munity. Now that this was not the case, with respect to the accounts of a future state current among the ancients, is the conclusion which will present itself to any one who examines the question fully and candidly: I say, fully and candidly, because one whose researches are very limited, will not be unlikely to have met with such passages only in ancient writers as would, of themselves, lead to a contrary conclusion; and one who is strongly prepossessed in favour of that conclusion, will confine his attention to those passages, seeking only to explain away all that militate against it. The truth is, there are many passages to be found (and that, frequently in the same authors) of each description; some that seem to imply the general belief, and others the disbelief, of the accounts of a future life. But it should be remembered, that, in such a case, the latter are entitled to the greater weight: for there can be no doubt that the fables of Elysium and Tartarus were a part of the popular religion, which it was usually thought decorous to speak of with respect; and the doctrine of a future state was regarded as especially expedient to

be inculcated on the vulgar, in order to restrain them in cases beyond the control of human laws; so that a good reason can be assigned for a philosopher's appearing to consider the doctrine as indubitable, though he neither believed it himself, nor could flatter himself that it was so generally believed as he might think desirable: whereas on the other hand no reason whatever can be assigned for any one's treating it as a fable, if he really did believe it. When then we find Socrates and his disciples represented by Plato as fully admitting in their discussion of the subject, that "men in general were highly incredulous as to the soul's future existence," and as expecting that "it would, at the moment of our natural death, be dispersed (as he expresses it) like air or smoke, and cease altogether to exist, so that it would require no little persuasion and argument to convince them that the soul can exist after death, and can retain any thing of its powers and intelligence;"-when we find this, I say, asserted, or rather alluded to, as notoriously the state of popular opinion, we can surely entertain but little doubt that the accounts of

Elysium and Tartarus were regarded as mere poetical fables, calculated to amuse the imagination, but unworthy of serious belief.

It may be thought, however, (though the supposition does not seem a probable one,) that the philosopher mistook, or misrepresented, the opinions of his countrymen: let us turn to the records of matters of fact, as presented to us by an able and faithful historian, who possessed the amplest opportunities for obtaining information. The testimony of Thucydides, not as to the professed belief, but as to the conduct, of the Athenians, under those trying circumstances in which the near approach of death impresses the most forcibly the thought of a future state on the minds of those who expect it-his testimony, I say, as to their conduct on such an occasion, must alone prove almost decisive of the question. For it will hardly be denied, that those who firmly believe in a future state, or even regard it as a thing highly probable, however the pursuits and occupations of this world may have drawn off their attention from it, will be likely, when death evidently draws near-death, not in the

tumultuous ardour of battle, but in the calm, yet resistless, progress of disease-to think with lively and anxious interest of the life of another world. If they have any apprehensions at all of judgment to come, they will usually wish to "die the death of the righteous," even though they may not have been willing to lead the life of the righteous. Even those who have been in some doubt respecting this truth, or who have studied to keep it out of sight, are generally found to believe in it the most firmly at that awful moment, when they would be most glad to disbelieve it; and then to think most of it, when the thought is the most intolerable.

It is not necessary for the present purpose to contend, that what has been just said constitutes a rule without exception; let it be admitted only as applying to the generality, or even to a considerable portion merely, of mankind; (and thus far at least we are surely borne out, both by reason and experience;) and let any one with these principles before him contemplate the picture drawn of the pestilence which ravaged Athens during the Peloponnesian war, by that judicious historian who

was an eye-witness and a partaker of the calamity. Whether the ancient poets, or philosophers, be regarded as the better instructors in the doctrine of a future state, Athens had no deficiency in either: and a plague so widespreading, so irresistible, and which brought with it to those whom it seized (as we are expressly told) such an utter despair of recovery, may be fairly expected to have had the effect, in some minds at least, of awakening whatever belief, or even suspicion, they might have entertained respecting Tartarus and Elysium, and of calling into action their fears and hopes on the subject. We might expect to find some of them at least bewailing their sins, making reparation to those they had injured, and in every way striving to prepare for the judgment that seemed impending.

The very reverse took place. The historian. tells us, that "seeing death so near them, they resolved to make the most of life while it lasted, by setting at nought all laws divine and human, and eagerly plunging into every species of profligacy." Nor was this conduct by any means confined to the most vile and worthless