Such is the general dream in which we all slumber
out our time: every man thinks the day coming, in
which he shall be gratified with all his wishes, in
which he shall leave all those competitors behind,
who are now rejoicing like himself in the expectation
of victory; the day is always coming to the servile
in which they shall be powerful, to the obscure
in which they shall be eminent, and to the deformed
in which they shall be beautiful.
If any of my readers has looked with so little
attention on the world about him, as to imagine this
representation exaggerated beyond probability, let
him reflect a little upon his own life; let him
consider what were his hopes and prospects ten years
ago, and what additions he then expected to be made
by ten years to his happiness; those years are now
elapsed; have they made good the promise that was
extorted from them? have they advanced his fortune,
enlarged his knowledge, or reformed his conduct,
to the degree that was once expected? I am
afraid, every man that recollects his hopes must
confess his disappointment; and own that day has glided
unprofitably after day, and that he is still at the same
distance from the point of happiness.
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