The greater part of men of the world are accustomed to frame certain dilemmas upon all the unhappy situations in life, in order to disencumber themselves as much as possible from the compassion which these situations demand from them. “There are but two parts to take," they say; "you must be entirely one thing, or the other, you must support what you cannot prevent, you must console yourself for what is irrevocable.” Or rather, "He who wishes an end, wishes the means also; you must do every thing to preserve that which you cannot do without," etc., and a thousand other axioms of this kind, which all have the form of proverbs, and which are in effect the code of vulgar wisdom. But what connection is there between these axioms and the severe afflictions of the heart? All this serves very well in the common affairs of life; but how apply such counsels to moral pains? They all vary according to the individual, and are composed of a thousand different circumstances, unknown to every one but our most .ntimate friend, if there is one who knows how to identify himself with us. Every character is almost a new world for him who can observe it with sagacity, and I know not in the science of the human heart one general idea which is completely applicable to particular examples.

The language of religion can alone suit every situation and every mode of feeling. When we read the reveries of J. J. Rousseau, that eloquent picture of a being preyed upon by an imagination stronger than himself, I have asked myself how a man whose understanding was formed by the world, and a religious recluse, would have endeavored to console Rousseau. He would have complained of being hated and persecuted; le would have called himself the object of universal envy, and the victim of a conspiracy which extended even from the people to their monarchs; he would have pretended that all his friends had betrayed him, and that the very services which they had rendered him were so many snares: what then would the man of an understanding formed by society have answered to all these complaints?

"You strangely exaggerate," he would have said, "the effect

that you fancy you produce: you are doubtless a very distin guished person; but, however, as each of us has his own affairs, and also his own ideas, a book does not fill all heads; the events of war or of peace, and still less interests, but which personally concern ourselves, occupy us much more than any writer, however celebrated he may be. They have banished you, it is true, but all countries ought to be alike to a philosopher like you; and to what purpose indeed can the morals and the religion, which you develop so well in your writings, De turned, if you are not able to support the reverses which have befallen you? Without doubt, there are some persons who envy you among the fraternity of learned men; but this cannot extend to the classes of society who trouble themselves very little with literature: besides, if celebrity really annoys you, nothing is so easy as to escape from it. Write no more; at the end of a few years you will be forgotten, and you will be as quiet as if you never had published any thing. You say that your friends lay snares for you, while they pretend to serve you. In the first place, is it not possible that there should be a slight degree of romantic exaltation in your manner of considering your personal relations? Your fine imagination was necessary to compose the Nouvelle Héloise; but a little reason is requisite in the affairs of this world, and, when we choose to do so, we see things as they are. If, however, your friends deceive you, you must break with them; but you will be very unwise to grieve on this account; for, one of two things, either they are worthy of your esteem-and in that case you are wrong to suspect them—or, if your suspicions are well founded, then you ought not to regret such friends.” After having heard this dilemma, J. J. Rousseau might very well have taken a third part, that of throwing himself into the river. But what would the religious recluse have said to him?

My son, I know not the world, and I am ignorant whether it is true that they wish you ill in the world; but if it were so, you would share this fate with all good men, who never theless have pardoned their enemies; for Jesus Christ and

Socrates, the God and the man, have set the example. It is necessary for hateful passions to exist here below, in order that the trial of the just should be accomplished. St. Theresa has said of the wicked: Unhappy men, they do not love! and yet they live long enough to have time for repentance.

“You have received admirable gifts from Heaven; if they have made you love what is good, have you not already enjoyed the reward of having been a soldier of Truth upon earth? If you have softened hearts by your persuasive eloquence, you will obtain for yourself some of those tears which you have caused to flow. You have enemies near you, but friends at a distance, among the votaries of solitude, who read you; and you have consoled the unfortunate better than we can console yourself. Why have I not your talent, to make you listen to me? That talent, my son, is a noble gift; men often try to asperse it; they tell you, wrongfully, that we condemn it in the name of God: this is not true. It is a divine emotion, which inspires eloquence; and if you have not abused it, learn to endure envy, for such a superiority is well worth the pain it may make you suffer.

Nevertheless, my son, I fear that pride is mixed with your sufferings; and this it is which gives them their bitterness, for all the griefs that continue humble make our tears flow gently; but there is a poison in pride, and man becomes senseless when he yields to it: it is an enemy that makes her own champion, the better to destroy him.

"Genius ought only to serve to manifest the supreme goodness of the soul. There are many men who have this goodness, without the talent of expressing it: thank God, from whom you receive the charm of those words formed to enchant the imagination of man; but be not proud, except of the feeling which dictates them. Every thing in life will be rendered calm for you, if you always continue religiously good: the wicked themselves grow tired of doing evil; their own poison exhausts them; and, besides, is not God above, to take care of the sparrow that falls, and of the heart of man that suffers? "You say that your friends wish to betray you take care

that you do not accuse them unjustly: woe to him that has repelled a sincere affection, for they are the angels of heaven who send it us; they have reserved this part to themselves in the destiny of man! Suffer not your imagination to lead you astray; you must permit her to wander in the regions of the clouds; but nothing except one heart can judge another, and you would be very culpable if you were to forget a sincere friendship; for the beauty of the soul consists in its generous confidence, and human prudence is figured by a serpent.

"It is possible, however, that in expiation of some transgressions, into which your great abilities have led you, you will be condemned upon this earth to drink that impoisoned cup, the treachery of a friend. If it is so, I lament your fate : the Divinity himself laments it while he punishes you. But do not revolt against his blows; still love, although love has distracted your heart. In the most profound solitude, in the cruellest isolation, we must not suffer the source of the devoted affections to be dried up within us. For a long while it was not believed that God could be loved as we love those who resemble ourselves. A voice which answers us, looks which are interchanged with our own, appear full of life, while the immense IIeaven is silent; but by degrees the soul exalts itself, even to feel its God near it as a friend.

My son, we ought to pray as we love, by mingling prayer with all our thoughts; we ought to pray, for then we are no more alone; and when resignation shall descend softly into your heart, turn your eyes upon nature; it might be said that every one there finds again his past life, when no traces of it exist among men. Think of your regrets as well as your pleasures, when you contemplate those clouds, sometimes dark and sometimes brilliant, which the wind scatters; and whether death has snatched your friends from you, or life, still more cruel, has broken asunder your bonds of union with them, you will perceive in the stars their deified images; they will ap pear to you such as you will see them again hereafter."

CHAPTER VII.

OF THE RELIGIOUS PHILOSOPHERS CALLED THEOSOPHISTS.

WHEN I gave an account of the modern philosophy of the Germans, I endeavored to trace the line of demarcation between that philosophy which attempts to penetrate the secrets of the universe, and that which is confined to an inquiry into the nature of our souls. The same distinction may be remarked among religious writers; those of whom I have already spoken in the preceding chapters have kept to the influence of religion upon our hearts; others, such as Jacob Böhme in Germany, St. Martin in France, and very many more, have believed that they found in the relation of Christianity mysterious words, which might serve to develop the laws of creation. We must confess, when we begin to think, it is difficult to stop; and whether reflection leads to skepticism, or to the most universal faith, we are sometimes tempted to pass whole hours, like the Faquirs, in asking ourselves what is life? Far from despising those who are thus devoured by contemplation, we cannot help considering them as the true lords of the human species, in whose presence those who exist without reflection are only vassals attached to the soil. But how can we flatter ourselves with the hope of giving any consistency to these thoughts, which, like flashes of lightning, plunge again into darkness, after having for a moment thrown an uncertain brilliance upon urrounding objects?

It may, however, be interesting to point out the principal direction of the systems of the Theosophists; that is, of those

"The Theosophists, neither contented with the natural light of human reason, nor with the simple doctrines of Scripture understood in their literal sense, have recourse to an internal supernatural light, superior to ali VOL. II.-15