He is the fool of the
moment's sensations to the degree of losing sight of the whole amount
of his sensations in so many years. And there is an Esquimaux in
every man which makes us believe in the permanence of this moment's
state of our game more than our own experience will warrant. In the
fine day we despise the house. At sea, the passengers always judge
from the weather of the present moment of the probable length of the
voyage. In a fresh breeze, they are sure of a good run; becalmed,
they are equally sure of a long passage. In trade, the momentary
state of the markets betrays continually the experienced and
long-sighted. In politics, and in our opinion of the prospects of
society, we are in like manner the slaves of the hour. Meet one or
two malignant declaimers, and we are weary of life, and distrust the
permanence of good institutions. A single man in a ragged coat at an
election looks revolutionary. But ride in a stage-coach with one or
two benevolent persons in good spirits, and the Republic seems to us
safe.
It is but an extension of the despotism of sense, -- shall I
say, only a calculated sensuality, -- a little more comprehensive
devotion which subjugates the eminent and the reputed wise, and
hinders an ideal culture.
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