ecuring
the interests of futurity, and devoid of any other care than to gain, at
whatever price, the surest passage to eternal rest.

Yet, what can the votary be justly said to have lost of his present
happiness? If he resides in a convent, he converses only with men whose
condition is the same with his own; he has, from the munificence of the
founder, all the necessaries of life, and is safe from that destitution,
which Hooker declares to be "such an impediment to virtue, as, till it
be removed, suffereth not the mind of man to admit any other care." All
temptations to envy and competition are shut out from his retreat; he is
not pained with the sight of unattainable dignity, nor insulted with the
bluster of insolence, or the smile of forced familiarity. If he wanders
abroad, the sanctity of his character amply compensates all other
distinctions; he is seldom seen but with reverence, nor heard but with
submission.

It has been remarked, that death, though often defied in the field,
seldom fails to terrify when it approaches the bed of sickness in its
natural horrour; so poverty may easily be endured, while associated with
dignity and reputation, but will always be shunned and dreaded, when it
is accompanied with ignominy and contempt.

No. 203. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1752.

_Cum volet illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis hujus
Jus habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat avi_. OVID. Met. xv. 873.

Come, soon or late, death's undetermin'd day,
This mortal being only can decay. WELSTED.

It seems to be the fate of man to seek all his consolations in futurity.
The time present is seldom able to fill desire or imagination with
immediate enjoyment, and we are forced to supply its deficiencies by
recollection or anticipation.

Every one has so often detected the fallaciousness of hope, and the
inconvenience of teaching himself to expect what a thousand accidents
may preclude, that, when time has abated the confidence with which youth
rushes out to take possession of the world, we endeavour, or wish, to
find entertainment in the review of life, and to repose upon real facts,
and certain experience. This is perhaps one reason, among many, why age
delights in narratives.

But so full is the world of calamity, that every source of pleasure is
polluted, and every retirement of tranquillity disturbed. When time has
supplied us with events sufficient to employ our thoughts, it has
mingled them with so many disasters, t