ionality itself, and all the
ends and purposes of our being.--Our author describes the natural ridicule
of vice in his MEASURE _for_ MEASURE in the strongest terms, where, after
having made the angels weep over the vices of men, he adds, that _with_
our spleens _they might laugh themselves quite mortal_. Indeed if we had a
perfect discernment of the ends of this life only, and could preserve
ourselves from sympathy, disgust, and terror, the vices of mankind would
be a source of perpetual entertainment. The great difference between
_Heraclitus_ and _Democritus_ lay, it seems, in their spleen only;--for a
wise and good man must either laugh or cry without ceasing. Nor indeed is
it easy to conceive (to instance in one case only) a more laughable, or a
more melancholy object, than a human being, his nature and duration
considered, earnestly and anxiously exchanging peace of mind and conscious
integrity for gold; and for gold too, which he has often no occasion for,
or dares not employ:--But _Voltaire_ has by one Publication rendered all
_arguments_ superfluous: He has told us, in his _Candide_, the merriest
and most diverting tale of frauds, murders, massacres, rapes, rapine,
desolation, and destruction, that I think it possible on any other plan to
invent; and he has given us _motive_ and _effect_, with every possible
aggravation, to improve the sport. One would think it difficult to
preserve the point of ridicule, in such a case, unabated by contrary
emotions; but now that the feat is performed it appears of easy imitation,
and I am amazed that our race of imitators have made no efforts in this
sort: It would answer I should think in the way of profit, not to mention
the moral uses to which it might be applied. The managements of _Voltaire_
consists in this, that he assumes a gay, easy, and light tone himself;
that he never excites the reflections of his readers by making any of his
own; that he hurries us on with such a rapidity of narration as prevents
our emotions from resting on any particular point; and to gain this end,
he has interwoven the conclusion of one fact so into the commencement of
another, that we find ourselves engaged in new matter before we are
sensible that we had finished the old; he has likewise made his crimes so
enormous, that we do not sadden on any sympathy, or find ourselves
partakers in the guilt.--But what is truly singular as to this book, is,
that it does not appear to have been written for an