thing in its true colours, how could the paſſions gain ſufficient ſtrength to unfold the faculties?
Let me now as from an eminence ſurvey the world ſtripped of all its falſe deluſive charms. The clear atmoſphere enables me to ſee each object in its true point of view, while my heart is ſtill. I am calm as the proſpect in a morning when the miſts, ſlowly diſperſing, ſilently unveil the beauties of nature, refreſhed by reſt.
In what light will the world now appear?—I rub my eyes and think, perchance, that I am juſt awaking from a lively dream.
I ſee the ſons and daughters of men purſuing ſhadows, and anxiouſly waſting their powers to feed paſſions which have no adequate object—if the very exceſs of theſe blind impulſes, pampered by that lying, yet conſtantly truſted guide, the imagination, did not, by preparing them for ſome other ſtate, render ſhort-ſighted mortals wiſer without their own concurrence; or, what comes to the ſame thing, when they were purſuing ſome imaginary preſent good.
After viewing objects in this light, it would not be very fanciful to imagine that this world was a ſtage on which a pantomime is daily performed for the amuſement of ſuperiour beings. How would they be diverted to ſee the ambitious man conſuming himſelf by running after a phantom, and, 'purſuing the bubble fame in the cannon's mouth' that was to blow him to nothing: for when conſciouſneſs is loſt, it matters not whether we mount in a whirlwind or deſcend in rain. And ſhould they compaſſionately invigorate his ſight and ſhew him the thorny path
