274 On the Feeling of Immortality in Youth. [MARCH, 



signs the last remnant of what we were to the grave. The revulsion is 

 not so great, end a quiet euthanasia is a winding-up of the plot, that is 

 not out of reason or nature. 



That we should thus in a manner outlive ourselves, and dwindle imper- 

 ceptibly ijrito nothing, is not surprising, when even in our prime the 

 strongest impressions leave so little traces of themselves behind, and the 

 last object is driven out by the succeeding one. How -little etfect is pro- 

 duced on us at any time by the books we have read, the scenes we have 

 witnessed, the sufferings we have gone through! Think only of the 

 variety of feelings we experience in reading an interesting romance, or 

 being present at a fine play what beauty, what sublimity, what soothing, 

 what heart-rending emotions ! You would suppose these would last for 

 ever, or at least subdue the mind to a correspondent tone and harmony 

 while we turn over the page, while the scene is passing before us, it seems 

 as if nothing could ever after shake our resolution, that "treason domestic, 

 foreign levy, nothing could touch us farther !" The first splash of mud we 

 get, on entering the street, the first pettifogging shop-keeper that cheats us 

 out of two-pence, and the whole vanishes clean out of our remembrance, 

 and we become the idle prey of the most petty and annoying circum- 

 stances. The mind soars by an effort to the grand and lofty : it is at 

 home, in the grovelling, the disagreeable, and the little. This happens in 

 the height and hey-day of our existence, when novelty gives a stronger im- 

 pulse to the blood and takes a faster hold of the brain, (I have known the 

 impression on coming out of a gallery of pictures then last half a day) 

 as we grow old, we become more feeble and querulous, every object 

 " reverbs its own hollowness," and both worlds are not enough to satisfy 

 the peevish importunity and extravagant presumption of our desires ! There 

 are a few superior, happy beings, who are born with a temper exempt 

 from every trifling annoyance. This spirit sits serene and smiling as in 

 its native skies, and a divine harmony (whether heard or not) plays around 

 them. This is to be at peace. Without this, it is in vain to fly into 

 deserts, or to build a hermitage on the top of rocks, if regret and ill-humour 

 follow us there : and with this, it is needless to make the experiment. 

 The only true retirement is that of the heart; the only true leisure is 

 the repose of the passions. To such persons it makes little difference 

 whether they are young or old ; and they die as they have lived, with 

 graceful resignation. 



