ell told him that after his death, he
intended to erect a memorial to him. Johnson, to whom the very
mention of death was unpleasant, replied, "Sir, I hope to see your
grand-children." On his death-bed he observed to the surgeon who was
attending him, "_I want life_, you are afraid of giving me pain."

It has been supposed that this question had been settled by the
authority of Scripture. "Man is born to trouble," says Job, "as
the sparks fly upward." In turning over a few pages more, we find
ourselves in doubt again. "_The latter end of Job was more blessed
than his beginning_; for he had 14,000 sheep, and 6,000 camels, and
1,000 yoke of oxen, and 1,000 she-asses. He had also seven sons and
three daughters. So Job died being old and full of days."

It may not be unpleasant to place before the reader the opinions of
several celebrated men, on Life, that he may choose his side, and
either like the bee or the spider, extract the poison or gather the
honey. We will begin with Sterne, one who well knew the human heart.

"What is the life of man? is it not to shift from side to side!
from sorrow to sorrow!"

"When I consider how oft we eat the bread of affliction, when one
runs over the catalogue of all the cross reckonings and sorrowful
items with which the heart of man is overcharged, 'tis wonderful
by what hidden resources the mind is enabled to stand it out, and
bear itself up, as it does, against the impositions laid upon our
nature."--_T. Shandy_.

"A man has but a bad bargain of it at the best."--_Chesterfield_.

"No scene of human life but teems with mortal woe."--_Sir Walter
Scott_.

In opposition to these sentiments, Franklin, in writing on the death
of a friend, gives us his opinion, "_It is a party of pleasure_, some
take their seats first."

And Lord Byron, describing Sunrise, in the second canto of _Lara_,
says

"But mighty nature bounds as from her birth,
The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth;
Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam.
Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.
Immortal Man! Behold her glories shine,
And cry exultingly, 'They are thine'
Gaze on, while yet thy gladdened eyes may see,
A morrow comes when they are not for thee."

In the same spirit Cowper begins his poem on Hope:

"See Nature gay as when she first began,
With smiles alluring her admirer, man,
She spreads the morning over eastern hil