Supposing, for a moment, that the soul is not immortal, and that
man was only created for the present scene, -- I think we should
have reason to complain that love, infantine fondness, ever grew
insipid and palled upon the sense. Let us eat, drink, and love,
for to-morrow we die, would be, in fact, the language of reason,
the morality of life; and who but a fool would part with a
reality for a fleeting shadow? But, if awed by observing the
improbable powers of the mind, we disdain to confine our wishes
or thoughts to such a comparatively mean field of action; that
only appears grand and important, as it is connected with a
boundless prospect and sublime hopes, what necessity is there for
falsehood in conduct, and why must the sacred majesty of truth be
violated to detain a deceitful good that saps the very foundation
of virtue? Why must the female mind be tainted by coquetish arts
to gratify the sensualist, and prevent love from subsiding into
friendship, or compassionate tenderness, when there are not
qualities on which friendship can be built? Let the honest heart
shew itself, and reason teach passion to submit to
necessity; or, let the dignified pursuit of virtue and knowledge
raise the mind above those emotions which rather imbitter than
sweeten the cup of life, when they are not restrained within due
bounds.
