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Article COLLECTANEA. ← Page 3 of 4 →
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Collectanea.
and smote and slew him ; the patriarchs were moved with envy , aud sold their brother for a slave . Is the picture too highly coloured ? Alas ! no ; the mind this desperate passion sways shrinks from no littleness—resorts to every artifice to serve its purpose . Falsehood , detraction , calumny—these are the weapons envy loves to wield ; and the wounds they leave are rarely healed without a scar ; for while the covetous man seeks to defraud us of our wealthor the ambitious thrusts
, us on one side , that he may seize the prize we sought to grasp—the envious spirit strikes at our happiness and peace of mind—or reputation or good name . It is possible to replace wealth—ambition ' s loss is often a real gain ; but with our perished happiness we lose our power of enjoyment ; and our reputation sullied is , alas ! a reputation lost . There is a sort of stern nobility in pride to which we yield involuntary homage . Ambitiontooeven while it startlesfascinates and thralls ; for in both
, , , we see the towering offspring of a lofty heart ; but envy is a mean , grovelling feeling , which springs , like avarice , from a little mind . Twin sisters also ; for tbough the miser is not always envious , you will seldom find a disposition in which envy forms a striking feature free from the love of gold .
IMMORTALITY AND OBLIVION . —Who knows whether the best of men be known , or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot than any that stand remembered in the known account of time ? Without the favour of the everlasting register the first man had been as unknown as the last , and Methusela ' s long life had been his only chronicle . Oblivion is not to be hired . The greatest part must be content to be as though they had not been—to be found in the register of Godnot in the record of man . Twenty-seven names make up the
, first story before the flood ; and the recorded names ever since contain not one living century . The number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live . The night of time far surpasseth the day , and who knows when was the equinox ? Every hour adds unto that current arithmetic which scarce stands one moment . And since death must be tbe Lucina of life , and even Pagans could doubt whether thus to live were to die—since our longest suns set at right descensionsand make
, , but winter arches , and therefore it cannot be long before we lie down in darkness and have our night in ashes—since the brother of death daily haunts us with dying mementos ; and time , ' that grows old in itself , bids us hope no long duration—diuturnity is a dream , and folly of expectation . Darkness and light divide the course of time , and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our living beings—we slightly remember our felicities , and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but
short smart upon us . Sense endureth no extremities , antl sorrows destroy us or themselves . To weep into stones are fables . Affliction induces callosities—misseries are slippery , or fall like snow upon us , which , notwithstanding , is no unhappy stupidity . To be ignorant of evils to come , and forgetful of evils past , is a merciful provision in nature , whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days ; and our delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrancesour
, sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions . A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of subsistency with a transmigration of their souls—a good way to continue their memories , while , having the advantage of plural successions , they could not but act something remarkable in such variety of beings , and enjoying the fame of their VOL . vi . o o
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Collectanea.
and smote and slew him ; the patriarchs were moved with envy , aud sold their brother for a slave . Is the picture too highly coloured ? Alas ! no ; the mind this desperate passion sways shrinks from no littleness—resorts to every artifice to serve its purpose . Falsehood , detraction , calumny—these are the weapons envy loves to wield ; and the wounds they leave are rarely healed without a scar ; for while the covetous man seeks to defraud us of our wealthor the ambitious thrusts
, us on one side , that he may seize the prize we sought to grasp—the envious spirit strikes at our happiness and peace of mind—or reputation or good name . It is possible to replace wealth—ambition ' s loss is often a real gain ; but with our perished happiness we lose our power of enjoyment ; and our reputation sullied is , alas ! a reputation lost . There is a sort of stern nobility in pride to which we yield involuntary homage . Ambitiontooeven while it startlesfascinates and thralls ; for in both
, , , we see the towering offspring of a lofty heart ; but envy is a mean , grovelling feeling , which springs , like avarice , from a little mind . Twin sisters also ; for tbough the miser is not always envious , you will seldom find a disposition in which envy forms a striking feature free from the love of gold .
IMMORTALITY AND OBLIVION . —Who knows whether the best of men be known , or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot than any that stand remembered in the known account of time ? Without the favour of the everlasting register the first man had been as unknown as the last , and Methusela ' s long life had been his only chronicle . Oblivion is not to be hired . The greatest part must be content to be as though they had not been—to be found in the register of Godnot in the record of man . Twenty-seven names make up the
, first story before the flood ; and the recorded names ever since contain not one living century . The number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live . The night of time far surpasseth the day , and who knows when was the equinox ? Every hour adds unto that current arithmetic which scarce stands one moment . And since death must be tbe Lucina of life , and even Pagans could doubt whether thus to live were to die—since our longest suns set at right descensionsand make
, , but winter arches , and therefore it cannot be long before we lie down in darkness and have our night in ashes—since the brother of death daily haunts us with dying mementos ; and time , ' that grows old in itself , bids us hope no long duration—diuturnity is a dream , and folly of expectation . Darkness and light divide the course of time , and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our living beings—we slightly remember our felicities , and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but
short smart upon us . Sense endureth no extremities , antl sorrows destroy us or themselves . To weep into stones are fables . Affliction induces callosities—misseries are slippery , or fall like snow upon us , which , notwithstanding , is no unhappy stupidity . To be ignorant of evils to come , and forgetful of evils past , is a merciful provision in nature , whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days ; and our delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrancesour
, sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions . A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of subsistency with a transmigration of their souls—a good way to continue their memories , while , having the advantage of plural successions , they could not but act something remarkable in such variety of beings , and enjoying the fame of their VOL . vi . o o