behind it. Yet I conſole myſelf with reflecting, that mine does not differ from the common lot of mortals, who to dream away their lives, conſecrate the better part of it to a phantom of the imagination, and ſpend upon this creature of the brain their whole activity. All enthuſiaſm, all caſtle-building in the air, whether it relate to heaven or earth, is idleneſs and folly; nor is a devout better than an amorous caprice. Every human being whoſe thoughts are turned inwards upon himſelf, whether immured in a cell, or wandering about the fields and foreſts, gaping at the moon, toſſing ſtraws and flowers in a melancholic mood into the brook that murmurs by him, or ſighing out his elegy to rocks and rivers, or the liſtening queen of night; is a ſenſeleſs dreamer. For the Spirit of contemplation, let him be of what ſort he may, if he does not walk behind the plough, or take the hoe or ſpade in his hand, is the vileſt puppet upon the ſtage of human life. To have engrafted young‘fruit-
