if we were to allow ourselves to express the wish that we might never die, an absurd wish which, perhaps, every man has sometimes indulged, a moralist might say, ‘suppose it were granted, where would be the end of dissension, hatred, revenge? where would the victim whom injustice pursues, find an asylum and repose?’ to all this it is sufficient to reply, that if we accuse nature for having subjected us to the penalty of death, we have not less reason to accuse her for having often rendered death desirable, as a relief from greater evils. instead of showing herself so niggardly in bestowing happy moments, why did she not spare humanity the evils that render death a comparative release?

there are, as i believe, more solid reasons to justify nature in rendering death an inevitable allotment. when, undertaking to reform the universe in my day dreams, i render our earthly existence eternal, i find no difficulty in imagining all the evils which afflict us removed. but i strain my imagination to no purpose to give form and reality to those pleasures which shall be adequate to replace those which this new order of things cannot admit. suppose that it were no longer necessary that generation should succeed generation; and that death were banished from the earth. the same beings, without hopes or fears, would always cover its surface. no more loves; no more parental tenderness; no more[171] filial piety! flattering hopes forsake the bosom along with enchanting remembrances. all those affections which give value to life owe their existence to death.[60]

our prejudices transform death into a terrible spectre, accompanied by frightful dreams. the dark and anti-social doctrine, that we were placed on the earth for the punishment of exile, and that we ought never to intermit our contemplation of the grave, was imagined by hypocrites, who preached to others contempt of the world, that they might appropriate it to themselves. a wise man sees in existence a gift which he ought not to sacrifice. in learning how to live, he instructs himself how to die.

we must sometimes look death in the face to judge how we shall be able to sustain his approach.[61] it is not necessary often to repeat this stern examination which presents gloomy ideas, even to minds the most disciplined. another manner of contemplating the final scene offers all the useful results of the first, and presents nothing afflicting. it consists in observing the influence which death ought to exercise over life. this term, unknown, but always near, should render our duties more sacred, our affections more tender, our pleasures more vivid. in noting the rapidity of the flight of time, a wise man seizes upon those ideas which disturb the hours of the multitude, to enhance the charm of his own thoughts. it was not without an aim that certain of the ancient philosophers placed in their festal hall a death’s head decked with roses.

those who say that death is nothing, may be thought to affect the semblance of courage. they speak, in fact, only one of the simplest truths. the term death[172] is the sign of a purely negative idea; and denotes an instant impossible for thought to measure. it is not yet death, or it is past; and there is no interval.

without doubt, the circumstances which precede it are extremely afflicting. sudden deaths ought to cost us fewer tears than any others. yet we hear it repeated, with a sigh, ‘the unfortunate sufferer lingered but a few hours.’ was not that space sufficiently long when the moments were counted by agony? let us not tinge our views by the coloring of egotism; and we shall perceive in this prompt departure, two motives for consolation; that the deceased, whom we regret, saw not the long approach of death in advance; and, that, in meeting it, he experienced a brief pang. such an end is worthy of envy, and is the last benefit of heaven.

so died my father, the best of fathers, whom every one recognised by his force of character, his gentleness and serenity. he did not dazzle, either by his vivacity of mind, or the variety of his acquirements. but he so said the simplest things as to render them the best. during sixty-five years he shared the pains of others, but never added to them. one day, having experienced unaccustomed fatigue, he retired early, and a few moments after, slept in death. such a death, without pain and alarm, was worthy of a life so pure that, to render him happy in the life to come, it would be only necessary to leave him the remembrance of what he had been and what he had done upon earth.

a fact recognised by numberless observing physicians is, that the last agony of a good man is rarely violent. it is probable, that in regard to all forms of death, mankind generally entertain the most erroneous conceptions.[173] the vulgar, naturally embracing ideas that terrify them, believe that the dissolution of our earthly being is accompanied by all conceivable torments. it is probable, on the contrary, that, in entering upon eternal repose, we experience sensations analogous to those of a wearied man who feels the sweet influence of sleep stealing gently upon him.

these sensations, it is true, can be imagined to belong only to the last moments. cruel maladies may precede them. but it would seem that nature invariably employs some means to mitigate the evils which she inflicts. among mortal diseases, those which are severely painful are equally rapid; while those which are slow in their progress are comparatively free from pain. they allow the patient time to accustom himself to the idea of his departure. it is common for those who die in this way to close their career in the indulgence of dreamy and melancholy musings, solacing themselves alternately by resignation and hope.

a spectacle, touching to the heart, and, unhappily, too common, is presented in the case of a fair and florid young woman struck with a pulmonary malady. absolute unconsciousness of danger often accompanies this cruel disease to the last moment. we are perfectly aware that the patient cannot survive the coming winter. we hear her pantingly discuss the projects which she expects to execute with her companions when health and spring shall return. the contrast of her daily increasing debility with her gentle gayety, and of her future projects, with the rapid approach of death, makes the heart bleed. every one is pained for her but herself. the hectic fever imparts a kind of joyous inspiration;[174] and nature, to absolve itself for inflicting death on one so young, leads her to her last hour in tranquil security. death is to her as a sleep.

it is certain that physical sufferings are not those which infuse the utmost bitterness into this last cup. the gloomy thoughts with which death is invested are excited much more keenly by those affections which attach us to earth and our kind. we may well hold the understanding of those ambitious persons in disdain who instruct us, that when they have finished their vast projects their days shall thenceforward glide in peace and serenity. death uniformly surprises them, tormenting themselves in the pursuit of their shadows. others, with less show of stupidity, repine because death strikes them reposing upon their pleasures. their groans are caused by having forgotten the rapidity and evanescence of their joys. they had not known how to give them an additional charm in saying, ‘we possess them but for a day.’

but suppose we regret neither ambitious projects nor transient pleasures, may we not wish to live longer for our children? i attempt not to inculcate an impracticable or exaggerated system. there is a situation in which death is fearful. there is a period in which it would seem as if man ought not to die. it commences when one has become a parent, and terminates when his sustaining hand is no longer indispensable to his family.

if nature calls us to quit life before this epoch, all consolations resemble the remedies which palliate the pains of the dying, without possessing efficacy to remove them. still we dare not so outrage nature as to believe that[175] there can exist a situation in which a good man can find no alleviation for his sorrows. in quitting a life which he would wish to retain longer, for the happiness of those most dear to him, he may derive force and magnanimity from the thought that he owes it to himself to leave an example of courage and decent dignity in the last act; that he may show the influence of piety, resignation, the hope of a good man, and the discipline of that philosophy which forbids its disciple to struggle against the inevitable lot.

the approach of death always brings associations of gloom when it comes in advance of old age, to destroy the tender affections. in the slow and natural course of years, it is an event as simple, as little to be deprecated, as the other occurrences of life. alas! during a short sojourn, we see those who were most dear continually falling around us. we soon retain a less number with us than exist already in another world. the family is divided. i am not surprised that it becomes a matter of indifference to a wise man to remain with his present friends, or go and rejoin those that are absent.

as long as our children have need of our support, we resemble a traveller charged with business of extreme importance. as soon as these cares become useless, we resemble him who travels at leisure and by chance; and who takes up his lodging for the night wherever the setting sun surprises him. for me, i see the second epoch drawing near. if i reach it, i shall bless heaven for having awarded me a sufficient number of years, and for having diffused over them so few pains.

let us not charge that man with weakness who, when[176] on the eve of departure for distant and untravelled countries, is perceived to impart the intonation and tenderness of sorrow to his adieus. ought we to exact more of him whom death is about to conduct to that ‘undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns?’ i would not seem to affect an austere and unnatural courage. but whenever delivered from the only heart-rending agony, i will hope and strive to preserve sufficient tranquillity of mind to impress the sentiment on those i love, that we ought, with becoming dignity, to submit ourselves to the immutable laws of nature; that complaint is useless, and murmuring unjust; and that it becomes us, with transient but subdued emotion, to say, as we receive the final embrace, ‘may we meet again!’