LONG LIFE.
{"newspaper_name": "The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware advertiser.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
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He who knows not what It is to labour
knows not what it is to cnjey. The felicity
of human life depends on the regular pros
ecution of some laudablc purpose or object,
which keeps awake and enlivens all our
powers Our happiness consists much more
in the pursuit. than in the attainment OF any
temporal good. Rest is agreeable; but 1t is
only from preceding labours that rest ac-
ouires its true relish. When the mind is
suffered to remain in continued inaction, all
its powers decay. 1t soon languishes and SICK
ems: but the pleasure which it proposed to
obtain from rest, end in tcdiousness and IN
sipidity. To this, let that miserable set OF
men bear witness, who after spending great
part of their life in active industry, have re-
tired TO what they fancied was to be plea
sing enjoyment Of themselves, in wealthy IN
activity and profound repose, where they ex-
pected to find An elysium, they have found
nothing but dreary and comfortless waste.
Their days have dragged on with uniferm
languor; with the melancholy remembrance,
often returning, Of the cheerful hours they
passed, when they were engaged in the hon
est business and labors of the world.


To enjoy long life, and see many days IS
the universal wish; and as the wish Is
prompted by nature, 1t cannot DC IN itseit uii-
| lawful At the same tiue, sCNSidi VII heu'"
stances concur to temper the eagcrness OF
this wish and to show us that 1t should al
WAYS be formed under due submission to the
wiser Judgment OF Heaven. Who among us
can tell whether, in wishing for the contlnu-
ance of many years on earth We may not only
be wishing for prolongation OF distress and
misery!


You might live. my friends, till YOU had
undergone lingering rounds of severe PAM
from which death would have proved sea-
sonable deliverance. You might live till
your breasts were pierced with many a
wound, from public calamites or private
sorrow. You might live till you beheld the
death of all whom you had loved; till you
survived all those who love you; till you were
left as desolate strangers on earth, In the
midst of a new race, who neither knew you'
nor cared for You, but who wished you off the
stage. OF a nature so ambiguous are all the
prospects which life sets before US, that in
every wish we form relating to them much
reason we have to be satisfied that our times
are in the hands of God, rather than our
own.