which must always oppress those more whose
toil has been longer continued; but the greater part usually proceeds
from frequent contemplation of that ease which is now considered as
within reach, and which, when it has once flattered our hopes, we cannot
suffer to be withheld.

In some of the noblest compositions of wit, the conclusion falls below
the vigour and spirit of the first books; and as a genius is not to be
degraded by the imputation of human failings, the cause of this
declension is commonly sought in the structure of the work, and
plausible reasons are given why, in the defective part, less ornament
was necessary, or less could be admitted. But, perhaps, the author would
have confessed, that his fancy was tired, and his perseverance broken;
that he knew his design to be unfinished, but that, when he saw the end
so near, he could no longer refuse to be at rest.

Against the instillations of this frigid opiate, the heart should be
secured by all the considerations which once concurred to kindle the
ardour of enterprise. Whatever motive first incited action, has still
greater force to stimulate perseverance; since he that might have lain
still at first in blameless obscurity, cannot afterwards desist but with
infamy and reproach. He, whom a doubtful promise of distant good could
encourage to set difficulties at defiance, ought not to remit his
vigour, when he has almost obtained his recompense. To faint or loiter,
when only the last efforts are required, is to steer the ship through
tempests, and abandon it to the winds in sight of land; it is to break
the ground and scatter the seed, and at last to neglect the harvest.

The masters of rhetorick direct, that the most forcible arguments be
produced in the latter part of an oration, lest they should be effaced
or perplexed by supervenient images. This precept may be justly extended
to the series of life: nothing is ended with honour, which does not
conclude better than it began. It is not sufficient to maintain the
first vigour; for excellence loses its effect upon the mind by custom,
as light after a time ceases to dazzle. Admiration must be continued by
that novelty which first produced it, and how much soever is given,
there must always be reason to imagine that more remains.

We not only are most sensible of the last impressions, but such is the
unwillingness of mankind to admit transcendant merit, that, though it be
difficult to obliterate the reproach of