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a sense of interest, (self-love,) however enlightened, but by a sense of duty, (conscience,) however uncultivated. For although, to act conscientiously, may sometimes be to act inconsistently with the general good; yet as there must be a general rule, the rule of conscience, on the whole, is most conducive to the welfare of society.*

It is true, no doubt, that "if virtue were not found to conduce to happiness, (that is, to the greatest happiness of the greatest number,) men would do well to shun her, as they now do well to shun vice," and for this obvious reason, that in that case it would be vice, and no longer virtue; but it does not follow from this, that a given member of society, Z, would be justified in abandoning that conduct which the interest of the state still required, merely because society had not succeeded in making it the interest of Z to be constant to that conduct.

Theon, however, is not so slow a convert to this doctrine as we think we should have been, and he is almost persuaded to be an Epicurean, when they are interrupted by voices proceeding from the temple, to which, by a circular route, they had returned. They enter, and find Metrodorus engaged in painting a portrait of Leontium, who stands leaning against a pillar. In the conversation that ensues, there is, we think, an unpleasant and unnecessary attempt at sprightliness, smartness, and reciprocated compliment, which breaks the illusion of the scene, and transports us to the boudoirs and coteries of Paris. The entrance of a crowd of disciples, bringing in Gryphus, a Cynic, and Lycaon, a Cyrenaic, gives an opportunity to the author to draw the strong and striking contrast of their dresses and their characters. After they leave the temple, the Master takes occasion to expose the folly of irregular and inordinate ambition. The pride of lowliness is forcibly illustrated.

"Pride need not always lead a man to cut mount Athos in two, like Xerxes; nor ambition, to conquer a world, and weep that there is yet not another to conquer, like Alexander; nor vanity, to look in a stream at his own face till he fall in love with it, like Narcissus. When we cannot cut an Athos, we may leave uncut our beard; when we cannot mount a throne, we may crawl into a tub; and when we have no beauty, we may increase our ugliness."

Indeed, it may be fairly said, we think, that the false humility of the Cynic (ancient or modern) is much worse than

* It has been said, that, as what a man believes to be best, may not always be the best, therefore the rule of conscience is improper and unsafe. With the same propriety it might be said, that since what a man believes to be true, may not always be true, therefore the rule to declare in a court of justice what is believed to be true, is improper and unsafe.

the harmless vanity of the honest Aristippian, for the ascetic unjustly refuses to forego the pleasure of distinction and the pride of notoriety, although these make the price he is bound to pay for the honors of humility.

Theon leaves the garden, and as he issues from the house of Epicurus, meets his friend Cleanthes, who recoils from the young apostate with astonishment and horror. Theon endeavors to appease his friend, but in the midst of their polemics, they find themselves before the stoic portico. The different occupations of the scholars, who were waiting the arrival of their Master, are sketched with graphic truth and skill, and the portrait of Cleanthes is delineated with remarkable discrimination and good taste. The young stoic, filled with deep regret at the apostacy of his friend, and alarmed at the progress of Epicureanism, delivers an harangue, replete with eloquent reproof and lofty indignation, but, in our opinion, too impassioned for the character of the school. The following is an extract:

"Fie on that virtue which prudence alone directs! Which teaches to be just, that the laws may not punish, or our neighbors revenge;-to be enduring because complainings were useless, and weakness would bring on us insult and contempt :-to be temperate-that our body may keep its vigor, our appetites retain their acuteness, and our gratifications and sensualities their zest:-to serve our friends-that they may serve us:our country-because its defence and well-being comprehends our own. Why all this is well-but is there nothing more? Is it our ease alone we shall study, and not our dignity?-Though all my fellow-men were swept away, and not a mortal nor immortal eye were left to approve or condemn -should I not here-within this breast, have a judge to dread, and a friend to conciliate? Prudence and pleasure! Was it from such principles as these that the virtue of Solon, of Miltiades, of Aristides, of Socrates, of Plato, of Xenophon, of all our heroes and all our sages, had its spring and its nourishment? Was it such a virtue as this that in Lycurgus put by the offered crown?-that in Leonidas stood at Thermopyla?that in the dying Pericles gloried that he had never caused a citizen to mourn? Was it such virtue as this-that spoke in Socrates before his judges?-that sustained him in his prison-and when the door was open, and the sails of the ready ship unfurled, made him prefer death to flight; his dignity to his existence ?"

At this moment Zeno enters the assembly, and we refer the reader to the book itself for a fine description of the Father of the Stoical philosophy. He moderates the violence of Cleanthes, and gives Theon an opportunity of defence. He concludes his justification by denouncing, in strong language, the slanderer of Timocrates.

""Tis false !" cries Timocrates, bursting in fury from the crowd.-" "Tis false! I swear"

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"Beware of perjury!" said a clear, silver voice, from without the circle. "Give way, Athenians! 'Tis for me to take up this quarrel."

The crowd divided. Every eye turned towards the opening. Theon shouted with triumph; Timocrates stood blank with dismay-for they recognized the voice and the form of the son of Neocles.

The discourse of Epicurus is full of gentle and persuasive eloquence. We give an extract:

"I call from my Gardens to the thoughtless, the headstrong, and the idle- Where 'do ye wander, and what do ye seek?-Is it pleasure? behold it here.-Is it ease? enter and repose." Thus do I court them from the table of drunkenness and the bed of licentiousness: I gently awaken their sleeping faculties, and draw the veil from their understandings. My sons! do you seek pleasure? I seek her also. Let us make the search together. You have tried wine-you have tried love-you have sought amusement in revelling, and forgetfulness in indolence. You tell me you are disappointed: that your passions grew, even while you gratified them; your weariness increased, even while you slept. Let us try again. Let us quiet our passions, not by gratifying, but subduing them; let us conquer weariness, not by rest, but by exertion.""

Epicurus ends by conducting Theon to his Master, and prevails upon the stoic to extend again to him his confidence and friendship. The assembly then divides.

We are sorry that we cannot follow our author through the volume. Our limits merely allow us to say that the subsequent incidents are well selected, as affording those topics of conversation which best elicit and illustrate the various opinions of Epicurus, on most subjects of moral speculation. His physical philosophy is not discussed; an omission which we have no reason to regret, and no intention to condemn. The tenth chapter consists of a discourse which Epicurus holds to his assembled scholars, and to this we refer the reader for an accurate and complete enumeration of all the arguments in favor of that school which teaches the identity of individual happiness and individual virtue. There is no danger in the doctrine, even if it were false, which maintains that he who lives not virtuously lives not happily; but we have our doubts whether it would be safe to teach (even if it were true) that he who lives not happily, lives not virtuously.*

There is much beautiful writing in the eleventh chapter, in which Epicurus attempts to defend the general justice of mankind, and extenuates their admiration of the showy, and their neglect of the substantial virtues. The chapter closes with an interesting incident, which is described with so much force,

*« Clamat Epicurus," says Triarius to Cicero, “ (is quem vos nimis voluptatibus esse deditum dicitis,) non posse jucunde vivi, nisi sapienter, honeste, justeque vivatur; nec sapienter, honeste, juste, nisi jucunde." Cic. de Fin. I. 18.

spirit, and effect, that we cannot help believing that Miss Wright would be no less successful in the narrative romance, than she has shown herself to be in the didactic dialogue. We have not room to give the entire passage; and as we do not wish to spoil it by compression, or to mutilate it by extract, the reader is again recommended to the book, which, although it will not give him "higher views of virtue" than a better Book will give him, will, at least, teach him, that duty and interest, though not always found united, are seldom found apart; and (that whatever the Cynic may say, who would teach us that pleasure is sin,) there may be a much worse system of morality than that of "Epicurus seldom under

stood."

TO ****
No. I.

'Tis true my lips have never said
"I love thee," but if thou hast not
In every look this language read,
"Twere better it were all forgot.

If thy cold spirit cannot see

I love, and meet with answering glow
The unspoken flame that burns in me,
'Twere better thou shouldst never know.

The vows which speak forth at the eye

Are the heart's utterance uncontrolled;

If thou canst not fit speech supply,
'Twere better they were never told.

No. II.

Fleeting have been the hours and few,
Since first we met, so soon to part,
Yet faster than they fleeted, grew
Thy empire o'er my willing heart.
While thou, tho' distant, conquering still,
Wilt, with yet undiminished power,
Rule o'er my vassal thoughts, and fill
With sweet remembrances each hour.

Beneath thine eye I should not dare
Breathe this presumption, and e'en now
I shrink, thus darkly to declare

Feelings thou else wouldst never know.

For doomed by fortune's harsh decree
The ills of adverse fate to prove,

'Tis only thus-in mystery,

And hopeless, I can speak of love.

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No. III.

That I may prove to thee how much
My heart and soul are bound to thee,
Devise some fitting labor, such

As love can grapple with, for me;
And I will prove how much thou art
Prized o'er all earthly things beside,
Dear as the pulse-drops of my heart,
And precious as its crimson tide.

Alas! thou canst devise no task
So high but that untiring love
Would still a higher effort ask,
Its unexhausted strength to prove.
For even, love, to toil for thee,
To labor at thy bidding, were
Sweeter than Paradise would be,
Without thy smile to bless me there.

No. IV.

Were mine the powers of melody,
Words breathing forth an echoing tone
To the heart's feeling—then might I
Upon this page portray my own.

But when, alas, the heart would seek

Expression for the thoughts that rise And swell the fancy; words are weak,

And language in the utterance dies.

Then should I much thy worth profane,
And wrong my own heart-did I dare
In rude and all unpolished strain

Thy grace of mind and form declare.

Be silence, then, my eloquence;

And think thy worth, tho' left untold,
Is felt with deeper, purer sense,
Than speech or music could unfold.

No. V.

I should but wrong the world, to say
Thou art the fairest earth has known ;-
All men have sworn this oath, and they
Find each, the fairest in his own.

I should but wrong the skies, to swear
That angels are not pure as thou;
Else I should trembling shrink, nor dare
Profane thee with an earthly vow.

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