Now, this admitted, he, who by a course of meditation and prayer has fitted himself for the other world, can feel but little uneasiness in the prospect of being speedily removed to it.

Son. Your reasoning, my father, is just: vigour is returning to my veins;-I feel the spring of life renewed: yet such is the present temper of my soul, that I could submit with fortitude to the stroke of death; nay, I even wish not that it should be delayed.

Merc. Observe the effect of christian resignation and love! you have a pattern of meekness and humility in your son.

Father. Alas! my life has been wicked, and death is, therefore, to be feared.-Now, if, by religious exercises

Merc. Your present wish, then, is to live, in order to make atonement for your sins?

Father. It is certainly my only desire.

Merc. It is highly praiseworthy, and must, therefore, be encouraged I will represent your case to my sovereign.

:

Father. Many thanks to you. [Exit Mercury.] Ha! ha! I have cheated his divinityship: nothing like pretending to religion and piety; nothing equal to a little hypocrisy marry, I have carried it rarely!

DIALOGUE XIII.

SCENE THE ELYSIAN Fields.

RABELAIS, CERVANTES, and STERNE.

Sterne. "My dear Rabelais! and my dearer Cervantes!"* happy am I to see you.

Rab. Prithee, Cervantes, are you acquainted with this shade? He addresses us very familiarly; I do not remember to have seen him before.

Cerv. 'Tis Sterne, or Shandy, or Yorick; he is newly arrived here; but you, no doubt, know him sufficiently by name.

Rab. Sterne! a distinguished name indeed: welcome, most welcome, to the Elysian fields!

Sterne. Many thanks to you. My first desire, on arriving here, was to find the men whose writings had afforded me such exquisite pleasure on earth. I was conversing with Lucian when you passed his bower; he kindly pointed you out to me, and I hastened to embrace my friends,-if such I may be allowed to call you. Rab. You do us much honour: but Lucian may be displeased at your quitting his society to follow us.

Sterne. There is little fear of that; I left him in excellent company,-no other than Addison and Swift.

Cerv. Once more, then, our dearest brother in pleasantry, once more, welcome to Elysium. But what is going on in the upper world? How many successors have you in wit and humour?

Sterne. Alas! but few: wit is degenerated into puns, and humour into buffoonery.

Rab. The English, it should be remembered, were never remarkable for fine-turned raillery; it is properly the province of the French.

* See Tristram Shandy.

Sterne. The English are as capable of it as any other people, as several successful efforts have shown; the general taste, however, is bad, and it is on that account that my countrymen have never excelled in the raillery of which you speak: they have little encouragement to pursue it in their writings.

Rab. Could they divest themselves entirely of the gross and intemperate satire of which they are so fond, it would, in my opinion, redound considerably to their honour.

Cerv. Is it Rabelais who speaks?-Rabelais, whose wit, though great, was rude and indelicate to a great degree.

Rab. I lived in a rude and indelicate age: in the eighteenth century, perhaps, I should have borne away the palm from every competitor; for my wit, if polished, might show to advantage.

Sterne. I am of another opinion. It was once proposed, I remember, to cover that venerable pile, the Abbey of Westminster, with Italian stucco, in order, as the schemer insinuated, to give it beauty: an attempt at refinement in the writings of Rabelais would be equally absurd; it were better that any exceptionable passages should be expunged from the book.

Cerv. A just and proper remark; the wit of Rabelais is exquisite, nearly equal to that of Lucian.

Sterne. And, in true humour, Cervantes surpasses them both.

Cerv. You are surely much too partial to me: could I, indeed, have been relieved from the miseries of a dependent state, that terrible and destructive enemy to the man of genius, I had possibly accomplished greater things.

Sterne. A prison is undoubtedly much more likely to check the natural ardour of genius than to increase it; you, however, rose superior to the frowns of fortune, and to the cabals which were artfully formed against you. Rab. A proof of greatness and nobleness of mind: an

ordinary man would have sunk beneath the calamities that awaited Cervantes.

Sterne. Right: and it is finely observed by the great Lord Bacon, that " Prosperity doth best discover vice; but that adversity doth best discover virtue."

Rab. Nothing can be more true of mankind in general: it must, however, be admitted, with some exception;prosperity will frequently set in motion that virtue, which before was locked in " stony fetters;"-virtue willing, but unable, to act.

Cerv. Yes; and adversity will sometimes call forth the latent and hidden seeds of vice. As necessity is, on some occasions, the mother of arts, so is she likewise the parent of crimes.

Rab. Very true: but, my dear associates and fellows in gaiety, into what a strange discourse have we fallen! If, in publishing my book, I could say to the readers of it

Voyant le deuil qui vous mine et consomme,
Mieux est de ris que de larmes escrire,

Parceque rire est le propre de l'homme.*

Since such, I say, was formerly my language, let me not become a moralizer,-let me not appear a whiner in these days of mirth.

Sterne. Is Rabelais then unable to distinguish between the moralizer and the whiner;-between the man who delivers lessons in virtue and morality, and him who rails at vices in a peevish and querulous strain?

Rab. I stand reproved: but, 'faith, I have been so little accustomed to moralizing; that is, to talk about the cardinal virtues,—though, by the way, I have not forgot to practise them on necessary occasions, that I may well be fearful of engaging in the matter now: in a word, my system of ethics might be enclosed in a nutshell, the quintessence is all I have to boast.

* Verses prefixed to the Euvres de Rabelais, and addressed " aux lecteurs."

Sterne. And that is surely sufficient: it has frequently been said of me (you may remember) that moral goodness was only in my mouth; I have many times been charged with the vice of hypocrisy.

Cerv. To which charge your good and virtuous deeds have given the lie?

Sterne. Alas! not so: I never had the means; I never had the power of calling my inclinations into action.An eminent British poet has said, "If our virtues go not forth of us, it is as though we had them not:" from that opinion, however, I must beg leave to dissent; negative virtue is not to be contemned; a principle of honour will at least deter a man from the commission of crimes.

Rab. Certainly and it has been finely observed, in speaking of the excellency of moral rectitude, that laws were only made to bind the villains of society.

Cerv. Right: and yet it is a melancholy truth, that the villains of society prosper most. Not, indeed, that their malefactions are generally known,-no, although they appear like the innocent flower, they are the serpent lurking under it.

Rab. Once more, a truce with moralizing; it is only in a perpetual gaiété de cœur that Rabelais can be truly happy.

Sterne. Were you ever an enemy to sober sadness,-ever lively and enjouée, when on earth?

Rab. Uniformly so: you may remember the motto to my book; hence I gathered the sentiment which served me as a rule in life: "A moi," said I, "n'est qu' honneur et gloire d'être dit et réputé bon gautier et bon compagnon, c'est pourquoi buvez frais, si faire se peut."

Cerv. Vive Paris pour la bonne chère, said Rabelais; Rabelais, la coqueluche, le tou-tu, des femmes. Was it

not so?

Rab. Certainly: "Madame, ce serait un bien fort utile à toute la république, délectable à vous" You remember the rest.