The discourse now turns upon that part of the vision in the Colosæum in which was exhibited the early state of man, after his first creation, and which Ambrosio considers as not only incompatible with revelation, but likewise with reason and every thing that we know respecting the history or traditions of the early nations of antiquity.
I shall merely state the objection which Ambrosio offers. I must then refer the reader to the work itself for an account of the discussion it provoked.
"Ambrosio.—You consider man, in his early state, a savage like those who now inhabit New Holland, or New Zealand, acquiring, by the little use that they make of a feeble reason, the power of supporting and extending life. Now, I contend that, if man had been so created, he must inevitably have been destroyed by the elements, or devoured by savage beasts, so infinitely his superiors in physical force."
During the discussion, an opinion is advanced by Ambrosio, so singular, that I must be allowed to quote it. "I consider," says he, "all the miraculous parts of our religion as effected by changes in the sensations or ideas of the human mind, and not by physical changes in the order of nature! To Infinite Wisdom and Power, a change in the intellectual state of the human being may be the result of a momentary will, and the mere act of faith may produce the change. How great the powers of imagination are, even in ordinary life, is shown by many striking facts, and nothing seems impossible to this imagination when acted upon by Divine influence."
This is surely a most extraordinary line of argument for the apologist of the Christian faith, and of the miracles by which it is supported.
In the Third Dialogue, called the Unknown, the author and his friends, Ambrosio and Onuphrio, make an excursion to the remains of the temples of Pæstum. "Were my existence to be prolonged through ten centuries," exclaims the author, "I think I could never forget the pleasure I received on that delicious spot." In contemplating beautiful scenery, much of its interest depends upon the feelings and associations of the moment; and the author was upon this occasion evidently in that poetical frame of mind which sheds a magic light over every landscape, and converts the most ordinary objects into emblems of morality: in the admixture of the olive and the cypress tree, he saw a connection, to memorialize, as it were, how near each other are life and death, joy and sorrow; while the music of the birds, and, above all, the cooing of the turtle-doves, by overpowering the murmuring of the waves and the whistling of the winds, served but to show him that, in the strife of nature, the voice of love is predominant.
With their hearts touched by the scene they had witnessed, the travellers descended to the ruins, and began to examine those wonderful remains which have outlived even the name of the people by whom they were raised. While engaged in measuring the Doric columns in the interior of the Temple of Neptune, a stranger, remarkable both in dress and appearance, was observed to be writing in a memorandum book; the author immediately addresses him, and becoming mutually pleased with each other, they enter into a conversation of high scientific interest.
The sentiments delivered by the "Unknown," for by this title is the philosopher designated, notwithstanding their dramatic dress, are evidently to be received as the bequest of the latest scientific opinions of Sir H. Davy upon several important subjects, and must consequently command our respect and consideration.
To a question relative to the nature of the masses of travertine, of which the ruins consisted, the Unknown replied, that they were certainly produced by deposition from water; and he rather believed, that a lake in the immediate neighbourhood of the city furnished the quarry. The party are then described as visiting this spot.
"There was something peculiarly melancholy in the character of this water; all the herbs around it were grey, as if incrusted with marble; a few buffaloes were slaking their thirst in it, which ran wildly away at our approach, and appeared to retire into a rocky excavation or quarry at the end of the lake. 'There,' said the stranger, 'is what I believe to be the source of those large and durable stones which you see in the plain before you. This water rapidly deposits calcareous matter, and even, if you throw a stick into it, a few hours is sufficient to give it a coating of this substance. Whichever way you turn your eyes, you see masses of this recently produced marble, the consequence of the overflowing of the lake during the winter floods.'