the same creed: such a vow, in both cases, excludes us from all enquiry. The language of the votarist is this.—The woman I now love may be infinitely inferior to many others; the creed I now profess may be a mass of errors and absurdities; but I exclude myself from all future information as to the amiability of the one, and the truth of the other, resolving blindly, and in spite of conviction, to adhere to them.—Is this the language of delicacy, and reason?—Is the love of such a frigid heart of more worth than its belief?"
It is said Mr. Shelley was very young when he wrote this; and it would require the apology of a nonage when the pen and the hand had as little intercourse, as these rhapsodies have connection with the head, or the heart. That happiness, in the sense here implied, is the object of morality, is preposterous. Morality points out the strict line of duty. The leading object is justice:—and it does not leave man at liberty, to seek his own happiness at the expence of the well being, or the peace of others. Man sighs for the possession of woman:—he engages her affections: fixes all her hopes and chance of happiness upon his constancy:—but he has already en-
