VIRTUE and VICE.

Every mortal (said Philo, as cited by St. Ambrose, Lib. 1. of Cain and Abel, cap. 4.) has, within the little habitation of the soul, two females, the one chaste but rigid and unpleasant, the other wanton but soft and amorous. The first is the type of virtue, the second of worldly delights.

II. The learned Jew paints virtue and vice according to appearances at first sight, or according to the opinion of the world, but not according to the truth; and so it comes to pass, that virtue is commonly conceived to be all asperity, and vice all deliciousness; virtue is placed among thorns, and vice reposing on beds of flowers: but this is an error, and of all the false opinions upheld by the blindness of the world, the most pernicious one. I shall endeavour in this discourse to expose its fallacy, by shewing, that even in this life, abstracted from the rewards and punishments of that to come, by people’s abandoning themselves to the pursuit of criminal pleasures, they are liable to more inquietudes, and experiencemore fatigues, than they would be exposed to, by the practice of the moral and Christian virtues. For this purpose, I shall make use of such arguments as are furnished by natural reason and experience, without having recourse to the sentences of fathers, or the sayings of philosophers, the collection of which might be swelled to a vast bulk; but whoever is not to be persuaded by reason, will never be convinced by authority.

III. Could we but see the hearts of men abandoned to a vicious course, the doubt would be soon removed; however, we may view them by reflection in the looking-glasses of their souls, of which their words and actions are the types. If you observe with attention these unhappy men, you will find, that no others betray such perturbation in their countenances, such inquietude in their actions, nor such embarrassment in their conversation; nor is this to be wondered at, there being many tormentors, who are continually disturbing them in the enjoyment of their beloved pleasures. That domestic enemy, that unavoidable, but unsavoury guest, their own conscience, with the nectar they drink, is constantly mixing the gall they abominate.

IV. Tully said with energetical propriety, that the crimes of wicked men, reflected in their ownimaginations, are to them continual and domestic furies?Hæ sunt impiis assiduæ, domesticæque furiæ.(Orat. pro Rosc.) These are the serpents and vulturs, who gnaw in pieces the entrails of the wickedTityus; these are the eagles, who tear the heart of the rash Prometheus. Consider the torments of Cain, a fugitive from the world, and who, if it were possible, would fly from himself also; wandering through the woods and mountains, without ever having power to extract the dart which had pierced his breast, that is, the memory of his crime; or like another wounded hind, under which image the great poet describes the mortal inquietude of that enamoured queen,

——Silvas, saltusque peragratDictæos; hæret lateri læthalis arundo.

——Silvas, saltusque peragrat

Dictæos; hæret lateri læthalis arundo.

V. Contemplate the anxieties of a Lamech, so violently pressed by the recollection of the murder, or murders, which he had committed, that, wanting power to remain the repository of his own secret, he throws it up like one who has swallowed poison, which excites a coughing or tickling in the throat, and runs the hazard of infamy and punishment, for the sake only of enjoying a trivial and temporary relief. Plutarch relates of one Apollodorus, that the memory of his crimes, haunted him in his sleep; for hedreamed every night, that after being quartered, his members were dissolved in boiling water, and that while he suffered this martyrdom, his heart screamed out, “I am the cause and motive of these torments.”

VI. I acknowledge it to be true, that all men are not so susceptible of interior remorse, and that, as St. Paul expresses it, there are consciences so cauterized, as to lose all sensation; and hearts, which by a long habit of sin are become petrified;

Sic læthalis hyems paulatim in pectora venit.

VII. O men, of all the most unhappy! This obdurateness of the breast, is a schirrous of the soul, for which, by appealing to miracles only, you can hope relief. Such people are apt to amuse themselves with the hope, that during this mortal life at least, they shall pass on with mirth and enjoyment; but how much are they deceived, who feed themselves with such hopes, for these are the people who experience the most toil. This will appear by a survey of the three vices, within whose boundaries, almost every evil lays distributed, to wit, ambition, avarice, and luxury.

VIII. The ambitious man is the slave of all the world. Of the Prince, that he may bestow a place on him; of his client, because he solicits him; and of other men, for fear they should put obstacles in his way. His soul and body are in continual agitation, from an apprehension of the consequences, with which the loss of an instant of time may be attended, and he dreads all mankind, lest some one by an accusation, may occasion all his solicitude to vanish in smoke. How forced are his looks! for he smiles on those, to whom he bears a mortal enmity. What labour does it cost him, to suppress those vicious inclinations, that might throw obstructions in the way of his manœuvres! All the other passions, are the victims of the ruling one, and the vice of ambition, like a tyrant master, adds to the torment that itself inflicts, by the prohibition of all those pleasures which the inclination prompts to. He sees one go to a comedy, another amuse himself with innocent recreation, another go to a feast, and another to a ball; he sees them all, and envies them all; for his passions, though furious, may be compared to the winds, which are confined and shut up in the prisons of Æolus;

Illi indignantes magno cum murmure montisCircum claustra fremunt.

Illi indignantes magno cum murmure montis

Circum claustra fremunt.

IX. When he has obtained a place, his cares do not lessen, the object only of his anxiety being changed, and his attention is but translated from the means of procuring his rise, to the study of how he shall keep possession of what he has acquired. He finds himself placed on a ladder, which he cannot ascend without much fatigue, nor remain where he is situated without uneasiness, and where the dread of falling headlong terrifies him from descending. He finds the necessity of holding a tight rein on his depraved appetites increased, and is obliged to ride his vicious inclinations with a stronger curb. He is solicited by avarice, instigated by gluttony, and burns with incontinence; but still obeys, although it is with reluctance, that passion which has the despotic rule of him. He would wish to crush by an unjust sentence, the man who has offended him; but fears lest the injured person should appeal to the king, or a superior tribunal. He loves indolence; but if he relaxes in his application, all is lost. He trembles at the thought of a change of administration, as the idea fills him with an apprehension of being left deserted in the street; and never reads a news-paper, without being terrified at seeing an account of the death of his patron. Can a man lead a more miserable life?

X. It is a known thing, that the covetous man is one of the devil’s martyrs; or he may be compared to an Anchorite, who, by his abstinence and retirement, acquires merits, which may intitle him to a place in hell. His heart, divided between the desires of keeping and acquiring, experiences a continual fever, mixed with a mortal cold, as he burns for other people’s property, and trembles with the apprehension of losing his own. He is hungry, but does not eat; he is thirsty, and does not drink; he is always needy, and his mind knows no repose. He is never free from alarms. A rat does not move in the silence of the night, without the noise filling him with apprehensions, that a thief is breaking into his house. No strong wind can blow, that in his imagination, does not threaten the wreck of one of his trading ships. He is continually meditating new hiding-places for his treasure, which he frequently visits, doubtful of finding the money in the hiding-place, but always sure of finding his heart in the money. He views it with anxious concern, and sometimes will not venture to touch it, lest it should crumble to ashes between his fingers. Thus, fat in possessions, and a martyr to fears, his days pass away, till, as it happened in the case of king Agag, the fatal hour of punishment arrives (pinguissimus et tremens). Can a man’s life be more unhappy?

XI. If he seeks relief from lasciviousness, he will find, that no vice loads a man with so much uneasiness; and provided the meanness of his disposition, or the depravity of his appetite, determine him to pursue criminal pleasures, in the instant are set before his eyes the injuries it will be productive of, to the three articles, that are esteemed the most valuable in this life, honour, wealth, and property. He goes from pitcher to pitcher, to satisfy his thirst, till meeting with some infectious water, he poisons his whole mass of blood, by which means, his life is either endangered, or he is obliged to purchase the preservation of it at a dear rate, and although he recovers his health, he will suffer in his reputation through life.

XII. If, from the ampleness of his fortune, or the merit of his person, his pursuits are directed to objects in a higher sphere, he will avoid part of the inconveniences before enumerated, to incur greater, which is shunning Scylla, and running upon Charybdis. Adventures of this kind, are full of alarms, inquietudes, and dangers. What anxieties await him pending the love-suit! His eyes seek sleep, but find it not; for Jacob, who was an honourable lover, experienced, and declared, that it was become a fugitive from his eyes. His heart longs for repose, but does not obtain it. In this manner he goes on, conceiving unhappiness,that he may bring forth misfortune. He is constantly wavering in his determination, about what means he shall employ to accomplish his end; he approves all that occur to him, and he rejects them all:incertæ tanta est discordia mentis. He trembles to think of the possibility of a repulse. Love drags him forward, fear detains him. He finds the whole road of his courtship strewed with perils, which upon his arrival at the summit of his wishes, will be multiplied, the hazardous instances in such cases, being many; but it seldom happens, that the injury is confined to a single person, and it is next to a moral impossibility, that a man should take so many steps without making a little noise, by which means, suspicion will be awakened, and watching in the end, be rewarded with the discovery of truth; and although the purpose is accomplished, a man who commits insults, and does injuries, is never free from alarms. What real pleasure is a man capable of feeling, who cannot separate the gratification of his lewd desires, from the hazard that attends them? He cannot move a step in prosecution of the crime, but the injured person, presents himself to his imagination, with a dagger, or a pistol in his hand; and this danger is constantly pursuing him, whichever way he turns himself; so that he is precisely in the case of that man, who is in continual dread of losing his life, and always sees it hang suspended by a single thread before hiseyes, which is a state, that God represents to his people as a terrible curse:Et erit vita tua quasi pendens ante te. Timebis nocte, & die, & non credes vitæ tuæ.

XIII. But admitting there are circumstances where these apprehensions do not exist, still it does not follow, that they are not attended with very serious inquietudes. Suppose that after enjoyment, a loathing should ensue, which happens very frequently, and which actually did happen to Amnon with Thamar. You see in this case, for the sake of a delicious moment, a disagreeable obligation intailed upon a man for life. If he resolves to break the noose, he exposes himself to the rage of an abandoned woman, who finding herself neglected, runs mad, either through love or hatred, which are both equally dangerous. If his criminal affection continues, the impatience of not enjoying his beloved object with freedom, over-balances the satisfaction, which is afforded by a delight that he usurps by stealth. In such a situation, his bowels being gnawed by a furious envy is unavoidable. But what if jealousies should steal in? Those who have experienced the rigour of these furies well know, how much they exceed the most exquisite criminal enjoyments, and that whole years of that false glory are not equal to one day only of this hell. Reflect on what has beensaid, and then tell me, whether you can figure to yourself a state more unhappy. St. Austin, who found himself so long entangled in the labyrinth of the three before-mentioned vices, is a good witness, that the dish which they present to the appetite, is filled with putrefaction. Hear his words, when he addresses himself to God in the sixth Book of his Confessions:Inhiabam honoribus, lucris, conjugio, & tu irridebas, patiebar in iis cupiditatibus amarissimas difficultates.

XIV. Nor ought we to conclude, that those few whose will with respect to other men, is the law, and whose libertinism there is no rein to check, navigate the sea of vice without inquietude, for they also experience the waters of that sea to be extremely bitter. I mean sovereign princes. Nero was lord of the earth, that is to say, master of the whole Roman empire. He gave the most latitudinary loose imaginable to all his perverse inclinations, and those inclinations were irrefragable decrees. The weight of government, sat very light on him, and far from supporting the state on his shoulders, which by way of example, had been done by the best princes, he trod it under foot. All the world obeyed the sceptre, and the sceptre was the slave of appetite. He possessed whomsoeverhe liked, and put to death whomsoever he hated. Love in the Emperor’s hands, held its attainment and completion, and in the hands of his instruments, hatred held the knife. Passion could not carry a man to a more horrible pitch of extravagance, than he manifested, when he set fire to Rome to indulge his cruelty, and also to gratify his base appetites, which were evident by the indignities he offered to his own sex. All this, to the disgrace of human nature, was executed by that monster in iniquity.

XV. Who would believe, that this prince, who held the world in slavery to his arbitrary will, did not lead a joyous life? but according to Tacitus, so far from enjoying this happiness, he was always possessed with terrors:Facinorum recordatione nunquam timore vacuus.And Suetonius adds, that unable to sleep of nights, he used to run about the salons of his palace, tumbling heels over head like a man out of his senses.

XVI. Tiberius was equal to Nero in power, and very little inferior to him in wickedness; but with all his power, he led so uneasy and disturbed a life, that in order a little to relieve his heart from the oppression of its anxieties, he could not avoid bursting forth in groans and words, that were expressive of his grief and uneasiness. So says Tacitus:Tiberium non fortuna, non solitudines protegebant,quin tormenta pectoris, suasque ipse pænas fateretur; and a little before, he relates a mournful exclamation of the Emperor’s, in a letter he wrote to the Senate, where he says, my own crimes have transformed themselves into executioners, in order to torment me;adeo facinora atque flagitia ipsi quoque in supplicium verterant.

XVII. These anxieties of bad princes, are for the most part, occasioned by their seeing themselves universally abhorred, in consequence of which, they live in continual dread of conspiracies. They reflect, that out of so many people who hate them, some will be found, with sufficient resolution to execute, what had been previously concerted; so that amidst all their pleasures, they cannot feel more enjoyment, than is felt by a culprit, at the sound of soft music, while he is waiting to hear the fatal sentence. Dionysius the tyrant of Syracuse, in order to undeceive a person who envied his happiness, made use of the following expressive device. He invited the man to a banquet, and seated him immediately under the point of a sword, that hung suspended by a fine thread, very near to, and just ready to pierce his neck, and then informed him, that was precisely the situation, in which his fortune had placed him.

XVIII. Over and above this anguish, which is common to all tyrants, there is no legitimate prince, however happy he may seem, without his serious and weighty inquietudes. Alexander cloathed with glory, afflicts himself, because Homer does not live to celebrate his actions. Augustus, who had always been the favourite of fortune, because she once slighted him in the case of the legions in Germany, passed much of his time, both night and day, in ravings and exclamations, as if he had been mad. Caligula, fancies he shall insure his safety, by spilling great quantities of blood, but is grieved when he reflects, that all the heads in Rome are not placed on one neck, and that he cannot strike them off at a blow. The ambitious prince groans, because he cannot make himself master of the whole world; the covetous one, because he cannot accumulate in his own treasury, the riches of other kingdoms; the vindictive one, because he cannot destroy a neighbouring prince who has offended him; the lascivious one, because his imagination represents to him some foreign object, exempt from the power of his will. Thus bitter afflictions, are annexed to exalted stations.

XIX. So certain and so general is the sentence, which wisdom puts in the mouths of all wickedmen, when they arrive at the region where the delusion ceases:Lassati sumus in via iniquitatis & perditionis, & ambulavimus vias difficiles.Oh! how have we fatigued ourselves in the way of perdition! our relaxation was weariness, our pleasures anguish; unhappy we, who have run the course of life, not through delicious gardens, or pleasant forests, but through thorns and briars, and intricate paths! This is the language of all the damned:Talia dixerunt in inferno hi, qui peccaverunt.Of all? yes, they all say so, and they speak the truth. All sinners have their little hell in this world. They all travel through asperities, to arrive at the precipice. They all drink the dregs of that cup, which according to David’s description our Lord holds in his hand:Calix in manu domini vini meri plenus mixto: & inclinavit ex hoc in hoc, verumtamen fæx ejus non est exinanita, bibent omnes peccatores terræ.And it must be so, for according to the sense and meaning of the text, the pure wine is for the saints of the land, where the enjoyment is pure: the mixed, is for the just of that country, where tribulation is mixed with happiness, so that even in this life, there remains for sinners, only the bitter and gross dregs; and these they all drink. All, yes all, without excepting even those, on whom the good things of this world seem to be heaped up.

XX. For the more clear understanding this matter, and to enforce the argument we are using, it will be necessary to premise, that in this life, there is a heavy and mortal affliction, which is common to all men; but with respect to sinners, it is peculiarly and most severely felt by those who seem the most happy. This affliction, consists in the reflection, that we must one day die. There is no doubt, but every living creature feels horror, upon arriving at that fatal pass, and is naturally sad, whenever it occurs to him, that he must unavoidably go through it; but he will be more affected beyond comparison, who after having culled all the regales of fortune, has placed his whole happiness in the enjoyment of them. Let us contemplate a man, rich, powerful, respected, and obeyed, and to whom nothing is wanting, either for convenience or pleasure, and to whom, let his appetites be ever so vague, fortune has denied nothing that may enable him to gratify them. Such a man, whenever he thinks that he must die, which is a thought that will sometimes occur to him, without his being able to prevent it, cannot fail to be exceedingly afflicted. The thought of death, to whoever does not employ it for the amendment of his life, becomes a torturer. Let us admit, that he is a determined Atheist, so blinded, as not to entertain the least idea of the immortality of the soul, and consequently, has not the least apprehensionof what will befall him in the world to come; yet he will at least consider death, as a merciless, and a savage tyrant, who will despoil him of all that is most dear to him; of the property which he possesses, of the banquet he regales himself at, of the chace which diverts him, of the music which delights him, and of the concubine whom he adores; all which will be lost at a stroke, never to be recovered any more. The greater the pleasures are which he enjoys, the more miserable this consideration will make him. The unhappy man, who is the outcast of fortune, and even he who is placed in a middle station of life, feels the light consolation, that death will relieve him from many vexations; but what comfort can he receive, whom it will only rob of enjoyments? Death strikes terror into all men, but to such a one, it is terrible in extreme. Every man is intensely fond of his own particular happiness, and in proportion to the ardour with which he loves it, will be his grief at losing it. Such a man, when he thinks himself arrived at the summit of felicity, and knows no other than that which he possesses, with what anguish must he reflect, that the whole, without the least reserve, will be one day lost!

XXI. This inevitable melancholy, as they advance in years, is much augmented in all the favourites of fortune. Life, after a man is arrived athis prime, may be from thenceforward, truly and properly, compared to a chronic disease, which proceeds leading a man to death by slow paces; or to speak more properly, it is death implanted in our nature. Upon arriving at the period we have just mentioned, that is, the prime of life, the powerful man, from thenceforward, in the strength which he continues to lose, and in the diseases he proceeds to gain, finds constant information, that by little and little, the cottage of life goes on crushing and crumbling to nothing, by the weight of the temple of fortune. At this stage, he revolves in his mind, one by one, all the pleasures he enjoys, and all the objects of his love, and each thought tears from his heart a sigh, especially when he reflects, that the time approaches, when he must bid them all a melancholy farewell. He proceeds to cast another glance at death, and almost in the words of the unhappy King David oppressed with grief, exclaims against her in a sentimental complaint, not so much for having cut the thread of his life, as for having separated him by an eternal absence from all he esteemed and adored.Siccine separat amara mors.O sinners! whom the world call happy, is this living? But let the world be undeceived; for ye are the people, who burden yourselves with whatever is most heavy, and hard to be borne, that is contained in the stores of mortality; all your relaxation is fatigue,all your pleasure is anxiety, all your nectar is poison.

XXII. For your comfort and advantage, although you cannot be a stranger to it, listen at present, to that sweet and sonorous voice, which, by the divine organ, was conveyed and dispersed over the whole face of the earth. Attend, for to you it is addressed; hear and profit by it:Venite ad me omnes, qui laboratis, & onerati estis, & ego reficiam vos.Come unto me, all ye who labour, and are heavy laden with cares, for I will lighten your burdens, and give you relaxation and ease. These words, it is certain, are designed to reclaim sinners, and are addressed as a call to those who are distant from Christ. These then are they, who lead a wearisome life. Christ invites them to come nearer him, that is, to embrace virtue; the virtuous then are those, who enjoy relaxation and ease. Thus, you see, both the points I am attempting to prove are supported by evangelical authority.

But having demonstrated the first point by natural reason and experience, I will proceed to do the same by the second. And first of all, I ought to acknowledge, that the beginnings of a virtuous life, are toilsome:Ardua prima via est; and moreespecially to those who have been a long time under the dominion of their passions. Vicious habits, are enemies, which in their first attacks, wage cruel war, but their force declines daily, and sometimes, by a miracle of grace, they are laid prostrate at the first onset. The flight of a vicious man from sin, is in all respects, like the escape of the Hebrews from the land of Egypt. How dejected were they, when, with the Red Sea in their front, they saw the Egyptian army at their backs! How haughty were the Egyptians! how desponding were the Hebrews! They are just on the point of treating to surrender, when Moses, exalting his voice, said to the people, “Now, Israel, advance boldly into the gulph, for the Lord hath undertaken to defend you.” They obey, and upon setting their feet in the water, the Sea divided. The troops of Pharaoh pursue them in crouds. What pride possessed the Egyptians! what fear the Hebrews! However, the last proceed with trembling pace, till they reach the opposite shore; upon arriving there, they turn round, and look at whence they came from, and they then perceive Pharaoh and all his host are buried in the Red Sea. Their grief is converted to happiness, and their groans to songs of joy.

XXIV. Exactly like this, is the flight of a sinner from vice. Egypt is the criminal station. The enemies who pursue the fugitive sinner are hisvicious inclinations, of which, he was a long time the slave: these are strong, he is feeble. The first assault is furious. Moses is the virtue which animates him. The sinner at last, breaks through a sea of difficulties, and although it requires more perseverance in some to compleat the good work, than in others, he ultimately obtains the satisfaction, of seeing all his passions drowned. He gains footing on the opposite shore: and what follows? the same that happened to the Hebrews, he bursts forth in songs of joy. Afterwards, in pursuing his road to the Land of Promise, he is now and then upon the way, assaulted by enemies, that is, by some temptations; but they are overcome, as Moses overcame the Amalekites, by lifting the hands to Heaven, under which figure is implied the force and efficacy of prayer. Sometimes he also meets with bitter waters, that is to say tribulations, but a miraculous wood sweetens them; for the cross, or passion of our Saviour, makes them palatable. From Mara or Marath, a place whose name is used to express bitterness, on account of its nauseous waters, he makes the transition to Elim, a situation, which is both pleasant and delightsome.

XXV. Thus it succeeds with the sinner, who, fugitive from vice, puts himself under the divine protection, which never fails those who solicit it; but to be uniform to what I proposed, it will nowbe necessary, to consider virtue in its natural state, and abstracted from the extraordinary aids, with which it is assisted by grace.

XXVI. The superlative Mount of Virtue is formed the reverse of all other mountains. In the material mountains, the skirts are pleasant, and the tops all asperity; therefore, in ascending them, the pleasant part diminishes, and the dreary part augments. On the contrary, the skirts of the Mount of Virtue are disgusting, and the eminence grateful. He who would arrive at it, must expect at first setting out, to meet with nothing but rocks, thorns, and thickets, but as he advances in his course, the asperity diminishes, and he begins to discover the pleasant part; and at length, on arriving at the top, he sees nothing but beautiful flowers, regaling plants, and crystal fountains.

XXVII. The first passages, are excessively laborious and slippery:per insidias iter est, formasque ferarum; he is courted by the songs of the syrens, from the sea of the world; he is terrified in some parts of the mountain, by the roaring of lions. He casts a wishful look on the smooth surface of the valley, and he contemplates with dread the top of the mountain, to which he aspires. Freedfrom the prison of sin, still, in his passions he wears his fetters, the weight of which, together with the difficulty of the road, render his progress slow and toilsome. He hears just behind him, the soft murmurs of his criminal pleasures, which accost him as they did St. Austin, and say, is it possible that you can abandon us?Dimittis de nos: is it possible you can take your leave and absent yourself from us for ever?Et a momento isto non erimus tecum ultra in æternum.He however proceeds on, though a little dejected, and now and then meets a rub in the way, which causes him to stumble; but now he begins to find the path less difficult, and the clamours of earthly delights make less impression on him, because he hears them at a greater distance. Just so St. Austin experienced it:Et audiebam eas jam longè minus quam dimidias, veluti a dorso musitantes.Having gone a little further, he begins to discover the road plain and smooth, and although now and then the force of his antient habits causes him to think of the pleasures he has enjoyed, and the difficulty of forsaking them, the stroke is so feeble, that it makes no impression:Cum diceret mihi consuetudo violenta, putasne sine istis poteris? sed jam tepidissimè hoc dicebat.

XXVIII. He arrives at last, at the superior part of the mountain, where he beholds a beautiful, and an agreeable plain. The sweatand tears with which he watered the skirts, he finds have fertilized the summit; for here he obtains an abundant harvest, far exceeding what is produced from cultivation and prolix labour. This is hid from the eyes of the world, who, instead of considering him as enjoying a happy retirement at the top of the mountain, conclude, he is placed in an almost inaccessible and arduous station. They think he cannot enjoy an instant of repose, imagining the situation he inhabits, to be a field, where the elements engage with the utmost fury, and where the tempests rage with the greatest force and rigour. But it fares with him, as with one who scales the height of Olympus, who afterwards enjoys a climate of uninterrupted serenity, where the air is not disturbed with the most slight agitation, and where the tranquillity is so transcendent, that characters written in ashes exposed to the open air will continue legible for years together. There you always look down upon the clouds, and the fulminations burst on the skirts, without ever incommoding the eminence. At the same time, those who dwell in the neighbouring vales, conclude, if information or experience has not undeceived them, that it is ever obscured by gatherings, and continually scorched by the rays of lightning.

XXIX. Just so the difficulties of life, and the storms of fortune, fall on those who inhabit the humble vallies of the world, but not upon him who has ascended the Mount of God; the fat mountain, as David calls it. But with all this, sickness, grief, loss of goods, persecution, ignominy, and other calamities, are they not common to the just, and to the unjust? and are they not in some degree acquired by the first, by silence, retirement, watching, prayer, discipline, fasting, and other penalties? It is all true, but these are clouds that are seen at a distance, and only appear on the sides of Olympus, but never rise to the top; that is, they never attain the power of inquieting the sublime part of the soul.

XXX. I do not mean to insinuate, that just men are insensible, for this would savour of the extravagance of the Stoics, who pretend, that in the workshops of virtue you may transform men to marble. The virtuous have their sufferings, but they don’t sit so heavy on them, as they do on the delinquents, and the inquietudes which they both experience are felt by the delinquents in their full vigour; by the virtuous only partially. You may distinguish the spirit of the just man and the sinner, as you would the elements of air and earth. The earth in all its regions, is exposed to the injuries of the otherelements. The inferior portion of the air only is so exposed; which is the theatre of vapours and exhalations; but the sensible alterations, do not reach what is called the superior region of the air. There the temperature is observed to be always equal, there the Heavens are displayed in a constant serenity, and there is always enjoyed an atmosphere, crystalline and pure.

XXXI. But let us scrutinize with the greatest exactness, the temporal conveniences of virtue. Health, honour, and property, which essentially contribute to temporal felicity, are of great importance in this matter, if the whole of it does not consist in the enjoyment of them; and considered with respect to these contingents, the virtuous man has much the advantage of the vicious one. No one is ignorant, that honour is the legitimate offspring of virtue; for which reason the Romans, when they built them, joined the temples together, that were appropriated to the adoration of those endowments, which they worshipped as deities; so that the only way by which you could enter the Temple of Honour, was through the Temple of Virtue. The very people who shun the practice of virtue, esteem and reverence it; and the blessings of health and long life, on account of the regularitywith which he lives, are more likely to be attained by the virtuous man, than by the vicious one, who, by his debaucheries, ruins his health, and curtails his existence. Property finds a good steward in the œconomy of virtue, who takes care of and preserves it, by avoiding superfluities. Solomon expressed the whole, when he said, that the obedient to the divine mandates held long life in one hand, and in the other honour and property:Longitudo dierum in dextra ejus; & in sinistra illius, divitiæ & gloria.(Prov. 3.) Now, even supposing the just man to enjoy no other advantages over the vicious one, is not his condition much to be preferred?

XXXII. But it has others. The tranquillity, and sweetness, which is administered to the soul by a good conscience, places in a very eminent degree, the fortune of the just, superior to that of the sinner. This is a blessing of little bulk, but of great value: a precious stone, which, within small dimensions, contains great and rich qualities. The conscience is the mirror of the soul, and it happens to the just man, and to the sinner, when they look in the glass, as it happens to the handsome, and the ugly woman, when they view themselves in the crystal; the handsome is pleased, because she sees perfections, the other is sad, because she observes nothing but blemishes. Thecondition of the sinner is even worse than that of the ugly woman, for she, if she pleases, may run from the glass, but the sinner cannot do this; for although he should not present himself before the mirror, the mirror will present itself before him, and the understanding cannot shut its eyes, when the memory presents to it the images of a man’s evil deeds. In that state, the sinner is filled with horror instead of delight, for his desire forsakes him, and the blemish remains by itself. In addition to this, the sinner at such a conjuncture, is made unhappy by the reflection, that his infamies may be laid open to the world; at this thought, the inevitable torture of shame, and the punishment of the law, terrify him by turns. The just man, on the contrary, has nothing to fear. If he hides his actions from the world, it is not from the dread of their being observed, but to avoid the hazard of their being applauded. He contemplates them alone, and if he is so happy as to find that they are all good, he receives that pure pleasure, which the sacred Chronologer, even in God himself, paints as an accidental glory:Vidit Deus cuncta quæ fecerat, & erant valdè bona.

XXXIII. The difference between the just and the unjust man, is not less, when fortune in disgust sheds its reverses, or heaven is severe by visiting him with tribulations. The sinner loses hisproperty, his beloved woman dies, he receives an injury from somebody, which it is out of his power to revenge. What relief does he find? None: he raves, he storms, he burns; he neither eats, drinks, nor rests; his symptoms are worse than the disease, and sometimes so violent, as to oblige him to take to his bed, and deprive him of life; and his passions often rise to such a degree of ferocity, as to excite him to lay violent hands on himself. On the contrary, the first thing the just man does, under similar circumstances, is to lift his eyes to Heaven; and whether he considers the tribulation as a just punishment for some crime he has been guilty of, or as a visitation for the exercise of his patience, he trusts, it will all turn out for his benefit; he knows the stroke comes from a friendly hand, and he knows also, that for his own good he is wounded; he not only is reconciled, but kisses the rod. Thus you see, by an admirable metamorphose, his heaviness is converted to satisfaction; and that what is poison to a wicked man, becomes balsam to a just one: for,Diligentibus Deum omnia co-operantur in bonum.

XXXIV. Who, upon a view of what we have enumerated and urged on this head, will not be convinced, that even in this life, the lot of the just man is incomparably better than that of the vicious one; that tranquillity and temporal convenience,are only to be met with in the paths of virtue, and that the field of vice, under the delusive appearance of flowers, produces nothing but thorns?

XXXV. There now remains but one argument for me to solve, and that is taken from the words of Christ in St. Matthew, where our great Master assures us, the road is broad, that is, easy, which leads to perdition; and that the path is narrow, that is, toilsome, which leads to life immortal.

XXXVI. I say then, that before we proceed further, it will be proper to reconcile this text with the one before quoted, where our Saviour invites sinners to pursue the paths of virtue, and propounds to them relief and ease, upon a supposition, that they are crippled and borne down by the weight of sin:Venite ad me, omnes qui laboratis, &c. and it is also necessary, to compound this with that sweet expression, used in another place, when he intimates to us, that his yoke is easy, and his burden light; and we should likewise harmonize with it, what David teaches us also, which is, that the road of the divine precepts is broad, and that the precepts themselves are so likewise:Latum mandatum tuum nimis.In fine, this text should be understood in a sense, that is not repugnant to reason, or experience.

XXXVII. The solution is easy, if we say, that grace reconciles and softens, that which is hard and difficult to nature; and the same yoke, which is heavy to be borne by mere natural powers, is made light, when the divine aid concurs and lends its assistance. And this is the manner, in which the fathers commonly reconcile those texts.

XXXVIII. It may also be said, by way of answer, that the Redeemer speaks only of the first passages or entrance into the one and the other path, so that the path of virtue, at its entrance, is toilsome and laborious, but afterwards becomes easy; on the contrary, the path of vice is easy at the beginning, and toilsome at the end. The context gives reason for this construction, for Christ, when he is exciting men to pursue the paths of virtue, describes all the difficulty as placed at the first passages:Intrare per angustam portam, says St. Matthew, which according to St. Luke, is,Contendite intrare per angustam portam; which amounts to the same thing, as if he had said, in the entrance lies all the difficulty; therefore take courage, press forward, fight,contendite: to conquer the obstruction, which you find in the narrowness of the door.

XXXIX. So it is, that this door is exceeding strait, and the newly converted is pressed by thepower of its hinges, that the ill habits he has imbibed may be squeezed out, and not only the skin is grazed by the pressure, but sometimes pieces of flesh also are torn off, and left in the entrance. But the difficulty of this transit once conquered, the way by little and little grows wider, till at last, it is extended to a delightsome and a spacious valley;

Largior hic campos æther, & lumine vestit,Purpure, solemque suum sua sidera morunt.

Largior hic campos æther, & lumine vestit,

Purpure, solemque suum sua sidera morunt.

XL. The path of vice is very differently formed, and may be compared to a passage or cave, which, according to the naturalists, is fabricated as a place of safe retreat by the Rat of India. This sagacious animal, knowing the enmity the dragon bears him, and knowing also the insufficiency of his own strength to resist him, not only defends himself, but conquers his enemy by the following stratagem. He makes two entrances to his cave, the one small and proportioned to the bulk of his own body, the other wider at the surface, but which he draws narrower by degrees, till towards the other end it is but just wide enough to admit of his passing through. The use of this place is as follows: When the little animal finds himself pursued by that voracious beast, he flies to his cave, which he enters at the wide mouth, notdoubting but the dragon will follow him, who eager for his prey, the large aperture being sufficiently wide to admit his whole body, plunges in, but as it insensibly becomes narrower and narrower, the dragon, who presses violently on, finds himself in the end so straitened, as not to be able either to retreat, or advance; the rat, as soon as he perceives this, sallies out of the narrow passage, and in the rear of the dragon, entering the wide one, revenges himself upon him much at his leisure, converting him into a regale for his appetite, and food for his resentment.

XLI. The stratagem of this little animal exactly resembles that which the devil practises upon men. He displays to him the road of vice, very broad and commodious at the entrance; the unhappy man, lured by this appearance, enters without suspicion, and in the consequence becomes a prey to his criminal pleasures. The road, by little and little, grows narrower; one care oppresses him on one side, and another on the other; sickness and old age, which are very nearly allied together, come on; his limbs begin to contract, and the use of them to forsake him; fear, solicitude, grief and heaviness, press upon him more and more every day, till he is put in such a strait, that even the soul with its spiritual nature is unable to ruminate or reflect on: by this progression, the sinner,in the end, arrives at the summit of anguish, and at that unhappy station, from whence it is impossible to recede,ubi nulla est redemptio, and where he will be eternally food for that ravenous serpent, whose voracity and thirst of blood is never satiated:Mors depascet eos; which Cardinal Hugo expounds,Diabolus depascet eos.

XLII. This remarkable difference and opposition between virtue and vice, was not hid from the antients, for the light of natural reason was sufficient to acquire this knowledge; and Virgil has painted beautifully, the distinction between the one and the other path, in the following verses:

Nam via virtutis dextrum petit ardua collemDifficilemque aditum primum spectantibus offert,Sed requiem præbet fessis in vertice summo.Molle ostentat iter via lata; sed ultima metaPræcipitat captos, volvitque per ardua saxa.

Nam via virtutis dextrum petit ardua collem

Difficilemque aditum primum spectantibus offert,

Sed requiem præbet fessis in vertice summo.

Molle ostentat iter via lata; sed ultima meta

Præcipitat captos, volvitque per ardua saxa.

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