We have no knowledge, that is, no general principles drawn from the contemplation of particular facts, but what has been built up by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The Man of Science, the Chemist and Mathematician, whatever difficulties and disgusts they may have had to struggle with, know and feel this. However painful may be the objects with which the Anatomist's knowledge is connected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure; and where he has no pleasure he has no knowledge.

The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.

But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.

What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?

Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.

And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.