Chapter 8. On the Miseries of Human Life; Being a Lengthened Consideration of the Subject of the Last Meditation

§ 1.—On the greatness of the miseries of human life.

1.—No tongue can describe the extent of misery to which human nature has been subjected by sin. St. Gregory said well, when he declared that only our first parents, who knew by experience the noble state and condition in which God created man, could properly comprehend the miseries of mankind, because calling to mind the delights of the life they had led, they saw more clearly the miseries of the banishment in which they remained. But the children of these unfortunates never knew what true happiness was, but being cradled in misery knew not its real nature, from never having known happiness. Moreover, many of them are so mad and foolish, thatif possible they would remain for ever in this life, and make a home of this land of exile and their dwelling in their prison-house, because they cannot perceive its wretchedness. As those who dwell in foul and offensive localities are not aware or sensible of the nuisances from being habituated to them, so these unfortunates do not feel the miseries of this life, in consequence of their having been nurtured in them.

§ 2.—On the miseries of this life ; and first on the origin and birth of man, and on his subsequent condition during life.

2.—That thou mayst not then fall into this mistake, and into many others still greater which follow it, it behoves thee to consider attentively the multitude of these miseries, and first man’s origin and his birth; afterwards the various conditions of his life. .

3.—To begin then at the beginning, consider first of what man’s body is formed, as from the quality of the material, whether noble or base, we usually estimate the value of the work. The Holy Scriptures inform us that God made man from the slime of the earth. Of all the elements the earth is the meanest, and the basest part of it is the slime ; hence it follows that God created man out of the vilest and meanest material in the world. sg Kings, and Emperors, and Popes, high and mighty as they are, are but dust. This was well understood by the Egyptians, of whom it is written, that when celebrating every year their birthday they carried in their hands some herbs taken out of a muddy pool as emblems of the affinity man has to straw and slime, the common parent of both. If such then is the substance out of which we are made, why dost thou take pride in thyself, Oh dust and ashes! Oh straw and slime !

4.—But the mode in which the work is completed and the edifice built out of this material, are not subjects fit to be dilated on or looked at, but past by with averted eyes.

5.—Let us then pass on to the birth. What sight so miserable as that of a woman in labour? What pains so agonizing, what writhings and dangerous contortions, what groans and pitiful shrieks! I pass over monstrous and cross-births, or I should never finish the description of them. And after all this agony appears a creature weeping, poor, naked, feeble and miserable, wanting everything, capable of nothing. Other animals are born, shod, and clothed ; some in wool, others in scales, some in feathers, others with hides, others with shells. Even the trees are clad with bark. Man only comes naked into the world with no covering but a filthy wrapping, folded in which he enters life. In this apparel he makes his first appearance; he, whose pride the whole world cannot contain.

6.—Besides this, other animals at their birth know whereto seek for what they are in need of, and are provided with instinct to procure it. Some walk, others swim, others fly, each in fine, knows untaught, where to find what it requires to satisfy its wants. Man alone knows nothing, and can do nothing, without the help of others. How many days does he spend in learning to walk? and that sooner on four feet than two.

How long is it before he is able to speak? Speak, did I say ? He cannot even eat until taught how. Only one thing he Knows of himself, how'fo ery. This is his first act, and the only one learnt without a teacher. And to laugh; that too he learns of himself, but not till forty days after his birth: but he can always cry, to shew that nature is more prone to sorrow than it is to mirth. Oh! the folly of men, says the wise man, who from so mean a beginning think themselves born for pride. ; ]

7.—Look next at this body in which men so pride themselves, and see if it is really as beautiful as.it seems. Tell me, I pray thee, what is the human body but an unclean vessel, in which everything that is poured ferments and is corrupted? What is it but a dunghill covered with snow, white and fair without, but full of impurities beneath ? What midden so filthy? What sewer throws out such filth through all its vents? Trees and flowers, nay some animals give out from themselves agreeable perfumes, but man such filth as to seem nothing better than a fountain of abominations.

8.—It is written of Plotinus, a great philosopher, that he felt himself disgraced by the character and meanness of his body, and listened with disgust to some who spoke to him of his lineage, and would never consent to his likeness being taken; saying, it was enough during his life to drag along so foul an object and so unworthy of his noble soul, without’ being compelled to leave it a lasting memorial of the honour conferred upon it.

9.—It is written of the Abbot Isidore that, on one occasion whilst at table, he burst into tears, and when asked why he wept, answered, ‘‘ Because I am ashamed to be eating here the corruptible food of a beast, having been created for the society of angels and to feed with them at a divine banquet.”

§ 3.—On other miseries belonging lo life, and first on its shortness.

10.—Consider next the following great miseries of human life. Its shortness, its uncertainty, its fragility, its inconstancy, its deceitfulness, and its wretchedness, and afterwards death its closing stage. 11.—And first the shortness of life on which Holy Job reflected, when he cried out, ‘‘Short, oh Lord, are the days of Job xiv. man, and thou knowest the number of the months he has to live.” To what do seventy or eighty years of life amount? They are commonly the period to which man’s life is limited, and during which he may live without being overwhelmed with troubles, as the prophet meant, saying, “The days of man when full, are threescore years and Psalm Ixviii. ten; and should they reach to fourscore, all beyond, are labour and sorrow.”

12.—And shouldst thou analyze this term minutely, instead of thus assuming it as a given quantity ; it seems to me thou oughtest not to reckon as life the time of infancy, much less the time of sleep, because infancy, before the use of reason has made us men, is not the life of aman, but of an animal, like that of the kid rejoicing in its gambols. It should also be noted that during infancy, nothing is either learnt or done worthy of the name of man. Then I scarcely see how time spent in sleep can be called living, as the essence of life is the use of the faculties and of reason, both of which are then suspended and as it were dead.

13.—Henco the saying of a certain philosopher that for half of a man’s life, there was no choice between the happy and the miserable all men being equal in sleep and in death. A king detained a prisoner for a year or two cannot correctly be said to reign, whilst he is neither in the enjoyment of power or government. How then shall man be said to live during the time of sleep, whilst the command and use of reason are suspended, and the use of the senses by which he lives? - On this account, a certain poet called sleep a relative of death; and another the brother of death, from their close re- ' semblance to each other. If then so large a portion of life be wasted in sleep, how much is there left to live in? And if the time usually allotted to sleep be a third of the day or eight hours, though some are not content with that, the result would be that a third of life is slept away and consequently not lived. Thou seest therefore how much of so short a life is daily absorbed by sleep. Having thus summed up this truthful account, tell me, how long a term of real existence remains even for the longest livers ?

14.—That philosopher shewed much good sense who on being asked his opinion about human life, answered his questioners by turning a summersault and immediately disappearing from their presence, to signify that life was nothing more. "Tis no more than a falling star passing in an instant, at once consumed and its trail immediately vanishes from the sight, because in a few days after the close of life the recollection of even the most renowned perishes and his memory is forgotten. In fine, this life appeared so short to many of the sages of old, that one called it a dream, and another dissatisfied with that definition, called it the dream of a shadow, it seeming to him too much to call it the dream of a reality, being but the dream of an illusion.

15.—If then we compare the small residue of this life with the life to come, how much less will it appear? The Eecle. viii. preacher said well, ‘‘The days of man at the most are a hundred years.” What proportion does all this bear to eternity, a drop of water compared with the ocean? And the reason is plain, for if a star which is larger than the whole earth, when compared with the remainder of the sky appears but a speck, what shall our present short life appear when compared with the life to come which will know no end? - And if as astronomers inform us the whole globe compared with the heavens is only a speck, because

• the incomprehensible magnitude of the heavens causes it to dwindle into insignificance, what will this short breath of life appear compared to eternity which is infinite? Doubtless nothing; for if a thousand years before God are as yesterday, what will the hundred years of this life seem but nothing ? 16.—All this is seen clearly by the damned when they contrast the life they spent, with the everlasting torments they endure, as they confess in these words in the Book of WisWisdone y. dom: ‘ What hath pride profited us, or what advantage hath the boasting of riches brought us? All those things are passed away like a shadow, and like a post that runneth on, and as a ship that passeth through the waves; whereof when it is gone by, the trace cannot be found, nor the path of its keel in the waters; or as when an arrow is shot at a mark, the divided air presently cometh together again, so that the passage thereof is not known, so we also being born forthwith ceased to be and have been able to shew no mark of virtue.” See then how short will the whole term of this life then appear to these miserable wretches, since they plainly confess that their life was nothing, as immediately after their birth they ceased to be. If such then be the case, what folly can be greater than for the sake of indulging in a momentary dream of false pleasure to choose to go into everlasting torments? Also if the span of this life be so short and the life to come so long, is it not madness to provide ourselyes with so much for the short life and with so little for the long one? What folly it would be for a person intending to dwellin England to waste all his substance in purchasing stores and in building a residence in the Indies and providing nothing for himself in the land he purposed to inhabit ? How much greater then is the folly of such as invest all their capital in providing for this life, where they have so short a _ time to live and doing nothing for that which is to last for ever? especially when they have through the hands of the poor such facilities for transferring their property, according Ecele. xi. ' to that of the wise man, “Cast thy bread upon the running waters; for after a long time thou shall find it again.”

§ 4.—On the uncertainty of life. 17.—But short as the limits of life are, were these limits fixed, and could we calculate for a certainty on a definite term, like King Ezechias to whom God granted fifteen years more of life, our misery would be more endurable. But this is not the case, for short as life is, as we have already stated, what little there is of it instead of being certain is precarious, according to that of the wise man, ‘‘Man knoweth not his

Keele. ix. 12, own end; but as fishes are taken with the hook, and as birds are caught with the snare, so men are taken in the evil time, when it shall suddenly come upon them.” That sentence is full of true wisdom which says, “Nothing is so certain as death, and nothing so uncertain as the hour of 14.” On this account a certain philosopher compared the lives of mortals to the bubbles ona sheet of water during rain, some burst at once, some float a few moments and vanish, some last a little longer others less; so that though none last more than a few seconds, even in this short time there is great variety.

18.—If then the end of our life is so doubtful, and the ~ hour for rendering our account so uncertain, how is it that we live on in such neglect and indifference? How is it we are not warned by those words of our Saviour, saying:—“ Watch ye

Matth. xxiv. 42. therefore, because you know not what hour your Lord will come?” Oh, that man would learn to weigh the force of this command! ** For ye know not, says he, the hour; watch. ye therefore and be always ready.” As if he would more emphatically say, because ye know not the hour watch during every hour; and because ye know not the month watch during every month; and because ye know not the year be ready in every year, because ye know not for certain during which year ye will be called for, ye know full wel during some one ye will be summoned.

19.—The better to shew the force of this argument, I will give an illustration. Suppose set before thee at table thirty or forty dishes, and thou art warned for a certainty that one of them is poisoned, wouldst thou run the risk of tasting one of them however keen thy hunger? Clearly not; for the dread of tasting that one only would make thee abstain from all. Let us see then how many years of life can at the most remain in store for thee. Perhaps thou wilt calculate on thirty or forty. Since then it is certain that during one of these years thou must die, and thou knowest not in which, why dost not thou fear during each of them, for during one thou wilt undoubtedly be cut off? Thou hast not courage to touch one of the forty dishes though dying of hunger, because thou knowest there is death in one of them; and shalt thou not fear during each of these forty years, since it is quite as certain that during one of them thou must die? Is there any answer to this ?

20.—Listen further to another illustration not less striking.

Why are the sentinels always on the watch-tower in the presence of the enemy? Because the “hour of the assault is uncertain. Ignorance of that hour obliges them to be always on the look out; for if they knew for certain the hour of the assault, they might remain careless at other times and in readiness only at the time’of need. For the love of God I beg of thee then to give ear to my words. If thou keepest watch on thy tower every night, because it-is uncertain whether the enemy will approach to-day or to-morrow, this year or next, why dost not thou keep guard upon thy soul since thou knowest not when her hour will come? There is as much and more uncertainty about the latter as the former, and the importance is greater beyond all comparison. Where then is the meaning of being always on guard in the one instance and always asleep in the other? What can be more absurd? Thy soul is worth more than all the castles and kingdoms of the world ;

and looking at the price at which it was purchased, more than the whole choir of angels. She too has more powerful enemies who day and night are seeking to prey upon her.

Look at this also, thou canst not tell whether the assault will be made by day or by night, that all depends upon thy being found ready or taken unawares at that moment, since according to the parable in the Gospel, the virgins who were prepared entered with the bridegroom into the marriage chamber, but those who were unprepared remained without. What reason then is there for not being always on the watch, since the uncertainty is greater, the danger greater, and the object beyond all comparison greater ?

§ 5.—On the fragility of life.

21.—Not only is the term of life uncertain, but it is also. frail and brittle. What glass so delicate and liable to break as the life of man? A breath of air, the evening damp, a sun stroke will each suffice to deprive us of it. Why mention - the sun? ~ Has nota piercing glance of the eye been known to kill? A stroke of the sword is not necessary nor an assault Bek of arms, a look only may slay. , Sée well to the safety of the >. fortress i in which the treasure of life is kept, asa Biance from

• a distance may crumble it to the ground. +

22.—But this is not so much to be wondered at a tn] whenthe structure is new and slight. The wonder is that after it is settled and knit together for years that causes no less trivial suffice to.destroy it. Ask of what such a man or woman died, and they will tell thee one died from-drinking a cup of cold water, one from eating a heavy supper or from sudden joy or grief; sometimes no cause can be assigned, but” going to bed in, good health he was found in the morning a corpse by the side of his wife. Is there a goblet of glass or a vessel of clay more brittle than this? But why wonder at its being so brittle since it also is made of clay? Is if not more wonderful frail as are the materials and the workmanship | how it lasts so long? How happens it that a clock is so frequently out of order? Because’ it has so many wheels and | works and such artificial machinery that though constructed

É 5. Nee 8 of metal the least thing suffices to derange it. How delicate then is the structure of our bodies and how much more frail their substance of flesh? If then the construction is more delicate and the material more frail, why should we be surprised if some cog of a wheel be thrown out of gear and thus the motion of life arrested? ’Tis rather more surprising that man lasts so long than that he dies so soon, when we look at the delicacy of the workmanship and the flimsy substance of which it is composed.

23.—This is that miserable frailty which the prophet pointed out in the following words: ‘‘God said to the prophet, Cry,” —

Isaiah xl. and the prophet answers, ‘‘ What shall I — ery? All flesh is grass and all the glory thereof as the flower of the field, the grass is withered and the flower is fallen, but the Word of God endureth for ever.’”? Upon which words St. Ambrose remarks, ‘‘ Truly it is so, thus flourishes the glory of man; though he appear great he is as the small passing flower of the field perishable as grass: thus he is only outward shew without strength or substance at the core.”. For what durability can there be in a body of flesh? What lasting good in so weak a subject? To-day thou shall see a young man in the flower of his age, all strength and grace, but if sickness attack him at night, thou shalt see him in the morning so changed that the man of yesterday so lovely and beautiful shall appear wretched and unsightly. What shall I say of the other misfortunes and changes that, await our bodies? Some are broken down by toil, others enfeebled by poverty, others tormented by indigestion, others corrupted by wine, others weakened by old age, others debilitated by dainty living and enervated by luxury. According to this then is it not true that the grass withers and the flower thereof droops ? Ye shall see descendants from noble sires and grandsires of the purest blood and of ancient lineage, with countless friends and surrounded by menials and followed by legions of relatives; but should the wind of fortune veer the least, in an es > ee oe om ieee ha) ( instant, away fly friends, equals insult them and they are forsaken by all. Ye shall see another laden with riches with the fame of his liberality and generosity trumpeted by every mouth, decked with honours, exalted with power, mounted on the judgment seat and esteemed by all the great favorite of fortune ; and it shall come to pass that borne through the city to-day with acclamations and proclamations the time shall come when he shall find his dwelling-place in the same prison to which he was wont to consign others. To how many does it occur to go home surrounded with worldly pomp and in one single night all their splendour is obscured, a'simple attack of pleurisy having sufficed to draw the curtain and close the

-seene. Oh, says Cicero, how deceptive are man’s hopes! how inconstant is fortune, and how vain are our contentions and strifes which often break down midway and founder on their voyage before arriving within sight of port! How great then is the madness of the children of Adam who build such lofty towers on such shallow foundations and see not that they are building on sand and that the first blast of wind will sweep ‘away the whole foundation. Ob, into what mistakes do men fall from not looking into their own interiors and first taking an account with their own selves !

24.—And if what we have been discussing be great blindness, how much greater is that of those unfortunate creatures who have lived so many years in sin knowing that between them and hell there lay nothing but this precarious life ? Imagine a man suspended by a slender thread over an unfathomable gulph so situate that were the cord to snap he could not escape falling in; tell me, how would he feel who saw himself in this predicament? How timid, how troubled, how ready to give his all to be rescued from such peril? How then, wretched sinner, thou that darest in defiance of the laws of God to continue for so many days and years in a state of sin, how dost thou not see this peril is thy own? If this weak thread of life should break the bottomless abyss of hell will be thy lot. How canst thou sleep, how is it thou canst play, how laugh, how avoid having ever before thy eyes this dreadful danger ?

§ 6.—On the fluctuations of life.

25.—There is another defect in life, its liability to changes and want of stability in itself referred to by Holy Job in the gloomy pictures he has drawn of the miseries.of human life in the following passage. ‘‘ Man born of a woman, liveth for SODA es a short time, is filled with many miseries, who cometh forth like a flower and is destroyed, and fleeth as a shadow, and never continueth in the same state.” Passing for a moment these miseries, what is there on earth more changeable? "Tis said that the camelion changes its colour frequently during the hour, the sea in the straits is notorious for its vicissitudes, and the moon daily changes her form, but what are all these compared to the changes in man? What Proteus ever assumed so many shapes as man does every hour ? Now sick, now well, now content, now dissatisfied, now sorrowful, now joyful, at one moment filled with fear, at the next with confidence, now suspicious, now secure, now quiet, now angry, now filled with love and now with hate and oftentimes incomprehensible even to himself. His changes are as quick as the events of every hour as each one fashions him according to itself. The past pains, the present troubles, and the future frets him. If he has no estate he lives by toil, if he possesses one he feeds on pride, and should he lose it he pines in sorrow. Is moon or sea subject to such alterations and changes? The sea only changes when agitated by the winds, but in man both change and sufferings are ever found both in storm and calm. 26.—Then what shall I say of the continued forward movement of our life? What moment is there when we are not advancing towards death? What is the movement of the heavenly bodies but a kind of reel round which life is always winding? Observe how a skein of wool winds itself upon the reel, at each turn a little is gathered and so on till the whole | is finished; in the same way does our life ever coil itself round the revolving reel of time and with every revolution a portion is wound away. Therefore, said Holy Job, that his days were swifter than the courier carrying the post, because the courier however swift and pressing onward is compelled occasionally to rest, but life never pauses in its course, never grants the respite of an hour. “What I am ¿now writing, says St. Jerome, and what I am reading oyer and correcting is absorbing a portion of my life; and every stop pointed by the notary marks the loss and diminution of my term of life.” As passengers on board ship though seated or lying at their ease are always advancing towards their port of destination, so in life we are all always advancing and gradually approaching to death the common port of universal destination.

27.—If then our life be but a journey to death, and if the hour of death be, also the hour of judgment, what is life but a journey to the tribunal of God and an advance to judgment? What folly then can be greater than whilst actually on the very road to judgment, persevering in the commission of offences against the judge and challenging his wrath against us? Open thy eyes miserable sinner, see thy way and where thou art going, and blush or at least take compassion on thyself and reflect how badly thy conduct corresponds with what thou art about to enter upon.

§ 7.—On the treacherous character of life.

28.—Yet could I pardon this life of ours all its faults were it not for another, still more heinous, viz:—its deceitfulness, that assumption of being what it is not. For as it is said, pretended godliness is a cloak for twofold wickedness, so it is certain that a treacherous happiness conceals twofold misery. Because if life appeared what it really is and did not give us the lie, we should most certainly not throw ourselves away for it, we should not trust in it, but should always live as warned against it: but it is full of hypocrisy and deceit, so that being foul it parades itself as beautiful, being short it appears long, being subject to change at every hour it represents itself as ever the same. ‘‘Canst thou feel, says St. Jerome, when thou wast a child, and when a youth, and when a man, and when thou wast changed into an old man? Every day we die, every day we change, nevertheless we believe ourselves eternal.”

29.—Hence originated those sumptuous edifices of the inhabitants of Megara of whom a certain philosopher observed, that they built as though they had to live for ever and lived as though they were to die next day.. Whence arises such forgetfulness of God, so much avarice, so much vanity, so much solicitude to amass riches and so much heedlessness about preparing for death but from the belief that our life will have a long time to run ? This false notion causes us to believe that we shall have time for everything, for the world, for vanity, for vice and every vain and idle pastime, and after all some to spare for God. As if we were measuring a piece

_of cloth upon a table dividing and. setting aside this portion for one purpose and that for another, so do we reckon upon life as if we held power and authority over it and time.

30.—This deception springs on a tacit persuasion and belief which every one entertains in his own breast, grounded on no reason nor true foundation, but solely generated by selflové, which though it shudders at death, dreads to be reminded of it or to believe that it is on his threshold, from the anguish that such a belief would occasion. Thus it happens that we ean easily believe in the possibility of the early approach of

• death to others, because as we do not feel so strong an affection for them, it is not so bitter to put faith in this truth; but it is quite another thing as respects ourselves, because as each one dearly loves himself he cannot avoid being pained at being obliged to give credence to so dismal an idea.. But such persons frequently find themselves deceived and théir dream turns out the reverse of what they fancied, and those whose lives they estimated as short remain here after they themselves have |. past away. Like those who for the first time embark aboard . | ship, fancy on leaving port that the land and buildings are moving away from them, whereas it is they who are moving but the land remains where it was.

§ 8.—On the sorrows of life.

31.—But though life is subject to all the miseries of which . we have spoken, if what remained of it were truly life, there | would still be something, but the worst of all is, that every | moment of life such-as it is, is liable to such miseries and troubles both of soul and body that it is more worthy of the | name of death than life. Then, as a certain poet says, “It is not living but getting well through existence.” For circumscribed and short though life be in every other respect, in misery and trouble it is rich and long. Doubtless it is short as a life of joy and short is the time for acquiring knowledge, but though short for the enjoyment of good things, for one | thing only, suffering, -I find it long enough. Oh dangerous _ straits, tle. narrower and more. contracted ye are, so much ~ the more perilous is your navivation ! Truly had we eyes to +

Took into ourselves we should ever bewail our condition as that of men condemned by the just judgment of God to suffer such dreadful penalties. But to fill to the brim our cup of wretchedness, this misfortune must be added to the rest, that like insane people as we really are, we should be unable to appreciate our misfortunes. The two philosophers Heraclitus and Democritus, though Pagans, understood better than this, of | one it is said he was always weeping, of the other that he was always laughing, for they both plainly saw that life’ was nothing but vanity and misery.

32.—But tell me whence arise the anxieties in which men pass their lives, the sorrows, fears, tears, passions and suspi- | cions, the malice and all the other tribulations and afflictions | of the soul, to which man is so subject, that frequently his passions are roused without cause, he is filled with fear when there is nothing to terrify, and when there is nothing to torment from without he finds something to torture himself from within, according to that of Holy Job, “Why hast thou set poe sty me against thee oh Lord, and I am become a weight upon myself.”

• 83.—As to the sufferings of the body, who can count them? What toil is necessary to gain the bit of bread with which to support it? The birds of the air and the beasts of the field without labour or trade maintain themselves, but man must sweat night and day and traverse sea and land to obtain the same. This is that misery over which the prophet mourned when he said; ‘‘The days of our life we spend like the spider, which toils day and night making its web out of its own entrails, and all this long and costly labour is but to weave the finest net to trap a fly, so miserable man does nothing but toil with soul and body both day and night and all for no use beyond catching flies, that is to say, empty bubbles and worthless trifles. | And it sometimes happens, that after much toil and trouble, when the web is finished a gust of wind sweeps away the web and its master with it, and thus perish together in an instant the workman and his work,”

34.—Still if midst all these troubles life itself were safe, our misery would not be so great, yet though it may be secure from hunger ’tis not so from pestilence, and an infinite number of other dangers and infirmities that beset it on every side. Who can reckon the thousands of diseases that nature has in store for man? Books on medicine are filled with diseases and their remedies, and each day's experience adds to the list, and numbers of the ailments of the present day were quite unknown to the learned of the times gone by, and amongst all the remedies you will scarcely find one that is palatable, but on the contrary many worse than the disease itself, so that one pain is alleviated by the introduction of another still more excruciating.

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35.—And should some constitutions be fortunate enough not to succumb to these sufferings, they are not on that account proof against other mishaps which daily imperil those whom sickness has spared. What thousands are every day swallowed up by the sea? What multitudes by war? How many haye been destroyed by earthquakes, by inundations, by the fall of buildings, by the stings and bites of poisonous reptiles? How many women in child-birth have purchased the lives of their offspring by the sacrifice of their own ?

36.—As the beasts of the forest attack us and all things created for our use do us as much injury as service, for it seems asif they had all conspired against us, it would be some relief to find men united amongst themselves and as devoted to peace as they ought naturally to be. But itis not so, for on the contrary man has turned his arms against himself; and amongst all created things none can be found against which man has shewn more cruelty than against his fellow-man. How many machines and implements of war, how many kinds of weapon has man invented as well for the destruction of others as for his own protection against them? How many lives are daily sacrificed by the ruthless sword of the enemy ? How many threats and robberies, how many injuries and wounds, how many deaths, dishonours and imprisonments do men daily suffer from their fellow-men?. Neither land nor sea, nor the highways nor public squares are safe from thieves, robbers, pirates, and enemies. On every side does cruel rage find weapons ready to avenge itself on an enemy. What mean all these swords, all this artillery, ammunition, and powder, so many masters and inventors of new materials and implements of war, but to multiply on all sides the calamities of the human race? Sothat though heaven above should proclaim forgiveness, we cannot*escape the persecution of our fellow-creatures. ’Tis written of one man Julius Cesar, who was renowned amongst all the Emperors for his clemency, that he and his soldiers in different battles slaughtered one million one hundred thousand men. What would he have done had he been cruel? Behold the result of his clemency !

37.—Tully mentions a celebrated philosopher who wrote a treatise on the causes of death amongst mankind, in which are enumerated various kinds of destruction which have desolated the world, such as deluges, plagues, devastations, ineursions of wild beasts which rushing suddenly wpon whole tribes have entirely swept away and devoured them. But he arrives at the conclusion that a much greater number of the human race has been destroyed by their fellow-men than by all other kinds of calamity put together. What then can be a subject for greater sorrow and wonder? This is that civilized social animal, born without claws and weapons of destruction, without a poisonous sting, to live among the rest in peace and concord.

88.—But what shall we find further if we examine the’

special miseries of each division and condition of life? How ignorant is childhood, how empty boyhood, how ungovernable youth, and how helpless old age? What is a child but a mere animal in human form? A youth but a hard-mouthed horse without a bridle? What an old man but a sack of infirmities and aches? Man’s great solicitude is to attain old age, the most necessitous and helpless portion of existence. The world forsakes the old, kinsmen abandon him, his limbs and senses fail him, yea he is found wanting to himself, since reason flies and sickness only cleaves to him. Nevertheless old age is the target on which human happiness and life’s ambition fix their gaze. >

_ 89.—With regard to the various conditions of life, it would be an endless task to describe the universal discontent, and the general anxiety which prevails to substitute each one's particular lot for that of another under the impression that it must be better. Thus do men live like the sick man who is

“always tossing in his bed from side to side in the hopes to find a more comfortable position, but always in vain as the disease, the root of all his discomfort, lies within.

40.—Finally such is life, that with great reason the wise man said :—“ Great and heavy is the yoke which the sons of Adam bear on their shoulders from the day they come out of their mother’s womb to the day they descend into the grave, the common mother of all.” And St. Bernard ventured to say, “That this life appeared to him little better than that of hell, were it not for the hope we here have of obtaining heaven.”

_ 41,—And though all this was the chastisement of sin, nevertheless it was a merciful and remedial punishment. intended by an all-seeing Providence to sever our hearts from an inordinate love of this life. Therefore has God filled it with so much -bitterness, the better to wean us from it, therefore has he made it so deformed, to prevent us setting our hearts upon it, therefore has he wished we should suffer so much ill-treatment, that we might the more cheerfully quit it and ever long for the true life to come. Because if we leave it, such as it is, with so much reluctance, and are always longing for the fruits and flesh-pots of Egypt, what. would our conduct be were life nothing but pleasure and all according to our liking? Who would despise it for the love of God? Who would exchange it for heaven? Who would say with St. Paul; ‘‘I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ?”

§ 9.—On death, the last human misery.

42.—After all these miseries comes death, the last and most terrible of all. This is that misery wept over by the poet. ‘‘The best day for man is that which he shuns above all, and then infirmity weighs him down and the sorrows and troubles of old age and beyond everything else the bitterness of relentless death.” This is the end of human life of which UID ess Holy Job says, “I know that thou wilt deliver me to death, where a house is appointed for every one that liveth.”

43.—How many miseries are involved in this one alone, I will not now attempt to reckon, but content myself with quoting the words of a certain preacher when inveighing against death, ““Ob death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee, how swift is thy step, how stealthy thy approach, how uncertain thy hour, how universal thy supremacy! The mighty cannot escape thee, the wise avoid thee and the strong are powerless against thee. With thee no one is rich, since no one can purchase his life with money. Thou stalkest everywhere, thou searchest every place and thou art met with everywhere. Thou browsest the fields, thou inhalest the winds, thou pollutest the air, thou changest the revolutions of ages, alterest the courses of the world, and dost not forget to suck the waters of the ocean. All other things have their rise and their fall, but thou art always the self-same. Thou art a hammer always striking, a sword never sheathed, a snare into which all fall, a prison into which all enter, a sea where JAPO all are wrecked, a penalty which all undergo, and a tribute which all pay.” 44.—Oh cruel death! How is it thou shewest no compassion by coming at a more seasonable time than thus to put a stop to what is going on so well. In an hour thou stealest the labours of many years, thou cuttest off families, thou leavest kingdoms without a heir, thou fillest the world with orphans, thou severest the course of studies, thou spoilest the finest intellects, thou joinest the end to the beginning and dost nothing by halves. Finally thou art such, that God washes his hands of thee, and justifies himself saying, “That Book of Wisdom, he created thee not, but through envy and the deceit of the devil thou didst find thy way into the world.”

§ 10.—On the fruit to be gathered from meditating on the miseries of humam life.

. 45.—These and an infinitude of others are the miseries of our life in meditating upon which our attention should be directed to two principal objects. The knowledge and oa: of the pride of the world, and the knowledge and contempt _ of ourselves, for they will be found very serviceable in both cases. Dost thou wish to know in one word what kind of thing the glory of the world is, study attentively the states and conditions of human life and thou wilt see the nature of it. Tell me then can the glory of man be more lasting and more stable than his life? Clearly not, for this glory is an accident based upon life, and failing the foundation, the accidents of necessity also fail: therefore neither riches nor pleasures can last beyond the grave, for there the foundation on which they were based, viz: life itself fails. If then life be as thou hast just heard it described, short, uncertain, frail, inconstant, deceitful and miserable, how can the building last erected on such a foundation with all the accidents attached to such a flimsy substance? By good fortune they may last as long as life, but fortune is often apt to shift before the close of life. 46.—If there be any truth in the saying of a certain Pindar. poet, that this life was but the dream of a shadow, what dost thou think of worldly glory, since it is of shorter duration than life? At what wouldst thou estimate a handsome building erected on a worthless foundation? What — value wouldst thou put on an image of wax however exquisitely fashioned which if set in the sunshine would melt into deformity ? Why do we prize so lightly the beauty of a flower but because the fabric being so delicate, it fades away when plucked from the stem? ‘True beauty is not found in frail and perishable materials. Then the glory of man will be as the life of man, because though glory should survive — him, what can it profit him who is not conscious of it? What does thy praise of the Iliad to-day profit Homer ? Nothing more than St. Jerome says when speaking of Aristotle. “Woe to thee, Aristotle, for thou art glorified where thou art not, that is in this world, and tormented where thou art, that i is. in hell.”

47.—Other inestimable advantages may be reaped from the same consideration, for if thou weighest well all these miseries thy eyes will be opened to the blindness of mankind, and thou wilt begin to exclaim ; why do the unfortunate children of Adam take pride in themselves? Whence all this puffing up of the mind, this pride of heart, this contempt for others, this self-conceit and forgetfulness of God? Why dost thou swell with pride, oh dust and ashes? Why dost thou magnify and glorify thyself, oh worm of the earth? Why not arrest this whirl of vanity with eyes abashed at thy own vileness? Why must thou hunt so anxiously after the glory of the world stained as it is with so much wretchedness ?

"What so sweet as not to taste bitter when polluted with so much bitterness ?

48.—Further, if this life be a vale of tears, a prison for criminals and a place of exile for condemned sinners, what means such vanity in such a place of sorrows, what such worldly pomp, such solicitude for house and family, such laughter and rejoicings, such revels and follies, such heaping up riches here below, such forgetfulness to lay up stores above, as if thou wert destined for nothing higher than to consort with beasts and hadst to expect no portion in heaven with the angels? Ttisa fearful attribute of thy misery, that so many causes for wretchedness should not be enough to open thy eyes and cure thee of thy blindness.