the insect enters into life in the midst of a profusion of fruit proper for his subsistance; he by and by finds in himself the means of spinning and weaving his own garment'; after that, he transforms himself into a gaudy butterfly, and ranges uncontrouled, abandoning him self to all the delights of love, and re-perpetuating his species without anxiety, and without remorse; whereas the son of a king is born completely nak ed amidst tears and groans, standing in need all his life long of the assistance of another; undet the necessity of maintaining an unremitting conflict with his own species, from within, or from without, and frequently finding in himself his most formidable

D 2

formidable enemy! Of a truth, unless we are all only children of dust, it would be a thousand times better to enter upon existence under the form of an insect, than under that of an Emperor. But man has been abandoned to the most abject misery only that he may have uninterrupted recourse to the first of powers.

Of the Sense of Tasting.

There is no one physical sensation but what awakens in man some sentiment of the DEITY.

To begin with the grossest of all our senses, that which relates to eating and drinking; all Nations, in the savage state, have entertained the belief that the DIVINITY had need to support life by the same means that men do: hence in all religions the origin of sacrifice. Hence also has farther proceeded, in many nations, the custom of placing viands on the tombs of the dead. The wives of the American savages extend this mark of solicitude even to infants who die upon the breast. After having bestowed upon them the right of sepulture, they come once a day for several weeks, and the nipple a few drops of milk upon the grave of the departed suckling.* This is positively affirmed by the Jesuit Charlevoix, who was frequently an eye-witness of the fact.

DEITY, and that of the

press from

Thus the sentiment of immortality of the soul,

are interwoven with our affections the most completely animal, and especially with maternal tenderness.

* See Father Charlevoix's Travels through America.

But