2 On Personal Identity. [JAN. 



forego his self-congratulation on the unexpected accession of good for- 

 tune, and his escape from past suffering. All that excites his cupidity, 

 his envy, his repining or despair, is the alternative of some great good 

 to himself; and if, in order to attain that object, he is to part with his 

 own existence to take that of another, he can feel no farther interest in it. 

 This is the language both of passion and reason. 



Here lies " the rub that makes calamity of so long life :" for it is not 

 barely the apprehension of the ills that " in that sleep of death may 

 come," but also our ignorance and indifference to the promised good, 

 that produces our repugnance and backwardness to quit the present 

 scene. No man, if he had his choice, would be the angel Gabriel 

 to-morrow ! What is the angel Gabriel to him but a splendid vision ? 

 He might as well have an ambition to be turned into a bright cloud, or 

 a particular star. The interpretation of which is, he can have no sym- 

 pathy with the angel Gabriel. Before he can be transformed into so 

 bright and ethereal an essence, he must necessarily " put off this mortal 

 coil " be divested of all his old habits, passions, thoughts, and feelings 

 to be endowed with other lofty and beatific attributes, of which he has 

 no notion ; and, therefore, he would rather remain a little longer in this 

 mansion of clay, which, with all its flaws, inconveniences, and perplexi- 

 ties, contains all that he has any real knowledge of, or any affection for. 

 When, indeed, he is about to quit it in spite of himself, and has no other 

 chance left to escape the darkness of the tomb, he may then have no 

 objection (making a virtue of necessity) to put on angels' wings, to have 

 radiant locks, to wear a wreath of amaranth, and thus to masquerade it 

 in the skies. 



It is an instance of the truth and beauty of the ancient mythology, 

 that the various transmutations it recounts are never voluntary, or of 

 favourable omen, but are interposed as a timely release to those who, 

 driven on by fate, and urged to the last extremity of fear or anguish, 

 are turned into a flower, a plant, an animal, a star, a precious stone, or 

 into some object that may inspire pity or mitigate our regret for their 

 misfortunes. Narcissus was transformed into a flower ; Daphne into a 

 laurel ; Arethusa into a fountain (by the favour of the gods) but not 

 till no other remedy was left for their despair. It is a sort of smiling 

 cheat upon death, and graceful compromise with annihilation. It is bet- 

 ter to exist by proxy, in some softened type and soothing allegory, than 

 not at all to breathe in a flower or shine in a constellation, than to be 

 utterly forgot ; but no one would change his natural condition (if he 

 could help it) for that of a bird, an insect, a beast, or a fish, however 

 delightful their mode of existence, or however enviable he might deem 

 their lot compared to his own. Their thoughts are not our thoughts- 

 their happiness is not our happiness ; nor can we enter into it, except 

 with a passing smile of approbation, or as a refinement of fancy. As the 

 poet sings : 



" What more felicity can fall to creature 



Than to enjoy delight with liberty, 

 And to be lord of all the works of nature ? 



To reign in the air from earth to highest sky ; 

 To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature ; 



To taste whatever thing doth please the eye ? 

 Who rests not pleased with such happiness, 

 Well worthy he to taste of wretchedness !" 



