mile of alacrity disappears, we are
compelled to implore severer powers, and trust the event to patience and
constancy.

When once our labour has begun, the comfort that enables us to endure it
is the prospect of its end; for though in every long work there are some
joyous intervals of self-applause, when the attention is recreated by
unexpected facility, and the imagination soothed by incidental
excellencies; yet the toil with which performance struggles after idea,
is so irksome and disgusting, and so frequent is the necessity of
resting below that perfection which we imagined within our reach, that
seldom any man obtains more from his endeavours than a painful
conviction of his defects, and a continual resuscitation of desires
which he feels himself unable to gratify.

So certainly is weariness the concomitant of our undertakings, that
every man, in whatever he is 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 to 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 to finish as in the latter part of our
work, or so impatient of delay, as when we know that delay cannot be
long. This unseasonable importunity of discontent may be partly imputed
to languor and weariness,