dence infinite gratitude
for the numberless blessings it bestows. They loudly extol the happiness
of existence. But, alas! how many mortals are truly satisfied with their
mode of existence? If life has sweets, with how much bitterness is it not
mixed? Does not a single chagrin often suffice suddenly to poison the most
peaceable and fortunate life? Are there many, who, if it were in their
power would begin again, at the same price, the painful career, in which,
without their consent, destiny has placed them?

They say, that existence is a great blessing. But is not this existence
continually troubled with fears, and maladies, often cruel and little
deserved? May not this existence, threatened on so many sides, be torn
from us any moment? Where is the man, who has not been deprived of a dear
wife, beloved child, or consoling friend, whose loss every moment intrudes
upon his thoughts? There are few, who have not been forced to drink of the
cup of misfortune; there are few, who have not desired their end. Finally,
it did not depend upon us to exist or not to exist. Should the bird then
be very grateful to the fowler for taking him in his net and confining him
in his cage for his diversion?

94.

Notwithstanding the infirmities and misery which man is forced to undergo,
he has, nevertheless, the folly to think himself the favourite of his God,
the object of all his cares, the sole end of all his works. He imagines,
that the whole universe is made for him; he arrogantly calls himself the
_king of nature_, and values himself far above other animals. Mortal! upon
what canst thou found thy haughty pretensions? It is, sayest thou, upon
thy soul, upon thy reason, upon the sublime faculties, which enable thee
to exercise an absolute empire over the beings, which surround thee. But,
weak sovereign of the world; art thou sure, one moment, of the continuance
of thy reign? Do not the smallest atoms of matter, which thou despisest,
suffice to tear thee from thy throne, and deprive thee of life? Finally,
does not the king of animals at last become the food of worms? Thou
speakest of thy soul! But dost thou know what a soul is? Dost thou not
see, that this soul is only the assemblage of thy organs, from which
results life? Wouldst thou then refuse a soul to other animals, who live,
think, judge, and compare, like thee; who seek pleasure, and avoid pain,
like thee; and who often have organs, which serve them better than thine?
Thou