engaged, consoles himself with the hope of change; if
he has made his way by assiduity to publick
employment, he talks among his friends of the delight
of retreat; if by the necessity of solitary application
he is secluded from the world, he listens with a
beating heart to distant noises, longs to mingle with
living beings, and resolves to take hereafter his fill
of diversions, or display his abilities on the universal
theatre, and enjoy the pleasure of distinction and
applause.

Every desire, however innocent, grows dangerous,
as by long indulgence it becomes ascendant in the
mind. When we have been much accustomed to
consider any thing as capable of giving happiness, it
is not easy to restrain our ardour or forbear some
precipitation in our advances, and irregularity in our
pursuits. He that has cultivated the tree, watched the
swelling bud and opening blossom, and pleased himself
with computing how much every sun and shower
add to its growth, scarcely stays till the fruit has
obtained its maturity, but defeats his own cares by
eagerness to reward them. When we have diligently
laboured for any purpose, we are willing to believe
that we have attained it, and, because we have
already done much, too suddenly conclude that no
more is to be done.

All attraction is increased by the approach of the
attracting body. We never find ourselves so desirous