Gazette Of The United States, & Philadelphia Daily Advertiser

From the Farmer's Weekly Museum.

"Then went Samson to Gaza, and saw there an harlot."
Strong as he was, such a journey debilitated him. It was not the length of the way from Timnah; it was not the rugged road, nor the irksomeness of a hard trotting mule; it was not a stroke of the sun, nor a bleak air that shook the nerves, and prostrated the life of Samson; for not one of these circumstances is ever glanced at by the historian; no, he saw, in one of the stews of Gaza, a venal beauty and was undone. His wit evaporated, his wisdom turned babbler, he lost his vigilance, his eyes, and his life.
One licentious indulgence excites to another. The blandishments of this courtezan allured to the cells of the whole sisterhood. He lays his head in the lap of voluptuousness, and gives full scope to criminal desire.
For it came to pass afterwards, that he loved a woman in the valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah.
Let us ponder a little the history of these unlucky amours. A sketch of the wars and vicissitudes of passion is of more interest than the narrative of a battle or siege, or the annals of an empire.
To display a striking, as well as useful contrast, it may be correct to view Samson, before he entered the gates of Gaza, and after his acquaintance with two bad women.
His first was by no means a love adventure. It was in the style of chivalry without a damsel. Lurking in the vines of rude territory, a lion roared against our juvenile hero, who, as it is in a lively manner expressed, rent his ferocious adversary, as he would have rent a kid. A bold encounter, but not half so dangerous as the smiles of the lady in the valley of Sorek. Mere brute force, however, was not the sole attribute of Samson. For seven days he tortures the ingenuity of thirty friends to resolve an enigma. He had the palm of wit and the chaplets of victory; by his art he destroys the property, and by his arm the life of his enemies. Not only the family of his father, Manoah, but the whole circumjacent region must have rung with the praises of this youth of promise; and even indifferent men, and abstract reason would alertly from such imposing premises draw the happiest conclusion.
But behold how, in one hour, so great riches come to nought. To this far, what a tissue of brilliant achievements do we admire! The next scene is madly mortifying. In the very summer of the ensuing page of his story what are the humiliating particulars of his downfall? Samson, the valiant, the witty, and the wise, is the dupe of female jugglers; is enticed; is overcome. In the arms of a "twining Lais" of the Philistines, his super-natural strength melts away. He awakes out of his lethargy of pleasure, and hopes to go out, as at other times, rejoicing in his might. But the energy of the soul is no more. He, whom once nothing could restrain, is bound. He grinds in the prison house, and, dwindled into a buffoon, is invested with his motley to amuse the rabble.
In the life of this extraordinary personage it is a matter of regretful speculation that the field of honor should be changed for the valley of Sorek. Hence an abundant crop of evil. It was not the Philistines, it was impure passion that extinguished the discernment of Samson. He never saw any object clearly, after he went to Gaza, and saw an harlot. It is true, he saw Delilah, but, probably, through the obscurity of nocturnal hours. Of her arts, of her perils, he surely had but an imperfect vision. Heedlessly winked by pleasure, he could not see the seven locks of his head, scattered on the toilet of a woman. The caresses of a gypsy proved sharper than the sword of enemies; and the flowing hair of the hero, once covered with laurel, is now tortured into meretricious ringlets, or periwigs some pimp in Delilah's antichamber.
Genius, said the amiable clergyman, with whom I studied divinity, is invariably connected with strong passions. When men, exquisitely organized, indulge pleasure, it is with that species of fervour, noted in the oriental page—it is with all their hearts, and with all their soul, and with all their strength, and with all their mind. The insensible lounger, the self engrossed coxcomb, may sleep upon the knees of Delilah, and wake again to puny life. But of that opiate of joy, of that golden cup of abomination, which the harlot presents, if you sip, man, of feeling, you will "drain the chalice to the lowest and foulest dregs." Keep the high and pure ground;—beware of sliding down the slope of pleasure. It conducts you to some vale of Sorek, beneath whose roses are the serpent and the dagger. Go up to Parnassus and see the muse—An excursion to Gaza to see a mortal beauty, is not half so exhilarating.

The Lay Preacher.