My former crosses and mortifications are all
forgotten. Philosophers may tell us, that reputation, and the immortality
of a name, are all but an airy shadow. Enough for me, that nature, from my
earliest infancy, led me to place my first delight in these. I envy not
kings their sceptres. I envy not statesmen their power. I envy not Damon
his love, and his Delia. Next to the pursuits of honour and truth, my soul
is conscious to but one wish, that of having my name enrolled, in however
inferior a rank, with a Homer, and a Horace, a Livy, and a Cicero."
The next day the proposed weddings took place. It is natural perhaps, at
the conclusion of such a narrative as this, to represent them all as
happy. But we are bound to adhere to nature and truth. Mr. Hartley and his
politician for some time struggled for superiority, but, in the end, the
eagle genius of Sophia soared aloft. Sir William, though he married a
woman, good natured, and destitute of vice, found something more insipid
in marriage, than he had previously apprehended. For Damon and his Delia,
they were amiable, and constant. Though their hearts were in the highest
degree susceptible and affectionate, the first ebullition of passion could
not last for ever. But it was succeeded by _the feast of reason, and the
flow of soul_. Their hours were sped with the calmness of tranquility.
When they saw each other no longer with transport, they saw each other
with complacency.
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