CreatorSpirit, by whose aidThe world's foundations first were laid,Come, visit every pious mind;Come, pour thy joys on humankind;From sin and sorrow set us free,And make thy temples worthy thee.O source of uncreated light,The Father's promis'd Paraclete!Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;Come, and thy sacred unction bringTo sanctify us, while we sing.Plenteous of grace, descend from high,Rich in thy sevenfold energy!Thou strength of his Almighty hand,Whose power does heaven and earth command;Proceeding Spirit, our defence,Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,And crown'st thy gift with eloquence.Refine and purge our earthy parts;But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!Our frailties help, our vice control,Submit the senses to the soul;And when rebellious they are grown,Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.Chase from our minds the infernal foe,And peace, the fruit of Love, bestow;And lest our feet should step astray,Protect and guide us in the way.Make us eternal truths receive,And practise all that we believe:Give us thy self, that we may seeThe Father and the Son by thee.Immortal honor, endless fame,Attend the Almighty Father's name:The Saviour Son be glorified,Who for lost man's redemption died:And equal adoration be,Eternal Paraclete, to thee!

CreatorSpirit, by whose aidThe world's foundations first were laid,Come, visit every pious mind;Come, pour thy joys on humankind;From sin and sorrow set us free,And make thy temples worthy thee.

O source of uncreated light,The Father's promis'd Paraclete!Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;Come, and thy sacred unction bringTo sanctify us, while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,Rich in thy sevenfold energy!Thou strength of his Almighty hand,Whose power does heaven and earth command;Proceeding Spirit, our defence,Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,And crown'st thy gift with eloquence.

Refine and purge our earthy parts;But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!Our frailties help, our vice control,Submit the senses to the soul;And when rebellious they are grown,Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe,And peace, the fruit of Love, bestow;And lest our feet should step astray,Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,And practise all that we believe:Give us thy self, that we may seeThe Father and the Son by thee.

Immortal honor, endless fame,Attend the Almighty Father's name:The Saviour Son be glorified,Who for lost man's redemption died:And equal adoration be,Eternal Paraclete, to thee!

Threepoets, in three distant ages born,Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd,The next in majesty, in both the last.The force of Nature could no farther go;To make a third she join'd the former two.

Dimas the borrowed beams of moon and starsTo lonely, weary, wandering travellers,Is Reason to the soul; and as on highThose rolling fires discover but the sky,Not light us here; so Reason's glimmering rayWas lent, not to assure our doubtful way,But guide us upward to a better dayAnd as those nightly tapers disappear,When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere;So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight;So dies, and so dissolves, in supernatural light.

Whenmen look into their own bosoms, and consider the generous seeds which are there planted, that might, if rightly cultivated, ennoble their lives, and make their virtue venerable to futurity; how can they, without tears, reflect on the universal degeneracy from that public spirit, which ought to be the first and principal motive of all their actions? In the Grecian and Roman nations, they were wise enough to keep up this great incentive,and it was impossible to be in the fashion without being a patriot. All gallantry had its first source from hence; and to want a warmth for the public welfare, was a defect so scandalous, that he who was guilty of it had no pretence to honor or manhood. What makes the depravity among us, in this behalf, the more vexatious and irksome to reflect upon, is, that the contempt of life is carried as far amongst us, as it could be in those memorable people; and we want only a proper application of the qualities which are frequent among us, to be as worthy as they. There is hardly a man to be found who will not fight upon any occasion, which he thinks may taint his own honor. Were this motive as strong in everything that regards the public, as it is in this our private case, no man would pass his life away without having distinguished himself by some gallant instance of his zeal towards it in the respective incidents of his life and profession. But it is so far otherwise, that there cannot at present be a more ridiculous animal, than one who seems to regard the good of others. He, in civil life, whose thoughts turn upon schemes which may be of general benefit, without further reflection, is called a projector; and the man whose mind seems intent upon glorious achievements, a knight-errant. The ridicule among us runs strong against laudable actions; nay, in the ordinary course of things, and the common regards of life, negligence of the public is an epidemic vice. The brewer in his excise, the merchant in his customs, and, for aught we know, the soldier in his muster-rolls, think never the worse of themselves for being guilty of their respective frauds towards the public. This evil is come to such a fantastical height, that he is a manofa public spirit, and heroically affected to hiscountry, who can go so far as even to turn usurer with all he has in her funds. There is not a citizen in whose imagination such a one does not appear in the same light of glory, as Codrus, Scævola, or any other great name in old Rome. Were it not for the heroes of so muchper cent.as have regard enough for themselves and their nation to trade with her with their wealth, the very notion of public love would long ere now have vanished from among us. But however general custom may hurry us away in the stream of a common error, there is no evil, no crime, so great as that of being cold in matters relating to the common good. This is in nothing more conspicuous than in a certain willingness to receive anything that tends to the diminution of such as have been conspicuous instruments in our service. Such inclinations proceed from the most low and vile corruption, of which the soul of man is capable. This effaces not only the practice, but the very approbation of honor and virtue; and has had such an effect, that, to speak freely, the very sense of public good has no longer a part even in our conversations. Can then the most generous motive of life, the good of others, be so easily banished the breast of man? Is it possible to draw all our passions inward? Shall the boiling heat of youth be sunk in pleasures, the ambition of manhood in selfish intrigues? Shall all that is glorious, all that is worth the pursuit of great minds, be so easily rooted out? When the universal bent of a people seems diverted from the sense of their common good, and common glory, it looks like a fatality, and crisis of impending misfortune.The generous nations we just now mentioned understood this so very well, that there was hardly an orationever made, which did not turn upon this general sense, "That the love of their country was the first and most essential quality in an honest mind." Demosthenes, in a cause wherein his fame, reputation, and fortune, were embarked, puts his all upon this issue; "Let the Athenians," says he, "be benevolent to me, as they think I have been zealous for them." This great and discerning orator knew, there was nothing else in nature could bear him up against his adversaries, but this one quality of having shown himself willing or able to serve his country. This certainly is the test of merit; and the first foundation for deserving good-will is, having it yourself. The adversary of this orator at that time wasÆschines, a man of wily arts and skill in the world, who could, as occasion served, fall in with a national start of passion, or sullenness of humor, which a whole nation is sometimes taken with as well as a private man; and by that means divert them from their common sense, into an aversion for receiving anything in its true light. But when Demosthenes had awakened his audience with that one hint of judging by the general tenor of his life towards them, his services bore down his opponent before him, who fled to the covert of his mean arts, until some more favorable opportunity should offer against the superior merit of Demosthenes.It were to be wished, that love of their country were the first principle of action in men of business, even for their own sakes; for when the world begins to examine into their conduct, the generality, who have no share in, or hopes of any part in power or riches, but what is the effect of their own labor or prosperity, will judge of them by no other method, than that of how profitable their administration has been to the whole. They who areout of the influence of men's fortune or favor, will let them stand or fall by this one only rule; and men who can bear being tried by it, are always popular in their fall. Those, who cannot suffer such a scrutiny, are contemptible in their advancement.But I am here running into shreds of maxims from reading Tacitus this morning, which has driven me from my recommendation of public spirit, which was the intended purpose of this lucubration. There is not a more glorious instance of it, than in the character of Regulus. This same Regulus was taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, and was sent by them to Rome, in order to demand some Punic noblemen, who were prisoners, in exchange for himself; and was bound by an oath that he would return to Carthage, if he failed in his commission. He proposes this to the senate, who were in suspense upon it, which Regulus observing, without having the least notion of putting the care of his own life in competition with the public good, desired them to consider that he was old, and almost useless; that those demanded in exchange were men of daring tempers, and great merit in military affairs; and wondered they would make any doubt of permitting him to go back to the short tortures prepared for him at Carthage, where he should have the advantage of ending a long life both gloriously and usefully. This generous advice was consented to; and he took his leave of his country and his weeping friends, to go to certain death, with that cheerful composure, as a man, after the fatigue of business in a court or a city, retires to the next village for the air.

The generous nations we just now mentioned understood this so very well, that there was hardly an orationever made, which did not turn upon this general sense, "That the love of their country was the first and most essential quality in an honest mind." Demosthenes, in a cause wherein his fame, reputation, and fortune, were embarked, puts his all upon this issue; "Let the Athenians," says he, "be benevolent to me, as they think I have been zealous for them." This great and discerning orator knew, there was nothing else in nature could bear him up against his adversaries, but this one quality of having shown himself willing or able to serve his country. This certainly is the test of merit; and the first foundation for deserving good-will is, having it yourself. The adversary of this orator at that time wasÆschines, a man of wily arts and skill in the world, who could, as occasion served, fall in with a national start of passion, or sullenness of humor, which a whole nation is sometimes taken with as well as a private man; and by that means divert them from their common sense, into an aversion for receiving anything in its true light. But when Demosthenes had awakened his audience with that one hint of judging by the general tenor of his life towards them, his services bore down his opponent before him, who fled to the covert of his mean arts, until some more favorable opportunity should offer against the superior merit of Demosthenes.

It were to be wished, that love of their country were the first principle of action in men of business, even for their own sakes; for when the world begins to examine into their conduct, the generality, who have no share in, or hopes of any part in power or riches, but what is the effect of their own labor or prosperity, will judge of them by no other method, than that of how profitable their administration has been to the whole. They who areout of the influence of men's fortune or favor, will let them stand or fall by this one only rule; and men who can bear being tried by it, are always popular in their fall. Those, who cannot suffer such a scrutiny, are contemptible in their advancement.

But I am here running into shreds of maxims from reading Tacitus this morning, which has driven me from my recommendation of public spirit, which was the intended purpose of this lucubration. There is not a more glorious instance of it, than in the character of Regulus. This same Regulus was taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, and was sent by them to Rome, in order to demand some Punic noblemen, who were prisoners, in exchange for himself; and was bound by an oath that he would return to Carthage, if he failed in his commission. He proposes this to the senate, who were in suspense upon it, which Regulus observing, without having the least notion of putting the care of his own life in competition with the public good, desired them to consider that he was old, and almost useless; that those demanded in exchange were men of daring tempers, and great merit in military affairs; and wondered they would make any doubt of permitting him to go back to the short tortures prepared for him at Carthage, where he should have the advantage of ending a long life both gloriously and usefully. This generous advice was consented to; and he took his leave of his country and his weeping friends, to go to certain death, with that cheerful composure, as a man, after the fatigue of business in a court or a city, retires to the next village for the air.

When the heart is right there is true patriotism.Bishop Berkeley.—1684-1753.

When the heart is right there is true patriotism.

Bishop Berkeley.—1684-1753.

I waslately entertaining myself with comparing Homer's balance, in which Jupiter is represented as weighing the fates of Hector and Achilles, with a passage of Virgil, wherein that deity is introduced as weighing the fates of Turnus andÆneas. I then considered how the same way of thinking prevailed in the eastern parts of the world, as in those noble passages of Scripture, where we are told, that the great king of Babylon, the day before his death, had been weighed in the balance, and been found wanting. In other places of the holy writings the Almighty is described as weighing the mountains in scales, making the weight for the winds, knowing the balancings of the clouds; and, in others, as weighing the actions of men, and laying their calamities together in a balance. Milton, as I have observed in a former paper, had an eye to several of these foregoing instances, in that beautiful description wherein he represents the archangel and the evil spirit as addressing themselves for the combat, but parted by the balance which appeared in the heavens, and weighed the consequences of such a battle.The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seenBetwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign,Wherein all things created first he weigh'd,The pendulous round earth with balanced airIn counterpoise; now ponder; all events,Battles and realms: in these he puts two weights,The sequel each of parting and of fight:The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam;Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend."Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine,Neither our own, but given; what folly thenTo boast what arms can do! since thine no moreThan Heaven permits; nor mine, though doubled nowTo trample thee as mire: for proof look up,And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,Where thou art weigh'd, and shewn how light, how weak,If thou resist." The fiend look'd up and knewHis mounted scale aloft; nor more: but fledMurm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night.These several amusing thoughts having taken possession of my mind some time before I went to sleep, and mingling themselves with my ordinary ideas, raised in my imagination a very odd kind of vision. I was, methought, replaced in my study, and seated in my elbow-chair, where I had indulged the foregoing speculations, with my lamp burning by me, as usual. Whilst I was here meditating on several subjects of morality, and considering the nature of many virtues and vices, as materials for those discourses with which I daily entertain the public; I saw, methought, a pair of golden scales hanging by a chain in the same metal over the table that stood before me; when, on a sudden, there were great heaps of weights thrown down on each side of them. I found upon examining these weights, they showed the value of everything that is in esteem among men. I made an essay of them, by putting the weight of wisdom in one scale, and that of riches in another, upon which the latter, to show its comparative lightness, immediately "flew up and kicked the beam."But, before I proceed, I must inform my reader, that these weights did not exert their natural gravity, till they were laid in the golden balance, insomuch that I could not guess which was light or heavy, whilst I held them in my hand. This I found by several instances, for upon my laying a weight in one of the scales, which was inscribed by the word Eternity; though I threw in that of time, prosperity, affliction, wealth, poverty, interest, success, with many other weights, which in my hand seemed very ponderous, they were not able to stir the opposite balance, nor could they have prevailed, though assisted with the weight of the sun, the stars, and the earth.Upon emptying the scales, I laid several titles and honors, with pomps, triumphs, and many weights of the like nature, in one of them, and seeing a little glittering weight lie by me, I threw it accidentally into the other scale, when, to my great surprise, it proved so exact a counterpoise, that it kept the balance in an equilibrium. This little glittering weight was inscribed upon the edges of it with the word Vanity. I found there were several other weights which were equally heavy, and exact counterpoises to one another; a few of them I tried, as avarice and poverty, riches and content, with some others.There were likewise several weights that were of the same figure, and seemed to correspond with each other, but were entirely different when thrown into the scales, as religion and hypocrisy, pedantry and learning, wit and vivacity, superstition and devotion, gravity and wisdom, with many others.I observed one particular weight lettered on both sides, and upon applying myself to the reading of it, I foundon one side written "In the dialect of men," and underneath it, "calamities;" on the other side was written, "In the language of the gods," and underneath, "blessings." I found the intrinsic value of this weight to be much greater than I imagined, for it overpowered health, wealth, good-fortune, and many other weights, which were much more ponderous in my hand than the other.There is a saying among the Scotch, that "an ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy;" I was sensible of the truth of this saying, when I saw the difference between the weight of natural parts and that of learning. The observation which I made upon these two weights opened to me a new field of discoveries, for notwithstanding the weight of natural parts was much heavier than that of learning, I observed that it weighed an hundred times heavier than it did before, when I put learning into the same scale with it. I made the same observation upon faith and morality; for notwithstanding the latter outweighed the former separately, it received a thousand times more additional weight from its conjunction with the former, than what it had by itself. This odd phenomenon showed itself in other particulars, as in wit and judgment, philosophy and religion, justice and humanity, zeal and charity, depth of sense and perspicuity of style, with innumerable other particulars, too long to be mentioned in this paper.As a dream seldom fails of dashing seriousness with impertinence, mirth with gravity, methought I made several other experiments of a more ludicrous nature, by one of which I found that an English octavo was very often heavier than a French folio; and by another, that an old Greek or Latin author weighed down a whole library of moderns. Seeing one of mySpectatorslyingby me, I laid it into one of the scales, and flung a twopenny piece in the other. The reader will not inquire into the event, if he remembers the first trial which I have recorded in this paper. I afterwards threw both the sexes into the balance; but as it is not for my interest to disoblige either of them, I shall desire to be excused from telling the result of this experiment. Having an opportunity of this nature in my hands, I could not forbear throwing into one scale the principles of a Tory, and in the other those of a Whig; but as I have all along declared this to be a neutral paper, I shall likewise desire to be silent under this head also, though upon examining one of the weights, I saw the word TEKEL engraven on it in capital letters.I made many other experiments, and though I have not room for them all in this day's speculation, I may perhaps reserve them for another. I shall only add, that upon my awaking I was sorry to find my golden scales vanished, but resolved for the future to learn this lesson from them, not to despise or value any things for their appearances, but to regulate my esteem and passions towards them according to their real and intrinsic value.

The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seenBetwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign,Wherein all things created first he weigh'd,The pendulous round earth with balanced airIn counterpoise; now ponder; all events,Battles and realms: in these he puts two weights,The sequel each of parting and of fight:The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam;Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend."Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine,Neither our own, but given; what folly thenTo boast what arms can do! since thine no moreThan Heaven permits; nor mine, though doubled nowTo trample thee as mire: for proof look up,And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,Where thou art weigh'd, and shewn how light, how weak,If thou resist." The fiend look'd up and knewHis mounted scale aloft; nor more: but fledMurm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night.

"Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine,Neither our own, but given; what folly thenTo boast what arms can do! since thine no moreThan Heaven permits; nor mine, though doubled nowTo trample thee as mire: for proof look up,And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,Where thou art weigh'd, and shewn how light, how weak,If thou resist." The fiend look'd up and knewHis mounted scale aloft; nor more: but fledMurm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night.

These several amusing thoughts having taken possession of my mind some time before I went to sleep, and mingling themselves with my ordinary ideas, raised in my imagination a very odd kind of vision. I was, methought, replaced in my study, and seated in my elbow-chair, where I had indulged the foregoing speculations, with my lamp burning by me, as usual. Whilst I was here meditating on several subjects of morality, and considering the nature of many virtues and vices, as materials for those discourses with which I daily entertain the public; I saw, methought, a pair of golden scales hanging by a chain in the same metal over the table that stood before me; when, on a sudden, there were great heaps of weights thrown down on each side of them. I found upon examining these weights, they showed the value of everything that is in esteem among men. I made an essay of them, by putting the weight of wisdom in one scale, and that of riches in another, upon which the latter, to show its comparative lightness, immediately "flew up and kicked the beam."

But, before I proceed, I must inform my reader, that these weights did not exert their natural gravity, till they were laid in the golden balance, insomuch that I could not guess which was light or heavy, whilst I held them in my hand. This I found by several instances, for upon my laying a weight in one of the scales, which was inscribed by the word Eternity; though I threw in that of time, prosperity, affliction, wealth, poverty, interest, success, with many other weights, which in my hand seemed very ponderous, they were not able to stir the opposite balance, nor could they have prevailed, though assisted with the weight of the sun, the stars, and the earth.

Upon emptying the scales, I laid several titles and honors, with pomps, triumphs, and many weights of the like nature, in one of them, and seeing a little glittering weight lie by me, I threw it accidentally into the other scale, when, to my great surprise, it proved so exact a counterpoise, that it kept the balance in an equilibrium. This little glittering weight was inscribed upon the edges of it with the word Vanity. I found there were several other weights which were equally heavy, and exact counterpoises to one another; a few of them I tried, as avarice and poverty, riches and content, with some others.

There were likewise several weights that were of the same figure, and seemed to correspond with each other, but were entirely different when thrown into the scales, as religion and hypocrisy, pedantry and learning, wit and vivacity, superstition and devotion, gravity and wisdom, with many others.

I observed one particular weight lettered on both sides, and upon applying myself to the reading of it, I foundon one side written "In the dialect of men," and underneath it, "calamities;" on the other side was written, "In the language of the gods," and underneath, "blessings." I found the intrinsic value of this weight to be much greater than I imagined, for it overpowered health, wealth, good-fortune, and many other weights, which were much more ponderous in my hand than the other.

There is a saying among the Scotch, that "an ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy;" I was sensible of the truth of this saying, when I saw the difference between the weight of natural parts and that of learning. The observation which I made upon these two weights opened to me a new field of discoveries, for notwithstanding the weight of natural parts was much heavier than that of learning, I observed that it weighed an hundred times heavier than it did before, when I put learning into the same scale with it. I made the same observation upon faith and morality; for notwithstanding the latter outweighed the former separately, it received a thousand times more additional weight from its conjunction with the former, than what it had by itself. This odd phenomenon showed itself in other particulars, as in wit and judgment, philosophy and religion, justice and humanity, zeal and charity, depth of sense and perspicuity of style, with innumerable other particulars, too long to be mentioned in this paper.

As a dream seldom fails of dashing seriousness with impertinence, mirth with gravity, methought I made several other experiments of a more ludicrous nature, by one of which I found that an English octavo was very often heavier than a French folio; and by another, that an old Greek or Latin author weighed down a whole library of moderns. Seeing one of mySpectatorslyingby me, I laid it into one of the scales, and flung a twopenny piece in the other. The reader will not inquire into the event, if he remembers the first trial which I have recorded in this paper. I afterwards threw both the sexes into the balance; but as it is not for my interest to disoblige either of them, I shall desire to be excused from telling the result of this experiment. Having an opportunity of this nature in my hands, I could not forbear throwing into one scale the principles of a Tory, and in the other those of a Whig; but as I have all along declared this to be a neutral paper, I shall likewise desire to be silent under this head also, though upon examining one of the weights, I saw the word TEKEL engraven on it in capital letters.

I made many other experiments, and though I have not room for them all in this day's speculation, I may perhaps reserve them for another. I shall only add, that upon my awaking I was sorry to find my golden scales vanished, but resolved for the future to learn this lesson from them, not to despise or value any things for their appearances, but to regulate my esteem and passions towards them according to their real and intrinsic value.

It must be so—Plato, thou reasonest well!—Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,This longing after immortality?Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soulBack on herself, and startles at destruction?'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter,And intimates eternity to man.From Cato.—Addison.

From Cato.—Addison.

Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artesEmollit mores.Ovid.

Thoseinferior duties of life which the French callles petites morales, or the smaller morals, are with us distinguished by the name of good manners or breeding. This I look upon, in the general notion of it, to be a sort of artificial good sense, adapted to the meanest capacities, and introduced to make mankind easy in their commerce with each other. Low and little understandings, without some rules of this kind, would be perpetually wandering into a thousand indecencies and irregularities in behavior; and in their ordinary conversation, fall into the same boisterous familiarities that one observeth amongst them when a debauch hath quite taken away the use of their reason. In other instances, it is odd to consider, that for want of common discretion, the very end of good breeding is wholly perverted; and civility, intended to make us easy, is employed in laying chains and fetters upon us, in debarring us of our wishes, and in crossing our most reasonable desires and inclinations. This abuse reigneth chiefly in the country, as I found to my vexation, when I was last there, in a visit I made to a neighbor about two miles from my cousin. As soon as I entered the parlor, they put me into the great chair that stood close by a huge fire, and kept me there by force, until I was almost stifled. Then a boy came in great hurry to pull off my boots, which I in vain opposed, urging that I must return soon afterdinner. In the meantime, the good lady whispered her eldest daughter, and slipped a key into her hand. The girl returned instantly with a beer-glass half full ofaqua mirabilisand syrup of gillyflowers. I took as much as I had a mind for; but madam avowed I should drink it off—for she was sure it would do me good, after coming out of the cold air—and I was forced to obey; which absolutely took away my stomach. When dinner came in, I had a mind to sit at a distance from the fire; but they told me it was as much as my life was worth, and set me with my back just against it. Although my appetite was quite gone, I resolved to force down as much as I could; and desired the leg of a pullet. "Indeed, Mr. Bickerstaff," says the lady, "you must eat a wing, to oblige me;" and so put a couple upon my plate. I was persecuted at this rate during the whole meal. As often as I called for small-beer, the master tipped the wink, and the servant brought me a brimmer of October. Some time after dinner, I ordered my cousin's man, who came with me, to get ready the horses; but it was resolved I should not stir that night; and when I seemed pretty much bent upon going, they ordered the stable door to be locked; and the children hid my cloak and boots. The next question was, what I would have for supper. I said I never ate anything at night; but was at last, in my own defence, obliged to name the first thing that came into my head. After three hours spent chiefly in apologies for my entertainment, insinuating to me, "that this was the worst time of the year for provisions; that they were at a great distance from any market; that they were afraid I should be starved; and that they knew they kept me to my loss," the lady went, and left me to her husband—for they took special care I shouldnever be alone. As soon as her back was turned, the little misses ran backward and forward every moment; and constantly as they came in, or went out, made a courtesy directly at me, which, in good manners, I was forced to return with a bow, and, "Your humble servant, pretty miss." Exactly at eight the mother came up, and discovered by the redness of her face that supper was not far off. It was twice as large as the dinner, and my persecution doubled in proportion. I desired, at my usual hour, to go to my repose, and was conducted to my chamber by the gentleman, his lady, and the whole train of children. They importuned me to drink something before I went to bed; and upon my refusing, at last left a bottle ofstingo, as they called it, for fear I should wake and be thirsty in the night. I was forced in the morning to rise and dress myself in the dark, because they would not suffer my kinsman's servant to disturb me at the hour I desired to be called. I was now resolved to break through all measures to get away; and after sitting down to a monstrous breakfast of cold beef, mutton, neats' tongues, venison-pasty, and stale-beer, took leave of the family. But the gentleman would needs see me part of my way, and carry me a short-cut through his own grounds, which he told me would save half a mile's riding. This last piece of civility had like to have cost me dear, being once or twice in danger of my neck, by leaping over his ditches, and at last forced to alight in the dirt; when my horse, having slipped his bridle, ran away, and took us up more than an hour to recover him again. It is evident that none of the absurdities I met with in this visit proceeded from an ill intention, but from a wrong judgment of complaisance, and a misapplication in the rules of it.

Heavenfrom all creatures hides the book of fate,All but the page prescrib'd, their present state;From brutes what men, from men what spirits know;Or who could suffer being here below?The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flowery food,And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.O blindness to the future! kindly given,That each may fill the circle mark'd by heaven;Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,And now a bubble burst, and now a world.Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.What future bliss he gives not thee to know,But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.Hope springs eternal in the human breast:Man never is, but always to be, blest.The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,Rests and expatiates in a life to come.Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mindSees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;His soul proud science never taught to strayFar as the solar walk, or milky way;Yet simple nature to his hope has given,Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven;Some safer world in depth of woods embraced,Some happier island in the watery waste,Where slaves once more their native land behold,No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.To be, contents his natural desire;He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,His faithful dog shall bear him company.What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,Or hand, to toil, aspir'd to be the head?What if the head, the eye, or ear repin'dTo serve mere engines to the ruling mind?Just as absurd for any part to claimTo be another, in this general frame;Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or painsThe great directing Mind of All ordains.All are but parts of one stupendous whole,Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;That changed through all, and yet in all the same,Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame,Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:To him no high, no low, no great, no small;He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.All nature is but art unknown to thee;All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;All discord, harmony not understood;All partial evil, universal good:And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,One truth is clear,Whatever is, is right.Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,We first endure, then pity, then embrace.Virtuous and vicious every man must be,Few in the extreme, but all in the degree:The rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise;And even the best by fits what they despise.Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw:Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,A little louder, but as empty quite:Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age:Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before,Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.Has God, thou fool! work'd solely for thy goodThy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food?Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn,For him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn.Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings?Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings.Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?Loves of his own and raptures swell the note.The bounding steed you pompously bestrideShares with his lord the pleasure and the pride.Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain?The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain.Thine the full harvest of the golden year?Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer.The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call,Lives on the labors of this lord of all.Know, Nature's children all divide her care;The fur that warms a monarch warm'd a bear.While man exclaims, "See all things for my use!""See man for mine!" replies a pamper'd goose:And just as short of reason he must fall,Who thinks all made for one, not one for all.For forms of government let fools contest;Whate'er is best administer'd is best:For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.In faith and hope the world will disagree,But all mankind's concern is charity:All must be false that thwart this one great end,And all of God that bless mankind or mend.Honor and shame from no condition rise;Act well your part, there all the honor lies.Fortune in men has some small difference made,One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade;The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd,The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd."What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?"I'll tell you, friend, a wise man and a fool.You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk,Worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow;The rest is all but leather or prunello.Go! if your ancient but ignoble bloodHas crept through scoundrels ever since the flood,Go! and pretend your family is young,Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.Who noble ends by noble means obtains,Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains,Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleedLike Socrates,—that man is great indeed.An honest man's the noblest work of God.Know then this truth (enough for man to know),"Virtue alone is happiness below."... Never elated while one man's oppress'd;Never dejected while another's bless'd....[C]See the sole bliss heaven could on all bestow!Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know:Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind,The bad must miss, the good untaught will find:Slave to no sect, who takes no private road,But looks through nature up to nature's God;Pursues that chain which links the immense design,Joins heaven and earth, and mortal and divine:Sees that no being any bliss can know,But touches some above and some below;Learns from this union of the rising whole,The first, last purpose of the human soul;And knows where faith, law, morals, all began,All end, in love of God and love of man.

What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,Or hand, to toil, aspir'd to be the head?What if the head, the eye, or ear repin'dTo serve mere engines to the ruling mind?Just as absurd for any part to claimTo be another, in this general frame;Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or painsThe great directing Mind of All ordains.All are but parts of one stupendous whole,Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;That changed through all, and yet in all the same,Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame,Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:To him no high, no low, no great, no small;He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

All nature is but art unknown to thee;All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;All discord, harmony not understood;All partial evil, universal good:And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,One truth is clear,Whatever is, is right.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be,Few in the extreme, but all in the degree:The rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise;And even the best by fits what they despise.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw:Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,A little louder, but as empty quite:Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age:Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before,Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Has God, thou fool! work'd solely for thy goodThy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food?Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn,For him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn.Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings?Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings.Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?Loves of his own and raptures swell the note.The bounding steed you pompously bestrideShares with his lord the pleasure and the pride.Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain?The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain.Thine the full harvest of the golden year?Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer.The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call,Lives on the labors of this lord of all.Know, Nature's children all divide her care;The fur that warms a monarch warm'd a bear.While man exclaims, "See all things for my use!""See man for mine!" replies a pamper'd goose:And just as short of reason he must fall,Who thinks all made for one, not one for all.

For forms of government let fools contest;Whate'er is best administer'd is best:For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.In faith and hope the world will disagree,But all mankind's concern is charity:All must be false that thwart this one great end,And all of God that bless mankind or mend.

Honor and shame from no condition rise;Act well your part, there all the honor lies.Fortune in men has some small difference made,One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade;The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd,The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd."What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?"I'll tell you, friend, a wise man and a fool.You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk,Worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow;The rest is all but leather or prunello.

Go! if your ancient but ignoble bloodHas crept through scoundrels ever since the flood,Go! and pretend your family is young,Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.Who noble ends by noble means obtains,Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains,Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleedLike Socrates,—that man is great indeed.

An honest man's the noblest work of God.

Know then this truth (enough for man to know),"Virtue alone is happiness below."

... Never elated while one man's oppress'd;Never dejected while another's bless'd....[C]

See the sole bliss heaven could on all bestow!Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know:Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind,The bad must miss, the good untaught will find:Slave to no sect, who takes no private road,But looks through nature up to nature's God;Pursues that chain which links the immense design,Joins heaven and earth, and mortal and divine:Sees that no being any bliss can know,But touches some above and some below;Learns from this union of the rising whole,The first, last purpose of the human soul;And knows where faith, law, morals, all began,All end, in love of God and love of man.

FOOTNOTES:[B]If theEssay on Manwere shivered into fragments, it would not lose its value: for it is precisely its details which constitute its moral as well as literary beauties.—A. W. Ward,quoted byMark Pattison.[C]In these two lines, which, so far as I know, are the most complete, the most concise, and the most lofty expressions of moral temper existing in English words, Pope sums the law of noble life.Ruskin,Lectures on Art.

[B]If theEssay on Manwere shivered into fragments, it would not lose its value: for it is precisely its details which constitute its moral as well as literary beauties.—A. W. Ward,quoted byMark Pattison.

[C]In these two lines, which, so far as I know, are the most complete, the most concise, and the most lofty expressions of moral temper existing in English words, Pope sums the law of noble life.

Ruskin,Lectures on Art.

WhenBritain first, at Heaven's command,Arose from out the azure main,This was the charter of the land,And guardian angels sang this strain:Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!The nations not so blest as thee,Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall,Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free,The dread and envy of them all.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!Still more majestic shalt thou rise,More dreadful from each foreign stroke;As the loud blast that tears the skies,Serves but to root thy native oak.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;All their attempts to bend thee downWill but arouse thy generous flame,But work their woe and thy renown.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!To thee belongs the rural reign;Thy cities shall with commerce shine;All thine shall be the subject main,And every shore it circles thine.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!The Muses, still with freedom found,Shall to thy happy coast repair;Blest isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,And manly hearts to guard the fair.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!

The nations not so blest as thee,Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall,Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free,The dread and envy of them all.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,More dreadful from each foreign stroke;As the loud blast that tears the skies,Serves but to root thy native oak.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;All their attempts to bend thee downWill but arouse thy generous flame,But work their woe and thy renown.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!

To thee belongs the rural reign;Thy cities shall with commerce shine;All thine shall be the subject main,And every shore it circles thine.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!

The Muses, still with freedom found,Shall to thy happy coast repair;Blest isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,And manly hearts to guard the fair.Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!Britons never will be slaves!

AfterMahomet had, by means of his pretended revelations, united the dispersed Arabians under one head, they issued forth from their deserts in great multitudes; and being animated with zeal for their new religion, and supported by the vigor of their new government, they made deep impression on the eastern empire, which was far in the decline, with regard both to military discipline and to civil policy. Jerusalem, by its situation, became one of their most early conquests; and the Christians had the mortification to see the holy sepulchre, and the other places, consecrated by the presence of their religious founder, fallen into the possession of infidels. But the Arabians or Saracens were soemployed in military enterprises, by which they spread their empire in a few years from the banks of the Ganges to the Straits of Gibraltar, that they had no leisure for theological controversy: and though the Alcoran, the original monument of their faith, seems to contain some violent precepts, they were much less infected with the spirit of bigotry and persecution than the indolent and speculative Greeks, who were continually refining on the several articles of their religious system. They gave little disturbance to those zealous pilgrims, who daily flocked to Jerusalem; and they allowed every man, after paying a moderate tribute, to visit the holy sepulchre, to perform his religious duties, and to return in peace. But the Turcomans or Turks, a tribe of Tartars, who had embraced Mahometanism, having wrested Syria from the Saracens, and having, in the year 1065, made themselves masters of Jerusalem, rendered the pilgrimage much more difficult and dangerous to the Christians. The barbarity of their manners, and the confusions attending their unsettled government, exposed the pilgrims to many insults, robberies, and extortions: and these zealots, returning from their meritorious fatigues and sufferings, filled all Christendom with indignation against the infidels, who profaned the holy city by their presence, and derided the sacred mysteries in the very place of their completion. Gregory VII., among the other vast ideas which he entertained, had formed the design of uniting all the Western Christians against the Mahometans; but the egregious and violent invasions of that pontiff on the civil power of princes, had created him so many enemies, and had rendered his schemes so suspicious, that he was not able to make great progress in thisundertaking. The work was reserved for a meaner instrument, whose low condition in life exposed him to no jealousy, and whose folly was well calculated to coincide with the prevailing principles of the times.Peter, commonly called the Hermit, a native of Amiens in Picardy, had made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Being deeply affected with the dangers to which that act of piety now exposed the pilgrims, as well as with the instances of oppression under which the Eastern Christians labored, he entertained the bold, and, in all appearance, impracticable project of leading into Asia, from the farthest extremities of the West, armies sufficient to subdue those potent and warlike nations which now held the holy city in subjection. He proposed his views to Martin II., who filled the papal chair, and who, though sensible of the advantages which the head of the Christian religion must reap from a religious war, and though he esteemed the blind zeal of Peter a proper means for effecting the purpose, resolved not to interpose his authority, till he saw a greater probability of success. He summoned a council at Placentia, which consisted of four thousand ecclesiastics, and thirty thousand seculars; and which was so numerous that no hall could contain the multitude, and it was necessary to hold the assembly in a plain. The harangues of the Pope, and of Peter himself, representing the dismal situation of their brethren in the East, and the indignity suffered by the Christian name, in allowing the holy city to remain in the hands of infidels, here found the minds of men so well prepared, that the whole multitude suddenly and violently declared for the war, and solemnly devoted themselves to perform this service, so meritorious, as they believed it, to God and religion.But though Italy seemed thus to have zealously embraced the enterprise, Martin knew, that, in order to insure success, it was necessary to enlist the greater and more warlike nations in the same engagement; and having previously exhorted Peter to visit the chief cities and sovereigns of Christendom, he summoned another council at Clermont in Auvergne. The fame of this great and pious design being now universally diffused, procured the attendance of the greatest prelates, nobles, and princes; and when the Pope and the Hermit renewed their pathetic exhortations, the whole assembly, as if impelled by an immediate inspiration, not moved by their preceding impressions, exclaimed with one voice,It is the will of God, It is the will of God!—words deemed so memorable, and so much the result of a divine influence, that they were employed as the signal of rendezvous and battle in all the future exploits of those adventurers. Men of all ranks flew to arms with the utmost ardor; and an exterior symbol, too, a circumstance of chief moment, was here chosen by the devoted combatants. The sign of the cross, which had been hitherto so much revered among Christians, and which, the more it was an object of reproach among the Pagan world, was the more passionately cherished by them, became the badge of union, and was affixed to their right shoulder, by all who enlisted themselves in this sacred warfare.Europe was at this time sunk into profound ignorance and superstition. The ecclesiastics had acquired the greatest ascendant over the human mind: the people, who, being little restrained by honor, and less by law, abandoned themselves to the worst crimes and disorders, knew of no other expiation than the observances imposed on them by their spiritual pastors: and it was easy torepresent the holy war as an equivalent for all penances, and an atonement for every violation of justice and humanity. But amidst the abject superstition which now prevailed, the military spirit also had universally diffused itself; and though not supported by art or discipline, was become the general passion of the nations governed by the feudal law. All the great lords possessed the right of peace and war: they were engaged in perpetual hostilities with each other: the open country was become a scene of outrage and disorder: the cities, still mean and poor, were neither guarded by walls nor protected by privileges, and were exposed to every insult: individuals were obliged to depend for safety on their own force, or their private alliances: and valor was the only excellence which was held in esteem, or gave one man the pre-eminence above another. When all the particular superstitions, therefore, were here united in one great object, the ardor for military enterprises took the same direction; and Europe, impelled by its two ruling passions, was loosened, as it were, from its foundations, and seemed to precipitate itself in one united body upon the East.All orders of men, deeming the Crusades the only road to heaven, enlisted themselves under these sacred banners, and were impatient to open the way with their sword to the holy city. Nobles, artisans, peasants, even priests, enrolled their names; and to decline this meritorious service was branded with the reproach of impiety, or, what perhaps was esteemed still more disgraceful, of cowardice and pusillanimity. The infirm and aged contributed to the expedition by presents and money; and many of them, not satisfied with the merit of this atonement, attended it in person, and were determined, ifpossible, to breathe their last in sight of that city where their Saviour had died for them. Women themselves, concealing their sex under the disguise of armor, attended the camp. The greatest criminals were forward in a service, which they regarded as a propitiation for all crimes; and the most enormous disorders were, during the course of those expeditions, committed by men enured to wickedness, encouraged by example, and impelled by necessity. The multitude of the adventurers soon became so great, that their more sagacious leaders, Hugh count of Vermandois, brother to the French king, Raymond count of Toulouse, Godfrey of Bouillon, prince of Brabant, and Stephen count of Blois, became apprehensive lest the greatness itself of the armament should disappoint its purpose; and they permitted an undisciplined multitude, computed at 300,000 men, to go before them, under the command of Peter the Hermit and Walter the Moneyless. These men took the road towards Constantinople through Hungary and Bulgaria; and trusting that Heaven, by supernatural assistance, would supply all their necessities, they made no provision for subsistance on their march. They soon found themselves obliged to obtain by plunder, what they had vainly expected from miracles; and the enraged inhabitants of the countries through which they passed, gathering together in arms, attacked the disorderly multitude and put them to slaughter without resistance. The more disciplined armies followed after; and passing the straights at Constantinople, they were mustered in the plains of Asia, and amounted in the whole to the number of 700,000 combatants....After the adventurers in the holy war were assembled on the banks of the Bosphorus, opposite to Constantinople, they proceeded on their enterprise; but immediately experienced those difficulties which their zeal had hitherto concealed from them, and for which, even if they had foreseen them, it would have been almost impossible to provide a remedy. The Greek emperor, Alexis Comnenus, who had applied to the Western Christians for succor against the Turks, entertained hopes, and those but feeble ones, of obtaining such a moderate supply, as, acting under his command, might enable him to repulse the enemy: but he was extremely astonished to see his dominions overwhelmed, on a sudden, by such an inundation of licentious barbarians, who, though they pretended friendship, despised his subjects as unwarlike, and detested them as heretical. By all the arts of policy, in which he excelled, he endeavored to divert the torrent; but while he employed professions, caresses, civilities, and seeming services towards the leaders of the crusade, he secretly regarded those imperious allies as more dangerous than the open enemies by whom his empire had been formerly invaded. Having effected that difficult point of disembarking them safely in Asia, he entered into a private correspondence with Soliman, emperor of the Turks; and practised every insidious art, which his genius, his power, or his situation, enabled him to employ, for disappointing the enterprise, and discouraging the Latins from making thenceforward any such prodigious migrations. His dangerous policy was seconded by the disorders inseparable from so vast a multitude, who were not united under one head, and were conducted by leaders of the most independent intractable spirit, unacquainted with military discipline, and determined enemies to civil authority and submission. The scarcity of provisions, the excesses offatigue, the influence of unknown climates, joined to the want of concert in their operations, and to the sword of a warlike enemy, destroyed the adventurers by thousands, and would have abated the ardor of men impelled to war by less powerful motives. Their zeal, however, their bravery, and their irresistible force, still carried them forward, and continually advanced them to the great end of their enterprise. After an obstinate siege they took Nice, the seat of the Turkish empire; they defeated Soliman in two great battles; they made themselves masters of Antioch; and entirely broke the force of the Turks, who had so long retained those countries in subjection. The soldan of Egypt, whose alliance they had hitherto courted, recovered, on the fall of the Turkish power, his former authority in Jerusalem; and he informed them by his ambassadors, that if they came disarmed to that city, they might now perform their religious vows, and that all Christian pilgrims, who should thenceforth visit the holy sepulchre, might expect the same good treatment which they had ever received from his predecessors. The offer was rejected; the soldan was required to yield up the city to the Christians; and on his refusal, the champions of the cross advanced to the siege of Jerusalem, which they regarded as the consummation of their labors. By the detachments which they had made, and the disasters which they had undergone, they were diminished to the number of twenty thousand foot, and fifteen hundred horse; but these were still formidable, from their valor, their experience, and the obedience which, from past calamities, they had learned to pay to their leaders. After a siege of five weeks, they took Jerusalem by assault; and, impelled by a mixture of military and religious rage, they put thenumerous garrison and inhabitants to the sword without distinction.Neither arms defended the valiant, nor submission the timorous: no age or sex was spared: infants on the breast were pierced by the same blow with their mothers, who implored for mercy: even a multitude to the number of ten thousand persons, who had surrendered themselves prisoners, and were promised quarter, were butchered in cold blood by those ferocious conquerors. The streets of Jerusalem were covered with dead bodies; and the triumphant warriors, after every enemy was subdued and slaughtered, immediately turned themselves, with the sentiments of humiliation and contrition, towards the holy sepulchre. They threw aside their arms, still streaming with blood: they advanced with reclined bodies, and naked feet and heads, to that sacred monument: they sang anthems to their Saviour, who had there purchased their salvation by his death and agony: and their devotion, enlivened by the presence of the place where he had suffered, so overcame their fury, that they dissolved in tears, and bore the appearance of every soft and tender sentiment. So inconsistent is human nature with itself! and so easily does the most effeminate superstition ally, both with the most heroic courage and with the fiercest barbarity!This great event happened on the fifth of July in the last year of the eleventh century. The Christian princes and nobles, after choosing Godfrey of Bouillon king of Jerusalem, began to settle themselves in their new conquests; while some of them returned to Europe, in order to enjoy at home that glory, which their valor had acquired them in this popular and meritorious enterprise.

Peter, commonly called the Hermit, a native of Amiens in Picardy, had made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Being deeply affected with the dangers to which that act of piety now exposed the pilgrims, as well as with the instances of oppression under which the Eastern Christians labored, he entertained the bold, and, in all appearance, impracticable project of leading into Asia, from the farthest extremities of the West, armies sufficient to subdue those potent and warlike nations which now held the holy city in subjection. He proposed his views to Martin II., who filled the papal chair, and who, though sensible of the advantages which the head of the Christian religion must reap from a religious war, and though he esteemed the blind zeal of Peter a proper means for effecting the purpose, resolved not to interpose his authority, till he saw a greater probability of success. He summoned a council at Placentia, which consisted of four thousand ecclesiastics, and thirty thousand seculars; and which was so numerous that no hall could contain the multitude, and it was necessary to hold the assembly in a plain. The harangues of the Pope, and of Peter himself, representing the dismal situation of their brethren in the East, and the indignity suffered by the Christian name, in allowing the holy city to remain in the hands of infidels, here found the minds of men so well prepared, that the whole multitude suddenly and violently declared for the war, and solemnly devoted themselves to perform this service, so meritorious, as they believed it, to God and religion.

But though Italy seemed thus to have zealously embraced the enterprise, Martin knew, that, in order to insure success, it was necessary to enlist the greater and more warlike nations in the same engagement; and having previously exhorted Peter to visit the chief cities and sovereigns of Christendom, he summoned another council at Clermont in Auvergne. The fame of this great and pious design being now universally diffused, procured the attendance of the greatest prelates, nobles, and princes; and when the Pope and the Hermit renewed their pathetic exhortations, the whole assembly, as if impelled by an immediate inspiration, not moved by their preceding impressions, exclaimed with one voice,It is the will of God, It is the will of God!—words deemed so memorable, and so much the result of a divine influence, that they were employed as the signal of rendezvous and battle in all the future exploits of those adventurers. Men of all ranks flew to arms with the utmost ardor; and an exterior symbol, too, a circumstance of chief moment, was here chosen by the devoted combatants. The sign of the cross, which had been hitherto so much revered among Christians, and which, the more it was an object of reproach among the Pagan world, was the more passionately cherished by them, became the badge of union, and was affixed to their right shoulder, by all who enlisted themselves in this sacred warfare.

Europe was at this time sunk into profound ignorance and superstition. The ecclesiastics had acquired the greatest ascendant over the human mind: the people, who, being little restrained by honor, and less by law, abandoned themselves to the worst crimes and disorders, knew of no other expiation than the observances imposed on them by their spiritual pastors: and it was easy torepresent the holy war as an equivalent for all penances, and an atonement for every violation of justice and humanity. But amidst the abject superstition which now prevailed, the military spirit also had universally diffused itself; and though not supported by art or discipline, was become the general passion of the nations governed by the feudal law. All the great lords possessed the right of peace and war: they were engaged in perpetual hostilities with each other: the open country was become a scene of outrage and disorder: the cities, still mean and poor, were neither guarded by walls nor protected by privileges, and were exposed to every insult: individuals were obliged to depend for safety on their own force, or their private alliances: and valor was the only excellence which was held in esteem, or gave one man the pre-eminence above another. When all the particular superstitions, therefore, were here united in one great object, the ardor for military enterprises took the same direction; and Europe, impelled by its two ruling passions, was loosened, as it were, from its foundations, and seemed to precipitate itself in one united body upon the East.

All orders of men, deeming the Crusades the only road to heaven, enlisted themselves under these sacred banners, and were impatient to open the way with their sword to the holy city. Nobles, artisans, peasants, even priests, enrolled their names; and to decline this meritorious service was branded with the reproach of impiety, or, what perhaps was esteemed still more disgraceful, of cowardice and pusillanimity. The infirm and aged contributed to the expedition by presents and money; and many of them, not satisfied with the merit of this atonement, attended it in person, and were determined, ifpossible, to breathe their last in sight of that city where their Saviour had died for them. Women themselves, concealing their sex under the disguise of armor, attended the camp. The greatest criminals were forward in a service, which they regarded as a propitiation for all crimes; and the most enormous disorders were, during the course of those expeditions, committed by men enured to wickedness, encouraged by example, and impelled by necessity. The multitude of the adventurers soon became so great, that their more sagacious leaders, Hugh count of Vermandois, brother to the French king, Raymond count of Toulouse, Godfrey of Bouillon, prince of Brabant, and Stephen count of Blois, became apprehensive lest the greatness itself of the armament should disappoint its purpose; and they permitted an undisciplined multitude, computed at 300,000 men, to go before them, under the command of Peter the Hermit and Walter the Moneyless. These men took the road towards Constantinople through Hungary and Bulgaria; and trusting that Heaven, by supernatural assistance, would supply all their necessities, they made no provision for subsistance on their march. They soon found themselves obliged to obtain by plunder, what they had vainly expected from miracles; and the enraged inhabitants of the countries through which they passed, gathering together in arms, attacked the disorderly multitude and put them to slaughter without resistance. The more disciplined armies followed after; and passing the straights at Constantinople, they were mustered in the plains of Asia, and amounted in the whole to the number of 700,000 combatants....

After the adventurers in the holy war were assembled on the banks of the Bosphorus, opposite to Constantinople, they proceeded on their enterprise; but immediately experienced those difficulties which their zeal had hitherto concealed from them, and for which, even if they had foreseen them, it would have been almost impossible to provide a remedy. The Greek emperor, Alexis Comnenus, who had applied to the Western Christians for succor against the Turks, entertained hopes, and those but feeble ones, of obtaining such a moderate supply, as, acting under his command, might enable him to repulse the enemy: but he was extremely astonished to see his dominions overwhelmed, on a sudden, by such an inundation of licentious barbarians, who, though they pretended friendship, despised his subjects as unwarlike, and detested them as heretical. By all the arts of policy, in which he excelled, he endeavored to divert the torrent; but while he employed professions, caresses, civilities, and seeming services towards the leaders of the crusade, he secretly regarded those imperious allies as more dangerous than the open enemies by whom his empire had been formerly invaded. Having effected that difficult point of disembarking them safely in Asia, he entered into a private correspondence with Soliman, emperor of the Turks; and practised every insidious art, which his genius, his power, or his situation, enabled him to employ, for disappointing the enterprise, and discouraging the Latins from making thenceforward any such prodigious migrations. His dangerous policy was seconded by the disorders inseparable from so vast a multitude, who were not united under one head, and were conducted by leaders of the most independent intractable spirit, unacquainted with military discipline, and determined enemies to civil authority and submission. The scarcity of provisions, the excesses offatigue, the influence of unknown climates, joined to the want of concert in their operations, and to the sword of a warlike enemy, destroyed the adventurers by thousands, and would have abated the ardor of men impelled to war by less powerful motives. Their zeal, however, their bravery, and their irresistible force, still carried them forward, and continually advanced them to the great end of their enterprise. After an obstinate siege they took Nice, the seat of the Turkish empire; they defeated Soliman in two great battles; they made themselves masters of Antioch; and entirely broke the force of the Turks, who had so long retained those countries in subjection. The soldan of Egypt, whose alliance they had hitherto courted, recovered, on the fall of the Turkish power, his former authority in Jerusalem; and he informed them by his ambassadors, that if they came disarmed to that city, they might now perform their religious vows, and that all Christian pilgrims, who should thenceforth visit the holy sepulchre, might expect the same good treatment which they had ever received from his predecessors. The offer was rejected; the soldan was required to yield up the city to the Christians; and on his refusal, the champions of the cross advanced to the siege of Jerusalem, which they regarded as the consummation of their labors. By the detachments which they had made, and the disasters which they had undergone, they were diminished to the number of twenty thousand foot, and fifteen hundred horse; but these were still formidable, from their valor, their experience, and the obedience which, from past calamities, they had learned to pay to their leaders. After a siege of five weeks, they took Jerusalem by assault; and, impelled by a mixture of military and religious rage, they put thenumerous garrison and inhabitants to the sword without distinction.

Neither arms defended the valiant, nor submission the timorous: no age or sex was spared: infants on the breast were pierced by the same blow with their mothers, who implored for mercy: even a multitude to the number of ten thousand persons, who had surrendered themselves prisoners, and were promised quarter, were butchered in cold blood by those ferocious conquerors. The streets of Jerusalem were covered with dead bodies; and the triumphant warriors, after every enemy was subdued and slaughtered, immediately turned themselves, with the sentiments of humiliation and contrition, towards the holy sepulchre. They threw aside their arms, still streaming with blood: they advanced with reclined bodies, and naked feet and heads, to that sacred monument: they sang anthems to their Saviour, who had there purchased their salvation by his death and agony: and their devotion, enlivened by the presence of the place where he had suffered, so overcame their fury, that they dissolved in tears, and bore the appearance of every soft and tender sentiment. So inconsistent is human nature with itself! and so easily does the most effeminate superstition ally, both with the most heroic courage and with the fiercest barbarity!

This great event happened on the fifth of July in the last year of the eleventh century. The Christian princes and nobles, after choosing Godfrey of Bouillon king of Jerusalem, began to settle themselves in their new conquests; while some of them returned to Europe, in order to enjoy at home that glory, which their valor had acquired them in this popular and meritorious enterprise.

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